The Next Always

Chapter Seventeen

Beckett stood with his brothers in the brisk autumn breeze, studying the damage.

“That’s not just for the hell of it,” Ryder observed. “That’s pissed-off personal and to the extreme.”

“I got that.” Beckett kicked one of his ruined tires. “I got that loud and clear.”

“Then you’ve got who.”

“Oh yeah, that’s a pretty simple dot to connect. I should’ve smashed the son of a bitch’s face in, right there in his office. Fucking coward. He had to sneak in here in the middle of the night to do this. And this? It’s goddamn high school, isn’t it? Keying the truck, slashing the tires.”

“Some people don’t grow up,” Owen observed, “don’t evolve. I’d say he’s one of them.” A quiet, simmering fury heated his voice. “He can’t face you on an adult level, so he comes along and fucks up your truck. Classic payback method for the tiny-dick type.”

“Thank you, Dr. Freud,” Beckett muttered.

“I’m just saying. And I’m saying we may know who did it, but unless somebody saw him . . . Shit, Beck, it sucks. You could go smash his face in now.”

“That gets my vote,” Ryder said.

“But the same things apply as they did before. You’d get busted for assault, and his face would heal.”

They looked over, turned as the town deputy pulled in. Owen laid a hand on Beckett’s shoulder. “Let’s see what Charlie has to say.”

“That’s a crappy way to start the day.” Charlie Reeder, tall and lean as the beanpole who’d starred on the varsity basketball team, slid out of the car. He walked over, stuck his hands in his pockets. “Hell, Beck, that’s a damn shame.”

“Is that the official Boonsboro Police Department statement?”

Charlie huffed out a breath. “That’s a personal note, and I’ll add it’s a pisser. I’ll write it up. You’ve got insurance, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Frowning, Charlie walked around the truck, noted the second set of gouges on the passenger side. “You’re going to want to get that claim in, get somebody out here to look at it. I’m going to take pictures for our file on it. What time did you park it here?”

“About ten I guess.”

“Vesta’s open another hour after that.” The deputy scratched the back of his neck as he walked around to join the brothers. “Did you see anybody in the lot?”

“Some cars, no people. Ah, Dave Metzner’s car—yeah, pretty sure on that. He’d be working till closing.”

“I’ll talk to him, anybody else who was working and would’ve come out this way. What time did you find it like this?”

“About quarter to seven.”

“Okay. The Creamery would be closing by the time you got home.” He glanced over at the ice cream shop. “It’s more likely this happened later, but I’ll check there. I’ll talk to the people in the apartments with a view of the lot, see if they saw anything, anyone. We might get lucky.”

“We all know who did it, Charlie.” Ryder spoke up. “Just about everybody in town knows Beck’s truck, knows where he parks it every damn night. And there’s only one person he’s had any trouble with.”

“So you think Freemont did this because you’re going out with Clare?”

“That and the fact I went to his office to see him yesterday morning, told him to steer clear.”

Charlie huffed out another breath. “What did you want to go and do that for?”

“Somebody hassles Charlene, scares her, puts his hands on her, what are you going to do?”

“Same damn thing.” Charlie put his hands on his bony hips. “Maybe I agree with you. It could’ve been kids, could’ve just been some drunk asshole, but nobody else reported anything like this. So it reads you were a specific target. Off the record, yeah, it looks like Sam dickhead Freemont’s style to me. But unless somebody saw him, proving it’s pretty damn slim.”

“Maybe he left fingerprints.”

Charlie eyed Owen. “Yeah, and maybe he pissed on the tires and left DNA. If this was Boonsboro CSI we’d have him locked up by end of shift. Look, I’ll do everything I can, and I’ll push it as much as I can. I’ll go talk to Freemont myself. But I’m telling you straight, Beckett, you’re pretty much screwed here.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“I’m going to get pictures, take your statement, file a report. I’ll talk to people—and I’ll give Freemont a little nudge.”

“I appreciate it. Maybe he got it out of his system. Or at least shifted his focus off Clare and onto me. That’s something.”

“Do us all a favor.” Charlie slapped a hand on Beckett’s shoulder. “Steer clear of him. If you see him hanging around here, near Clare’s, anywhere else in town, you call me. I’ll deal with him. Call your insurance agent, give them my name. I’ll make sure they get a copy of the police report.”

