Authors: Nora Roberts

The Next Always (40 page)

BOOK: The Next Always

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“Okay then, I’ll meet you.”

He didn’t want to let her go, but didn’t feel right about horning in on her time with her parents. And he had told Owen he’d try to get into the shop around noon.

So he thought about her after she’d gone, and all along the drive.

SHE HEARD THE
three-part harmony version of the sleepover from her boys before they raced back outside to burn off yet more energy with the puppies.

“Did they behave?” Clare asked her mother.

“They always do.” At Clare’s arch look, she shrugged. “Grandparents have different scales for good behavior than parents. It’s our due. Those dogs are adorable, and make those kids so damn happy. Beckett’s a sweetheart.”

“Yes, he is.”

“How did your date go?”

“Absolutely perfect. Pot roast never fails. He brought me breakfast in bed this morning.”

“He sounds like a keeper.” She got another look. “Don’t tell me you’re not thinking about it.”

“We’ve only been seeing each other like this since the summer, and I don’t want to—I’m so in love with him. Mom.”

“Sweetie.” Rosie stepped over to hug Clare, to hold and sway. “That’s a good thing.”

“It is. It feels good. I’m happy. We’re happy, but that doesn’t mean . . . I’m not making plans. A new approach for me—just take it a day at a time and enjoy it without thinking about . . . all the rest. I love being with him, the kids are crazy about him—and it’s mutual. So I’m happy, and I don’t need to make plans.”

“Hey.” Her father opened the door, poked his head in. “Are you going to help me out here, or what?”

“On my way,” Clare promised.

“Farmer Murphy out there’s got more basil and tomatoes than the two of us could use in three seasons. You’re going home loaded,” her mother warned.

“Then I’d better get going.”

“I’ll be right along.”

But Rosie watched out the window for a few minutes first while her husband handed her daughter garden gloves and clippers, while her grandchildren tumbled over the yard with big brown puppies.

Her daughter was happy, she could see it. And in love. She could see that, too. She knew her girl well. Well enough to know that her Clare would always need to make plans, whether she admitted it or not.

ON MONDAY BECKETT
praised God he didn’t have to haul anything heavy up the stairs again, even if he spent most of the day with a paintbrush and the rest of it sawing trim.

By the time he packed up, it was already five.

“Are you guys staying for trick-or-treat?” he asked his brothers.

“I am,” Owen told him. “Hope’s going to pass out candy in front of the inn.”

“We’re not open yet.”

Owen spared the grousing Ryder a glance. “She got Milk Duds and Butterfingers.”

“Butterfingers?” Ryder had a weakness for them. “I might stick around, see how it goes. What the hell are you doing?”

“Putting on my cape,” Beckett said as he tied the bright red cloth around his shoulders. He pulled on safety goggles, work gloves before handing Owen a roll of duct tape. “Use this, put a big
X
on my shirt. Center it up.”

“Who the hell are you supposed to be?” Ryder demanded.

Beckett dipped his chin, checked Owen’s work. “I’m Carpenter X. Faster than a skill saw, more powerful than a nail gun. I fight for truth, justice, and plumb corners.”

“That’s so lame.”

“I bet the kids don’t think so. And I bet I get more candy than you.”

“Out of pity,” Ryder called out as Beckett walked out.

“Pretty good for costume on the fly,” Owen commented.

“Yeah, not bad, but I’m not telling him that.”

Vesta buzzed. A lot of people, Beckett noted, had the same idea. Get some pizza before hitting Main Street. He saw Avery, long blond wig tied back, tossing dough to the delight of her audience of pint-sized superheroes, fairy princesses, and ghouls.

“Hannah Montana?” he called out.

She tapped the plastic wood-grained stake in her belt before she caught the dough. “Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”

“Cute.”

“Not if you’re a vampire.”

Amused, he walked over to the booth of superheroes, checked out Clare. She made one hell of a Storm of the X-Men, he decided, in a white punk-style wig and snug black skirt and thigh-high boots.

“Excuse me, ma’am, I’m looking for three boys. They’re about this high.” He used his hand to measure like steps. “They go by Harry, Liam, and Murphy.”

“I’m sorry, I haven’t seen them. I’m Storm, and these are my friends and coworkers, Wolverine, Iron Man, and Deadpool.”

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Carpenter X.”

“You’re Beckett!” Murphy slid off his seat, pointed up.

“By day I’m Beckett Montgomery, brilliant architect, handsome man about town. But at night, when evildoers walk the streets, I’m Carpenter X, defender of Boonsboro and the tristate area.”

“Do you got superpowers?”

“I have my keen wits, my catlike agility, and super strength.” He plucked up the miniature Deadpool, lifted him overhead and onto his shoulders.

