by Nora Roberts
Beckett’s mouth dropped open. “Jesus, Mom.”
“Tit for tat, my baby boy. What’s the news?”
“Where’s the rest of us?”
“Upstairs in Hope’s apartment. They went ahead and laid the tile in her kitchen and bath since it’s simple.”
“Let’s get them down here, so we can all do this together.”
He went out, yelled up. “Family meeting, ASAP. Eve and Roarke.”
“What’s this about, Beckett?” Justine asked.
“Something I finished up today. Oh, I need to use the shop for a while, just FYI. I have to build some coffins.”
Not much surprised Justine Montgomery, especially when it came to her boys, but this one had her blinking. “Coffins?”
“For the kids, for action figures who’ve fallen in battle. I’m probably going to head over there when—Okay, here they come.”
“What’s up?” Owen demanded. “We’re just knocking off.”
“And I want a beer,” Ryder added.
D.A. moseyed in behind him, circled the room to sniff everyone hello.
“You can buy me one.” Beckett opened his folder, took out the mock-up of the sign. “This is it. Anybody doesn’t like it, I’ll kill them with a sledgehammer. I’ll feel bad if it’s Mom or Carolee, but I’ll still do it.”
Ryder studied it, said, “Huh.”
“What font is that?”
“The one I picked,” Beckett told Owen. “I can kill you. I have a spare brother.”
“Justine, look at the colors.” Carolee laid a hand on Beckett’s arm as she leaned in.
“They’re exactly what I wanted, that rich brown on creamy, beigy tan.”
“It’s to scale. Plenty of room for the website and the phone numbers without crowding the name.”
“Not bad.” Ryder nodded, scratching D.A.’s ears while he shot Beckett a grin. “Not bad at all.”
“I still need the font. If we’re sticking with this—”
“We’re sticking with it,” Beckett insisted.
“I need it for the stationery, business cards, room plaques, key fob—”
“Okay, shut up.” Beckett took a disk out of the file, handed it to Owen. “Everything’s on here.”
“It’s like the towel warmer.” Justine wrapped her arm around Beckett’s waist. “It’s a hundred percent.”
“I made one up for the gift shop, figured we’d go vertical there, hang it out on a bracket, print on both sides.”
“I love it!” Justine took it. “Carolee, let’s go see if Madeline’s still over there. She’ll want to see this. Good job.” She gave Beckett a squeeze. “Really good.”
“I guess I’ll buy you a beer,” Ryder decided.
“I guess you will.”
“Meet you there. I need to clean up since I wasn’t riding a desk all day.”
“Did you give me the point size on the—”
“It’s all there, Owen,” Beckett assured him.
“I’ll check it out. After Ry buys me a beer.”
“Why am I buying your beer?”
“It’s your turn.”
“Bullshit.”
They argued about it on the way out.
Chapter Fifteen
Clare barely had the coffee started and the computer booted on her preopening routine when the bookstore doorknob rattled. She glanced over, saw Sam Freemont through the glass panel. Too late to hide, she decided as he’d spotted her, gave her that sly wink and smile.
She considered just shaking her head, but he’d only knock, wink, smile. She’d never been able to figure out why Sam thought he was so charming.
Unlocking the door, she angled herself in the narrow opening. “I’m sorry, Sam. I’m not open yet.”
“I smell coffee.”
“Yes, I just started it, but I’m not open for an hour. I really need to—”
“I could sure use a cup. You can spare a cup for a friend now, can’t you?”
He didn’t exactly muscle his way in, but she found herself backing up. Easier to just pour the damn coffee, she thought, and slipped behind the counter.
Sam had given her the mild creeps since middle school.
“How do you want it?”
“Hot and sweet. Why don’t you just tip your finger in it. That’s all the sugar I need.”
Maybe more than mild these days, she decided.
“I saw your car in the back, and thought, Clare’s getting an early start today. Honey, you work too hard.”
