The Next Always

CHAPTER NINETEEN




HE WOULD HAVE LINGERED OVER PIE, BUT SHE INSISTED on clearing up the dishes. Since he figured she was running the show, he didn’t try to persuade her into stacking them up for later. In any case, he enjoyed having her fuss around his kitchen with him with the music going, the conversation easy.

“This was a hell of a surprise, Clare.”

“It may not reach the level of two puppies, but it’s not bad. And for me, it’s nice to have an evening where the focus of every minute isn’t on costumes and candy. Plus, I know that as soon as that’s done, it’ll be all Santa all the time until Christmas.”

“They’re still believers?”

“I think Harry’s copped to it, but he pretends otherwise. They’ve already started lists, which includes every toy they see advertised on TV.”

“I remember doing the same thing. Those were the days.”

“Liam wants a Barbie.”

She sent him a sparkling smile as she said it. After a beat of surprise, Beckett beamed right back at her. “To use as a hostage, victim, or innocent bystander.”

Clare fisted the hand holding a dishcloth on her hip. “That’s exactly right, except he hasn’t come up with innocent bystander yet. Men really are just boys in bigger packages.”

“You ought to get that car she’s got, too. Then she can be driving along, and get carjacked. That’d be cool.”

“It used to be Winnie the Pooh and jack-in-the-boxes.”

“Times change.”

“Boy, they do. And just think, next year you’ll be decorating the inn.”

“I guess we’ll have to go all-out.”

“Absolutely. You’ll have to seriously deck the halls. You should do a holiday tour.”

“Hmm. Maybe.”

“Really, Beckett. People are invested, and they really want to see what you’ve done in there. You should do a tour after it’s all done. Hope would know just how it should be done. Avery and I could help. Think community relations, publicity, and pride.”

“I’ll talk it over with the family.” And could already see his mother jumping all over the idea.

“Meanwhile, I’m thinking of opening the bookstore on Sundays once you’re up and running. Maybe the inn will send some business my way.”

She paused, glanced around. “Why don’t you pour the rest of the wine? I’m going to go freshen up.”

Good thing he picked up his dirty clothes and wet towels, he thought.

He poured the wine, took his to the front windows. She was probably right about the tour, the decorations, even her Sunday hours. More work for everybody, but they’d make it worthwhile. He looked at the way the building shone now, imagined it decked out for the holidays.

Definitely worthwhile.

Hardly more than a year before the building had stood sagging in the dark, and now it gleamed. Hardly more than a year from now, he thought, they’d have it sparkling with lights and wreaths and garland.

Amazing, really, what could happen in a year.

Clare was here, with him. And he could clearly see her with him next year. In fact, he realized, he couldn’t see it otherwise.

“Beckett? Could you come in here a minute?”

Hell, had he left stuff tossed around in there? If so, he’d just have to distract her, so he grabbed her wine on the way.

“I haven’t had a lot of time to—” He stopped speaking the minute he stepped to the bedroom door, mostly because he’d swallowed his tongue.

Clare in candlelight.

She’d scattered them around the room to create a soft and indulgent romantic glow—and added more flowers to perfume the air. She’d turned down his bed, mounded the pillows in invitation.

And she, he thought, the centerpiece. Her hair fell long and loose around bare shoulders, glinting in the soft edges of the candle glow. Her body—smooth skin, subtle curves—seemed draped in midnight that frothed at the curve of her breasts and high on her thighs.

He wasn’t sure what women called what she wore—corset seemed much too ordinary and dated. He’d have dubbed it instant seduction.

“I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“You leave me breathless.”

“I hoped I would. I hope you’ll come here. Come over here, Beckett, and leave me breathless.”

He set the glasses aside, crossed to her. He trailed his fingertips over her shoulders, down her arms, up again. “You know I’m going to have to get the boys a whole kennel of puppies now.”

When she laughed, he swooped in, took her mouth. Took her breath.

She’d wanted so much to know this, this one vivid, intense moment, the absolute focus of body and mind. That moment that held like a diver on a cliff before the needs and sensations whipped and ripped into the heedless fall.

She’d wanted to give it to him, that moment, the ones that followed. She wrapped close, needing to seep into him as he did to her. Take him over as she was taken.

Tonight, all night, she would give everything and anything in celebration of knowing she could love.

All night, she thought again, to savor.

She pressed her cheek to his, then eased back. “It’s nice”—she began unbuttoning his shirt—“to have so much time. Lingering time.”

“Just tell me, were you wearing that all along?”

Her gaze slid up to his, sly as her smile. He wondered if women knew that look could make a man a slave.

“It was more efficient. And I liked knowing I’d come in here, take off my dress.” She eased the shirt off his shoulders. “Call you in. I liked knowing you’d see me, and want me.”

“I want you every time I see you. I want you when I don’t see you. I just want you, Clare.”

“You can have me. I like knowing that, too.”

She drew down his zipper, making his belly quiver.

“Lingering’s a challenge when you look like you do.”

“I’ll help you with that. You should lie down. You worked hard today.” She gave him a playful nudge.

He thought it might kill him to let her take the reins and take it slow—but he’d die happy.

He lay back. She slid over him, straddled him. Shaking her hair back, she set her hands on his shoulders.

“I can feel the work you do here.” She kneaded them gently, working toward his neck. “And here,” she continued as she stroked down his biceps. “It’s exciting. And in your hands.” She took his, pressed their palms together. “Hard and strong. It’s exciting to know they’ll be on me, touching me, doing things to me only you and I know about.”

She interlaced their fingers, then leaned down to drown them both in a kiss.

He wondered how the body could relax so utterly and churn so madly at once. She soothed him, aroused him, untied every knot of tension all the while lashing new ones as her lips brushed over his jaw, trailed in slow, silky kisses down his throat.

