The Perfect Hope Part 7
"It's not the bulb," Hope insisted. "I put the other in this morning."
"Okay."
D.A. sat by Ryder's feet, eyes on The Penthouse door. His tail wagged.
"Don't okay me. I'm telling you, it's-There!" Her voice held a note of triumph as the bulb went dark. "It did it again. There has to be a short, or something wrong with the wiring."
"No."
"What do you mean, no? You just saw for yourself." As she spoke, the door to The Penthouse eased open.
Hope barely glanced back. Then it hit her. She smelled the honeysuckle, of course, but she'd gotten so used to it. "Why would she play with the lights?"
"How would I know?" His shoulders lifted as his thumbs hooked in his front pockets. "Maybe she's bored. She's been dead awhile. Or maybe she's p.i.s.sed at you."
"She is not. There's no reason." Hope started to close The Penthouse door, pushed it open instead. "There's water running."
She clipped down the short hall into the big elaborate bathroom. Water ran into the double vessel sinks on the counter, in the generous jet tub, from the shower and body jets.
"Oh, for G.o.d's sake."
"Does this happen often?"
"It's a first. Come on, Lizzy," she muttered, turning off the sink faucets. "I have guests coming."
Ryder opened the gla.s.s door, turned off the showerhead, the body jets.
"I'm doing the research." Impatient now, Hope turned off the tub. "I know Owen is, too, but it's not exactly a snap to find someone named Billy who lived, we a.s.sume, during the nineteenth century."
"If your ghost is acting up, I can't do anything about it." Ryder swiped his wet hand on his jeans.
"She's not my ghost. It's your building."
"She's your ancestor." With his habitual shrug, he went out, walked to the parlor door. He tried the k.n.o.b, glanced back. "How about telling your great-great-whatever to cut it out."
"Cut what out?"
He jiggled the k.n.o.b again.
"That's just-" She nudged him aside, tried the k.n.o.b herself. "This is ridiculous." Out of patience entirely, Hope continued to rattle the k.n.o.b. Then she threw up her hands, jabbed a finger at it. "Do something."
"Like what?"
"Take off the k.n.o.b, or the whole door."
"With what?"
She frowned, glanced down. "You don't have your tools? Why don't you have your tools? You always have your tools."
"It was a lightbulb."
Temper merged with just a touch of panic. "It wasn't a lightbulb. I told you it wasn't a lightbulb. What are you doing?"
"I'm going to sit down a minute."
"No!"
At her near-shout, D.A. moseyed to a corner and curled into it. Out of the line of fire.
"Don't you dare sit on that chair. You're not clean."
"Oh, for Christ's sake." But he went around the chair, opened the window. And considered the logistics of the roof.
"Don't go out there! What am I supposed to do when you fall?"
"Call nine-one-one."
"No. Seriously, Ryder. Call one of your brothers, or the fire department, or-"
"I'm not calling the fire department because the d.a.m.n door won't open."
She held up her hands, took a breath. Then sat down herself. "I'm just going to calm down."
"Good start."
"There's no call to be snotty with me." She pushed at her hair-and yes, the in-between length definitely annoyed. "I didn't jam the door."
"Snotty?" It might've been a smirk, might've been a sneer, but it hit just between the two. "I'm being snotty?"
"You take snotty to a new level. You don't have to like me, and I keep out of your way as much as possible. But I run this inn, and d.a.m.n well. Our paths have to cross occasionally. You could at least pretend to be polite."
Now he leaned back against the door. "I don't pretend to be anything, and who says I don't like you?"
"You do. Every time you're snotty."
"Maybe that's my response to snooty."
"Snooty!" Sincerely insulted, she goggled at him. "I'm not snooty."
"You've got it down to a science. But that's your deal." He moved over, looked out the window again.
"You've been rude to me since the first minute I met you. Right in this room, before it was a room."
She remembered the moment perfectly, the dizziness, the powerful surge inside her body, the way the light had seemed to burst around him.
She didn't want to think about it.
Irritated, he turned around. "Maybe it had something to do with you looking at me like I'd punched you in the face."