by Nora Roberts
The blue of Avery’s eyes brightened with laughter, and a little pride. “Listen to you.”
“I know.” Delighted with herself and the world in general, Clare wiggled her shoulders. “I feel like part of my life that’s been on hold is back. I feel things with him I haven’t felt in so long. Not just the physical, though that was pretty damn perfect.”
“Slow and easy or wild and crazy?”
“I think by the time he left Saturday morning, we’d managed both, all, and some combinations.”
“Okay, now I’m jealous.” After covering the pans, Avery moved to the sink to wash dough off her hands. “Happy for you, but jealous. Happy for him, too. Beck’s always had a thing for you.”
“That’s the only problem. I’m not the Clare Murphy he had a thing for. He has to want to be with the person I am now.”
“Do you think he’s living out an old fantasy?”
“I’m not sure, not sure if he’s sure either. I’m not going to worry about it yet. I like getting to know each other as we are now. Things are changing. I want to see what they become.”
Beckett spent the next two weeks bouncing from project to project, from shop work to inspecting deliveries and carving out time when he could manage it to be with Clare. While the installers laid the tile on the main floor, the crew focused primarily on exterior work.
Then came the day when he and his brothers stood at the front doorway, studying the completed entrance porch and steps.
“What did I tell you?” Beckett said. “She gleams.”
“She ought to with all those coats of poly.” Ryder crouched down, ran a hand over the wood. “Smooth as glass. Hard dry, too.”
“You know skateboarders are going to see this run and go for it.”
Ryder glanced up at Owen. “Then we’ll kick some asses, and we’ll make sure word goes out on that. I say we pull this bastard down.” He jerked a thumb at the big blue tarp. “Give everybody a look at what Inn BoonsBoro’s crew pulled off.”
“Let’s do it—and,” Beckett added, “let’s run some tape between the posts to keep people from coming up this way.”
It may have been one of the most satisfying moments of his life, Beckett decided, when they dropped that tarp on a cool September morning with fall spiced in the air.
School buses lumbered out to pick up their load as he and his brothers crossed the street for a full-on view. Cars slowed as the drivers’ heads swiveled to look toward the unveiled building.
And she was beautiful—still not fully dressed for the party, Beckett thought, but beautiful. The deep, rich color of the wood gleamed against the old stone walls, drawing out the hints of gold and umber.
Generous in size, its steps spanning the length, it stood out against the softer colors of the rails and pickets. Rising over it, the upper porch added grace and charm to dignity.
“You know, you work on it,” Owen began, “and you see it change. But you’re inside it or on it, so you don’t really see. Fucking A, we did good.”
“Damn right. It’s a moment.” Ryder pulled out his phone, framed the building in, took a picture. “And the moment’s immortalized. Back to work.”
“Better send that to Mom.”
Owen shook his head at Beckett. “I’ve already talked to her this morning. She’s coming in anyway. Let’s give her the full impact.”
“Better idea,” Beckett agreed. “Talk of the town.” He studied the lines and colors as they crossed back over.
Inside, they split off, Owen to check on the progress of the tile install, Ryder to begin work on the coffered ceiling in the dining room. Beckett headed up to the third floor, but paused on two when he smelled honeysuckle.
“Like that, do you?” he murmured, and walked down to Elizabeth and Darcy. “She doesn’t look sad anymore.”
On impulse, he walked into the room, then out onto the porch. He looked out on the town, the line of Main Street with its shops and houses, its covered porches and bricked sidewalks. And beyond it to the glint of fields, the rise of hills, the ring of mountains rolling to the blue autumn sky.
“This is good.” He didn’t know if he spoke to himself, the building, or the ghost. It didn’t matter. “This feels right.”
Others had stood on this spot when the street had been a wide dirt road carrying horses, carriages. When soldiers came to fight in those fields, those hills and mountains. It stood while the dead were buried, and the grass grew green over them.