“It’s us.” Murphy leaned down to whisper in Beckett’s ear. “It’s Murphy and Harry and Liam and Mom.”

“Wait a minute.” He lifted Murphy off, held him out. “You mean all this time you didn’t tell me you were Deadpool?”

“Just for Halloween.” Murphy lifted up his mask. “See?”

“How about that?” He dropped down, set Murphy on his lap. “You sure had me fooled.” He gave Murphy a bounce when Heather set the pizza on the table. “Good timing.”

“We have to call each other by our superhero names,” Liam informed him. “Murphy keeps messing it up.”

“I can tell Beckett ’cause he’s with us.”

“I don’t want pizza.” Harry scowled at the slice Clare put on his plate. “I’m not hungry.”

“That’s fine. I’ll just hold all the candy Marmie and Granddad gave you, and what you get later until tomorrow.”

“I’ll take your share. I’m hungry as the Hulk.” Beckett made as if to reach for Harry’s plate.

“I can eat it,” Harry muttered as he shifted it out of reach.

“Is it okay if I trick-or-treat with you guys?”

“You’re too old to trick-or-treat.”

“You, Wolverine, are mistaken.” Carpenter X shook his head at Harry. “You’re never too old for candy. Or pizza. Which as everybody knows is the favorite food of all superheroes.”

AT SIX, SUPERHEROES,
villains, pop stars, fairies, and a variety of undead swarmed Main Street. Teenagers ran in packs, parents pushed strollers inhabited by bunnies, cats, puppies, and clowns. Some led or carried toddlers, others herded older kids from shop to shop, house to house.

Hope sat on the steps of the inn, a big bowl of candy in her lap. “Power rations for superheroes.”

She held the bowl out as the boys shouted “trick or treat.”

“Great look for you,” she told Clare. “And you’d be who, Contractor X?”

“Carpenter X. My tool belt is always loaded.”

“So I hear.”

When Beckett laughed, poked an accusatory finger at Clare, Hope held out the bowl to the next group, answered a handful of questions about the inn.

“Everyone asks,” she told Beckett. “When you can give me an absolutely we’ll be done and ready date, I’m going to open reservations.”

“We’ll work out best calculation.”

“I love this.” She eased back. “I didn’t know exactly what to expect, but this is fun and sweet and a great way to people watch. But I seriously underestimated on candy.”

“You can get some from the bookstore,” Clare told her. “Or from Avery. We always get too much.”

“Mom!” Liam forgot his own directive as he tugged at Storm. “We want to go before the candy’s all gone.”

“Just go across the street for more supplies if you run out,” Clare called as her kids towed her down the sidewalk.

“It is fun.” Beckett stood with Clare while the kids dashed to the next bowl. “More fun with kids. They get such a charge.”

“And a sugar rush later. I have to let them eat some, which means they’ll be hyped at bedtime, then tired in school tomorrow.”

“Well.” He draped an arm around her as they followed the kids to the next stop. “Just make it snow a few inches, Storm. Buy yourself a delay.”

They held hands as they walked, keeping pace with the boys or reining them back when someone stopped to talk. The air cooled, and dry leaves, stirred by a frisky wind, bounced along the curbs.

“I should’ve brought their jackets along instead of leaving them in the car.”

“Are you cold? Because I’ve got to say, you look really hot.”

She offered him a flirty smile. “Then it’s worth the spandex. No, I’m not cold,” she added, “but Liam has the sniffles already.”

“We won’t be out much longer.” They’d already crossed the street, started up the other side.

“You’re right, and he has a thermal shirt on under the costume. Still—”

“Tell you what, Supermom. We’ll stop in the bookstore, give them a chance to warm up. I’ll buy the hot chocolate.”

“God, more chocolate. But that’s a good idea.”

When they stopped by the store, Sam Freemont stood across the street in a Jason hockey mask, sweatpants and hoodie. It gave him a thrill to stand there, in the open, watching her.

Trick or treat, he thought. He’d give her some of both, very soon now.

Satisfied with the timetable, he walked down Main with the crowd, continued on when it thinned. Porch lights gleamed as older kids ran around shouting to each other. No one paid any attention to him, strolling the sidewalk in his mask.

The power of it tangled almost erotically with the excitement of what was to come.

He walked steadily until he came to Clare’s house, then took a quick, casual glance around before sliding into the shadows of the trees that bordered the side.

He’d studied the house long enough to know its weak spots. The dogs set up a stir in the backyard, but he’d come prepared for that. He tossed his pocketful of dog biscuits over the fence.

Tails wagged immediately as they chowed down.

Choosing a window, he pulled out the pry bar.

Crappy little house, he thought as the window gave with a creak and shudder. Crappy little life. He was offering her so much more, and it was past time she listened.

He tucked the tool away, boosted himself inside.

And shut the window behind him.