With little choice, Beckett gave his official statement, then went inside to deal with the headache of insurance. By the time he finally made it over to the inn to work, word had spread through the crew. He received much sympathy and plenty of righteous anger on his behalf—and a pot load of advice. He let it all roll over him and took out his frustrations with tools. He imagined Freemont’s smug face in the crown molding every time he shot in a nail.

It didn’t help much, but it was something.

Having a furious Clare rush in was more, and better. She stormed over to his ladder, gripped a rung, her face sharp with temper.

He learned something new. A thoroughly pissed-off Clare’s eyes glowed green as a cat’s.

“I heard as soon as I got into town, but I couldn’t get away until now. I went to look at your truck first. That bastard! You know Sam did that. It’s just like him. Goddamn it! Now I want to punch him.”

“I’d like to see that.” He found his grin coming back as he came down the ladder.

“It’s not funny, Beckett.”

“No, it’s not. But it’s rubber and paint.”

“That’s not the point.” She swung away from him, and the carpenter working with him eased out of the room.

“No, but it strikes me one of the points is this was the only way he could come at me. When I set aside being pissed off, it’s kind of a boost for the ego.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake.”

“There’s that, too. You hardly ever swear. It’s comforting for you to swear on my behalf. My ego just went up a couple more notches.”

“He only did this because you went in there and confronted him.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Which you didn’t have to do.”

“Yes, I did, Clare.”

“Men.” She threw up her hands, circling the room. “Men, men, men. Now I suppose you just have to go back and confront him again, escalate the whole sorry mess.”

He considered. “I could let you talk me out of it.” He smiled at her when she turned to glare at him. “That would be a boost to your ego, I’d say. I’m happy to reciprocate.”

“You’re not planning on it.”

“I’ve had a good time picturing dragging him out into the dealership parking lot and stomping him flat in front of his coworkers and various horrified customers. Him begging for mercy, women fainting. It’s a nice image.”

“Men,” she repeated. “You’re all just boys in bigger packages.”

“Maybe. But then if I did all that, Owen would get to pull the ‘I told you so’ when he had to come bail me out. It’s not worth giving Owen the satisfaction.”

She took a long, calming breath. “That’s something then. I’m so sorry, Beckett.”

“I guess it’ll be worth it if he figures this evens the score and stays the hell away. I needed new tires before winter anyway.”

She crossed to him, framed his face. “My hero,” she murmured, kissing him softly.

“That’s all I get? It’s four tires, and a paint job.”

She laughed a little, kissed him again. “It’s the best I can do under the circumstances.” She drew away, tipping her head toward the sounds of the tile crew working in the bathroom.

“We’ve got plenty of other rooms.”

She shook her head, walked around to look at the painted walls. “I love the color in here.”

Calm now, she did a slower circle of The Penthouse parlor. “I’ve been trying to decide which room is going to be my favorite, and I can’t. And which room to treat my parents to for their anniversary next year. And I can’t.”

“Pick one for you and me. I’ll make a reservation.”

“Hard to choose, but I’d love it. I have to get back.”

“How about dinner tonight? I’ll take you and the boys somewhere.”

“Book club, but thanks. Ah, we’re decorating for Halloween tomorrow, if you want to come over.”

“Are you kidding? I have major skills in this area.”

“Great, you can carve the pumpkin. The boys are old enough now to realize how lousy I am at it. Come by later. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

“I will. Oh, and thanks for the outrage.”

“You’re welcome.”

Not a bad couple of days, all in all, Beckett decided. All he had to do was delete the hassle of his truck, and things looked good all around. Especially standing with his brothers across the street from the inn as they’d done the morning the tarp came down.

This time, they looked over at the finished front of the inn, including the sign.

“Looks good,” Owen commented.

“Looks damn good,” was Ryder’s opinion.

“Now all we have to do is finish it, furnish it, outfit it, staff it, and fill it with guests.” Beckett stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Should be a piece of cake, considering what we started with.”

He glanced down the street, nodded to the sign outside the gift shop. “Gifts Inn BoonsBoro. It works.”

“Mom and Madeline swear it’ll be ready for the opening Friday night.”

“As long as all we have to do is show up and eat crab balls.” Ryder shifted his gaze to the building beside the inn. “You know she’s already making noises about us getting to work on that place so we can get a bakery back in there.”

“One thing at a time. Let’s just bask,” Beckett suggested.

