by Nora Roberts
“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.”
Chapter Twenty
Walking through Clare’s empty house gave Sam a thrill of satisfaction. He could come and go as he pleased, anywhere he pleased and whenever he pleased. He studied the photographs she had arranged on tables and shelves, imagined himself in them.
He soon would be. It was just a matter of getting her alone until she understood what was best for her. Until she finally admitted she belonged to him.
A real man took what he wanted, and though he’d been patient with her—maybe too patient—it was time she understood that as well.
“Lessons begin tonight,” he said as he walked upstairs.
Look how she lived, he thought, in this crackerbox of a house. That’s what his mother would call it, a crackerbox in a one-horse town.
He’d change that.
He walked into her bathroom, gave a little sigh at the size, the simple, inexpensive fixtures. No bigger than his walk-in closet at home, he decided. It was pathetic, really, what she settled for. He poked into the medicine chest, nodded his head at the birth control pills. Good, that was good, they wouldn’t want any mistakes that needed fixing.
Bad enough she already had those three brats to deal with. A decent boarding school would take care of that, a reasonable investment to clear the road.
After studying, sniffing her skin creams, body lotions, he made a note to have his mother take Clare to her day spa. A nice treat, he thought, and another lesson. Any woman attached to him had to present herself a certain way, in public and in private.
Considering that, he stepped into her bedroom.
She’d tried to make it pretty, with what she had to work with. Really, she did the best she could with her limited resources. He thought of how grateful she’d be once he took her in hand, showed her how to live well.
Had she had sex with Montgomery in that bed? They’d talk about that—oh yes, they would. Time for a firm hand there, but he’d forgive her, of course. Women were weak.
Opening her closet, he stroked dresses, blouses. He remembered her wearing most of them, thought of how she looked walking down the street or pushing a cart in the grocery store, standing behind the counter in that silly bookstore.
A whole new wardrobe was called for. He imagined how excited, how pleased she would be when he helped her select it. He should probably do the selecting himself, until she acclimated to her new status.
Yes, that would be best. He’d teach her how to dress.
Curious, he crossed to her dresser, opening drawers, touching, studying. Obviously, she needed his guidance on nightwear, on what went under her new clothes. A woman, certainly his woman, needed style and status even in very private moments.
He came across two pieces unlike the others—sexy, seductive. His pulse picked up as he brushed the material with his fingers, pictured her wearing them for him.
Then he realized, no, not for him. She’d worn this for Montgomery. He ripped a froth of lace from the bodice. She wouldn’t wear them again, he determined. He’d make her burn them. She’d have to apologize—he’d accept no less—and burn the slutwear she’d worn for Montgomery.
Then she’d wear what he bought her, what he told her to wear. And be grateful.
Anger, so acute, roared in his head. He nearly missed the barking dogs.
He closed the drawer, quietly, carefully, and slipped into her closet moments before he heard the door open downstairs, and the sounds of the brats running through the house, shouting like hoodlums.
They’d be taught, too, he assured himself. They’d soon learn to live by his rules if they knew what was good for them.
Her superheroes rushed to the back doors as a team to let the dogs in. Five minutes, she thought, as fresh mayhem began. She’d give them another five to settle down before getting ready for bed.
They wouldn’t be the only kids in Boonsboro Elementary the next day who’d gone to bed a bit late and hyped on sugar.
She put the bags of Halloween treats far back on the counter—away from curious dogs and sneaky kids—and thought just how much she wanted to yank off the wig, peel out of the costume, scrub off the Storm makeup.
Fun while it lasted, she decided. But she was ready for the fun to end. She let them chatter about their big night, thrill the dogs with games of tug—then brought the hammer down.
“Okay, boys, time for bed.”
She got the expected But, Moms, the protests, excuses, negotiations—and stood firm against them as much for herself as the boys.
She wanted her comfortable pj’s, some quiet, maybe a big mug of tea and a book.
“I guess you’re not that interested in going to the arcade on Sunday.”
“Yes, we are!” Harry shot her a stunned and appalled stare.
“Boys who argue with their mothers don’t go to arcades. I want you in your pajamas. And you’re all going to brush your teeth extra well tonight. Let’s move out, troops.”
She herded them upstairs, stood in their doorway a moment to ma
ke sure they got started. “Don’t throw your costumes on the floor. Put them in the costume box—I mean it. I’m going to get in my pajamas, too.”
“Can we wear our costumes to the arcade?” Liam asked her.
“We’ll see. Put them away for now.”
She crossed to her own room, started to yank off the wig, but caught her reflection in the mirror. The grin snuck up on her. “Well, you’re no Halle Berry, but not half bad.”
Pulling off the wig, she let out a long, long sigh.
In the closet, his breath shallow, his eyes riveted to the thin opening in the slats, Sam wondered what he was doing. The moment of clarity sent his heart into a gallop.
He’d broken into her house like a thief, and now he hid in her closet like—it didn’t bear thinking about. What if she opened the doors? What would he say? Do?
She’d put him in this position, this terrible position, and now …
The moment passed as she tugged the ridiculous costume off her shoulders, drew the snug skirt down her body. Her hair tumbled free down her back as she folded the skirt, laid it on a little chair.
She wore a plain white bra, plain white panties. He hadn’t known plain and white could be so arousing.
He knew what he was doing, he reminded himself. He was taking what he wanted.
He reached up to open the closet.
“Mom! Harry’s hogging the toothpaste!”
“There’s plenty for everybody. I’ll be there in one minute.”
The brats, he remembered, and quietly lowered his trembling hand. He’d forgotten them. He had to be patient a little longer. He had to wait until they were in bed.
Had to wait. Had to watch.
Clare stripped off her panties, tossed them in the hamper before pulling on cotton pants. She unhooked her bra, tossed that in as well, pulled on a faded T-shirt.
Hearing sounds that didn’t strike as teeth-brushing, she grabbed her hairbrush on the fly.
Harry and Liam stopped their sword fight with their toothbrushes, Murphy stopped making bomb sounds as he dropped a dog ball in the sink he’d filled nearly to the rim.
Mad with excitement, dogs leaped at boy and dripping ball.
“We brushed.” Murphy sent her a cherub’s grin. “I’m going to wash the ball ’cause it got slobbered.”