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"I can't believe what you've done to the place," Brett Murphy said to Finn, the older of his two younger brothers, as he looked around at what had been, until recently, a crumbling, weather-beaten and termite-riddled ranch house.
This morning, before opening up Murphy's, Forever's one and only saloon, he'd decided to look in on Finn's progress renovating the ranch house he had inherited from one of the town's diehard bachelors. And though he hadn't been prepared to, he was impressed by what he saw.
"More than that," Brett added as he turned to face his brother, "I can't believe that you're the one who's doing it."
Finn never missed a beat. He still had a lot to do before he packed it in for the day. "And what's that supposed to mean?" he asked. He'd been at this from first light, wrestling with a particularly uncooperative floorboard trim, which was just warped enough to give him trouble. That did not put the normally mild-tempered middle brother in the best frame of mind. "I built you a bathroom out of practically nothing, didn't I?" he reminded Brett. The bathroom had been added to make the single room above the saloon more livable. Until then, anyone staying in the room had had to go downstairs to answer nature's call or take a shower.
Brett's memory needed no prodding. It had always been a notch above excellent, which was fortunate for his brothers. It was Brett who took over running Murphy's and being financially responsible for them at the age of eighteen.
"Yes, you did," Brett replied. "But don't forget, you were the kid who always wound up smashing his thumb with a hammer practically every time you so much as held one in your hand."
His back to Brett as he continued working, Finn shrugged. "You're exaggerating, and anyway, I was six."
"I'm not—and you were twelve," Brett countered. He inclined his head ever so slightly as if that would underscore his point. "I'm the one with a head for details and numbers."
Finn snorted. It wasn't that he took offense, just that their relationship was such that they took jabs at one another—and Liam—as a matter of course. It was just the way things were. But at bottom, he was fiercely loyal to his brothers—as they were to him.
"Just because you can add two and two doesn't make you the last authority on things, Brett," Liam informed his brother.
"No, running Murphy's into the black pretty much did that."
When, at eighteen, he had suddenly found himself in charge of the establishment, after their Uncle Patrick had died, he'd discovered that the saloon was actually losing money rather than earning it. He swiftly got to work making things right and within eight months, he'd managed to turn things around. It wasn't just his pride that was at stake, he had brothers to support and send to school.
"Look, I didn't swing by to squabble with you," Brett went on. "I just wanted to see how the place was coming along—and it looks like you're finally in the home stretch. Liam been helping you?" he asked, curious.
This time Finn did stop what he was doing. He looked at Brett incredulously and then laughed. "Liam? In case you haven't noticed, that's a box of tools by your foot, not a box of guitar picks."
Finn's meaning was clear. Of late, their younger brother only cared for all things musical. Brett still managed to get Liam to work the bar certain nights, but it was clear that Liam preferred performing at Murphy's rather than tending to the customers and their thirst.
"I thought Liam said he was coming by the other day," Brett recalled.
"He did." Finn's mouth curved. "Said watching me work inspired his songwriting."
"Did it?" Brett asked, amused.
Finn shrugged again. "All I know was that he scribbled some things down, said 'thanks' and took off again. I figure that he figures he's got a good thing going. Tells you he's coming out here to help me then when he comes here, he writes his songs—and calls it working." There was no resentment in Finn's voice as he summarized his younger brother's revised work ethic. For the most part, Finn preferred working alone. It gave him the freedom to try different things without someone else second-guessing him or giving so-called advice. "Hey, Brett?"
Brett had wandered over to the fireplace. Finn had almost completely rebuilt it, replacing the old red bricks with white ones. It made the room look larger. "What?"
"You think our baby brother has any talent?" he asked in between hammering a section of the floorboard into place.
"For avoiding work?" Brett guessed. "Absolutely."
Finn knew that Brett knew what he was referring to, but he clarified his question, anyway. "No, I mean for those songs he writes."
Brett could see the merit in Liam's efforts, especially since he wouldn't have been able to come up with the songs himself, but he was curious to hear what Finn's opinion was. Since he was asking, Brett figured his brother had to have formed his own take on the subject.