“Time for basking when we get it finished.” Ryder checked his watch. “And time’s wasting.”

“I need to work with Hope and the webmaster this morning.”

“While you’re at it, call Saville,” Ryder told Owen. “We’re going to be ready for them to bring in the flooring, let it acclimate.”

“It’s on my list. Beck, why don’t you check at Gifts, see if there’s anything that needs doing. Then you can grab us some coffee. It’s frigging cold today.”

“First hard frost forecast for tonight. We’ve still got exterior work to finish. Don’t sneak in the back room with Clare,” Ryder told Beckett as they left him to head across the street. “You’re on the clock.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He took another moment for a solo bask, then started down to look into the gift store.

He had to admit, it looked just fine. Warm and welcoming with its sunny walls, the displays of pottery and handcrafted jewelry, the art hanging on the walls or waiting to be hung.

He checked with Madeline, who opened more boxes of stock, and took down a short list of small chores to be finished before the opening.

Tucking the clipboard under his arm, he walked into TTP.

“Hi, Romeo. Clare’s upstairs.”

He lifted his eyebrows at Charlene—Charlie Reeder’s wife. “Romeo?”

She pursed her lips, made an exaggerated kissing sound. “You’re such a sweetie.”

“True. I need three coffees, large. I’ll go up and say hi to Clare while you’re getting that together.”

“She’ll be glad you did.”

Beckett shook his head at Charlene’s wink, wondered just what TTP put in their coffee these days. Then he climbed the creaking stairs to Clare’s office.

With the phone to her ear, she held up a finger as she offered him a big, bright smile. While she finished the call, he stepped to her window, looked out at the inn again, enjoyed seeing the sign in place.

“Beckett.”

He turned, found his arms full of her. “Thank you so much,” she said before she caught him up in a long, dreamy kiss.

Whatever they put in the coffee, he decided, he wanted some. “Okay, you’re really welcome. For what?”

“For the flowers. They’re gorgeous, and such a wonderful surprise. I made what Liam called girl sounds over them until he was forced to combat them with gagging noises. We made a real scene.”

She hugged him hard, rubbed her cheek against his. “But you should’ve come in. I’d’ve fixed you breakfast.”

“What flowers?”

She sparkled when she eased back. “As if. The roses I found on my doorstep when I took the kids to school.”

“Clare, I didn’t send you any flowers.”

“But they were—What?”

“I didn’t bring any flowers by your place this morning.”

“But the note said—”

“What did it say?”

“Always thinking of you. Oh God.” Because her knees went shaky, she sat. “There was a box, a plain white box on the doorstep, and the roses and note inside. I worried because it was so cold, but I don’t think they were there very long. They were fine. They’re beautiful. They’re not from you.”

“Have you seen him?”

“No. Well, in the grocery store yesterday, for a second I thought I did.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I wasn’t sure. In fact I thought I’d just imagined it.” She grabbed Beckett’s hand. “Please don’t do anything. I’ll call Charlie, I’ll call him right now and tell him. But please don’t do anything. I really think the more attention we pay, the worse it’ll be.”

“Call Charlie. Next time, if you think you see him, you call me.”

“I will. I promise. I—He’s sent flowers before.”

“When?”

“My birthday. Always red roses, like these, but I really thought . . . And he’s always signed his name before. Beckett, he’s shown up at the grocery store a few times, which was why I thought I’d imagined seeing him there—after what happened, then your truck. I thought I was just spooking myself.”

“Where else?” Beckett asked, his voice deadly calm. “Where else has he just shown up?”

“Oh.” Rocking a little, she rubbed her temples. “Oh God, when I think about it that way . . . Okay. I’ve run into him at the mall a few times, but I run into people I know there now and then, so I never thought much of it. Outside the bank, more than once.”

He watched her thinking it through, watched her go pale thinking it through.

“In the pharmacy parking lot, in the nursery where I buy my plants. Other places, too, I see that now. Just like I see he always seems to show up when it’s just me. Not when I have the kids along, or Avery or my mother, or anyone.”

She paused a moment. “That’s not coincidence.”

“No, it damn well isn’t. It’s stalking. Tell Charlie everything. And Clare, I’ll be coming by your house every day after work until this stops.”

“I’m not going to argue. The flowers.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “There’s something just not right about a man who’d send flowers after all this. It’s not just being a pest.”

