The Next Always

CHAPTER SIX




I APPRECIATE THE LIFT,” CLARE BEGAN AS THEY WALKED TO his truck. “Especially since you look tired.”

“Not tired. It’s just been a pisser of a day.”

“Problems with the hotel?”

“Irritations equaling a day I’d rather have been swinging a hammer than talking on the phone. It better be worth it in the long run,” he added with a glance toward the inn.

“It will be. And now the gift shop. That’s exciting.”

“It’ll be more exciting six months from now.” He opened the passenger door of the truck, took a clipboard, a fat notebook, and an old, dirty towel off the seat.

“It’s mostly just painting, isn’t it?”

He turned, gave her a long look.

“What?”

“First, it’s never just painting, not with Mom. Second, you smell really great.”

A horn tooted. Glancing over, Beckett spotted one of his carpenters driving by, waved. Clare boosted into the truck.

“Are we still on for Friday night?”

“Alva’s free to watch the kids.”

“Good.” He stood there a minute, just enjoying the fact that Clare sat in his truck, and they were making plans for Friday night. “Does seven work for you?”

“Yeah, seven’s fine.”

“Good,” Beckett repeated, then closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. “So, are the kids up about school starting?”

“Liam’s all about it. Murphy’s thrilled—especially with his Power Rangers lunch box. And Harry’s still pretending not to be.”

Beckett pulled out of the lot, caught the light, made the left. “How about you?”

“We’ve got new shoes, backpacks, lunch boxes, crayons, pencils, notebooks. The Mad Mall Safari is now over, and that’s a relief. With Murphy in school full-time, a lot of the child-care issues go away, and that makes life easier.”

“I hear the but.”

“But . . . my baby’s going to kindergarten. Five minutes ago I had him in a backpack, now he’ll be carrying one to school. Harry’s moving halfway through elementary school. It doesn’t seem possible. So, I’ll drop them off Monday morning, go home, have a good cry. And that’ll be that.”

“I always figured my mom did a happy dance the minute we walked down the lane to the school bus.”

“The happy dance comes after the good cry.”

“Got it.” He pulled into her short gravel drive behind her minivan.

“I can’t ask you in to dinner. Avery and Hope are coming.”

“That’s okay. Mom’s bribing us with a meal.”

She hesitated, gave him a sidelong glance. “You could come in if you have a minute, for something cold to drink.”

“I’ve got a minute.” Testing them both, he leaned over to open her door, stayed where he was, looking into her eyes, into the glimmer of green over gray. “It’s nice. Being close to you without pretending I’m not trying to be close to you.”

“It’s strange knowing you want to be.”

“Good strange or bad strange?”

“Good and strange,” she said, and got out.

He didn’t really know her house. He’d been inside a few times. She’d hired Ryder to do some work shortly after she’d bought it, and he’d helped.

Any excuse.

She’d hosted a couple of backyard cookouts over the years, so he’d been in the backyard, the kitchen.

But he didn’t know how the place worked, day-to-day. It was something that interested him about buildings and the people who lived or worked in them. And particularly interested him about her.

She had flowers planted in the front, a nice, well-tended mix suffering a bit from what his mother called the late-summer shabbies. Her tiny patch of lawn needed mowing.

He ought to help her with that.

She’d painted her door a deep blue, had a brass Celtic knot knocker centered on it.

She opened it directly onto the living room with a small-scale sofa in blue and green stripes, a couple of chairs in the green. The remains of a multi–Matchbox car wreck scattered on the hardwood.

The bookshelves he’d helped build took up an entire wall. It pleased him to see she made good use of them by crowding them with books, family photos, a few trinkets.

“Come on back to the kitchen.”

He stopped in the doorway of a small room with the walls covered with maps and posters. Colorful cubbies held toys, the ones that weren’t littering the floor. He studied child-sized bean bag chairs, little tables, and the debris three young boys made.

“Nice.”

“It gives them a place to share, and get away from me.”

She continued back, passed the bolt-hole of a powder room under the stairs and into the combination kitchen/dining room.

White appliances and dark oak cabinets. Fresh summer fruit in a wooden bowl on the short run of white countertop between the stove and refrigerator, the refrigerator covered with kids’ drawings and a monthly planner calendar. Four chairs around the square wooden table.

