The Next Always Page 20

WALKING THROUGH CLARE’S EMPTY HOUSE GAVE SAM a thrill of satisfaction. He could come and go as he pleased, anywhere he pleased and whenever he pleased. He studied the photographs she had arranged on tables and shelves, imagined himself in them.

He soon would be. It was just a matter of getting her alone until she understood what was best for her. Until she finally admitted she belonged to him.

A real man took what he wanted, and though he’d been patient with her—maybe too patient—it was time she understood that as well.

“Lessons begin tonight,” he said as he walked upstairs.

Look how she lived, he thought, in this crackerbox of a house. That’s what his mother would call it, a crackerbox in a one-horse town.

He’d change that.

He walked into her bathroom, gave a little sigh at the size, the simple, inexpensive fixtures. No bigger than his walk-in closet at home, he decided. It was pathetic, really, what she settled for. He poked into the medicine chest, nodded his head at the birth control pills. Good, that was good, they wouldn’t want any mistakes that needed fixing.

Bad enough she already had those three brats to deal with. A decent boarding school would take care of that, a reasonable investment to clear the road.

After studying, sniffing her skin creams, body lotions, he made a note to have his mother take Clare to her day spa. A nice treat, he thought, and another lesson. Any woman attached to him had to present herself a certain way, in public and in private.

Considering that, he stepped into her bedroom.

She’d tried to make it pretty, with what she had to work with. Really, she did the best she could with her limited resources. He thought of how grateful she’d be once he took her in hand, showed her how to live well.

Had she had sex with Montgomery in that bed? They’d talk about that—oh yes,they would. Time for a firm hand there, but he’d forgive her, of course. Women were weak.

Opening her closet, he stroked dresses, blouses. He remembered her wearing most of them, thought of how she looked walking down the street or pushing a cart in the grocery store, standing behind the counter in that silly bookstore.

A whole new wardrobe was called for. He imagined how excited, how pleased she would be when he helped her select it. He should probably do the selecting himself, until she acclimated to her new status.

Yes, that would be best. He’d teach her how to dress.

Curious, he crossed to her dresser, opening drawers, touching, studying. Obviously, she needed his guidance on nightwear, on what went under her new clothes. A woman, certainly his woman, needed style and status even in very private moments.

He came across two pieces unlike the others—sexy, seductive. His pulse picked up as he brushed the material with his fingers, pictured her wearing them for him.

Then he realized, no, not for him. She’d worn this for Montgomery. He ripped a froth of lace from the bodice. She wouldn’t wear them again, he determined. He’d make her burn them. She’d have to apologize—he’d accept no less—and burn the slutwear she’d worn for Montgomery.

Then she’d wear what he bought her, what he told her to wear. And be grateful.

Anger, so acute, roared in his head. He nearly missed the barking dogs.

He closed the drawer, quietly, carefully, and slipped into her closet moments before he heard the door open downstairs, and the sounds of the brats running through the house, shouting like hoodlums.

They’d be taught, too, he assured himself. They’d soon learn to live by his rules if they knew what was good for them.

HER SUPERHEROES RUSHED to the back doors as a team to let the dogs in. Five minutes, she thought, as fresh mayhem began. She’d give them another five to settle down before getting ready for bed.

They wouldn’t be the only kids in Boonsboro Elementary the next day who’d gone to bed a bit late and hyped on sugar.

She put the bags of Halloween treats far back on the counter—away from curious dogs and sneaky kids—and thought just how much she wanted to yank off the wig, peel out of the costume, scrub off the Storm makeup.

Fun while it lasted, she decided. But she was ready for the fun to end. She let them chatter about their big night, thrill the dogs with games of tug—then brought the hammer down.

“Okay, boys, time for bed.”

She got the expected But, Moms, the protests, excuses, negotiations—and stood firm against them as much for herself as the boys.

She wanted her comfortable pj’s, some quiet, maybe a big mug of tea and a book.

“I guess you’re not that interested in going to the arcade on Sunday.”

“Yes, we are!” Harry shot her a stunned and appalled stare.

“Boys who argue with their mothers don’t go to arcades. I want you in your pajamas. And you’re all going to brush your teeth extra well tonight. Let’s move out, troops.”

