by Nora Roberts
“She’ll get over it. Take her some flowers or something.”
“I don’t have time to get her flowers. Besides.” He kicked the tire again. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Yeah, that matters.” Ryder shook his head in pity. He leaned in the truck window when Beckett got in. “They’re always going to figure you did something, so the easiest way around it is to distract them with flowers. Then you’re more likely to get laid.”
“You’re a cynical bastard.”
“I’m a realist, son. Go babysit, maybe that’s the same as flowers to a woman like Clare.”
Maybe it was, Beckett thought as he drove away. But he wasn’t hanging out with the kids because he’d done something. He was just helping her out.
He liked helping her out. He wanted to help her out.
Sooner or later she’d have to get used to it.
When he got there, the crowd went wild. Both his ego and his mood took a boost when the kids raced around, vying for attention, assailing him with questions and pleas to play.
“Take a breath,” Clare ordered, then laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder as she turned to Beckett. “We just have to finish up some math homework.”
“Math, huh? That happens to be my best thing.”
“I’ve been doing homework forever.”
“It certainly seems like it. We just have to finish this worksheet, then you’re free.”
“Go on,” Beckett told her. “We got this.”
“Oh, but—”
“We have no time for women here.”
“It’s Man Night!” Murphy flexed his little biceps the way Beckett had shown him.
“Man Hour and a Half,” Clare corrected, then eyed the bag Beckett set on the counter.
“That’s of no concern to you. It holds manly things.” He snatched it up again, gave her a light kiss that inspired Liam to make gagging noises while Harry stared at his worksheet and Murphy tried to climb Beckett’s leg like a monkey.
“All right.” She sent Harry a long look, then brushed her hand over his hair. “Don’t do the math for him. And you guys, give your brother a little quiet so he can finish up. Then you can all play. I won’t be long.”
“Have a good time.” Beckett sat at the table. “So what have we got here?”
Clare gave Harry one more long look, then left them.
“You have to add the three numbers and write the answer. I don’t know why there are so many of them.”
“You’ve got a good start.”
“Can we have the bag now?” Liam asked. “Is it cookies?”
“No and no. You two hit the playroom. I need you to separate all the action figures into good guys and bad guys, then put them into teams.”
“What for?”
Beckett drilled a finger into Murphy’s belly. “For the war.”
The prospect of war sent them both racing away with bloodcurdling screams.
“So,” Beckett began, “fifty plus eight plus two hundred.”
It didn’t take long, and Beckett discovered Harry didn’t need help so much as someone to keep him focused.
“Good deal. You aced that sucker.” From the sounds coming from the playroom, they’d started the war without him. He got the bag, brought it to the table. “Now for math homework, over and above the call of duty, this seems fitting.”
He took out a measuring tape. “This is the real deal, not a toy. It’s one of mine. There’s probably tons of stuff that needs measuring around here.”
Harry pulled the tape out, let it snap back.
“When you need it to stay out, you push this—then it sticks. Just push it back to release.”
Saying nothing, Harry tried it a few times. Then he looked at Beckett. “How come I get this?”
“You seemed interested in how to build things, and fix them, how it works when we were at the inn the other day. You can’t build anything without a measuring tape. My dad gave me a measuring tape when—”
“You’re not my dad.”
“No,” Beckett said, and thought uh-oh. “I just remembered getting one when I was a kid, and figured you’d like one.”
“I saw you kiss my mom. I saw you kiss her before, too.”
“Yeah.”
After setting the measuring tape down, Harry folded his arms. “Why are you kissing her?”
“Because I like her. Maybe you should talk to your mom about it.”
“I’m talking to you.”
“Okay, fair enough.” So the answer, Beckett decided, had to be fair enough, too. “I like your mom a lot. Kissing’s a way to show it.”
“Are you getting married?”
Whoa. How did he explain to an eight-year-old the long, sticky stretch between kissing and marriage? “We like each other, Harry, and we like being with each other, doing stuff together.”
“Laurie’s getting married, Mom said.”
“Yeah, but—”
“You can’t ask her to get married unless you ask me first. I’m the oldest.”
“Okay.”
“And you can’t kiss her if she doesn’t want to.”
“All right.”
“You have to swear.” Though his eyes and voice went fierce, Beckett saw his bottom lip tremble a little.
Brave boy, he thought. Damn brave boy. “You know, I lost my dad, too.”
Harry nodded. “Sorry.”
“Yeah, it’s hard. Sons have to take care of their mothers. It’s our job. You’re doing a good job, Harry. I won’t kiss your mom if she doesn’t want to. I won’t ask her to marry me until I ask you about it first.” Beckett held out a hand. “I swear.”
Harry studied the hand a moment, studied Beckett’s face. Then shook.
“Are we okay, you and me?”
Harry jerked a shoulder. “I guess. Do you come over to play with us so you can kiss Mom?”
“That’s a nice benefit, but I come over to play because it’s fun, and I like you. But I’m not going to kiss you.”
That made Harry snort out a laugh before he picked up the tape again. “Did everybody get a measuring tape?”
“No, everybody got something different.”
“Can I see?”