“The kids’ll be in the back. Give me a second.”

She went to the door, called through the screen. “Hi, guys!”

There were whoops and shouts, and from his angle Beckett saw her face just light up.

“Clare! Why didn’t you call me to come get you?”

“I got a ride home. No problem.”

Beckett heard the scrape of a chair, then saw Alva Ridenour come to the door.

He’d had her for algebra, freshman year, and calculus his senior. As she had then, she wore silver glasses perched on her nose, and her hair—now brilliantly white—pulled back in a no-nonsense bun.

“Why, Beckett Montgomery. I didn’t know you were running a taxi service.”

“Anywhere you want to go, Miz Ridenour. The meter’s never running for you.”

She opened the screen as the boys rushed in to assault Clare with tales of the day’s adventures, questions, pleas, complaints.

Alva scooted around them, gave Beckett a poke in the shoulder. “When’s that inn going to be finished?”

“It’ll be a while yet, but when it is I’ll give you a personal tour.”

“You’d better.”

“Do you need any help with your car?”

“No. My husband managed to get it into the shop. How’s your mama?”

“Busy, and keeping us busier.”

“As she should. Nobody wants a pack of lazy boys. Clare, I’m going to get on.”

“I’ll drive you home, Miz Ridenour.”

“It’s two houses down, Beckett. Do I look infirm?”

“No, ma’am.”

“You boys.” She used her former teacher’s voice, and the three kids fell silent. “Give your mother a chance to take a breath. I want to hear all about the first day of school when I see you next. And Liam? You pick up those cars in the living room.”

“But Murphy—”

“You brought them down, you pick them up.” She winked at Clare. “I’ll be on my way.”

“Thanks, Alva.”

“Oh, I promised them cookies and milk if they didn’t fight for a half hour. They made it.”

“Cookies and milk it is.”

“Did you fight with your brothers today?” Alva asked Beckett.

“Not in the last half hour.”

She cackled out a laugh as she left.

Murphy tugged on Beckett’s hand. “Do you wanna see my Power Rangers?”

“You got Red Ranger from Mystic Force?”

Murphy’s eyes widened. He could only nod rapidly before running from the room.

“Wash your hands,” Clare called after him. “Now you’ve done it,” she murmured to Beckett. “Wash up,” she told the other boys, “if you want cookies.”

They obviously did, as they dashed off.

“Power Rangers are Murphy’s current obsession. He has action figures, DVDs, pajamas, T-shirts, costumes, transports. We had a Power Ranger theme for his birthday in April.”

“I used to watch them on TV. I was about twelve, I guess, so I said they were cheesy. But I ate it up.”

As he spoke he watched her take little plates out of a cupboard to set on the table. Power Rangers, Spider-Man, and Wolverine.

“Which one’s mine?”

“Sorry?”

“Don’t I rate cookies and milk and a superhero plate?”

“Oh. Sure.” Obviously surprised, she went back to the cupboard, chose another plate. “Han Solo.”

“Perfect. I dressed up as Han Solo for Halloween.”

“How old were you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

He loved the way she laughed, and when she brought the plate and four small, colorful plastic cups to the table, he caught her hand.

“Clare.”

“I got ALL of them.” Murphy muscled in a white plastic basket loaded with action figures. “See, we got Mighty Morphin and Jungle Fury and see, I got Pink Ranger even though she’s a girl.”

Beckett crouched down, took out one of the Green Rangers. “This, my man, is an amazing collection.”

Murphy, eyes wide and deadly earnest, nodded. “I know.”




HE STAYED NEARLY an hour. Clare would have kissed him again just for the fact he’d given her kids such a great time. He’d never seemed bored or annoyed with a conversation dominated by superheroes, their powers, their partners, their foes.

But he didn’t kiss her.

Of course, he didn’t kiss her, Clare thought as she slipped potatoes, quartered and coated with olive oil and herbs, in to roast. That would’ve proved awkward with three kids hanging all over him.

She set her cutting board over the sink—the better to watch the kids, who’d gone back to swarming all over the play set her parents had given them—and minced garlic for the chicken’s marinade.

They’d so enjoyed having a man to play with.