She herded them upstairs, stood in their doorway a moment to make sure they got started. “Don’t throw your costumes on the floor. Put them in the costume box—I mean it. I’m going to get in my pajamas, too.”

“Can we wear our costumes to the arcade?” Liam asked her.

“We’ll see. Put them away for now.”

She crossed to her own room, started to yank off the wig, but caught her reflection in the mirror. The grin snuck up on her. “Well, you’re no Halle Berry, but not half bad.”

Pulling off the wig, she let out a long, long sigh.

In the closet, his breath shallow, his eyes riveted to the thin opening in the slats, Sam wondered what he was doing. The moment of clarity sent his heart into a gallop.

He’d broken into her house like a thief, and now he hid in her closet like—it didn’t bear thinking about. What if she opened the doors? What would he say? Do?

She’d put him in this position, this terrible position, and now . . .

The moment passed as she tugged the ridiculous costume off her shoulders, drew the snug skirt down her body. Her hair tumbled free down her back as she folded the skirt, laid it on a little chair.

She wore a plain white bra, plain white panties. He hadn’t known plain and white could be so arousing.

He knew what he was doing, he reminded himself. He was taking what he wanted.

He reached up to open the closet.

“Mom! Harry’s hogging the toothpaste!”

“There’s plenty for everybody. I’ll be there in one minute.”

The brats, he remembered, and quietly lowered his trembling hand. He’d forgotten them. He had to be patient a little longer. He had to wait until they were in bed.

Had to wait. Had to watch.

Clare stripped off her panties, tossed them in the hamper before pulling on cotton pants. She unhooked her bra, tossed that in as well, pulled on a faded T-shirt.

Hearing sounds that didn’t strike as teeth-brushing, she grabbed her hairbrush on the fly.

Harry and Liam stopped their sword fight with their toothbrushes, Murphy stopped making bomb sounds as he dropped a dog ball in the sink he’d filled nearly to the rim.

Mad with excitement, dogs leaped at boy and dripping ball.

“We brushed.” Murphy sent her a cherub’s grin. “I’m going to wash the ball ’cause it got slobbered.”

“Let the water out, Murphy.” She bent down to Liam. “Open up.”

She sniffed when he did, caught the distinctive scent of their bubble-gum-flavored toothpaste. “You pass. Into bed. Harry.”

He rolled his eyes at her, but opened up for the sniff test. “And you’re clear. Bed.”

Grabbing a towel, she homed in on Murphy.

“The ball’s clean now.”

“I bet. And your pj’s are wet.” She set her brush aside to tug off the damp top, then dried his hands, his arms, his sweet little chest. “Open up.”

“I brushed real good.” He opened, and huffed out a big breath to prove it.

“Very nice. Go get another pajama top.”

“I have to change the bottoms, too, or they won’t match.”

“Murphy—” She bit back the impatience. Two minutes, and they’d be tucked in. “Of course you do. Make it fast.”

She used the same towel to wipe up the water on the counter, the floor, draped it over the shower bar to dry out before it went in the hamper.

When she went into the boys’ bedroom she spotted Murphy in a dog’s bed with Yoda, and Ben wiggling under the covers in Harry’s bed. Liam sprawled in his own with the glazed, droopy eyes of the nearly passed out.

“Murphy, you’re not sleeping in the dog’s bed.”

“But he gets lonely.”

“He won’t. Ben can sleep with him.”

“But Mom!” Harry clutched at the dog as she wondered how many times she’d heard those two words today.

“He can’t sleep on a top bunk, Harry. He could fall out, or try to jump out, and get hurt. You don’t want him to hurt himself. Come on now. It’s late.”

She managed to get the dog down, set him in his proper bed while Murphy—executing impressive fake snoring—continued to curl up with Yoda.

“No chance.” Clare hauled Murphy up, dumped him in his lower bunk. “Stay,” she ordered the dogs, and kissed Murphy, then Liam, then Harry. “And that goes for boys as well as dogs. Good night.”

She’d made it halfway to her bedroom when she heard the distinctive sound of puppy toenails crossing the floor, and Murphy’s muffled giggle as, she imagined, the dogs joined him in bed.

Discipline started, in earnest, tomorrow, she promised herself. Remembering her brush, she backtracked to the bathroom. She brushed her hair out as she walked back. Once she got the makeup cleaned off, she’d go make that tea. Check the boys one more time, then settle down.

