The Next Always

Chapter TEN

The weekend passed in a blur of sickbeds, soup, and scrambled eggs. By Sunday morning, both Liam and Harry felt well enough to be bored and cranky. She’d thought her idea to make camp in the living room where the two boys could have each other and an assortment of books and DVDs for company inspired. But the novelty wore off as Harry, no longer feverish but still a bit peaked, also became thoroughly sick of his brothers.

She had to sympathize, as she was fairly sick of them herself.

She solved the last shouting match over which DVD to watch by walking in, picking up the remote, and switching off the TV.

“Mom!”

The single word blasted in three-part harmony.

“Since all you can do is bicker and complain about the movies, we’ll take a break from them.”

“Harry started it,” Liam began.

“I did not! You—”

“I don’t care who started it.” Sick kids or not, Clare pulled out the Mom Voice. “It appears I’ve finished it. Now you can all stay here and read, or color, or play quietly with your toys. Or you can go to your room and sulk. And if you argue with me,” she said anticipating, “all the DVDs go away until next weekend.”

“It’s his fault,” Liam said under his breath.

“Liam Edward Brewster, you’re on notice. Not another word.”

His eyes filled, tears and temper. She felt a little like a crying jag herself. “Now I want everyone to be quiet for ten minutes.”

“Mom.”

“Harry,” she said with a warning note in her voice.

“I’m hungry. I want my soup.”

Getting his appetite back was a good sign. However. “Harry, I told you, we’re out. Marmie and Granddad are bringing more.”

“But I’m hungry now.”

“I can fix you something else. I have Chicken Noodle or Alphabet soup.”

“I don’t want those. I want Chicken and Stars.”

“Then you have to wait. They’ll be here soon.”

“Why can’t they be here now?” Fatigue and sheer pissyness turned his voice into a whiny toddler’s.

Feeling her patience fray, Clare reminded herself how pale and pitiful he’d looked the night before. “They’ll be here soon. It’s the best I can do, Harry. Ten minutes of quiet now. I have to check the laundry.”

She figured she’d be lucky to get five minutes of quiet, and didn’t rate that as Murphy followed her into the kitchen.

“I’m hungry, too. I want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

“Honey, we’re out of bread. More’s coming.”

“How come we don’t have anything I want?”

“Because your brothers got sick, ate all the eggs, bread, and soup, and I couldn’t go to the store yesterday.”

“Why?”

“Because Harry and Liam got sick.” While her head began to throb, she dumped the load of dry sheets in the basket.

“If they get to stay home from school tomorrow, I’m staying home, too.”

“First, you don’t get to decide. I do. And, no, you’re not staying home tomorrow, and as neither of them has a fever, odds are they’re not staying home either.”

Please God, have pity on me.

“Nobody’ll play with me.”

“Murphy, I played games with you half the morning.”

“With all of us. Why can’t you play with just me?”

She closed her eyes until the urge to snap passed. She got it, she really did, and she tried hard to give each of them some one-on-one time. But God, not now.

“Why don’t you get your Power Rangers? You can play upstairs while I make the beds.”

“You have to play with me.”

“No, I don’t. And while I might like to, I don’t have time. Why, you ask?” she continued, knowing he would have if given half a chance. “Because I have to do the rest of the laundry I didn’t get to yesterday because I was taking care of Liam and Harry. I have to put clean sheets on the beds, which I didn’t get to yesterday either, which is just as well as Harry got sick on his in the middle of the night. Would you like the list of everything else I have to do today?”

“Okay.”

She stopped, rubbed her hands over her face, and laughed. “Murphy, you kill me.”

“Don’t get killed.”

“It’s just an expression.” She leaned down, gave him a hug mostly because she really needed one.

“Can we get a puppy?”

Done in, she just dropped her head on his little shoulder. “Oh, Murphy.”

“Harry and Liam would feel better if we had a puppy. My new best, best, best, best friend in school Jeremy has a puppy named Spike. We could get a puppy and name him Spike.”

“Timing counts, kid, and this isn’t a good time to ask for a puppy. Please don’t ask me why. Just let me get myself together, Murphy. Let’s go upstairs. You and the Power Rangers can help me make the beds.”

“Power Rangers fight bad guys.”

“Well, they have to sleep sometime, don’t they?” She hefted the laundry basket. Since she hadn’t taken any out of the linen closet, she’d save a step and put the freshly washed ones back on.

