The Next Always

  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—somethi
ng 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.”