She really should write the copy for the store’s upcoming newsletter
, but she was too damn tired. She’d get an early start on it tomorrow.

She caught the movement as she crossed the bedroom toward her little bath, and whirled toward it. The hairbrush dropped with a clatter as Sam stepped out behind the bedroom door, closed it.

“You’re going to want to be quiet.” He spoke casually, with a smile on his face. “You wouldn’t want to disturb your sons. They could get hurt.”

AT VESTA, BECKETT took another pull on his beer. It felt good to kick back, hang with Avery, talk about nothing important or in particular.

“Are you heading over to Chuck and Lisa’s party?” she asked him.

Only a couple blocks over, he thought, and plenty of his friends, and both of his brothers would be there. “I’m going to pass.”

“Aw, no partying without your girlfriend?”

“Smartass. What’s your excuse?”

“I was going to, but my feet betrayed me. What’s wrong with us, Beck? We’ve always been up for a party.”

“You’re right. Tell you what. You can be my date. We’ll go for an hour. Buffy and Carpenter X need to preserve their reps.”

“Can I have a piggyback ride there and back?” she asked as Hope came in.

“I was hoping you were still here.”

“Problem?” Beckett asked her.

“I can’t get into the inn. My key won’t unlock the damn door, and there are lights flashing upstairs. I was going to check, see if it’s some electrical glitch, but I can’t get the stupid door to open.”

He got up as she spoke, looked out the front glass door of the restaurant. The glass in the doors leading from E&D to the porch flashed on and off like lightning strikes.

“She’s been in a mood the last few days.” At Hope’s arched brow, Beckett shrugged. “I’m just saying. I’ll go check it out.”

“I’m coming with you. This key thing is infuriating. It worked fine a few hours ago.”

“Wait for me!” Avery hurried after them. “Vampire Slayer, remember?”

“I don’t think you’ll find any vampires at the inn,” Beckett commented as they crossed the street.

“You never know. Plus temperamental ghosts are cake for the Slayer.”

Beckett pulled out his keys, jingling them in his hand while they walked down the sidewalk to the back of the building.

“Could you try mine?” Hope passed it to him.

Beckett slid it into the lock, turned it. And glanced at Hope when the lock clicked, and the door opened smoothly.

“I’m telling you it wouldn’t work five minutes ago. If it’s your ghost playing games, I don’t know why she’s mad at me.”

“Like I said.” Beckett flipped on the light in Reception. “She’s been in a mood.”

At that moment, the light he’d just turned on began to flash. Upstairs doors slammed sharp as gunshots.

“Some mood,” Avery murmured.

“I’ll go see what’s going on. Stay here.”

“Like hell.” But Avery grabbed Hope’s hand as they followed Beckett. “Maybe it’s a Halloween thing. Her way of marking the date.”

“Doesn’t sound celebratory,” Hope stated.

“I think she’s been kind of sad the last couple days,” Beckett began. As he approached, the porch doors in E&D flew open. Inside the lights flicked like a strobe.

“Maybe pissed.”

“Maybe we need Ghostbusters,” Avery whispered.

“Okay, Lizzy, cut it out!” Beckett raised his voice, put irritation in it. As he strode in, steam billowed in rolling clouds out of the bath. “Well, what the fuck? You don’t like the tile pattern, the goddamn tub? Change rooms.”

“Beckett.” Hope laid a hand on his arm, squeezed hard as her voice trembled. “Look at the bathroom mirror.”

Through the clouds he watched letters appear, as if someone wrote with a finger on the steamy glass.

“Help,” he read. “Lizzy, if you’re in trouble—” He broke off as the writing continued.

Help Clare.

Hurry!

“Oh God.” Even as Avery turned to run, Beckett bulleted by her. “Call the cops. Call my brothers. Now. Tell them to get to Clare’s.”

“I’ve got the cops.” Hope punched numbers into her phone as she ran.

“I’ve got Owen. And we’re coming with you.”

DON’T SCREAM, CLARE ordered herself. The boys would hear, would come. She wouldn’t risk it. “You broke into my house.”

“What choice did you give me? It’s time you and I had a private talk, time for you to understand how things are going to be. Why don’t you sit down.”

“I don’t want to sit down.”

“I said sit down! One of the things you’re going to understand is doing what you’re told when I tell you.”