No folding. Woo-hoo, she thought as Murphy chattered his way into the living room. Where she found a miracle. Both boys had passed out.

“Shh. Quiet now. They’re sleeping, so let’s be sneaky.”

Nobody’d gotten much sleep the last two nights—which didn’t seem to bother Murphy the Mouth—though he did chatter in a whisper as they went upstairs.

She’d barely reached the top when someone banged the door knocker.

“Go get your Power Rangers,” she told Murphy, and raced down. She’d kill anyone who woke her two sleeping kids. Strangle them with her bare hands.

She yanked open the door, and language she’d trained herself not to use because of the children ripped through her head. “Sam.”

“Hello, gorgeous! I was in the area, thought I’d stop by, and sweep you off for brunch. I’m meeting my parents at the club. We’ll make a party of it.”

“This is a bad time. My two oldest boys have been sick all weekend, and they’re sleeping.”

“Sounds like you need a break. Call your sitter.” He added that broad smile and wink. “I’ll take you away from all this.”

“All this is my life, and I’m not leaving my children when they’re not well.”

“Mom!”

“Murphy, quiet. You’ll wake your brothers.” She sensed Sam moving forward behind her, shifted to block.

“But I got my Power Rangers, and you said—”

“I’ll be right up. I’m sorry, Sam, but I’m very busy. I have to go.”

“I’ll have my mother call you about that au pair.”

Lack of sleep, lack of patience, lack of goddamn Chicken and Stars just snapped it. “I’m not getting a damn au pair, for God’s sake. I’m not interested in brunches at the stupid country club. I’m interested in getting the beds made. Now, I have a lot to do, so you’ll have to excuse me.”

Rude wasn’t her default, but she shut the door in his face.

Outside it, Sam balled his hands into fists. He’d had enough, just about enough of her games. Smiling and flirting with him one minute, brushing him off the next. Just about enough of her using those three brats to hold him off.

More than enough, he thought as he strode to his car, especially since he’d seen Beckett Montgomery walk out of her house the night before—at nearly eleven.

She wanted to make him jealous, he decided. Well, he’d about finished being Mr. Nice Guy. It was high time Clare Brewster learned who was in charge.

He pulled his car out of her drive and to the curb. As he had the evening before, he sat, watched the house, and stewed.

Inside, Clare burned off the temper Sam had ignited by wiping down the kids’ room with disinfectant. She left the windows open to freshen the air, and felt the heat cooling in her brain and belly as she worked.

What was wrong with that man? she wondered. Nobody could be that dense, that egotistical and clueless all at the same time. And add in annoying.

It had gotten to the point where she could barely manage to be polite to him, and still he kept coming back. Maybe she’d cured him this time.

Lord, she’d literally shut the door in his face. That was a first, she decided. Surely no one could mistake that for anything but “leave me the hell alone.”

She was on her hands and knees, scrubbing down the bathroom, when Murphy tapped her shoulder.

“Are you still apart?”

“Apart from what?”

“You said you had to get yourself together. Are you still apart?”

Charmed, she sat back on her heels, hugged him hard. Au pair, her ass. “Just a little bit. Nearly there.”

“How come you didn’t make the beds?”

“Because I wanted to clean first. I’m battling germs. I’m killing them dead. Can’t you hear them screaming?”

His eyes rounded. “I want to kill germs!”

She dumped another rag in the bucket, squeezed it out. “There’s some over there, there in that corner! Get them, Murph.”

“I don’t see them.”

“They have the cloak of invisibility, don’t be fooled. Scrub ’em out!”

Not bad, she decided as he attacked the floor with a vengeance.

She let him have at it, braced her tired back against the door frame while he made bomb and battle noises. Alerted by the sound of padding feet, she turned to Liam.

“Did you have a good nap?”

“I guess. We woke up. Can we watch a movie now? We’re going to watch Star Wars.”

“I killed the germs.” Murphy waved the rag like a flag. “I wanna watch, too.”

“All right. Let’s go set it up.”

When she got downstairs, Harry—and he looked so much better—gave her a pleading look. “I’m really hungry.”

“Why don’t I fix you some cereal to hold you off until—Wait a minute.” She held up a hand as she heard the front door open. “Provisions have arrived. We’re saved!”

“There’s my guys.” Rosie Murphy, with Ed just behind her, strode in, arms loaded. She winked at her daughter, passed her a grocery bag. “Look what we’ve got here for two sick boys and their brother.”