They had her father, of course, and Clint’s dad when he came to visit, and Joe, Alva’s husband. But they didn’t really have anyone, well, their dad’s age.

So, it had been a nice hour.

Now she was behind in dinner prep, but that was okay. They’d eat a bit later than planned. The evening would be nice enough to have dinner out on the deck, then the boys could spill back out into the yard after for a bit before bedtime.

She whisked ingredients together, poured the marinade over chicken breasts, covered the bowl, set it aside.

Clare enjoyed the kitchen time, listening to her boys’ voices carry on the warm air, the bark of the neighbor’s dog, the scents from the oven, from her little kitchen garden. Which reminded her she had to do some weeding and some harvesting over the weekend.

And the laundry, she remembered, she’d let go because they’d stayed so long at Vesta the night before.

When she’d kissed Beckett in the shadows of the inn.

Silly to obsess over that, she thought. She’d kissed other men since Clint died.

Well, two, so that qualified as men. Her mother’s neighbor’s son, a perfectly nice accountant who lived and worked in Brunswick. Three dates there, two pleasant enough kisses. And no genuine interest or chemistry on either side.

Then Laurie’s aunt’s friend, an estate attorney from Hagerstown. Great-looking guy, she recalled. Sort of interesting, but very bitter regarding his recently-ex-wife. One date, one fraught good-night kiss. He’d even sent her flowers, with an apology for spending the evening talking about his ex.

How long ago had that been? she wondered. Idly she counted back as she peeled carrots. Harry had fallen off his trike and chipped his front baby tooth the morning before she’d gone to dinner with the accountant, so he’d been five.

God, over three years ago, she realized. And she’d gone out with the lawyer the day after she’d moved Murphy into his big-boy bed, so he’d been three. About two years there.

Which was more telling, the fact she measured time by little events in her kids’ lives or that she hadn’t even thought of dating for two years?

She supposed one was the same as the other.

She had the chicken simmering in wine and herbs when she heard the front door open, and Avery’s hail. “We come bearing gifts.”

“Back here!” Clare took one last glance out the window before hurrying toward the front of the house. “Hope.” She grabbed the woman in a hug. “You look amazing.”

It was invariably true. She radiated chic in her casual summer skirt and flounced top the color of chili peppers.

“Oh, it’s good to see you.” Hope returned the hug with an extra squeeze. “It’s been too long. God, something smells amazing.”

“Dinner, which is a little behind. Oh, sunflowers.”

“Couldn’t resist them.”

“I love them. Come on back.”

“Where are my men?” Hope shook the trio of gift bags she carried.

“You know you don’t have to bring them presents.”

“It’s as much fun for me.”

“Hey, I brought the wine.” Avery tapped the bag in her arm. “Which will also be as much fun for me. Let’s go open it, get this party started.”

Hope headed straight out the back, laughing as the kids stampeded toward her, and the gift bags. Clare watched through the screen door while Avery opened the wine.

The kids adored Hope, Clare thought, with or without gifts. And she really did look amazing. Sultry looks to go with the smoky voice, the short, razor-sharp wedge of dark hair with spiky bangs suited the knife-edged cheekbones, the long, heavy-lidded smolder of her eyes.

The body Clare knew she trained with vigorous daily workouts managed to be both athletic and intensely female at the same time.

“God, she’s beautiful.”

“I know. She’d be easy to hate.” Avery passed Clare a glass of wine. “But we’re bigger than that. We love her despite her beauty. We’ve got to talk her into taking this job.”

“But if she decides she doesn’t want it—”

“I’ve got the gut feeling.” Avery pointed at her belly. “The McTavish Gut Feeling. No one dares ignore the McTavish Gut. She’s unhappy down in D.C.”

“Small wonder,” Clare muttered and felt her gorge rise over Hope’s miserable prick of an ex yet again.

“She’s made some noises about going back to Philly, or trying Chicago, and I know—Clare, I know that’s not what she should do. She should be here, with us.”

“Well, I can do my part, hyping the inn, and the Montgomerys. But it’s going to be her call at the end of the day.” She slipped her arm around Avery’s waist. “But it sure is good to have both of you here.”