She sat, braced, on the bottom edge of the bed. “You made a mistake, Sam, breaking into my house. If you leave now we’ll let it go at that. Just a mistake.”

“No, you made the mistake when you set the cops on me.” He held up his hands. “Well, I can let that go, but you’re going to learn to show me respect. You’re going to remember who I am.”

“I know who you are.”

“And I know you lack self-confidence. I know that lack caused you to play hard-to-get, make me work for it. Didn’t I give you time, when you came back? I couldn’t have been more considerate, more patient, given the situation you’d gotten yourself into. Running off with Clint Brewster that way.”

“Clint was my husband.”

“And he’s dead, isn’t he? Left you with two brats and another in your belly so you had to come crawling back here to this hole-in-the-wall town.”

Temper wanted to war with fear, but she beat it back. If she pushed him, he might hurt her. God knew what he might do to her boys if she couldn’t stop him.

“I came home. My parents are here. I—”

“You should never have left in the first place. But that’s spilled milk. You led me on, Clare.”

“How did I lead you on?”

“You think I didn’t know what you were doing every time you smiled at me? Every time you’d tell me you couldn’t go out to dinner, or just for a drive? I saw the way you looked at me. Wasn’t I patient? Wasn’t I?”

His voice rose to nearly a shout, so she nodded. “Please, let’s not wake the children.”

“Then start paying attention. I want this game to end now. I can only be pushed so far, Clare. You used Montgomery to make me jealous, and that’s beneath you. I don’t want you to so much as speak to him again. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now—”

“I’ll call him right away, break it off.” She rose, started toward the door.

He grabbed her arm, shoved her back. “I said you’re not to speak to him. Sit down until I tell you different.”

“I’m sorry.” She bent down, picked up her hairbrush, took it with her back to the foot of the bed. As a weapon, she thought, staring down at her hands, it was pitiful.

“That’s better.” He let out a breath, smiled again. “Much better. Now, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to pack a bag—you won’t need much. I’ll be replacing all your things right away. But you’ll need your essentials for tonight. We’re going on a trip, just you and me. We’re going to take a few days. I’ve already made reservations for one of the private villas in this resort I like. They know me there, so be prepared to be treated royally.”

It appalled her to see that familiar wide smile and wink.

“You’re going to see how much I can give you, Clare. All you have to do is what I tell you, learn your lessons, give me what we’ve both wanted for so long.”

“It sounds lovely. I have to arrange for someone to come take care of the children. I can call my mother. She’ll—”

“The children, the children.” Red rage stained his face. “I’m sick of hearing about the children. They’re asleep, aren’t they? Safe in bed with their drooling dogs. I’l
l call my own mother when we get to the resort. She’ll arrange for someone to deal with them. There’s an excellent boarding school in upstate New York. We’ll enroll them as soon as possible. You’ll learn no one comes before me. I can be generous and pay for the education of another man’s children, but I won’t have them put ahead of me or my needs. Do you understand me?”

“Perfectly. Should I pack now?”

“Yes. I’ll show you what’s appropriate.” His tone changed, became sticky with indulgence. “Don’t be ashamed of what you’ve got to choose from now. I’ll take you shopping. You’re going to have lots of time to enjoy yourself, to be with me, to live the life I give you without those kids and that bookstore hobby of yours in the way.”

She got slowly to her feet. The fear had ebbed, and in the void fury filled her. She could only pray it didn’t show. Leave her children alone? She’d see him in hell first.

“I want to thank you.” She kept her gaze downcast, hoped it appeared subservient, as she took a tentative step toward him. “I’ve been so confused, so conflicted. But now it’s all so clear.”

She looked up then, into his eyes. Cocking back, she swung the brush with all her strength, all her fury into his smiling face. As blood erupted from his mouth, she leaped toward the door. Her only thought was to get to her boys, keep them safe.

Her hand closed around the doorknob as he wrenched her back. Fear sprang up again, bright as the blood on his face as he dragged her to the floor. She kicked, tried to claw at his eyes but he slapped her hard enough to have stars erupting.

“Bitch!” He used the back of his hand, shooting pain into her cheekbone. “Look what you did. Look what you did to me. I’m giving you everything, and you don’t learn. You’ll learn now.”

