The Next Always

Chapter Thirteen

Frazzled, irritable, and desperate for ten minutes of peace, Clare dragged herself into the bookstore. For a moment, she indulged in some much-needed self-pity.

She owned the damn place, didn’t she? She ought to be able to just take the day off, go do something fun like . . . she couldn’t think of a thing.

Because she wasn’t in the mood for fun. She was in the mood to sit alone, blissfully alone in a quiet room, and stare at nothing for a couple hours.

“Morning!” Laurie sat cheerfully at the computer station. Her wide, bright smile gave Clare an instant headache. “How’s everything?”

“As you’d expect after hauling three kids to the dentist, listening to the bickering and whining all the way there and back. They were still at it when I dumped them at school. Their teachers may send out a warrant for my arrest.”

Laurie’s smile dimmed toward a look of sympathy. “Not a great way to start the day.”

“For any of us.” Clare dumped her purse and briefcase on the steps. Since taking the day off for a quiet room didn’t make the slate, at least she needed coffee before she got started on work.

And really, work climbed several rungs up the ladder from three battling boys.

“I’m going up to sulk for a while,” she said as she poured a mug. “And try not to think about the fact they have their checkups at the pediatrician next week. Maybe I’ll just run away from home.”

“You work too hard.”

“I’m not in the mood to disagree. Or remind myself that dentists and doctors insist on payment for services rendered.”

“I hate to tell you, you’ve got three messages.”

“Three?” That called for a shot of caramel in the coffee. “We’ve only been open a half hour.”

“Sorry. Um, plus we’ve got some sort of leak in the stockroom bathroom. Really sorry.”

Potential plumbing bill. No amount of caramel could ease the pain. “Oh well.”

“Maybe you’re getting all the crap stuff out of the way at once.”

“By the time you shovel up the crap, more materializes. It’s like the loaves and fishes. So I’d better get to it.”

Laurie waved the yellow message pad, smiled expectantly.

“I’ll take care of those first. I’ll be upstairs if you need me, and I sincerely hope you don’t for the next hour.” She reached for the messages, found herself in a little tug-of-war. “I actually need these to return the calls.”

“I know, but . . .” Doing a quick chair dance, Laurie jiggled the pad between their hands, tilted her head in a downward jerk.

“Laurie, for heaven’s sake. What’s going on with you? You’re officially cut off from caffeine until—Oh! Oh my God.” Clare released the pad to grab Laurie’s hand. The one sporting a sweet, sparkling engagement ring.

“I’m getting married!”

“I see that. Oh, Laurie, it’s a beautiful ring.”

“Isn’t it? I can’t stop looking at it. I love it. I just love it. I thought you’d never see it.”

“I was blinded by self-pity and leaky pipes. When did this happen?”

“Tyler asked me last night. He’s been acting so weird the last week or so, I was worried he wanted to break up.”

“Laurie, he’s crazy about you. Obviously,” she added turning Laurie’s hand to study the ring from another angle.

“Yeah, but he’d just been so weird. Then last night he’s like so super serious and he said we needed to take a walk in the park. I didn’t know what was up.”

“I’m so happy for you.” Clare set the coffee aside to free her arms for the hug. “You had no idea?”

“Zero. I mean, we’ve been together for two years now, and we’ve sort of poked around the edges of maybe. But I didn’t see it coming.” Her brown eyes glistened with happy tears. “Clare, he actually got down on one knee, right there in the bandstand at Shafer Park.”

“Seriously? Aw, Laurie.”

“I know! Who’d have thought? I love him so much, and I was going to be so mad at him for breaking up with me. And now, look!” She waved her hand around again. “We’re getting married. I almost burst waiting for you to get in so I could show you.”

“Let me see it again.”

Thrilled to oblige, Laurie held out her hand. “He picked it out himself.”

“It’s just beautiful. It’s just perfect. When are you—”

The door jangled as two customers came in. “We’ll talk more later,” Clare told her.

It took another half hour before she could get upstairs, organize, and settle herself. Once she’d returned the calls, she remembered the leak and hurried down to check it out.

She was crouched on the restroom floor, a bucket under the slow drip, when Avery came in.

“I’ve sent you a zillion texts this morning.”

“Dentist, trauma, engagement, work. And now plumbing. God, what a day, and it’s not even noon.”