“Did you?” he wondered, thinking of the honeysuckle. “Did you stand here? When? Did you come in a carriage or in a car? How did you die? Why do you stay?”
Not ready to share, he thought. Women knew how to keep their secrets.
He glanced down toward Turn The Page. Too early for Clare to be in, he thought. She’d be getting the boys ready for school, dealing with breakfast and backpacks.
Did she think of him during her morning routine? Would she look out her office window and wonder what he was doing, how soon they’d see each other?
Did she sometimes ache at night wishing for him the way he wished for her?
He liked to think so.
He saw one of the operators unlock the front door of Sherry’s Salon, then glance over—then simply stand and stare. It made him grin as pride rushed into him.
We’re not done yet, he thought. She needs lights and benches, planters—and so much more. But when she’s dressed for the party, she’ll be the belle of the ball.
As he walked back in, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Just a blur that seemed to shimmer in the air—there, then gone—as he turned toward it.
The door he’d secured swung back open.
He took a quick step back as his heart jolted. He’d have sworn he heard the faintest whisper of a laugh.
“Yeah, funny.” He moved over, shut the door again. The minute he started out, it opened again.
He closed it; it opened.
Maybe she liked the fresh air, or the view, but he couldn’t play this game all morning.
“Okay, look, I can’t leave it open. Remember the pigeons—and the pigeon shit? Let’s not give them an invitation to move back in.”
As he watched, the door opened a couple inches—like a tease—then shut.
“Thanks.” He waited a moment to be sure before backing out of the room.
He’d just won an argument with a ghost, he decided on his way upstairs. That had to be one for the books.
Just after nine, his day got another boost when his cell phone rang and he saw the bookstore on the display. He set his measuring tape aside.
“Hi.”
“Oh, Beckett, it’s beautiful. I just got in, came up to my office and glanced out the window. I swear I did a double take.”
“We took the tarp down a couple hours ago.”
“I know you told me what it would look like, and I saw a little, but it’s just so much more. I’m watching people walking or driving by stopping to stare.”
“So am I. I just walked out on the second-floor porch.” He lifted his hand, grinned.
“Hold on a minute.”
He heard some rustling, a muttered curse. He heard—and saw—her office window open. She leaned out—pretty as a sunflower—and made his grin widen.
“Hi, Beckett,” she said in his ear.
“Hi, Clare.”
“You must be on top of the world.”
“On top of Main Street, anyway. Come on over, see it from here, because it’s pretty damn terrific. And you’ve got to see downstairs, the tile work.”
“I can’t this morning. I’ve got a ton of paperwork I didn’t get done last night due to a history project, multiplication tables, a science quiz, and a bad dream.”
“Science quizzes give me bad dreams, too.”
“It wasn’t that. It was the aliens with octopus arms.”
“That’d do it, too.”
“Liam. He was freaked enough to wake his brothers, and Murphy decided that made it a fine ti
me to play. Anyway, I have to catch up this morning. Then we have a bus tour coming in, so I’ll just have to admire the fabulous Inn BoonsBoro from here.”
It just wasn’t enough, he realized. Seeing her, talking to her, with Main Street between them. “Tell you what, bring the kids in after school. We’ll give them a tour, then take them for pizza.”
“Homework.”
“You’re such a mom. After homework.”
“They’d love it, but the way things have been going, it could be around four thirty before we make it.”
“I’ll wait.”
Ryder’s voice boomed up the stairs. “Beckett, goddamn it, where are those measurements?”
“Looks like we both better get to work. Thanks for the great view. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Clare. It was nice seeing you.”
He spent the entire day on a high, and the high kicked up a notch every time he had to go out and someone stopped him to talk about the inn. He continued to ride it at the end of the day when the crew knocked off.
He held the usual end-of-day meeting with his brothers to confirm the next day’s business and strategies.
“Let’s take this over to Vesta,” Owen suggested. “A day like this deserves pizza and beer.”