When he tore at her shirt, she raked her nails down his face. He reared up, shock and pain mixed with the blood.

Rolling, she struggled to pull herself free, and suddenly his weight lifted. She crawled for the door, breath sobbing as she tried to pull to her feet, run to her boys.

Arms came around her.

“Clare, Clare, Clare.” Avery held tight until Clare stopped fighting her. “You’re okay now.”

“My babies.”

“Shh. Hope went to see. Shh.”

“I have to—” The sounds finally broke through her shocked senses. Slumped against Avery, she turned her head.

At the foot of her bed, Sam sprawled on the floor with Beckett straddling him. With Beckett’s fist slamming, again and again, into the already bloodied face.

“Oh God. God.” Dizzy, she pushed to her feet, and Hope was there helping Avery steady her.

Seconds later, Owen and Ryder burst in, and Ryder grabbed Owen’s arm when his brother started forward.

“We’ve got to pull him off.”

Ryder shrugged. “Let’s give him another minute.”

“Jesus Christ, Ry.”

Even as Hope sent Ryder one fierce and approving look, Owen shook him off. “Come on, Beck. Stop. Stop, goddamn it. He’s done. Give me a fucking hand, Ryder, before he kills this son of a bitch.”

It took both of them to drag him off. It only took one look at Clare to change his focus. “He hurt you.” He moved to her slowly, touched his fingers gently to the bruises on her face. “He hurt you.”

“I hurt him more. Then you—Beckett.” Shaking now, she clung to him. “Oh God, Beckett.”

“The cops.” Hope glanced toward the windows and sounds of sirens. “I’ll go down, let them know, see if they can keep it quiet and not wake the kids. Oh, and that we need an ambulance.”

She glanced at the unconscious and battered Sam. “But there’s no hurry on that.”

She caught Ryder’s hard grin before she backed out of the room.

“I’m going to take you downstairs, away from him.” Beckett lifted Clare into his arms. “You can tell us what happened downstairs.”

She nodded, let her head drop to his shoulder, hoping the room would stop spinning if it rested there. “Avery.”

“I’ll check on them again. Don’t worry.”

“He said we were leaving tonight,” Clare told Beckett as he carried her down. “Going on a trip, just leaving the kids alone—until he put them in boarding school because they’d be in his way.”

“He won’t touch you or those boys. Ever again.”

“When he told me that, told me to pack a few things? That’s when I hit him with the hairbrush. Hard as I could. I think I knocked one of his teeth out.”

“Upstairs first,” he said to Charlie Reeder as they passed at the bottom on the steps. “You hit him with a hairbrush.”

“It was all I had.”

“No.” He held her tight, sat, held her tight on his lap. “You’ve got a hell of a lot more.”

Beckett sat beside her while she gave her statement, didn’t spare a glance when they took Sam away, cuffed to a gurney. Hope brought her tea while one of the paramedics doctored his torn knuckles.

Once the cops located the jimmied window, documented it, Ryder went out for tools to repair it.

When the police left, Avery came out of the kitchen. “I made soup. When I’m upset I cook, so everybody’s eating soup.”

While she ladled it up in the kitchen, Ryder dropped down to a chair at the table. “Now that the law’s gone, let’s have it straight, what you danced around telling them. How did you know Clare was in trouble?”

“Lizzy.” Beckett laid a hand over Clare’s, and told the story.

“Pretty smart for a dead woman,” Ryder commented with a glance at Hope. “The innkeeper’s going to have her hands full.”

“The innkeeper has a name,” she informed him.

“I’ve heard that.”

“Hope and I are staying tonight.” Avery set soup in front of Owen. “I wouldn’t sleep if I went home. We’re staying.”

“I’d like you to.” Clare let out a long breath. “Elizabeth told you I needed help. And you came.” She turned her hand under Beckett’s, laced fingers. “You all came. I guess that’s a lot more than a hairbrush.”

Beckett didn’t leave until she slept. He tossed Harry’s Spider-Man sleeping bag in his truck before driving to the inn.

He spread it out on the floor of E&D.

“She’s fine. She’s okay, thanks to you. He hurt her a little—but he’d have done worse if you hadn’t let us know.”