“I need to touch you.”

“You will,” she murmured. “I want you to. Soon.” But she kept her fingers twined with his as she glided those lips over his chest, and slowly, torturously, down to his belly.

It was a gift, she thought, this lazy feast of his body. A gift for both of them. How good it was to have him under her, to know the shape of his body, the scent of him, the feel and taste of his skin.

To indulge herself, to gorge if she pleased, as long as she pleased. The more she consumed, the more her appetite sharpened.

Strong hands, strong arms, strong back, she thought, yet he trembled for her. His breath quickened; his workingman muscles tensed. For her. That, too, was a gift.

She took him to the edge, held him there until every labored breath burned. Then she rose up, bringing his hands with hers to breasts thinly covered with midnight lace.

She arched back at last, at last letting him touch. Sighing out her pleasure as the candlelight bathed her.

His fingers found hooks. He willed himself not to rush, not to tear and tug but to release each one carefully. And to watch the midnight shift over her skin, slide down to reveal more.

She drew him in when he bowed up to sample and to relish, pressed him to her, urging him to feast.

The air pulsed, heady with candle wax and flowers, and in the fragile light once more she eased him back, braced her hands on his shoulders. Watching him, she took him into her.

Her breath released, something like a sob. Again she laced her fingers with his, and she began to move.

Rocking, almost gently at first, her eyes on his until he saw nothing but her, felt nothing but her. Only Clare.

Time spun out, long, slow beats. Once more she took him to the edge, held him there. Held him, then drove him over into shattered dark.




IN THE MORNING, he turned the tables and brought her breakfast in bed. It wasn’t pot roast with all the trimmings, but he knew how to put together a fairly decent omelette.

Her stunned surprise made him wish he could have offered her more than a couple of eggs with cheese.

“You’re eating pie for breakfast?”

“It’s fruit.” He sat across from her so he could watch her eat. “Danishes are an accepted form of breakfast. Why not pie?”

“Don’t pass that logic on to the kids. God, I’m sitting in bed drinking coffee and eating eggs. This must be an alternate universe.”

“If it includes this pie, I want to live here. What have you got going today?”

“Full slate. Helping my father harvest herbs—which means I’ll get some. Quick swing by the market on the way home. Some paperwork, a few things to do around the house. And so on. You?”

“I have paperwork and shop work I should get to. I’d rather spend the day with you.”

“You could meet us for dinner tomorrow. We’re going to grab something at Vesta before we hit the streets to beg for candy.”

“I’m in. I could pick you guys up.”

She shook her head as she finished the eggs. “After I pick them up from school, get them home and into costume, we’re going to my parents so they can trick-or-treat them. We’re Skyping Clint’s parents from there, so they can see the boys in full gear. I’m hoping to get to Avery’s around five, get some actual food in them.”

“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.




BY EIGHT, THE rounds complete, the boys sat in Vesta, eating and trading candy according to their mother’s three-piece limit. For himself Beckett ate a Butterfinger, a Snickers, and a small pack of Skittles—and felt just a little sick.

Kids, apparently, were made of sterner stuff, as Liam was already angling for one more piece.

“Tomorrow,” Clare told him to his desperate disappointment. Harry got the same treatment when he begged for quarters for the video games.

“It’s already bedtime.” She glanced at Murphy, who sat, focused on his third and final candy bar, as if his life had been sandwiched inside the chocolate and caramel.

“Time to go, Deadpool.”

“I’ll follow you home.”

“Oh, Beckett. There hasn’t been any . . . thing for days now. Plus—wait, there’s Alva and Joe checking out. Let me see if they’re going home now, and I’ll have an escort. Will that do?”

“I’d settle for it.”

She scooted out.

“I’m saving my gummy worms,” Murphy told him.

“Worms for a rainy day.”

“It doesn’t gotta rain. I’m saving them for tomorrow. Can we go back to the hotel place so I can see the lady again?”

“If it’s okay with your mom.”

“I just want to play one game,” Harry griped.

Beckett shifted his attention to a sulking Wolverine. “Tell you what, if it’s okay, we’ll go to the arcade this weekend, and we’ll play like maniacs.”

“Can we! But not Saturday ’cause it’s Tyler’s birthday. Can we go Sunday?”

“Works for me.”

Clare came back with Joe, who ruffled Liam’s hair. “We’ll be happy to escort these fine crime-fighters home.”

“We’re going to the arcade on Sunday,” Harry announced.

Clare lifted her eyebrows. “Oh?”

Under the table, Beckett gave Harry’s foot a nudge. “We were discussing the possibility.”

“It’s a definite possibility, especially if three superheroes come along right now without any arguing.”

Bribery worked. They were up, dashing for the door, yelling goodbye to Avery. Beckett walked them out.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He gave her a light kiss. “Happy Halloween.”

Clare gave his hand a light squeeze. “Don’t eat too much candy.”

He watched them cross the street, turn to walk down to the parking lot. He wished he were going with them, he realized. Not just to see her safely home, but to be there. Maybe help her put the kids to bed.

He’d actually taken a step forward before he stopped himself. Stupid, he decided. She’d do it all faster without him there to hype the boys up even more. And she was probably tired, wanted some quiet time after she’d gotten them down.

He’d see her tomorrow—that was enough.

But damned if it felt like enough.

He went back inside, sat at the bar. What the hell, he’d have a beer.

“You were pretty slammed tonight,” he said to Avery when she brought him a bottle.

“Always are on trick-or-treat night. Fun stuff, and God, my feet are killing me. I’m going to get off them, have Dave close out.”

“Want a beer first?”

She considered. “You know, I would.” Pulling off her apron, she got a beer, walked around the counter to sit beside him.

She tapped her bottle to his. “Happy Halloween.”