“Laurie told me about her and Tyler—with sparkly rainbows shooting out of her eyes. And it’s nearly one.”

“It can’t be.”

“It is, and I’ve only got a minute. Hope’s here.”

“What? When?”

“She got here about eleven, which you’d know if you checked your phone. A couple of the guys from the inn crew carried up the furniture she brought with her. She’s here!”

“Does she need any help with the rest of her things?”

“I haven’t really had a chance to talk with her yet. I’m going to try to go over, help her set up, unpack and all that after the lunch rush. Can you come over?”

“I . . .” Already one in the afternoon. “Let me see if Mazie can watch the kids after school for a while.”

“If she can’t, I bet Beckett would. Unless you’re still having your lovers’ spat.”

“Lovers’ spat?”

“That’s the word I got. You were in my place a couple nights ago, arguing.”

“We were not arguing. For God’s sake.” Even though he was just wrong. “But I’m not asking Beckett to watch the kids after he’s worked all day.”

“Whatever. Try to make it, even if you can’t stay long. She’s a stranger in a strange land, after all.”

“I’ll work something out.”

“Cool.” Avery glanced toward the drip plopping musically in the bucket. “You ought to have Beckett fix that leak.”

Clare scowled up at Avery, whose hair edged closer to maroon now with thick gold streaks. “What is he, my man of all work?”

“Hey, a nice benefit of sleeping with a handyman who seems to like your kids is using him when you need him. I’ve got to get back. I’ll see you at Hope’s apartment.”

She wasn’t going to use Beckett. She’d handled everything that came along for six years without a man, handy or otherwise. Just because she’d started seeing Beckett didn’t mean she’d suddenly become incompetent.

Annoyed, she dashed back upstairs, where she kept a basic tool kit. She just needed a wrench, just needed to tighten the pipe joint. Anybody could do that.

“I’m going to take care of the leak,” she told Laurie when she came down again. “If anyone calls for me, just take a message. This shouldn’t take long.”

“Are you sure? I could call over. They’d send one of the men from the inn.”

“I’m getting you your own tool kit for an engagement present.”

“I’d rather have a sexy nightie.”

“Tool kit.” She shook the one she carried. “Men aren’t always around, you know. Women have to know how to handle basic household repairs.”

“If you say so.”

“And I do.”

Now more determined than ever, Clare marched to the restroom. She sat on the floor, opened the tool kit. She’d dealt with plumbing issues before—with squeaky doors, drawers that stuck. She’d dealt with the epitome of parental frustration. Toys labeled some assembly required. When she’d been married, she’d had to learn to do what needed doing as she’d so often been on her own. And since, she’d continued to learn.

She could hardly afford to call a plumber every time something dripped. She’d be damned if she called her father when the gutters were clogged, or her lawn mower started sputtering—which it was—or some other minor annoyance cropped up.

She could certainly fix a little drip without issuing a help wanted bulletin. She picked up a wrench and got to work.

Within ten frustrating minutes the little drip became a slow but steady stream of water.

But that was okay, that was all right. She knew where she’d gone wrong. All she had to do was—

“Have you got a license for that?”

Flushed and struggling not to be furious, she looked over at Beckett. “I’ve nearly got it.”

“Let me take a look.”

“I’ve nearly got it,” she repeated.

He just hunkered down, took the wrench out of her hand. “Looks like you need a washer. I probably have something that’ll fit it out in the truck. I’ll need to turn the water off for a few minutes.”

“I know how to turn the water off.”

“Okay, why don’t you go do that while I get the washer?”

He straightened, drew her to her feet.

He hadn’t shaved that morning, she noted, plus his hair needed trimming. And he smelled of sawdust. Which all added up, in her mind, to smug, let me handle that for you, little lady, male.

“Did Laurie call you?”

“No. Why?”

Clare just shook her head and went out to turn off the water.

So it needed a washer, she thought as she watched him quickly, competently make the repair. She’d have figured it out—and she knew where to buy a stupid washer for the stupid pipe.

“That should do it. Let me turn the water back on and—”

“I’ll turn it on.”

He only lifted his brows when she swung around and walked out.

He ran the water in the sink, checked the pipes, packed up her tools. “That’ll cost ya.” In a casual move, he tipped up her chin, kissed her. “Paid in full. Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because I was fixingit myself.”