So good, Clare thought over dinner while the food she’d prepared was enjoyed and the sunflowers beamed at the head of the table.

She let the boys burn off dinner and excess excitement until dusk. “I’m going to put them in the corral for the night.”

“Want some help roping them in?” Avery asked.

“No, I’ve got it.”

“Good, because after that meal, and the ice cream and fresh strawberries, I’m not sure I can move yet.”

Clare called them in, got the expected whines and protests. “We had a deal,” she reminded them. “Say good night.”

They obeyed, heads hanging, feet dragging like a trio shackled for the chain gang.

By the time she got back, her friends had cleared the table.

“I’d say you didn’t have to do that, but I’m glad you did.” She plopped back down, reached for the wine Avery topped off. “Boy, does this feel good. It’d feel great if we could do this anytime at all.”

“Avery’s been pitching this B&B since I got here.”

“Well then, it’s my turn.” Prepared, Clare straightened up, leaned forward. “It’s more than a bed-and-breakfast. I think it’s going to have that kind of warmth and charm, but combined with the pizzazz of a boutique hotel. I’ve been through parts of it, gotten a sense of the setup, looked at the cut sheets and photos of furniture and fixtures. I’m still dazzled.”

“Living where you work.” Hope lifted her shoulders. “There are pros and cons there.”

“Come on, Hope, you practically lived at the Wickham anyway.”

“Maybe.” Unable to deny that singular fact, she blew out a breath. “The Prick and Miss Tits are officially engaged.”

“They deserve each other,” Avery muttered.

“Oh yeah. Anyway, she actually breezed into my office last week, wanting to discuss wedding plans, as they’ll have the event at the hotel.”

“Bitch.”

“And another oh yeah.” Hope toasted Avery. “Yesterday, the big boss calls me in. He’d like to discuss my contract as it’s nearly up. He offered me a raise, which I declined, explaining that I’d be tendering my resignation. He was, sincerely, stunned.”

“Did he really think you’d stay on after his son treated you that way?” Clare demanded.

“Clearly he did. When he realized I was serious, he doubled the raise.” One eyebrow arched, she lifted her glass again in toast. “Doubled it without a single blink. That was incredibly satisfying. Almost as satisfying as telling him thanks, but no thanks. Pissed him off, enough for him to release me from the remainder of my contract.”

“He fired you?”

“No, he didn’t fire me.” Hope grinned at Clare’s outrage. “We simply agreed that since I’d be leaving in a matter of weeks anyway, I could depart the premises on the spot. So, I’m done.”

“Are you okay?” Clare leaned over, squeezed a hand over Hope’s.

“I am. I really am. I have an interview next week in Chicago, another pending in Philadelphia, and yet another in Connecticut.”

“Stay with us.”

Hope gave Clare’s hand a squeeze in turn. “I’m not throwing it over, or I wouldn’t be here. It’s intriguing, I admit, what these people are doing. I want to see it, feel it out. Being so close to you and Avery is a big draw, but this job has to be the right fit.”

“It’s as tailored as one of your Akris suits. Don’t take my word.” Avery shrugged, leaned back nonchalantly in her chair. And smiled a very smug smile. “You’ll see.”

“I like the town, or I should say I’ve always liked spending a day or two here when I’ve come to visit. So, tell me more about the Montgomerys. Avery’s given me the basics. Mom, three sons. They lost their father who started the contractor’s business about ten years ago. They own several properties in and around town.”

“They saved the inn property. There was talk about just razing it, it had gotten so bad. And that would’ve been a crime.”

“I remember how it looked the last few times I came up,” Hope commented. “Saving it’s no small feat.”

“They have a good eye, and talent. All three are terrific carpenters and cabinetmakers. They built this deck.”

“Ryder—the oldest,” Avery continued. “He’s standing as job boss on this project. Owen’s the detail guy, runs the numbers, makes the calls, takes the meetings. Or most of them. Beckett’s an architect. Clare can tell you more about him since he’s sweet on her.”

“Oh?” That eyebrow arched again. “Oh, really?”

“Really,” Avery said before Clare could speak. “They shared a big, sloppy kiss in the dark, haunted halls of the inn.”