“Can’t. Clare’s bringing the kids in to take a tour, then we’re heading over for pizza.”
“See what happens when you get hooked up?” Ryder shook his head, sadly. “No more time for pizza and beer with your brothers.”
“Beck’s a family man now,” Owen said soberly. “You’d better start thinking about beefing up your retirement plan and life insurance.”
“Kiss my ass. And I’m not a—”
“No more poker tournaments, no more partying.” Ryder gave Beckett a sympathetic rap on the shoulder. “And you can forget the tittie bars, man. It’s all about saving for that vacation at Disney World now. Poor bastard. Come on, Owen, we’ll eat and drink his share.”
“His oats.” Owen sighed as he walked out. “They have all been sowed.”
“Assholes,” Beckett called out, laughing it off. But the ragging comments gave him a little twinge between the shoulder blades.
“Just jealous because I have a woman.”
He looked down at his clipboard, tried to concentrate on what needed to be done the next day, and through the week.
He wasn’t a “family man.” Jesus. He liked the kids, a lot. They were great—interesting, fun, smart—and he liked hanging out with them. But he didn’t know anything about being a family man. He knew about being a brother, a son, so he knew about family, and how vital it was. But he didn’t know anything about being, sort of, in charge of one.
He was just seeing Clare, just in the beginnings of a relationship with Clare. Sure, her kids were part of that—he wasn’t an idiot. But they were just pals, he and the kids.
Just pals.
And making him chew over it was exactly what his brothers intended when they’d started poking at him.
He told himself to put it away, forget it, but was grateful for the knock on the door of Reception for distracting him.
He went out, passed the kitchen area, saw Clare and the boys through the door—which he opened with a flourish.
“Welcome to Inn BoonsBoro. Do you have a reservation?”
“We have a personal invitation from the owner.”
“In that case—” He stepped back, gave a sweeping gesture that made the boys laugh.
“You said to come to this door, right? I’m so used to—Oh, the tiles are just great! It’s all right to walk on them?”
“Here, and through the kitchen and down the hall. Lobby’s off-limits. They’ll grout that tomorrow.”
“It looks so big. Don’t touch anything,” she added quickly. “Remember? And stay with me. We can only go where Beckett says we can go.”
“Do you really own this whole place?” Liam asked him.
“My family does.” There was that word again. “This is where people will come in, check in. Hope’s going to sit right there.”
“There’s no place to sit.”
“There will be,” he told Harry. “Chairs for people to sit, too, in front of the fireplace.”
“Mom wishes she had a fireplace.” Murphy looked up at him. “You build stuff, so you could make her one.”
“How come you got all those old bricks?” Harry poked at them. “Where’s the wall for the inside?”
“That is the wall for the inside. They’ve been there a really long time, so we wanted people to see them. It shows respect for the building. Down here’s the kitchen.” He glanced at Clare. “They’re going to start installing the cabinets soon. That’ll be another big corner turned.”
“I’ll say. See, guys? This is where Hope’s going to fix breakfast.”
“Don’t walk past the tape, Harry.” Beckett started down to where Harry stood at the edge of the completed tile.
“I’m not. What’re all those little things sticking up?”
“Spacers. See how straight all the lines are between the tiles?” He started explaining grout, then wondered if he was too technical.
“Why are there smaller pieces?”
“At that edge there? They have to cut the tiles to fit.” So the kid was interested. “They have a special tool for that.”
“Where?”
“I’ll show you before we go.”
“The tile rug.” Clare kept a firm hand on Murphy, just in case. “It’s fabulous.”
“What rug?”
So Beckett explained about tile rugs before taking them around to the dining room.
“You’ve started on the ceiling!”
“We wanted to see if the plan worked,” Beckett told her. “And with it done, there’ll be less chance of messing up the hardwood when that’s installed.”
Harry pointed at the arch of stone in the wall. “Is that stone for respect?”
“That’s right. This was the first stone building in town. It’s important.”