“Sure. I got this little level for Murphy. See when you set it down, you check these bubbles here in the middle. See the lines there, and the way the bubbles sit in between them? This table’s pretty level. Otherwise.” He lifted one end of the level so the bubbles tipped. “See?”
“Yeah.” Fascinated, Harry tried it himself. “That’s awesome.”
“And this is a Phillips-head screwdriver.”
“Who’s Phillips?”
“Good question. I’ve got no clue.” He’d have to look it up. “They call it a Phillips-head because, see it’s got ridges in the point instead of being a flat-head like a regular one. This one’s small enough so Liam can unscrew the battery cases on your toys when they need changing.”
“It’s pretty cool.”
“If we had some more tools and some materials, we could build something, sometime.”
The boy perked up. “Like what?”
“We’ll think of something.”
“Okay. I like the measuring tape. I like it’s real and all. I’m going to show Liam and Murphy, and measure something.”
“Good idea. I’ll be right there.”
Beckett sat for a moment when the boy ran off. He hoped he’d handled that thorny matter the right way. He felt like he had, but, whew, he was damn glad to set it down again.
Clare sipped the champagne Avery provided and studied Hope’s apartment. Clean, she thought, serviceable—and temporary. Obviously Hope felt the same, as she’d kept the furniture move to a minimum.
“I sold a lot, gave some things to my sister. My brother took the bed. I didn’t want it, and he didn’t have any qualms about sleeping where I used to sleep with Jonathan.” She shrugged.
“Better for you,” Avery agreed. “Fresh start, fresh place, fresh everything.”
“Smart.” Avery toasted her. “You should look at Bast, down on Main. Most of the furniture for the inn’s coming from there. And Owen told me they’d hold anything that comes in until they’re ready to load in. I’m sure they’d do the same for the innkeeper.”
“Maybe. I’ll take a look anyway.” Hope studied the packing boxes, the bare walls, the bare floor. “Oh God, what have I done?”
She turned a quick circle, eyes wide and a little wild. “I’ve sold half my things, I have stuff I don’t know what to do with in storage. I’ve moved from a place I loved, and I won’t have a real job for God knows how long. Why did I do this?”
“You’re just anxious,” Clare began.
“Anxious? Anxious isn’t in the same hemisphere with what I am. This is crazy. This isn’t like me. I don’t even know where I am.”
“You’re in Boonsboro.” Avery turned her toward the window overlooking Main Street. “You’ve been here dozens of times. See, there’s my restaurant.”
“You know what I mean.”
“What I know is you’re about to start a job that’s perfect for you in a place where you have friends. The best of all possible friends, who are smart and sexy, beautiful and wise.”
“And modest and loving,” Clare added, but Hope didn’t laugh.
“How do I know it’s the perfect job for me? I haven’t done it yet.”
Avery gave her a quick one-armed hug. “I know what you need.”
“You’re right. You are wise. I need a lot more champagne.”
“No—well, later for that. Now.” Avery dug in her pocket. “Owen gave me the key. Your key to the inn. We’re going over now so you can remember why you’re here.”
“I haven’t finished unpacking. I may never. There’s not enough room for all my clothes in here.” Hope squeezed her hands on either side of her head. “What am I going to do with my clothes?”
“We’ll figure it out. But right now we’re going to explore your future domain.”
“Avery’s right.” Though going inside the building, just the three of them, made Clare a little uneasy, she put all the enthusiasm she could muster in her voice. “You said you haven’t been over since you got here.”
“I’ve been trying to organize.”
“I’ll help you later.”
“And I’ll come by tomorrow,” Clare promised. “At least for a little while.”
“Okay, all right. Let’s go.”
“You couldn’t help but see the entrance.” Clare grabbed her jacket as they headed out, and down the back stairs.
“And it’s beautiful. It’s a great building, no argument. I just can’t figure out why I thought I should be in charge of it.”
“Because you’re smart, self-aware—which is the same as wise, really. And this is just the kind of challenge you thrive on.”
Hope stared at Avery, blew out a breath as they crossed the side street. “Big talk. And you forgot sexy and beautiful.”
“Goes without saying, Miss Philadelphia County.”
“Sexy and beautiful always go with saying.”
“They’re prepping the ground for the pavers.” Avery gestured. “You should take a look behind the gift shop, see what they’ve done there. It’s just great. Here.” She handed Hope the key. “You should unlock it.”
Here goes, she thought, sliding the key into the lock.
Chapter Fourteen
Hope said nothing when they walked in. Clare started to speak, but Avery shook her head. Understanding, Clare kept her silence.
Boxes were stacked everywhere with barely a pathway between. Kitchen cabinets, Clare noted. So that installation would begin soon, but she worried Hope might not appreciate the lovely tiles since the boxes and tarps hid so much of them.
They snaked their way through to the wide archway.
“The colors are good.” Hope’s tone stayed noncommittal, but she stood in the cluttered space for several moments before continuing down the short hall into the lobby area.
There she made a little sound—pleasure and surprise.
“All right, gorgeous. Elegant and unique without being fussy. Do you know if it’s safe to walk on this part, too?”
“Owen said anything we couldn’t walk on would be taped off.”