She pulled action figures out of a separate bag. In the ensuing pandemonium, Clare smiled at her father. “She raided her bribery stash.”

“You know your mom.”

“Yes, I do. I’m going to get this stuff in the kitchen. Harry’s withering away from a lack of Chicken and Stars.”

Tall, beefy, his sandy hair streaked with silver, Ed carried his bags in, set them on the counter. “I’ll get the rest.”

“More? I just asked for—”

He wagged a finger, grinned in the way that crinkled his mossy green eyes at the corners. “You know your mother.”

She wouldn’t have to squeeze in a stop at the store tomorrow, Clare thought as she put away a week’s worth of groceries, which included, from the indulgent grandparents, Popsicles, gummy worms, potato chips, and ice cream bars.

“Popsicles and ice cream bars?” Clare said when Rosie came in.

“They’ve been sick.”

“Just don’t tell them until they’ve had some lunch. The receipt wasn’t in any of the bags.”

“Consider it your reward for dealing with two sick boys and I imagine their pesky little brother all weekend, with no casualties.”

“It was close. But I don’t want you to pay for—”

“Never argue with a woman giving you food.”

“Murphy’s law?” She turned and put her arms around her mother. “Thanks.” Then laid her head on Rosie’s shoulder a moment.

Always there, Clare thought.

“My baby’s tired,” Rosie murmured.

“Some.” She eased back.

She’d gotten her sunny hair from her mother, though Rosie wore it short and sassy, and cleverly low-lighted. It suited her angular face, the delicate-as-a-tea-rose skin.

“You look so good.”

“New moisturizer. And a good night’s sleep, which I don’t imagine you’ve had lately. Oh, be sure to ask your father if he’s lost weight.”

“Has he?”

“Three pounds. I’ve nagged him into exercising with me. I’m shooting for ten. Now, what can I do for you?”

“You did it, and possibly saved lives.” She picked up the soup can. “Harry was getting desperate.”

“They all want grilled cheese sandwiches. I’ll make them. You, take a break. Get some air, take a walk. Get out of the house.”

Clare started to protest, then saved her breath. Besides, she could use a walk. “I owe you.”

“Give me three grandsons. Oh, wait, you already have. Take an hour.”

“Half hour, and I’ll have my cell phone in case.”

“I think we can handle things. We’re watching Star Wars. Oh, and the boys want a sleepover. Is Friday night all right?”

“Yeah, sure, if you want.”

“We want. And maybe your night out with Beckett Montgomery will go a little smoother.”

“It would have to. Though I told you, he was great about it.”

“I always liked the Montgomery boys.” Rosie assembled ingredients for grilled cheese sandwiches. “And I’m glad you’re dating someone—and someone I know.”

“We’re not really dating. I mean, obviously we would have, but . . . It feels a little strange yet.”

“You like him.”

“I’ve always . . . Yes, I do.”

“Then give him a test-drive, honey. But drive safe.”

“Mom, are you having the kids over so I can take the wheel?”

“Just clearing the road,” Rosie said cheerfully.

Clare shook her head. “I’m definitely taking a walk.”

Middle of the week, Beckett thought, and though they’d run into countless glitches, they’d made some decent progress. The gas lines were in, and that was a huge headache behind them. He’d spent the weekend in the shop, working with Ryder on the bookcases and the arches while Owen built the counter his mother wanted for the gift shop.

The extra project wasn’t as much of a time suck as he’d feared. And he had to admit, seeing the building painted in the warm cream and sage gave him a nice lift.

Plus, checking the progress there made it handy to drop in and see Clare.

Most of the work he focused on was behind the tarp, and he was as ready as the rest of the town to see it come down. Not much longer now, he calculated as he set another plank on the main porch. Maybe next week if they clicked along.

He and his two-man crew worked steadily through the morning. Just as they broke for lunch, Owen came to the doorway.

“Looks good. That’s damn pretty wood.”

“It’ll be prettier yet when we get poly on it. This mahogany’s going to gleam.”

“It’ll make a statement. We need you out back.”

Beckett stepped inside, checking as he went. Progress, he thought again.

“We’re working on the back steps. We want to go over the landings one more time, the columns, the paint. Once it’s done, it’s done.”

“You’ve got the drawing.”

“Yeah, and we’ve got a couple questions on tying it in, and how it’s going to work with the pavers, the stone walls around The Courtyard. They’re going to start that as soon as they finish the patio deal at the gift shop.”