“Can’t run a business without working.” Unless your daddy owned the car dealership where you put in time when it suited you. She set the go-cup on the counter. “Sugar’s on the shelf right over there.”
He only leaned on the counter. “How are things going with you, sweetheart?”
“Busy. In fact, I’ve really got to get to work. So—”
“You’ve got to take time for yourself. Isn’t that what I always tell you?”
“Yes, you do. But right now—”
“Did you see the demo I’m driving? She’s one sweet ride.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“Come take a look. In fact, let me take you for a spin.” He gave her that wink again.
“I have work to do.” She slapped the top on the cup since he’d made no move to doctor it. “Coffee’s on the house.”
“Now you can’t buy yourself pretty things if you give it away.” With that sly look on his face he reached in the inside jacket pocket of his gray pinstripe suit, flashed gold cuff links and monogrammed French cuffs.
He took a twenty out of his wallet, set it on the counter.
“You keep the change, buy yourself a little something.”
She came around, intending to get to the door, get him out. He timed it well, turning into her so she ended up trapped between him and the counter.
Enough, Clare decided. Just enough.
“You’re in my way, and you need to leave.”
“I tell you what we’ll do. We’ll go for a drive tonight.”
“No, we won’t.”
“A long, pretty drive,” he said, trailing a finger down the side of her throat before she slapped it aside. “I’ll treat you to a nice dinner. And then—”
“I don’t know how to make this any more clear. I have a business to run. I have children to raise. And I’m not interested in going for a drive with you, a dinner. Or lunch. Or brunch.” That got through, she thought as the smile fell away from his face. “Now I’m telling you to get out of my store.”
“You should be nicer to me, Clare. You should stop playing games with me. I could do things for you.”
“I can do for myself.” She started to step to the side, but he shot out his arm, slapped a hand on the counter and blocked her.
The first prickle of fear scraped the surface of sheer annoyance. “Stop it. What’s wrong with you?”
“You’re always too busy to spend a little time with me. But not too busy to spend plenty with Beckett Montgomery.”
“That’s my business.”
“You’re wasting your time with him. The Montgomerys, they’re nothing but blue-collar punks. I could buy and sell Beckett Montgomery.” He stepped in, put a hand on her hip, and shot twin spears of temper and fear through her when he slid it around, squeezed her ass. “I just want you to take a drive with me. Let me show you a good time.”
“Get your hands off me.” She hated the jerky sound of her voice, fought to steady it. “I’m never going to take a drive with you. I’m not interested in you or what you can buy and sell. I want you to get out of my store, and I don’t want you to come back.”
The pseudo charm switched to a bright, sharp anger that sent her heart on a gallop. “That’s no way to talk to me. It’s past time you realize a woman like you needs to be grateful, needs to show some appreciation.”
She thought of the coffee behind her, slapped one hand on his chest, reaching for the cup with the other.
Someone banged hard on
the door. “Clare!” Avery, her face furious through the glass, banged again. “I need you to open the door.” She turned her head, raised a hand. “Hey, Owen! Come over here.”
Sam stepped back, shot his cuffs. “You think about what I said.”
Because her legs trembled, she pressed back against the counter. “Don’t come back here. Don’t come to my house again. Stay away from me.”
He walked to the door, flipped open the lock she didn’t realize he’d turned.
Avery bolted in when he went out. “Creep,” she yelled behind him, then shut the door hard, locked it again. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Yes. Yeah.”
“Was he actually putting moves on you? Stupid, pinstriped bastard. How many times do you have to turn him down?”
“Apparently I haven’t reached the magic number.”
“Clare, you’re shaking.” Instantly, Avery moved over to hug her, to rub her arms as she felt how cold they were. “Damn it, what did he do? He really scared you.”
“A little. Maybe a lot. Don’t tell Owen—where is Owen?”
“How the hell do I know? I just used him as a threat of a beat-down. Sam’s always been scared of the Montgomerys. What the hell was he doing in here?”