Wanting to see for herself, Avery crossed the tile and flipped on the work light inside one of the restrooms. “Big wow.”
“What? Oh.” Hope stepped in, ran her fingers over the stylized pattern of the wall tiles. “Look how it picks up the details in the tile rug but doesn’t duplicate it. I love this.”
“Want it?”
Hope merely gave Avery an arch look. “I’m sure there’s more to see.”
She wandered to the first guest room, and stood at the taped doorway of the bathroom.
They’d laid the floor, Clare noted, and thought of that first moment with Beckett, right there. Of the sudden, surprising awareness. Of the scent of honeysuckle.
She backed out, left her friends cooing over colors and tile details to go to the dining room.
“That’s a great look,” Hope said when she joined Clare. She continued to study the ceiling a moment before she wandered to the front windows.
“Are you really not sure?”
Still looking out, Hope lifted her shoulders. “I guess I feel out of my element, and that’s unnerving. This, all of this, is such a big change, and I want that—I think I need that. But now that I’ve done it I wonder if I’m ready for this big a change.”
She turned back. “Still, there’s something about this place. It just speaks to me, and makes me think maybe this is my element now. It feels right when I’m in here. I’ll probably go back across the street and panic again, but it feels right when I’m in here.”
She looked up to the coffered ceiling again when she heard the sound of footsteps overhead. “Avery must’ve gone up without us.”
“No, I didn’t.” Her gaze angled up as well, Avery walked in.
“It’s probably Ryder or Owen,” Clare began.
“Could be, but I didn’t see their trucks out front or out back.”
“Well, somebody’s up there, and since the doors are locked, it’s somebody with a key.” To solve the matter, Hope walked out to the hall, stood at the base of the steps. “Hello!”
Her voice echoed back; silence followed.
“Must be the ghost.” Avery grinned, her face full of fun. “Let’s check it out.”
“Avery—” But she was already jogging upstairs. Resigned, Clare followed with Hope beside her as Avery continued to call out.
“Is this cool or what?” Avery stood in the doorway of E&D. “Can you smell it?” She breathed in deep. “Summertime. Honeysuckle.”
“It’s just your imagination.” But Clare folded her arms, chilled, because she smelled it, too.
“Then my imagination took the same trip. It’s fascinating.” Hope moved into the room. “Has anyone done any research to try to find out who she was? That would be …” She jumped as the porch door opened. “Look at that!”
“The door wasn’t latched and locked. That’s how someone got in,” Clare insisted.
“Someone carrying an armload of honeysuckle? I don’t think so.” Avery went to the door, opened it wider. Closed it again. “And it wouldn’t be easy to access that porch from the outside, when it’s still light out on top of it.”
“It doesn’t feel sad, does it?” Hope circled the room, opened the door again, stepped out. “Whatever, whoever—it feels friendly.”
“It can’t feel anything, because it’s stone and brick and wood.” Temper snapped in Clare’s voice.
“So was Hill House.” Avery lowered and deepened her voice. “And whatever walked there walked alone.”
“Oh, stop it.” This time, Clare rounded on her. “Just stop it. It’s an old buildi
ng. Floors creak. They need to fix the door. That’s all.”
“Honey.” Avery reached for her hand. “Why are you so upset?”
“You’re standing here making this place out to be the haunted hotel and you wonder why I’m upset?”
“Yeah.” She tightened her grip on Clare’s hand. “If you don’t believe in spooks, you’d just think we’re being silly. But you wouldn’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad. I’m just tired of being pulled into talking about ghosts as if they existed.”
“Okay. I’m not upset if you don’t believe. Why should you be upset if I do?”
“You’re right. Absolutely. It’s been a hard day, and I’ve still got to fix dinner. I should get home.”
“We’ll go back,” Hope began.
“No, you should stay, go through the rest. I’m sorry. I really am tired. I just—” Her voice broke, undoing her. “I don’t believe in all this.”
“Fine, no problem.” Avery gave an irritated shrug. “We should go up so Hope can see her apartment.”
“I don’t want to believe in all of this.” Tears clogged her throat, stung her eyes. “If it’s possible, why didn’t Clint come back?”
“Clare.” Before Clare could evade, Avery had her wrapped in a hug. “I’m sorry. I never even thought.”
“It’s stupid. I’m stupid.” Giving in, giving up, Clare let the tears come. “And it’s stupid to get mad, but why does she get to come back? Why does she get to stay?”
“I wish I knew.”
“Murphy saw her.”
Avery jerked back. “What? When?”
“When we were here with Beckett. It scared me, seeing him starting upstairs, smiling at … her. And it made me furious. Why should he see her, Avery? Shouldn’t he have had the chance to see his father? Just once? Just once. Hell.”
She walked out onto the porch, into the air. As she stood at the rail, Hope pushed a tissue into her hand. Then Hope’s arm came around one side of her, Avery’s on the other.
“It is stupid to be mad.” A sigh trembled out as she wiped at her eyes. “Useless to ask why. I’ve done all that already, and I got past it. When they first started talking about ghosts, I didn’t believe it, so it was interesting. The way a novel is. Just a good story, that’s all. But then, Murphy.”