Local Hero

splattered on job sites. His tool belt hung low, like an old-time sheriff’s gunbelt—at least to her eye. Dark hair curled shaggily from under his ball cap. Sunglasses covered eyes she knew to be a gold-flecked green.
    He consulted with a couple of his crew, pointed up, circling a finger, shaking his head, all while he stood in that hip-shot way of his.
    Since a dull wash of primer currently covered the front of the building, she assumed they were discussing the finish colors.
    One of the crew let out a bray of laughter, and Ryder responded with a flash of grin and a shrug.
    The shrug, like the stance, was another habit of his, she mused.
    The Montgomery brothers were an attractive breed, but in her opinion her two friends had plucked the pick of the crop. She found Ryder a little surly, marginally unsociable.
    And, okay, sexy—in a primitive, rough-edged sort of way.
    Not her type; not remotely.
    As she started across the street a long, exaggerated wolf whistle shrilled out. Knowing it was a joke, she tipped her face back toward the bakery, added a smoldering smile, then sent a wave to Jake, one of the painters. He and the laborer beside him waved back.
    But not Ryder Montgomery, of course. He simply hooked his thumb in his pocket, watched her. Unsociable, she thought again. He couldn’t even stir himself for a casual wave.
    She accepted the slow kindling in her belly as the natural reaction of a healthy woman to a long, shaded stare delivered by a sexy—if surly—man.
    Particularly a woman who hadn’t had any serious male contact in—God—a year. A little more than a year. But who’s counting?
    Her own fault, her own choice, so why think about it?
    She reached the other side of Main Street, turned right toward the bookstore just as Clare stepped out onto its pretty covered porch.
    She waved again as Clare stood a moment, one hand on the baby bump under her breezy summer dress. Clare had her long, sunny hair pulled back in a tail, with blue-framed sunglasses softening the glare of the bold morning sun.
    “I was just coming over to check on you,” Hope called out.
    Clare held up her phone. “I was just texting you.” She slipped the phone back in her pocket, left her hand there a moment as she came down the steps to the sidewalk.
    “Well?” Hope scanned her friend’s face. “Everything good?”
    “Yeah. Good. We got back just a few minutes ago. Beckett . . .” She glanced over her shoulder. “He’s driving around to the back of the bakery. He’s got his tools.”
    “Okay.” Mildly concerned, Hope laid a hand on Clare’s arm. “Honey, you had the sonogram, right?”
    “Yeah.”
    “And?”
    “Oh. Let’s walk up to Vesta. I’ll tell you and Avery at the same time. Beckett’s going to call his mother, tell his brothers. I need to call my parents.”
    “The baby’s all right?”
    “Absolutely.” She patted her purse as they walked. “I have pictures.”
    “I have to see!”
    “I’ll be showing them off for days. Weeks. It’s amazing.”
    Avery popped out the front door of the restaurant, a white bib apron covering capris and a T-shirt. She bounced on purple Crocs. The sun speared into her Scot’s warrior queen hair, sent the short ends to glimmering.
    “Are we thinking pink?”
    “Are you opening alone?” Clare countered.
    “Yeah, it’s just me. Fran’s not due in for twenty. Are you okay? Is everything okay?”
    “Everything’s absolutely perfectly wonderfully okay. But I want to sit down.”
    With her friends exchanging looks behind her back, Clare walked in and straight to the counter, dropped onto a stool. Sighed. “It’s the first time I’ve been pregnant with three boys fresh out of school for the summer. It’s challenging.”
    “You’re a little pale,” Avery commented.
    “Just tired.”
    “Want something cold?”
    “With my entire being.”
    As Avery went to the cooler, Hope sat down, narrowed her eyes at Clare’s face. “You’re stalling. If nothing’s wrong—”
    “Nothing’s wrong, and maybe I’m stalling a little. It’s a big announcement.” She laughed to herself, took the chilled ginger ale Avery offered.
    “So here I am, with my two closest friends, in Avery’s pretty restaurant that already smells of pizza sauce.”
    “You’ll have this in a pizzeria.” Avery passed Hope a bottle of water. Then she crossed her arms, scanned Clare’s face. “It’s a girl. Ballet shoes and hair ribbons!”
    Clare shook her head. “I appear to