“My mom’s bookstore place is old. The stairs creak.”
“That’ll happen.”
“If it’s old, how come you got a new porch?”
“Someone took the one that used to be here away a long time ago. We put one back.” Beckett went out, opened the door. “It’s not exactly the way it used to be, but I think the building likes it. I have copies of old pictures Mr. Bast gave us. I’ll show you sometime.”
“He has a furniture store and a museum.” Liam danced out on the porch. “He has all kinds of stuff in the museum. But he doesn’t have any mummies.”
“Maybe he can work on that.”
“It’s beautiful from this angle, too.” Clare stepped out, looked over to Vesta, down to her own shop. “Everyone who came in the bookstore today talked about it. I must’ve walked out on my own porch a half dozen times to look over and—Murphy!”
She whipped back inside in time to see him halfway up the stairs. “Come down here. I told you not to go upstairs alone.”
“I was just going to talk to the lady.” He looked up, smiled that angel’s smile. “Okay, ’bye.”
“What lady? Who are you talking to?” Clare rushed in, scooped him right off the steps and into her arms.
“The lady upstairs. She said hi, and she guessed my name.”
“Beckett, if there’s someone upstairs—”
“I’ll go up.” But he already knew.
For Clare’s peace of mind, he did a quick walk-through.
“Nobody here,” he said when he came back down.
“I guess she had to go to the party. Is she gonna live here with Hope?” Murphy wondered.
“Maybe.” Speculating, Beckett glanced back up. “She was going to a party?”
“I guess. She had a long dress. Ladies wear long dresses to parties sometimes. Can we see upstairs now?”
“Sure. Okay?” Beckett said to Clare.
“Fine, but … we’ll talk about things later. Murphy, you stay wit
h me.”
Since she wouldn’t let the boys out of her sight, he had to wait until they went for pizza. Getting her alone, more or less, at that point came easy. All it took was a pocketful of quarters.
“Okay, I get you don’t want to talk about it in front of them, but we could be talking about a plague of two-headed frogs and they wouldn’t cop to it now. That was something else.”
“I don’t know what happened, or what this is. All I know is whatever it is had my little boy going upstairs, by himself, to… whatever it is.”
“She’s not dangerous.”
“There is no she,” Clare insisted. “And how can you be sure, if there were, she isn’t dangerous?”
“We’re all over that place every day.”
“Grown men.”
“I’ve been in there countless times on my own. Just today she and I had this little negotiation about leaving the porch door open.”
“Maybe because she wanted to push you over the rail.”
He would’ve laughed, but clearly this wasn’t a joke to her. “Why would she?”
“How do I know why?” Irritation bubbled in her voice. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. We’re sitting here talking about a ghost. For God’s sake, Beckett.” She grabbed the glass of soda the minute the waitress set it down.
“Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine, Heather.” Beckett sent her an easy smile. “Thanks.”
He waited until Heather moved off again. “We’re having the conversation because you’re upset about it. Murphy wasn’t scared.”
“He’s a child.”
“Yeah, and I figure that’s why he actually saw her. They say, don’t they, kids are more open to stuff like this.”
“How do I know? I don’t—didn’t—don’t—believe in stuff like this. It’s crazy.”
Gauging her mood, he tried to lighten it. “You can be Scully and I can be Mulder. Maybe I do want to believe, but the fact is Murphy saw her. Hair like yours, he said, so she’s a blonde. Wearing a long dress. I’d say she’s from back when women wore long dresses. Eighteenth or nineteenth century.”
“God.”
Now he put a hand over hers, held it firm. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to him, to them, to you. Clare, if I thought for a second Lizzy wanted to hurt anyone, I’d find a way to—I don’t know—exorcise her. I guess it’s exorcism. Here’s the thing.” He shifted forward a little. “You’re thinking she’s all Blair Witch or Poltergeist. Because you dig on horror novels. So you think ghost equals evil.”