He sat, pulled off his work boots. “He’s in the hospital, under guard. He’ll be in a cell as soon as the doctors clear him. One of us broke his jaw—either Clare and her trusty hairbrush or me. Lost his caps, and two teeth. Busted up his nose. I figure he got off easy.”

Exhausted, wired, he stretched out. “Anyway, I thought I’d bunk here tonight, if it’s okay with you. I figured you might like some company, and I’m just not in the mood to go home. I guess I’m the first guest—alive anyway—of Inn BoonsBoro.”

He lay staring at the ceiling. He thought he felt something cool across his throbbing knuckles, then the light he’d neglected to shut off in the bathroom went dark.

“Thanks. ’Night.” He closed his eyes, and he slept.

SUNDAY MORNING, AT his insistence, kids and dogs loaded in the van.

“We’re supposed to go to the arcade,” Harry reminded him. “You said.”

“Yeah, this afternoon. There’s just something I want to show you first. It’s not far.”

“It certainly is a secret.”

He looked over at Clare. She’d softened the bruises with makeup, but he knew the boys had seen them. Just as he knew she’d told them the truth, if not in every detail.

He drove out of town, listening to Liam and Harry bicker and Murphy sing to the dogs, who’d already learned how to howl in harmony.

Normal, he thought. It all seemed so normal. Yet there were bruises on Clare’s face.

“I can take them to the arcade if you want to stay back and rest.”

“Beckett, he slapped me a few times. It hurt, and it was really scary, but that’s it. And it’s over.” She kept her voice low, under the music from the radio.

He didn’t think it would ever be over for him. Not all the way.

“Hope talked to a friend of hers, a psychiatrist in D.C.,” Clare continued. “She said—best guess as she hasn’t talked to him, observed him—this was classic stalker behavior, with narcissism tossed in. He’d grown more and more obsessed with me, was convinced I wanted to be with him, but kept stringing him along—adding in the kids who were an obstacle. It was one thing when I wasn’t seeing anyone, but my relationship with you caused a kind of psychotic break. Basically, he went off the rails. Now he’s going to jail. He’ll get help. I’m not ready to care if he gets help, but he’ll get it.”

“As long as help comes with bars and a prison jumpsuit, he can have all he wants.”

“Right there with you.” She glanced around. “Doesn’t your mother live over this way?”

“Not far. No, we’re not going there so she can fuss over you again today.”

“Thank God. I had about all the fussing over yesterday I can take from friends, family, neighbors, police. I want to feel, and be, normal and boring today.”

He turned off onto a gravel lane, bore to the right and up a slope. “Ryder lives back that way, Owen over that way,” he added, with gestures. “Not too far, but not too close either.”

He stopped in view of a partial house, and even the partial was still unfinished.

“Eight acres. Nice little stream on the far side of the house—or what will eventually be a house.”

“This is your place. It’s beautiful, Beckett. You’re crazy not to finish it off and live here.”

“Maybe.”

Kids and dogs bolted out. Lots of room to run, he noted as they did just that. He knew where he intended to put a yard, some shade trees, where he intended to put a garden—and where he intended to put a lot of things.

“This is all your trees and stuff?” Harry demanded. “We could go camping here. Can we?”

“I guess we could.”

“I draw the line.” Clare held up a hand. “I do not, will not camp.”

“Who asked you?” Beckett plucked the ball from Harry, heaved it so all the four-legged and two-legged boys gave chase.

“This is the perfect boost,” Clare told him, wandering, circling. “Better than normal and boring. It’s beautiful and quiet. You have to show us the house, tell us what it’s going to look like when it’s finished.”

He took her hand to stop her from heading over to it. “I’ve come out here a couple times this last week, looking at what I started and never finishe
d. And asking myself why I didn’t finish it. I love the way it feels here, the way it looks. The way it will look.”

“Who wouldn’t?”

His eyes, deep and blue and suddenly intense, met hers. “I hope that’s true, because I figured out why I’d never finished it, what I was waiting for. I was waiting for you, Clare. For them. For us. I want to finish it for you, for them, for us.”

Her hand went limp in his. “Beckett.”

“I can change the plans. Add on a couple more bedrooms, a playroom.”

He gestured with his free hand while the last of the season’s leaves swirled around them. “I think I should pave an area over that way, for riding their bikes, maybe put up a basketball hoop. They need more room, kids and dogs. I want to give them more room. I want to give you what you want, you just have to tell me. I need to give them what they want, have what I want. I want you Clare, I want all of you. Please—Shit. You have to wait.”