“I don’t think it ever was. Make sure you tell Charlene and the others about this. And don’t work in the store alone.”

“God.” She rubbed her forehead. “No, you’re right. I just need to settle down and think this through. I’ll call Charlie now.”

“I’m right across the street. Keep your phone with you.”

“I will. Beckett? You be careful, too. He might try to do something, something more than damage your truck.”

“Don’t worry.”

But she did. Even after she’d talked to the town deputy, she worried. She called Avery, and at her friend’s insistence they went together to retrieve the box, the note, the flowers—all of which they took to the police station.

“Beckett’s right. Sam’s a gutless bastard, but it’s better if you’re not alone—at work, at home. Anywhere for now.”

“Avery, you don’t really think he’d try something?”

“I honestly don’t know, so we’re not taking any chances. You lock your car doors when you’re in it, when it’s parked—and your house, too. Not just when you leave or at night. Promise.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. I’m not ignoring it, but I’m going to let him think I am. The less he believes I’m affected, the sooner he’ll stop.”

Maybe, maybe not, Avery thought, and watched Clare walk back to the bookstore, waited until she was inside before crossing over to the inn.

She found all three Montgomery brothers in a conference in the half-finished kitchen. “Looks great,” she said briefly. “We have to talk.”

“We’re in the middle of something here,” Ryder began. “We’re going to head over to your place in about an hour. What the hell color are you wearing this week?”

Avery pushed a hand over her hair. “Cherry Cola, it’s a little intense.”

“What’s wrong with your regular hair?” Owen wanted to know.

“I’ve worn it nearly thirty years. Do you have anything you’ve worn almost thirty years? And that’s not why I’m here. We have to talk now. Clare and I took those damn flowers over to the police station, but I don’t know what the hell they can do about it.”

“I don’t know what the hell we can do about it.” Owen shoved his measuring tape back in his tool belt. “What we’d like to do at this point would get us five to ten.”

“Breaking his legs isn’t the answer anyway, which is too bad. Look, Sam gets these obsessions. He zeroed in on me a while back.”

“When?” Owen demanded. “What?”

“Back when I was just opening the shop—that was before Clare moved back. And it wasn’t as whacked as this. He used to come in while I was working on the setup. People were in and out all day back then. Telling him he was in the way or I was busy wasn’t enough to shake him off. He’s like a frigging blood leech.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shrugged at Owen. “It didn’t last long, maybe a couple of weeks. Listen, Clare’s default is polite; my polite wears faster. I cured him one day when I told him if he didn’t leave me the hell alone Luther would brand his balls. Luther,” she said, speaking of the blacksmith, “was working on the vents at the time. Luther’s not going to brand anybody’s balls, but he looks like he could.”

“Pretty good thinking,” Owen decided.

“Yeah, and it worked. But this deal with Clare’s gone on a lot longer, and it’s a lot creepier. I’ve got a sick feeling about it. I trust my sick feelings.”

“Every man in the crew’s keeping an eye out for Freemont, and an eye on Clare. So are the town cops,” Beckett added. “I warned him off. Charlie Reeder warned him off.”

“I know that, just like I know doing that’s caused him to escalate. Sending her flowers after she’s sicced the cops on him? It’s twisted. I don’t know what to do about it. I hate not knowing what to do.”

“Tell her neighbors. More people looking out for her.”

Owen frowned at Ryder a moment. “That’s good, but not just her neighbors. Spread the word in town, all through town. People like Clare, a lot. We’ve got a whole community here that’ll look out for her.”

“I always knew you had a brain,” Avery observed, and felt her shoulders relax a bit for the first time in hours. “It’s something. It feels positive.”

“I’m going over there tonight, and I’ve got a couple of ideas brewing, including installing motion detector lights at her place.”

Avery nodded at Beckett, and her shoulders unknotted completely. “Okay, I like that one. More positive. I’ve got to get back, and you can count on me spreading the word during the lunch rush.”

Beckett installed the lights himself, front and back, and calculated it only took about twice as long as it might have without the “help” the kids gave him. But he got another meal out of it, and the satisfaction of seeing Clare’s relief when the job was done.

Added to it was the fun of watching the boys run outside and back a half dozen times before bedtime cheering each time the lights flashed on.

But he had to admit, he liked his couple of other ideas better, and introduced them to Clare the next afternoon at the bookstore.

He found her in the annex, restocking shelves.