“I’m stupid, just stupid.” She went behind the counter, got a bottle of water out of the little cooler. “He said he wanted coffee, and I figured it was easier to give it to him than argue about being closed. He usually just makes a pest of himself. Today was different. He got mad, and pushy.”
She remembered the feel of his hands on her, let herself shudder it away.
“He knows I’m seeing Beckett, and that seemed to set him off.”
“Sam the creep Freemont always gets what he wants, and you’re screwing with his record. His mother just indulges the crap out of him; always has. You know there was talk about him and some woman he was dating a couple years ago.”
Clare nodded, soothed her throat with water. “That he’d knocked her around, and his mother paid her off. I thought it was just gossip. Now … I’m inclined to believe it.”
“You should’ve kneed him in the balls.”
“I was stupid there, too. He just took me by surprise. I was going to toss his damn coffee in his face, which wouldn’t have worked very well since I capped it.”
“Do you want to call the cops?”
“No. No, he was just being obnoxious, and creepy. He’s bound to be embarrassed since you scared him off. And I told him not to come back. He’ll have to get his damn coffee and books somewhere else.”
“Like he reads.”
Clare took the cap off the cup, deliberately poured it down the drain in the under-counter sink. “He left his damn twenty. Keep the change, he says, buy yourself a little something. He is an asshole.”
“Tear it up.”
“I’m not tearing up a twenty-dollar bill.”
“Then I will.”
“No.” Laughing now, Clare slapped a hand on it as Avery reached for it. “I’ll just mail it to him.”
“You will not.” Face flushed with temper, Avery slapped a hand over Clare’s. “No contact. I mean it, Clare. Contact of any kind encourages his type of obsession or whatever it is.”
“Where do you get that?”
“I watch a lot of cop shows since I’m not currently spending any time dating and having sex. Seriously, Clare, tear it up, give it away, spend it, but don’t send it to him.”
“Okay, you’re probably right. I’ll give it to the church or something.” She jammed it in her pocket. “I’m really glad you came by.”
“So am I.”
“Why did you come by?”
“I saw the asshole’s car when I was walking to the shop. Flashy car, dealer tag, so who else could it be? I thought I’d stop in, keep you from being bored to death. I didn’t expect to find him practically assaulting you.”
“Thanks. A lot.”
“When’s one of the girls getting in?”
Clare glanced at her watch. “Any minute. God, now I’m behind.”
“You’ll catch up. Go on and get started. Since I’m here, I think I’ll browse for a couple minutes.”
“Avery, he’s not coming back—and I wouldn’t let him in if he did.”
“I’m forced to remind you—not dating or having sex currently. I could use a good book.”
Hands in her pockets, Avery studied the shelves of new releases.
Clare sighed, got out two cups. Since her friend decided to be her sword and shield, they might as well have some coffee.
Beckett liked his timing. The way he calculated it, he’d get to Clare’s right after homework, and before dinner. So maybe he could wrangle an invite to stay. He liked his chances. They’d had a good time Saturday night, spent some time with the kids in the park on Sunday afternoon.
He’d had a good week so far with no major glitches on the job, so he figured his luck was in—right up to when he pulled up to Clare’s and didn’t see her car. But he did see Harry on the little porch with his measuring tape.
He got out of the truck, hefted the box he’d brought with him.
“I’m measuring to see how big a pumpkin we should get for Halloween. We put it on the post.”
“Good idea. What’re you going to be?”
“I’m either going to be Wolverine or the Joker.”
“Hero or villain. Tough choice.”
“We got a catalog with all kinds of costumes, but we have to pick soon. Mom gives out candy at the store on trick-or-treat night.”
“Oh yeah? I’ll have to get me some. Where’s your mom?”
“She had to go back to work for something. Mrs. Ridenour’s here until she gets back. What’s in the box?”
“Something for you guys my brothers and I made.”
“For us? What is it?”
“Let’s go in. I’ll show all of you.”