“What?” Her mouth fell open. “Beckett.”

“Sorry, just a minute.” He hurried over to the boys, who were hunting up sticks to throw for the dogs. “Harry.”

“They chew them up. They chew up the sticks. Watch.”

“Harry, I promised you something. I said I’d clear it with you before I asked your mom to marry me. I need you to tell me it’s okay if I do.”

Harry looked down at the stick while his brothers stood beside him, all eyes.

“Why do you want to?”

“Because I love her. I love her, Harry. I love you guys, too, and I want us to be a family.”

“The bad man tried to hurt her,” Murphy said. “But you came, and you and Mom fought him and they took him to jail.”

“Yeah, and you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Are you going to sleep in her bed?” Liam wanted to know.

“That’s part of the deal.”

“Sometimes we like to, if there’s thunder or we have bad dreams.”

“Then we’ll need a big bed.”

He waited while they looked at each other. He knew how it was, the unspoken language of brothers.

“Okay, if she wants to.”

“Thanks.” He shook Harry’s hand, then pulled him in, pulled them all in for a hug. “Thanks. Wish me luck.”

“Luck!” Murphy shouted.

If he hadn’t been nervous, Beckett would have laughed all the way back to Clare.

“What was that?”

“Man talk.”

“Oh really, Beckett, you start all that business about bedrooms and paving, then you just walk off for man talk?”

“I couldn’t finish until I’d cleared it with Harry. We had a deal, and guys have to know you keep your word.”

“Well, good for you, but—”

“I had to get his okay before I asked you to marry me. He said it was okay if you want to. Please want to. Don’t make me look like a loser in front of the kids.”

The hand she’d lifted to push at her hair froze. “You asked my not-quite-nine-year-old son for his blessing?”

“Yeah. He’s the oldest.”

“I see.” She turned away.

“I’m messing this up. I love you. I should’ve started with that. I swear I trip up more with you than anybody. I love you, Clare. I always did, but it’s different loving who you are now. It’s so damn solid. You’re so solid, so steady, strong, smart. I love who you are, how you are. I love those boys, you have to know.”

“I know you do.” For a moment she stared at the trees, their bare branches soft in the shimmer of her tears. “I could love you if you didn’t, because love, sometimes, just is. But I couldn’t marry you unless you loved them, unless I knew you’d be good to them. I love you, Beckett.” Eyes dry again, she turned back. “You brought them dogs I didn’t think I wanted, and you were so busy talking me into it you didn’t see me fall at your feet. I love you, Beckett, without any doubt, without any worry. And I’ll marry you the same way.”

She threw her arms around him. “Oh, you have no idea what you’re in for.”

“I bet I do.”

“We’re going to find out, because—What is that in your pocket? And don’t say you’re just happy to see me.”

“Oh, forgot.” He pulled out a small bag. “I got you a new hairbrush.”

For an instant she only stared. Then she cupped his face in her hands. “Is it any wonder?”

He scooped her in, swung her around. And holding her close shot a thumbs-up to the boys.

Her boys—his boys—their boys let out whoops and cheers, and ran toward him with dogs barking at their heels.

Click here for more books by this author

KEEP READING FOR AN EXCERPT FROM

THE SECOND BOOK IN THE INN BOONSBORO TRILOGY

BY NORA ROBERTS

The Last Boyfriend

AVAILABLE IN MAY 2012 FROM BERKLEY BOOKS.

A FAT WINTER MOON POURED LIGHT OVER THE OLD STONE and brick of the inn on The Square. In its beams, the new porches and pickets glowed and the bright-penny copper of the roof glinted. The old and new merged there—the past and the present—in a strong and happy marriage.

Its windows stayed dark on this December night, prizing its secrets in shadows. But in a matter of weeks they would shine like others along Boonsboro’s Main Street.

As he sat in his truck at the light on The Square, Owen Montgomery looked down Main at the shops and apartments draped in their holiday cheer. Lights winked and danced. To his right, a pretty tree graced the big front window of the second-floor apartment. Their future innkeeper’s temporary residence reflected her style: precise elegance.