“Hey, I’ve got a couple guys I want you to meet.”

Books in her hand, Clare turned. “Oh, aren’t they sweet! Where did you get them?”

Even as she asked, she set the books aside to crouch. Both dogs took that as an invitation to gambol over and lick at her hands and face. “Look at you, look at you big boys. Beckett, how are you going to keep two dogs in your apartment. Aren’t these Labs?”

“Mixes, Lab-retriever mixes, like Mom’s. They’re brothers. They’re five months old. They’ve had all their shots. They’re housebroken.”

“Yes, good boys.” She ruffled chocolate brown skin, rubbed silky ears. “They’re adorable, but don’t they need room to run around and . . .” She trailed off, eyes narrowing at Beckett even as the dogs vied for her attention. “And you’re not planning on keeping them in your apartment.”

“They need kids.”

“Beckett—” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “What’s your middle name?”

“Ah, Riley.”

“Beckett Riley Montgomery.”

The grin split his face. “Wow, the whole shot, the big Mom guns.”

“That’s just the first volley.”

“Boys need dogs, dogs need kids.” He lost the grin, tried a winsome smile. “You’ve been thinking about getting a dog for the boys.”

“Thinking, yes, and dog—as in one.”

“They’re brothers,” he reminded her. “You can’t separate brothers.” He crouched as she was, scrubbed an exposed belly with his hand. “You’d break their hearts. Plus they’d keep each other company when the kids are in school. They’re rescues. The people who had them just basically changed their minds. It’s like evicting a couple of babies.”

“Oh stop.”

Okay, he thought, that might’ve been laying it on a little too thick. “They need a good home, together. If you don’t want them, I’ll keep them.”

“In your apartment.”

“Well.” He shrugged. “I don’t want to separate them, or leave them in limbo.”

“This is an ambush.”

“This kind of dog is great with kids. Loyal, good-natured. They love to play, and they’ll take the roughhousing three boys will dish out.”

“Been researching, have you?”

“Yeah, some. Mom knows people who know people. Plus, they’ll let you know if anybody’s coming around the house. Dogs, even friendly dogs like these, are good deterrents. I’d feel a lot better, Clare, if you had a couple of dogs in and around the house.”

The smaller of the two dogs laid a paw on Clare’s knee, gazed up soulfully. The sound she made—a kind of half sigh, half groan—told Beckett they had her.

“The kids are going to go crazy. God, if I do this, I have to get supplies and toys, a training manual. A psychiatric evaluation.”

“I’ve got everything they need in the truck already. Food, dishes, beds, toys. See, they’ve got their collars and leashes.”

“You don’t miss a trick in an ambush. Housebroken, you said?”

“Yeah.” He thought it best not to mention one of them had already peed on his boots. “Ah, you might have a couple mishaps, just while they’re adjusting to a new place.”

“What do I do when it gets cold? I’m here, the boys will be at school. They’d have to stay out in the yard.”

“We need to build a doghouse.”

“We do?”

“Sure. It’ll be fun.”

“Oh, Beckett.” She gave in, nuzzled dogs. “What are their names?”

“Chauncy and Aristotle.”

“You have to be kidding.”

“Afraid not. They really want new names.”

“Who could blame them?” The smaller one let out a high, excited bark, and bit his brother’s ear. “I hope this isn’t a mistake.”

“It’ll be great. Having them will teach the boys responsibility, how to take care of a pet.”

“Right.” The pups rolled between them, yipping and wrestling. “I’ll remember you said that when I’m letting them in and out and cleaning up mishaps.”

He leaned over the two dogs to kiss her. “Thanks, Mom.”

“You had me at ‘they’re brothers.’ Apparently I have a weakness. Let’s hope my parents do, too. They want a sleepover with the boys Saturday night.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. Actually they’d like it better if all of us just moved in.”

“They’ve got to be worried about you.”

“I have to call home every night, check in, reassure them my doors are locked, and so on. I only got out of joining the Saturday night sleepover by telling them I’d see if you’d consider a date with me.”

“I think I can clear my schedule.”

“Good. I’ll come by at seven.”

“You’re going to pick me up? Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out Saturday night.” She looked at the dogs, wandering now, sniffing floor and air. “You’re not the only one who can spring an ambush. Now.” She got to her feet. “You’ll have to figure out what to do with these dogs until after school. You can bring them—and the supplies—over then.”