"You've heard him just like I have," Brett pointed out, waiting.
Finn glanced at him over his shoulder. "Yeah, but I want to know what you think."
Brett played the line out a little further. "Suddenly I'm an authority?" he questioned.
Down on his knees, Finn rocked back on his heels, the frustrating length of floorboard temporarily forgotten. Despite the fancy verbal footwork, he really did value Brett's take on things. Brett had been the one he'd looked up to when he was growing up.
"No, not an authority," Finn replied, "but you know what you like."
"I think he's good. But I think he's better at singing songs than he is at writing them," he said honestly, then in the next moment, he added, "But what I do know is that you've got a real talent for taking sow's ears and making silk purses out of them."
Never one to reach for fancy words when plain ones would do, Finn eyed him with more than a trace of confusion.
"How's that again?" he asked.
Brett rephrased his comment. Easygoing though he was, it wasn't often that he complimented either of his brothers. He'd wanted them to grow up struggling to always reach higher rather than expecting things to be handed to them—automatic approval readily fell into that category.
"You're damn good at this remodeling thing that you do."
Finn smiled to himself. Only a hint of it was evident on his lips. "Glad you like it."
"But you don't have to work on it 24/7," Brett pointed out. Finn had immersed himself in this huge project he'd taken on almost single-handedly. There was no reason to push himself this hard. "Nobody's waving a deadline at you."
"There's a deadline," Finn contradicted. He saw Brett raise an eyebrow in a silent query, so he stated the obvious. "You and Lady Doc are still getting married, aren't you?"
Just the mere mention of his pending nuptials brought a wide smile to Brett's lips. Just the way that thoughts of Alisha always did.
Until the young general surgeon had come to town, answering Dr. Daniel Davenport's letter requesting help, Brett had been relatively certain that while he loved all the ladies, regardless of "type," there was no so-called soul mate out there for him.
Now he knew better, because he had met her. Not only was she out there, but he would be marrying her before the year was out, as well.
"Yes," Brett replied. "But what…?"
Finn anticipated Brett's question and cut him short. "This is my wedding present to you and Lady Doc—to say thanks for all the times you were there for Liam and me when we needed you—and even the times when we thought we didn't," he added with a touch of whimsy. "And this is, in a small way, to pay you back for staying instead of taking off with Laura right after high school graduation, the way she wanted you to.
"In other words, this is to say thanks for staying, for giving up your dream and taking care of your two bratty younger brothers instead."
While Finn and Liam were aware of Laura, he had never told them about the ultimatum she'd given him. Had never mentioned how tempted he'd been, just for a moment, to follow her to Los Angeles. All his brothers knew was one day, Laura stopped coming around.
He looked at Finn in surprise. "You know about that?"
Finn smiled. "I'm not quite the oblivious person you thought I was."
"I didn't think you were oblivious,'" Brett corrected him. "It was just that you saw and paid attention to things the rest of us just glossed over." His smile widened as he looked around the living room. Finn had outdone himself. "But seriously, this is all more than terrific, but this is our ranch house," he emphasized, "not just mine."
Finn looked at him and shook his head in wonder before getting back to work. "You bring that pretty Lady Doc here after you've married her and she finds out that she's sharing the place with not just you but also your two brothers, I guarantee that she'll walk out of here so fast, your head'll spin clean off."
He might not be as experienced as Brett was when it came to the fairer sex, Finn thought, but some things were just a given.
"Now, I don't know nearly as much as you do when it comes to the ladies, but I do know that newlyweds like their own space—that doesn't mean sharing that space with two other people. Liam and I'll go on living at the house. This'll be your place," he concluded, waving his hand around the room they were currently in as well as indicating the rest of the house.
"But the ranch itself is still ours, not just mine," Brett insisted.
"Earl Robertson left it to you," Finn stated simply. The man, he knew, had done it to show his gratitude because Brett had gone out of his way to look in on him when he had taken sick. That was Brett, Finn thought, putting himself out with no thought of any sort of compensation coming his way for his actions.