He searched her face, deep blue eyes puzzled and patient. “Are you pissed at me or the pipe?”

“I’m—” She made herself stop short of the fresh rant building in her throat. It was hardly Beckett’s fault. “It’s been a crappy day, that’s all. I appreciate the help.”

“Anytime. Speaking of which, I can hang with the boys after school so you can give Hope a hand settling in.”

“Is this place bugged?” she demanded. “Is there a town intercom running from here to the inn?”

“Not that I know of, but I saw Avery when I went over to get a panini for lunch.”

“And I told her I was going to call Mazie.”

“So I have to ask again if you’re pissed at me.”

“No, why would I be?” But she ground the words out because she was, for no good reason she could name. “I just don’t want you to feel like you’re on call for repairs, child care, and whatever else might come up. I know how to work these things out. I’ve been working these things out for years.”

“No question about that.” He spoke coolly, watching her face. “Is there any reason you can’t take an assist when it’s offered, or is it just an assist from me in particular?”

“No. Yes. Oh for—” She pressed her fingers to her eyes. “God, crappy day, starting with dragging three irritable boys to the dentist.”

“Cavities?”

“No, so it could’ve been worse. Fine, I’m sure the boys would be happy to see you, if you’re sure you’ve got the time.”

“I can clear my busy social schedule.”

“Um, I’ll pick them up, get them started on their homework. I promised to make tacos if they were good at the dentist, which they weren’t particularly. But we’ll give that a pass as they’re quick, and easier for me.”

“How about I come by about four? Does that work?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“See you then.”

“Beckett. I’m sorry I snapped at you, and I do appreciate you fixing the leak.”

“No problem.” He started out, stopped. “You know, Clare, being able to do everything doesn’t mean you have to.”

Maybe not, she thought. But she didn’t want to forget how.

Ryder watched Beckett packing it up for the day. He knew when his brother was in a mood, and decided to poke at it to get to the root.

“You know, we could use a hand in the shop.”

“My talents are required elsewhere.”

“Babysitting. She’s got you whipped, bro.”

Beckett just shot up his middle finger.

“I guess you’ve got to make nice if you want some touch since you had that fight at Vesta.”

“What fight?” Now he looked over, and with a scowl. “We didn’t have a fight.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

“We had a discussion. If people can’t tell the difference—shit.” He kicked the front tire of the truck. “Maybe she can’t tell the difference. What do I know?”

“Trying to figure her out’s your first mistake. Nobody figures women out.”

“Something’s up with her. She nearly took my head off when I fixed a leak over at TTP. It’s Lizzy, that’s what it is.”

“Clare thinks you’re making time with your ghost?”

“She’s not my ghost. Clare got freaked the other night when I took her and the kids through, and Murphy saw Lizzy.”

“Now you’ve got kids sharing your delusion?”

“And it’s not a delusion, you damn well know.” He jerked a thumb at D.A. while the dog peed on the tire he’d just kicked. “How come your dog goes upstairs and hangs out in that room every day?”

“He’s a dog, Beck. I don’t try to figure him out either.” But this was interesting, he had to admit. “The kid said he saw her.”

“He did see her. I never mentioned her to any of the kids.” He told Ryder about the incident. “Then Clare’s wigged out, and pissed off. Seems like she still is.”

“She’ll get over it. Take her some flowers or something.”

“I don’t have time to get her flowers. Besides.” He kicked the tire again. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Yeah, that matters.” Ryder shook his head in pity. He leaned in the truck window when Beckett got in. “They’re always going to figure you did something, so the easiest way around it is to distract them with flowers. Then you’re more likely to get laid.”

“You’re a cynical bastard.”

“I’m a realist, son. Go babysit, maybe that’s the same as flowers to a woman like Clare.”

Maybe it was, Beckett thought as he drove away. But he wasn’t hanging out with the kids because he’d done something. He was just helping her out.

He liked helping her out. He wanted to help her out.

Sooner or later she’d have to get used to it.

When he got there, the crowd went wild. Both his ego and his mood took a boost when the kids raced around, vying for attention, assailing him with questions and pleas to play.

“Take a breath,” Clare ordered, then laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder as she turned to Beckett. “We just have to finish up some math homework.”

“Math, huh? That happens to be my best thing.”

“I’ve been doing homework forever.”

