The Next Always by Nora Roberts Page B

studying blueprints.
    By the time Beckett booted his brothers out the door, he figured he could re-create the blueprints—structural and mechanical—in his sleep.
    And really, for one night, all he wanted to do was think about Clare.
    He’d kissed her. Something he’d wanted to do for nearly fifteen years. Now, in about a week, he’d have her all to himself for an evening. A nice, quiet dinner, Owen had that right. A little wine, some conversation.
    What did two people who’d known each other most of their lives talk about?
    Then again, there was a lot about her he didn’t know.
    He stood at his window looking out at the dark, shrouded inn and wondered what he’d find out. And what would happen next.

    WORK-RELATED HEADACHES DOMINATED the next day, starting with a visit from the building inspector who, according to Ryder, arbitrarily reinterpreted codes, requiring a change in exterior doors already installed.
    After spending half the day in Hagerstown straightening it out, Beckett came back to the site only to learn the tile supplier had mis-ordered the flooring in one of the guest room baths, and apparently—oops—forgotten to order the entire supply of another pattern. And now claimed their installer couldn’t begin the job for six weeks.
    He’d have booted that nightmare to Owen, but his brother already had his hands full in a meeting with the mechanics about the building’s sprinkler system.
    He retreated to his home office, and spent the next hour giving the salesman who’d screwed up a bigger headache than his own.
    In that, at least, rode some satisfaction.
    When he finished, he grabbed a Coke, swallowed some aspirin, then headed back across the street. He caught Owen in the parking lot.
    “Where are you going?” he demanded.
    “I’m going to put in some time in the shop. Look, Ry told me about the tile screwup. I’ll kick some ass in the morning.”
    “Already kicked. Emergency meeting. Where’s Ry?”
    “Third floor, last I checked. Hey, I’d better tell you about the gallery space next to the bookstore, and Mom’s latest brainstorm.”
    “Not yet. Let’s go.”
    They found Ryder on the third floor, installing one of the custom panels in the window well. “Fits like a glove,” he said, “and looks fan-fucking-tastic.”
    D.A. thumped his tail in agreement, and probably hoped someone had food on them.
    “That’s one thing that’s gone right today.”
    “Tell me about it.” He glanced over at his brothers. “Did Owen tell you?”
    “I’m telling Owen, and you. First, don’t get into a pissing contest with the building inspector even if he’s being a dick.”
    “Hey, listen—”
    “No. You were right, but you cross cocks with County, it can just bog up the whole project. The exterior doors meet code, were approved and signed off on previously. They stay. But let Owen or me handle the dirty work, if it looks like it’s going dirty. Next—”
    Ryder set down his nail gun. “Give me that Coke.” He snagged it out of Beckett’s hand. “If you’re going to lecture me, I deserve a nice little treat.”
    At the word treat , D.A.’s tail thumped harder.
    Ryder merely glanced at him. “Mine.”
    “Next,” Beckett continued. “I reamed the salesman. Asshole tried to tell me he meant to order that entire run, how it’ll only take a week to get in. Which is bullshit,” Beckett said before both of his brothers could. “Everything we ordered from them’s taking weeks.”
    Owen grabbed the Coke from Ryder. “They came recommended, made a damn good pitch, and swore they could handle the job. Lesson learned.”
    “I’m not blaming you—much. The vendor screwed up, big-time. They’re expediting the replacement tile and the one he didn’t order—at their expense, and we’re getting a ten percent discount for our inconvenience. I talked to the owner.”
    “Nice work,” Owen commented.
    “I learned from Dad, too. The salesman’s ass is in a sling where it deserves to be,