"And I've always shared whatever I had with you and Liam," Brett stated flatly.
Finn allowed a sly smile to feather over his lips, even though being sly was out of keeping with his normally genial nature.
"I see. Does that go for Lady Doc, too?"
Brett knew that his brother was kidding and that he didn't have to say it, but he played along, anyway. "Alisha is off-limits."
Finn pretended to sigh. "It figures. First nice thing you have in aeons, and you're keeping it all to yourself."
"Damn right I am."
Finn changed the subject, directing the conversation toward something serious. "Hey, made a decision about who your best man is going to be?"
Brett was silent for a moment. He'd made Finn think he was debating his choices, but the truth of it was, he'd made up his mind from the beginning. It had been Finn all along.
"Well, Liam made it clear that he and that band of his are providing the music, so I guess you get to be best man."
His back to Brett, Finn smiled to himself. "I won't let it go to my head."
"Might get lonely up there if it did," Brett commented with affection. He glanced at his watch. "Guess I'd better be getting back or Nathan McHale is going to think I've abandoned him," he said, referring to one of Murphy's' two most steadfast patrons.
Finn laughed. "Wonder how long he'd stand in front of the closed door, waiting for you to open up before he'd finally give up."
Brett began to answer without hesitation. "Two, maybe three—"
"Hours?" Finn asked, amused.
"Days," Brett corrected with a laugh. The older man had been coming to Murphy's for as many years as anyone could remember, motivated partially by his fondness for beer and most assuredly by his desire to get away from his eternally nagging wife, Henrietta. "I'll see you later tonight."
Finn nodded. "I'll be by when I get done for the day," he said. He was back to communing with another ornery section of floorboard before his brother walked out the front door.
Connie had decided to just drive around both through Forever and its surrounding area to get a general feel for the little town. For the most part, it appeared she'd stumbled across a town that time had more or less left alone. Nothing looked ancient, exactly, and there were parking places in front of the handful of businesses rather than hitching posts, but all in all, the entire town had a very rural air about it, right down to the single restaurant—if a diner could actually lay claim to that title.
She'd been amused to see that the town's one bar—how did these cowboys survive with only one bar?—had a sign in the window that said Hungry? Go visit Miss Joan's diner. Thirsty? You've come to the right place. That had told her that there was obviously a division of labor here with territories being defined in the simplest of terms.
Given its size and what she took to be the residents' mind-set, Connie doubted very much if a place like this actually needed a hotel—which, she had a feeling, had probably been her father's whole point when he had given her this project, saying if she wanted to prove herself to him, he wanted to see her complete the hotel, bringing it in on time and under budget. The budget left very little wiggle room.
"Newsflash, Dad. I don't give up that easily," she murmured to the man who was currently five hundred miles away.
Challenges, especially seemingly impossible ones, were what made her come alive. At first glance, the sleepy little town of Forever needed a hotel about as much as it needed an expert on wombats.
It took closer examination to see that the idea of building a hotel had merit.
Connie could see the potential of the place forming itself in her mind's eye. She just needed the right approach, the right thing to play up and the hotel-tobe would not only become a reality, it would also be a success and eventually get its patrons.
But it wouldn't get anything if it wasn't first built, and she had already decided that while she could have materials shipped in from anywhere in the country that could give her the best deal, to get the structure actually built, she was going to use local talent, so to speak.
She naturally assumed that living out here in what she viewed as the sticks made people handy out of necessity. Unlike in the larger cities, there wasn't a range of construction companies, all in competition with one another, all vying for the customer's money. Driving down here from Houston, she had already ascertained that the nearest town, Pine Ridge, was a minimum of fifty miles away. That alone limited the amount of choices available. If anything, out here it was the unhandy customer who wound up searching to find someone to do the work for them.
Just like faith, the right amount of money, she had learned, could move mountains.
She had no mountains to move. But she did have a building to erect, and in order not to be the outsider, the person who was viewed as invading their territory, she would need allies. In this particular case, she needed to have some of the men from Forever taking part in making the hotel a reality.