“It certainly seems like it. We just have to finish this worksheet, then you’re free.”

“Go on,” Beckett told her. “We got this.”

“Oh, but—”

“We have no time for women here.”

“It’s Man Night!” Murphy flexed his little biceps the way Beckett had shown him.

“Man Hour and a Half,” Clare corrected, then eyed the bag Beckett set on the counter.

“That’s of no concern to you. It holds manly things.” He snatched it up again, gave her a light kiss that inspired Liam to make gagging noises while Harry stared at his worksheet and Murphy tried to climb Beckett’s leg like a monkey.

“All right.” She sent Harry a long look, then brushed her hand over his hair. “Don’t do the math for him. And you guys, give your brother a little quiet so he can finish up. Then you can all play. I won’t be long.”

“Have a good time.” Beckett sat at the table. “So what have we got here?”

Clare gave Harry one more long look, then left them.

“You have to add the three numbers and write the answer. I don’t know why there are so many of them.”

“You’ve got a good start.”

“Can we have the bag now?” Liam asked. “Is it cookies?”

“No and no. You two hit the playroom. I need you to separate all the action figures into good guys and bad guys, then put them into teams.”

“What for?”

Beckett drilled a finger into Murphy’s belly. “For the war.”

The prospect of war sent them both racing away with bloodcurdling screams.

“So,” Beckett began, “fifty plus eight plus two hundred.”

It didn’t take long, and Beckett discovered Harry didn’t need help so much as someone to keep him focused.

“Good deal. You aced that sucker.” From the sounds coming from the playroom, they’d started the war without him. He got the bag, brought it to the table. “Now for math homework, over and above the call of duty, this seems fitting.”

He took out a measuring tape. “This is the real deal, not a toy. It’s one of mine. There’s probably tons of stuff that needs measuring around here.”

Harry pulled the tape out, let it snap back.

“When you need it to stay out, you push this—then it sticks. Just push it back to release.”

Saying nothing, Harry tried it a few times. Then he looked at Beckett. “How come I get this?”

“You seemed interested in how to build things, and fix them, how it works when we were at the inn the other day. You can’t build anything without a measuring tape. My dad gave me a measuring tape when—”

“You’re not my dad.”

“No,” Beckett said, and thought uh-oh. “I just remembered getting one when I was a kid, and figured you’d like one.”

“I saw you kiss my mom. I saw you kiss her before, too.”

“Yeah.”

After setting the measuring tape down, Harry folded his arms. “Why are you kissing her?”

“Because I like her. Maybe you should talk to your mom about it.”

“I’m talking to you.”

“Okay, fair enough.” So the answer, Beckett decided, had to be fair enough, too. “I like your mom a lot. Kissing’s a way to show it.”

“Are you getting married?”

Whoa. How did he explain to an eight-year-old the long, sticky stretch between kissing and marriage? “We like each other, Harry, and we like being with each other, doing stuff together.”

“Laurie’s getting married, Mom said.”

“Yeah, but—”

“You can’t ask her to get married unless you ask me first. I’m the oldest.”

“Okay.”

“And you can’t kiss her if she doesn’t want to.”

“All right.”

“You have to swear.” Though his eyes and voice went fierce, Beckett saw his bottom lip tremble a little.

Brave boy, he thought. Damn brave boy. “You know, I lost my dad, too.”

Harry nodded. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, it’s hard. Sons have to take care of their mothers. It’s our job. You’re doing a good job, Harry. I won’t kiss your mom if she doesn’t want to. I won’t ask her to marry me until I ask you about it first.” Beckett held out a hand. “I swear.”

Harry studied the hand a moment, studied Beckett’s face. Then shook.

“Are we okay, you and me?”

Harry jerked a shoulder. “I guess. Do you come over to play with us so you can kiss Mom?”

“That’s a nice benefit, but I come over to play because it’s fun, and I like you. But I’m not going to kiss you.”

That made Harry snort out a laugh before he picked up the tape again. “Did everybody get a measuring tape?”

“No, everybody got something different.”

“Can I see?”

“Sure. I got this little level for Murphy. See when you set it down, you check these bubbles here in the middle. See the lines there, and the way the bubbles sit in between them? This table’s pretty level. Otherwise.” He lifted one end of the level so the bubbles tipped. “See?”