“Really? Wait, haunted? No, one thing at a time.” Hope waved her hands in the air as if clearing a chalkboard. “Now, tell me everything about Beckett Montgomery. I met him briefly in your place, Avery, but all I remember is an impression of yummy.”

“Yummy’s accurate, but Clare would have more details there due to big, sloppy.”

“I should never have told you about last night,” Clare said to Avery.

“As if. He’s gorgeous—they all are. He has his office and apartment over the restaurant.”

“Oh, that’s right, that’s right. I remember now. I met Owen long enough to say hi, there. Two out of three, at least, are yummy.”

“Ryder carries on the tradition. Anyway, Beckett.” Avery grinned at Clare. “He got his degree from the University of Maryland, worked for the family business in the summers, then apprenticed with a firm in Hagerstown for a couple years. He’s full-time with Montgomery Family Contractors now, handles the architectural needs, and still straps on a tool belt whenever he’s needed. Which looks fine on him.”

“Maybe you should go out with him.”

Avery just kept grinning at Clare over her wine. “He never gave me the puppy-dog eyes. He’s been stuck on Clare since high school. He told her.”

“Aww.”

Avery gave Hope a light slap on the arm. “I know. They’re going out Friday night.”

“Where?”

Clare shifted in her chair. “I don’t know. Dinner, I guess. He’s coming at seven. That should be dinner.”

“What are you wearing?”

“I don’t know. God, I don’t know. I don’t remember how to do this.”

“We’re here to help,” Hope assured her. “We’ll go up and pick something out.”

“I don’t even know if I have anything that’s date-wear. Everything’s Mom- or bookstore-wear.”

“I love your clothes,” Avery disagreed.

“We’ll see what’s what. And if we can’t find anything that makes you happy, we’ll go shopping.”

“I don’t really have time to—”

“Clare, you’ve been shopping with me.” Hope lifted a finger. “You know I can whip together an outfit, including shoes, accessories, and underpinnings, inside twenty minutes.”

“She has that talent,” Avery confirmed. “See, fun. We can do this all the time when Hope’s living in town. You know what you need to do! You need to move up here now. Move in with me until the inn’s finished. It’s perfect. We could be roommates again. You’ll get to know the area, the people, have a real handle on the inn before you really start working there.”

“Getting way ahead of yourself has always been one of your talents. I haven’t even seen the place. And, even if I decided I wanted the job like I want a new pair of Manolos, there’s no guarantee they’ll hire me. For all we know, Mom and Sons might take an instant dislike to me.”

“Never happen; they’re too astute. Especially Justine. Oh, Oh.” Avery waved her wineglass. “Did you hear about the gift shop?”

“I was in there earlier,” Clare confirmed. “The building next to the bookstore,” she told Hope. “Their tenant moved out, and they’re going to make it into a gift shop, specializing in local arts and crafts. Tying it in with the inn.”

“That’s a clever idea.”

“They’re full of them,” Avery told Hope.

“Uh-huh. Tell me about the place being haunted.”

“It’s a woman with a preference for honeysuckle. That’s all I know.” Avery shrugged. “The original part of the building is the oldest stone house in town. Seventeen-ninety-whatever. So she could be from any time. You know what? Owen ought to research her. That’s what he does—research things.”

“Owen’s the one I talked to. The detail man. Has this honeysuckle-loving ghost caused any problems?”

“Not that I’ve heard of. And I would, or Clare would. The crew eats at my place a lot, and gets coffee or books at TTP. They’d talk about it, believe me. Maybe you’ll make contact when we go through tomorrow. Clare, you’ve got to come.”

Clare tuned back in, shifted her gaze from the softening light over the backyard—that needed mowing. “I don’t think the Montgomerys want three little boys running around the place. Plus, it’s not safe.”

“It wouldn’t take long. I could get Franny to watch them for a half hour. She’s on tomorrow.”

“I don’t know . . . Let me see. I might be able to drop them at my mother’s for a bit. A little bit,” she added. “We’ve still got a lot of back-to-school prep to do, and I’ve got yard work and housework.”

“Walk-through’s at ten.”

Clare juggled tomorrow’s agenda in her head. “Maybe. I’ll be there if I can make it.”

“Good enough. Now.” Hope rubbed her hands together. “Let’s go play closet.”