“How about I bring pizza, too? I have a feeling everyone’s going to be too busy playing to worry about dinner.”

“Dogs and pizza. The kids are going to be in serious heaven.”

He hadn’t considered the logistics of transporting dogs and pizza, but quickly realized active pups with curious noses needed to be segregated from food. It only cost him the price of a pizza and the waiting time for the second to be made to learn the valuable lesson.

He left the pizza in its borrowed insulated delivery pack in the bed of the truck, had a bit of a struggle bringing the dogs back when they sprinted to the end of their leashes, in opposing directions. But counted every bit of the hassle worthwhile when Murphy opened the door.

Even as his eyes popped wide and his mouth dropped open, both dogs leaped forward. Murphy landed on his butt, belly-laughing as the dogs ran over him, plopped on him, licked everywhere they could reach.

“Doggies! Beckett’s got doggies.” He rolled with them, doing his best to hug them to him as his brothers charged out of the playroom.

Chaos, probably the best possible kind in Beckett’s opinion, ensued. Dogs raced, jumped, barked. Kids chased, tumbled, and shouted.

Clare came out to watch, set her hands on her hips. She started to shake her head, call some sort of order. Then found herself simply staring at Beckett.

He grinned, wide and easy, as kids and dogs wrestled and rolled around his feet. He stood, hands tucked into his front pockets, legs spread wide enough for boys and puppies to squirm through. When one of the pups tested its sharp little teeth on the toe of his boot, he just laughed and nudged it clear.

In the instant that he looked up, met her eyes, his warm, warm blue and full of fun, she fell.

Maybe she’d been sliding, she realized, inching her way along. But this was the finish line, the moment she knew—no doubts—she loved. The moment she could see herself with him next month, next year, next always.

Maybe it came with a little trickle of panic, and the uncertainty of knowing what could or would be. But the love rang as strong and as real as her children’s laughter.

And that, she thought, was that.

“Mom! Mom! Did you see?” Liam staggered up, carrying a pup whose tongue hung out in a silly doggie grin. “Beckett brought puppies over.”

“They like us.” Harry turned his face right and left as the second pup covered it with kisses. “They really like us.”

“Come see!” Murphy wrapped his arms around the one in Harry’s lap. “Come see them. They’re real cute, and they’re soft and they don’t smell bad. Can’t we have a puppy? Please, Mom, can’t we?”

“Another one?” She opened her eyes wide, feigning shock. “Two aren’t enough?”

“What two?”

“Those two.”

And, another moment, she thought. The moment when she told herself whatever the puppies did, however many times she had to clean up after them, roll out of a warm bed to let them out, it would be a small price to pay for the look of stunned, radiant joy on her little boy’s face.

“They’re ours?” His whisper echoed with that same joy.

“Ask Beckett. He’s the one who got them—and wore me down.”

Three faces turned up to his while the puppies nipped and licked. “You got them for us?” Harry managed. “For us to keep?”

“Well, they’re brothers.”

“Like us!” Liam shouted.

“Yeah, and they needed a good home. They needed some friends who’d take care of them, feed them, play with them, love them.”

“I love them.” Murphy crawled over to hug Beckett’s leg. “I really, really do.”

“Love takes some work.” Beckett crouched down. “Even when you’re tired or busy. It means making sure they get enough to eat and drink, fresh air, company. Are you up for it?”

“I promise.”

“Well, I guess you get to keep them.”

“This is the best ever. Thanks.” Liam threw his arms around Beckett, then dashed to do the same to Clare. “Mom, we got puppies.”

“You got them for us,” Harry repeated, and finally gave Beckett his angel smile. “We’ll take good care of them, always.”

“I’m counting on it.”

“Why don’t you take them out back,” Clare suggested. “Show them the ropes.”

“Come with us.” Murphy tugged on Beckett’s hand. “We’re going to show them ropes. What are their names?”

“They need good ones, so you guys better think about that. I’ve got some stuff for them out in the truck. I’ll come out after I bring it in.”

“I’ll help you bring it in.” Harry got to his feet.

“I could use a hand.”

Liam and Murphy ran toward the back, calling the dogs to come, already trying out names while Harry walked out front with Beckett.

Clare stood, absorbing love—and, studying the scattered dog hair and little dribbles of pee on her floor, thought, yes. Yes, a very small price to pay.