“Yeah.” Fascinated, Harry tried it himself. “That’s awesome.”

“And this is a Phillips-head screwdriver.”

“Who’s Phillips?”

“Good question. I’ve got no clue.” He’d have to look it up. “They call it a Phillips-head because, see it’s got ridges in the point instead of being a flat-head like a regular one. This one’s small enough so Liam can unscrew the battery cases on your toys when they need changing.”

“It’s pretty cool.”

“If we had some more tools and some materials, we could build something, sometime.”

The boy perked up. “Like what?”

“We’ll think of something.”

“Okay. I like the measuring tape. I like it’s real and all. I’m going to show Liam and Murphy, and measure something.”

“Good idea. I’ll be right there.”

Beckett sat for a moment when the boy ran off. He hoped he’d handled that thorny matter the right way. He felt like he had, but, whew, he was damn glad to set it down again.

Clare sipped the champagne Avery provided and studied Hope’s apartment. Clean, she thought, serviceable—and temporary. Obviously Hope felt the same, as she’d kept the furniture move to a minimum.

“I sold a lot, gave some things to my sister. My brother took the bed. I didn’t want it, and he didn’t have any qualms about sleeping where I used to sleep with Jonathan.” She shrugged.

“Better for you,” Avery agreed. “Fresh start, fresh place, fresh everything.”

“I figured I’d wait until I move into the apartment across the street before I bought a new one. For now, I’ll be fine on just the new mattresses.”

“Smart.” Avery toasted her. “You should look at Bast, down on Main. Most of the furniture for the inn’s coming from there. And Owen told me they’d hold anything that comes in until they’re ready to load in. I’m sure they’d do the same for the innkeeper.”

“Maybe. I’ll take a look anyway.” Hope studied the packing boxes, the bare walls, the bare floor. “Oh God, what have I done?”

She turned a quick circle, eyes wide and a little wild. “I’ve sold half my things, I have stuff I don’t know what to do with in storage. I’ve moved from a place I loved, and I won’t have a real job for God knows how long. Why did I do this?”

“You’re just anxious,” Clare began.

“Anxious? Anxious isn’t in the same hemisphere with what I am. This is crazy. This isn’t like me. I don’t even know where I am.”

“You’re in Boonsboro.” Avery turned her toward the window overlooking Main Street. “You’ve been here dozens of times. See, there’s my restaurant.”

“You know what I mean.”

“What I know is you’re about to start a job that’s perfect for you in a place where you have friends. The best of all possible friends, who are smart and sexy, beautiful and wise.”

“And modest and loving,” Clare added, but Hope didn’t laugh.

“How do I know it’s the perfect job for me? I haven’t done it yet.”

Avery gave her a quick one-armed hug. “I know what you need.”

“You’re right. You are wise. I need a lot more champagne.”

“No—well, later for that. Now.” Avery dug in her pocket. “Owen gave me the key. Your key to the inn. We’re going over now so you can remember why you’re here.”

“I haven’t finished unpacking. I may never. There’s not enough room for all my clothes in here.” Hope squeezed her hands on either side of her head. “What am I going to do with my clothes?”

“We’ll figure it out. But right now we’re going to explore your future domain.”

“Avery’s right.” Though going inside the building, just the three of them, made Clare a little uneasy, she put all the enthusiasm she could muster in her voice. “You said you haven’t been over since you got here.”

“I’ve been trying to organize.”

“I’ll help you later.”

“And I’ll come by tomorrow,” Clare promised. “At least for a little while.”

“Okay, all right. Let’s go.”

“You couldn’t help but see the entrance.” Clare grabbed her jacket as they headed out, and down the back stairs.

“And it’s beautiful. It’s a great building, no argument. I just can’t figure out why I thought I should be in charge of it.”

“Because you’re smart, self-aware—which is the same as wise, really. And this is just the kind of challenge you thrive on.”

Hope stared at Avery, blew out a breath as they crossed the side street. “Big talk. And you forgot sexy and beautiful.”

“Goes without saying, Miss Philadelphia County.”

“Sexy and beautiful always go with saying.”

“They’re prepping the ground for the pavers.” Avery gestured. “You should take a look behind the gift shop, see what they’ve done there. It’s just great. Here.” She handed Hope the key. “You should unlock it.”

Here goes, she thought, sliding the key into the lock.