“We haven’t settled on the pavers yet.”

“Yeah, and that’s another thing.”

He walked out. He could see it. The ground still rough, the stairs half done, with rails and pickets yet to come. But he could see it.

Ryder stood, hands on hips, looking up. “Are you sure you want those angles on the second floor?”

“Yeah.”

“A straight run would be easier.”

“And not as aesthetically pleasing.”

“Told you he’d say that,” Owen put in.

“Yeah, yeah. About this planting wall.”

They discussed, wrangled about parking and access until Beckett stepped it off. “Paved walkway here, running from the sidewalk, past Reception, then right around the side and to the lobby porch. Handicapped parking there, regular parking there.”

“We’d have more parking without the plantings.”

Beckett shook his head at Ryder. “You’re sitting out here at one of the tables, having a drink. Do you really want to stare out at a parking lot, or be stared at by people pulling in?”

“You’re still going to see the lot. It’s not like we’re planting a run of oak trees.”

“You have the feel of private, and that’s what a courtyard’s about. There’s no place for a garden, which is what Mom really wanted. This works. You’ve got some nice raised beds, and with the arch over the entrance there, some sort of flowering vine. Like the main porch, it makes a statement.”

“Fine, fine, you’re the ‘aesthetically pleasing’ guy.”

“And I’m right.”

Ryder’s lips twitched. “You’d better be. I’m going to grab some lunch.”

“I think I’ll get a sub at Vesta,” Owen said. “I’ve got some calls to make.”

“Sounds good.”

“I’ll catch up with you,” Beckett told them. “I’m going to check in at the gift shop.”

Owen snorted. “Tell Clare hi.”

“I will, but I’m still checking on the gift shop.”

He felt a hint of fall in the air—something changing. He caught a whiff of burgers grilling in Crawford’s as somebody came out the door. Then the smell of paint, fresh and new.

Things were headed that way, he thought. Fresh and new.

He noted the gift shop crew had already broken for lunch. Tarps covered the floors, and tape ran in front of the steps still wet with the dark green contrast paint.

He walked through, down the steps into the office area. They’d need a desk, a computer, office supplies, shelves. God knew what else. But that was Owen’s area.

Apparently the hardscape crew heard the lunch bell, but they’d put in a solid morning’s work first. Pavers replaced the narrow gravel walkway that had bisected the scruffy grass. They’d hauled out rocks, cleverly using them to build a low wall around the Rose of Sharon—still blooming madly.

Tools and supplies sat in piles, and with the materials and space left, the fencing to be replaced, he calculated they’d be done by the following week.

He could report to his brothers, if all continued smoothly, work on The Courtyard could begin within two weeks.

Not bad.

He rounded the old fence, and went through the back door of the bookstore.

He heard kids in the children’s section, saw a couple of them poking at each other in the main store while their mother—he assumed—browsed the shelves. Cassie waited on a customer at the counter while Laurie manned the computer station.

“Busy,” he commented.

“We just finished our first Story Time of the fall.” Laurie stopped keyboarding to give him a thumbs-up. “Had a nice turnout. Avery should, too. Most of them plan on hitting Vesta for lunch.”

“I’m probably heading up there myself. Is Clare around?”

“Down in the annex, putting things back together. Don’t step on the toddlers.”

In the annex, Clare packed art supplies into a chest. She wore black pants today, snug through the butt with a white, lacy blouse that cuffed at her elbows.

He thought he’d like to kiss her there, in that tender crease at her elbow. He thought he’d like to kiss her anywhere. Everywhere.

A couple of women chatted as they considered a display of candles, one rocking a stroller back and forth with the kid inside it sucking its thumb with fierce intensity. The other woman carried an infant sleeping in one of those slings across her chest.

The stroller kid gave Beckett a hard, suspicious stare, as if he might steal the precious thumb. Probably not the optimum time for kissing the inside of Clare’s elbow, Beckett decided.

“Hiya.”

She looked over, colorful strips of felt in her hand. “Hiya back.”

“I heard you had a successful return to Story Time.”

“We did, a sure sign summer’s over. It’s the first one I’ve done without one of my own kids here, and that’s another transition. How are things going?”

“Moving along. You should come over later, see the changes.”

“I’d like to if I can manage it. I’m going to email you the file on the copy once I finish up here. I think we can do better, once we see everything in place. But I tried to make it fun and appealing.”

“Great. I’ll take a look. Here, I’ll get that.” He picked up the case before she could.