Harry bolted to the door, shouting as he shoved it open. “Beckett’s here! He’s got something for us in a box.”
It sounded like a stampede. Alva came out from the kitchen as the boys raced from different directions to surround him.
“Isn’t this a nice surprise? Boys, inside voices. Clare had to run to the bookstore. You just missed her.”
“I’m just dropping something off for the kids.”
“He made it with his brothers,” Harry said. “What is it?”
“Let’s take a look.” He crouched on the floor, put the box down, took off the lid.
“Wow.” Liam’s tone was reverent.
“Those look like …” Alva shook her head at Beckett.
“You made coffins?”
“Yeah.” He grinned at Harry. “Heroes and villains all deserve a decent burial, right, guys?”
“What are these?” Liam picked up a miniature headstone. “Like their shields?”
“Not exactly. Those are the headstones. You mark the grave with them so you know who’s buried where.”
Liam stared at Beckett with a nearly religious fever. “This is awesome .”
“They have their symbols on them and everything.” Murphy lifted a coffin out, opened and closed the lid on its tiny hinges. “This is for Batman.”
“This is the Hulk’s. See, it’s bigger like he is.” Harry studied it, then Beckett. “How did you know how big?”
“Measured.” He poked Harry in the belly.
“This is the coolest ever.” Overcome, Liam launched himself at Beckett. “We never had anything like this. Can we bury them? For real?”
“That’s the idea.”
“In the sandbox, for now,” Alva warned. “No digging in the yard.”
“We gotta go get the dead guys.” Harry dashed to the playroom.
“We got more upstairs.” Liam charged up the steps.
Murphy took out coffins, headstones, examining each one. “Here’s for Moon Knight and for Captain America and the Green Lantern.”
“Bad guys in there, too.”
“Mrs.
Ridenour?” Harry poked out of the playroom. “Can we have something to carry them all out? The ones who aren’t dead have to go to the burying.”
“Yes, I’m sure they’d want to pay their respects. I’ll get you something.” She shook her head at Beckett again, walked back to the kitchen.
Murphy stacked coffins, opened and closed lids. “We have to decide who got killed in the war and who didn’t. My daddy got killed in the war.”
“I know.” What did he say, how did he say it? Jesus, what had he been thinking, making coffins for kids with a dead father? “I’m sorry.”
“He was a hero.”
“Yeah, he was.”
“I didn’t get to meet him first ’cause I wasn’t borned yet. Mom says he loves me anyway.”
“Count on it. I knew your dad.”
Somber interest gazed out of Murphy’s eyes. “You did?”
“We went to school together.”
“Were you his friend?”
They hadn’t really hung out together, but Beckett thought of the night they’d TP’d Mr. Schroder’s house, and the night they’d celebrated the event. “Yeah.”
“Did you go when they buried him?”
“Yeah, I did.” Horrible day, Beckett remembered. In every possible way.
“That’s good, ’cause your friends are supposed to be there.” He smiled, beautifully, then clambered up. “I’m gonna take them outside to the sandbox.” He tried to lift the box, gave a puppy-dog look. “It’s too heavy.”
“I’ll get it.”
“I got them, Harry!” Liam ran down with a small red basket, loaded with figures.
“Get your jackets.” Alva stood outside the playroom. “There’s a nip in the air.”
“Beckett’s bringing the coffins!” Murphy ran after his brothers. “I wanna dig! I get to dig!”
Beckett picked up the box. “I guess you heard that.”
“It breaks your heart.”
“I didn’t think when we made these they’d make him think about what happened to Clint. I should have.”
“Nonsense. Those boys have a normal fascination with war and death, villainy. They know it’s just pretend. They’re well-adjusted, healthy young boys. Clare’s a fine, fine mother.”
“I know. She really is.”
“Being a fine mother, she makes sure those boys know their father was a good man, a loving father, and that he died in the service of his country. And now Murphy knows that you were there when his daddy was laid to rest. That his father’s friend is his friend, too. That’s a good thing, Beckett.”