Next Christmas, he thought, they’d have Inn BoonsBoro covered with white lights and greenery. And Hope Beaumont would center her pretty little tree in the window of the innkeeper’s apartment on the third floor.

He glanced to his left, where Avery McTavish, owner of Vesta Pizzeria and Family Restaurant, had the restaurant’s front porch decked out in lights.

Her apartment above—formerly his brother Beckett’s—also showed a tree in the window. Otherwise her windows were as dark as the inn’s. She’d be working tonight, he thought, noting the movement in the restaurant. He shifted, but couldn’t see her behind the work counter.

When the light changed, he turned right onto St. Paul Street, then left into the parking lot behind the inn. Then sat in his truck a moment, considering. He could walk over to Vesta, he thought, have a slice and a beer, hang out until closing. Afterward he could do his walk-through of the inn.

He didn’t actually need to walk through, he reminded himself. But he hadn’t been on site all day, as he’d been busy with other meetings, other details on other Montgomery Family Contractors business. He didn’t want to wait until morning to see what his brothers and the crew had accomplished that day.

Besides, Vesta looked busy—and had barely thirty minutes till closing. Not that Avery would kick him out at closing—probably. More than likely, she’d sit down and have a beer with him.

Tempting, he thought, but he really should do that quick walk-through and get home. He needed to be on site, with his tools, by seven a.m.

He climbed out of the truck and into the frigid air, already pulling out his keys. Tall like his brothers, with a build leaning toward rangy, he hunched in his jacket as he walked around the stone courtyard wall toward the doors of The Lobby.

His keys were color coded—something his brothers called anal and he deemed efficient. In seconds he was out of the cold and into the building.

He hit the lights, then just stood there, grinning like a moron.

The decorative tile rug highlighted the span of the floor, added another note of charm to the softly painted walls with their custom, creamy wainscoting. Beckett had been right on target about leaving the exposed brick on the side wall. And their mother had been dead-on about the chandelier.

Not fancy, not traditional, but somehow organic with its bronzy branches and narrow, flowing globes centered
over that tile rug. He glanced right, noted The Lobby restrooms, with their fancy tiles and green-veined stone sinks, had been painted.

He pulled out his notebook, jotted down the need for a few touch-ups before he walked through the stone arch to the left.

More exposed brick—yeah, Beckett had a knack. The laundry room shelves showed ruthless organization—and that would be Hope’s hand. Her iron will had booted his brother Ryder out of his site office so she could start organizing.

He paused at what would be Hope’s office, saw his brother’s mark there: the sawhorses and a sheet of plywood forming his rough desk, the fat white binder—the job bible—some tools, cans of paint.

Wouldn’t be much longer, Owen calculated, before Hope kicked Ryder out again.

He continued on, stopped to admire the open kitchen.

They’d installed the lights, the big iron fixture over the island, the smaller versions at each window. Warm wood cabinets, creamy accent pieces, and smooth granite complemented the gleaming stainless steel appliances.

He opened the fridge, started to reach for a beer. He’d be driving shortly, he reminded himself, and took a can of Pepsi instead before he made a note to call about the installation of the blinds and window treatments.

They were nearly ready for them.

He moved on to Reception, took another scan, grinned again.

The mantel Ryder had created out of a thick old plank of barn wood suited the old brick and the deep, open fireplace. At the moment, tarps, more paint cans, more tools crowded the space. He made a few more notes, wandered back, moved through the first arch, then paused on his way across The Lobby to what would be The Lounge, when he heard footsteps on the second floor.

He walked through the next arch leading down the short hallway toward the stairs. He saw Luther had been hard at work on the iron rail, and ran a hand over it as he started the climb.

“Okay, pretty damn gorgeous. Ry? You up here?”

A door shut smartly, made him jump a little. His quiet blue eyes narrowed as he finished the climb. His brothers weren’t against screwing with him—and damned if he’d give either of them an excuse to snicker.

“Ooooh,” he said in mock fear. “It must be the ghost. I’m so scared!”

He made the turn toward the front of the building, saw that the door to the Elizabeth and Darcy suite was indeed closed, unlike that of Titania and Oberon across from it.

Very funny, he thought sourly.

He crept toward the door, intending to shove it open, jump in, and possibly give whichever one of his brothers was playing games a jolt. He closed his hand on the curved handle, pulled it down smoothly, pushed.

The door didn’t budge.