“It’s not heavy. I’m just going to put it in the back.” Since he didn’t give it back, she glanced at the customers. “I’ll show you where it goes. Are you finding everything all right?” she asked the women.

“Yeah, thanks. I’m crazy about these handbags.”

“Made from recycled video tape, plastic bags. Clever, pretty, and green. Just let me know if you need any help.”

She led Beckett around to the little alcove outside the back room. “I keep it on the top shelf there since I only use it once a month. I always thought I’d be crafty, like one of those mothers who can make a toy car out of a cereal box and rubber bands.”

“MacGyver Mom.”

“Exactly. But that didn’t work out.”

“I always thought I’d pitch a no-hitter for the O’s. That didn’t work out either.”

“Life’s a series of disappointments.” She smiled when he gave the dangle of her earring a flick. “And surprises.”

“Kids okay?”

“Back to normal and in school. Praise Jesus.”

“Why don’t we have a dry run of Friday night? I’ll buy you lunch.”

She thought of Sam Freemont and his damn country club, and how much she’d have preferred to grab a hot dog at Crawford’s or a slice at Vesta with Beckett.

“That’s a nice offer, and I wish I could. The girls and I are getting delivery and finalizing our holiday orders. Christmas,” she explained.

“Christmas? We just had Labor Day five minutes ago.”

“Which shows you’ve never worked in retail. We need to get the card order in this afternoon.”

“There’s that series of disappointments again, so I’ll have to settle for this.”

He leaned down, found her mouth with his. With the women on the other side of the wall laughing, the phone ringing, the infant squalling awake, he sank in.

Too long, he thought. Too long until Friday when he could, for a few hours at least, have her to himself. Everything about her called to him, her taste, her scent, the shape of her body as he drew her closer.

“Hey, Clare, there’s a—Oops, sorry.”

Laurie cast her eyes, very deliberately, at the ceiling when Clare and Beckett broke apart.

“Is there a problem?” Clare thought she pulled off casual. Or nearly.

“There’s a man on the phone who insists on speaking to the owner. I could tell him you . . . stepped out, take his number.”

“That’s all right. I’ll take it in the back room.”

“All right. Get you anything, Beckett?” Laurie batted her eyelashes. “A cold drink?”

“No, I’m good. I’d better get going.”

“See you soon.” Laurie walked off humming.

“Sorry,” Clare told him. “I’d better take care of this.”

“I’ll head out the back. Come on over if you get a chance.”

“I’ll try.” She watched him go, wished, as he had, for Friday. She laid one hand on her fluttering stomach, the other on the phone. Maybe he was good, but she could use that cold drink.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said into the phone. “This is Clare Brewster.”

When she finished the call, she walked back to the main store. After the bustle and noise of the morning, she found the quiet lull welcome.

Until she saw the gleam in Cassie’s eye.

“I called in our lunch order,” Laurie told her.

“Great. Let’s get the catalog and order sheet so we—Stop,” she demanded as both women grinned at her.

“I can’t help it.” Laurie bounced in her chair. “You can’t expect me to walk into you and Beckett Montgomery in a major lip-lock and not react.”

“I wished I’d answered the phone, then I’d have come looking for you,” Cassie complained. “Damn customers. I knew there was sparkage, and everybody knows you were going out last week before the kids got sick.”

“Booted right on his shoes.”

Clare winced. “And everybody knows that, too?”

“I ran into Mrs. Ridenour in the park on Sunday and asked how the date went. She told me. Sucks for everybody. Anyway, we can’t miss how he comes in here pretty much every day—nothing new there—but lately the two of you have been flirty.”

“Flirty?”

“Discreetly flirty. Or so I thought until I find you sneaking off to the back room to fool around.”

“We weren’t fooling around. It was . . . It was just a kiss.”

“Smoking-hot kiss.” Laurie waved her hand in front of her face. “So, is it serious or just a little thing?”

“Laurie, we haven’t even officially gone out yet.”

“If a guy kissed me like that, I wouldn’t go out either. We’d stay home. But then, you’ve got the kids so—And I’m being really nosy. I’ll zip it.” She mimed zipping her lips. “I just liked seeing the two of you together. Plus, smoking.”

“And on that note, I’m getting a soda.”

She didn’t snicker until she was out of range. She imagined her rep had just taken a huge leap.

And Laurie was right. It had been a smoking-hot kiss.

She’d like more of the same. Soon.