Нора Робертс - The Next Always

“I never got serious enough about anybody, I guess. You started younger than most.”

“It was exactly what I wanted, and I didn’t want to wait. It was the same for Clint. We just knew.”

“What was it like, the military life?”

“There’s a lot of waiting, if you’re a military spouse. I saw parts of the world I never would have seen, learned how to organize, how to let things go. I did miss home. Not all the time, but there were moments, I missed it so much. When Clint was killed, I knew I had to come back, bring the boys here. For family, and for the sense of continuity.”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t have made it without my parents, without his parents. They were, are, wonderful. You know how that is, working with your brothers, your mother, the family business.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Some people need to step away from family, and others need to stick. I’ve done both, I suppose. This is home now, or again. Did you ever consider living somewhere else?”

“Thought about it, but there’s nowhere else I wanted to be.”

He made her laugh, talking about people she knew, people she’d never met. And when he rose with her when she cleared the table, when he drew her close, kissed her, he made her pulse jump.

“Maybe we could sit on the couch,” he murmured in her ear. “Drink another glass of wine. Neck.”

Oh yes, please, she thought. “You pour the wine. I’ll just go check on Liam, then—Harry.”

Sheet white, a little glassy-eyed, he stood in the doorway. “I got sick.”

“Oh, baby.” She went to him quickly, felt his forehead. “Yeah, you’re a little warm. We’ll fix you up. Beckett.”

“It’s okay. Do you need any help?”

“No, I’ve got this.”

“Go ahead. I’ll let myself out. Feel better, big guy.”

“Thanks. Come on, baby.”

“Can I get in your bed, too? Liam did.”

“Sure.”

She sent Beckett an apologetic look, then led her sick boy upstairs.

The weekend passed in a blur of sickbeds, soup, and scrambled eggs. By Sunday morning, both Liam and Harry felt well enough to be bored and cranky. She’d thought her idea to make camp in the living room where the two boys could have each other and an assortment of books and DVDs for company inspired. But the novelty wore off as Harry, no longer feverish but still a bit peaked, also became thoroughly sick of his brothers.

She had to sympathize, as she was fairly sick of them herself.

She solved the last shouting match over which DVD to watch by walking in, picking up the remote, and switching off the TV.

“Mom!”

The single word blasted in three-part harmony.

“Since all you can do is bicker and complain about the movies, we’ll take a break from them.”

“Harry started it,” Liam began.

“I did not! You—”

“I don’t care who started it.” Sick kids or not, Clare pulled out the Mom Voice. “It appears I’ve finished it. Now you can all stay here and read, or color, or play quietly with your toys. Or you can go to your room and sulk. And if you argue with me,” she said anticipating, “all the DVDs go away until next weekend.”

“It’s his fault,” Liam said under his breath.

“Liam Edward Brewster, you’re on notice. Not another word.”

His eyes filled, tears and temper. She felt a little like a crying jag herself. “Now I want everyone to be quiet for ten minutes.”

“Mom.”

“Harry,” she said with a warning note in her voice.

“I’m hungry. I want my soup.”

Getting his appetite back was a good sign. However. “Harry, I told you, we’re out. Marmie and Granddad are bringing more.”

“But I’m hungry now.”

“I can fix you something else. I have Chicken Noodle or Alphabet soup.”

“I don’t want those. I want Chicken and Stars.”

“Then you have to wait. They’ll be here soon.”

“Why can’t they be here now?” Fatigue and sheer pissyness turned his voice into a whiny toddler’s.

Feeling her patience fray, Clare reminded herself how pale and pitiful he’d looked the night before. “They’ll be here soon. It’s the best I can do, Harry. Ten minutes of quiet now. I have to check the laundry.”

She figured she’d be lucky to get five minutes of quiet, and didn’t rate that as Murphy followed her into the kitchen.

“I’m hungry, too. I want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

“Honey, we’re out of bread. More’s coming.”

“How come we don’t have anything I want?”

“Because your brothers got sick, ate all the eggs, bread, and soup, and I couldn’t go to the store yesterday.”

“Why?”

“Because Harry and Liam got sick.” While her head began to throb, she dumped the load of dry sheets in the basket.

“If they get to stay home from school tomorrow, I’m staying home, too.”

“First, you don’t get to decide. I do. And, no, you’re not staying home tomorrow, and as neither of them has a fever, odds are they’re not staying home either.”

Please God, have pity on me.

“Nobody’ll play with me.”

“Murphy, I played games with you half the morning.”

“With all of us. Why can’t you play with just me?”

She closed her eyes until the urge to snap passed. She got it, she really did, and she tried hard to give each of them some one-on-one time. But God, not now.

“Why don’t you get your Power Rangers? You can play upstairs while I make the beds.”

“You have to play with me.”

“No, I don’t. And while I might like to, I don’t have time. Why, you ask?” she continued, knowing he would have if given half a chance. “Because I have to do the rest of the laundry I didn’t get to yesterday because I was taking care of Liam and Harry. I have to put clean sheets on the beds, which I didn’t get to yesterday either, which is just as well as Harry got sick on his in the middle of the night. Would you like the list of everything else I have to do today?”

“Okay.”

She stopped, rubbed her hands over her face, and laughed. “Murphy, you kill me.”

“Don’t get killed.”

“It’s just an expression.” She leaned down, gave him a hug mostly because she really needed one.

“Can we get a puppy?”

Done in, she just dropped her head on his little shoulder. “Oh, Murphy.”

“Harry and Liam would feel better if we had a puppy. My new best, best, best, best friend in school Jeremy has a puppy named Spike. We could get a puppy and name him Spike.”

“Timing counts, kid, and this isn’t a good time to ask for a puppy. Please don’t ask me why. Just let me get myself together, Murphy. Let’s go upstairs. You and the Power Rangers can help me make the beds.”

“Power Rangers fight bad guys.”

“Well, they have to sleep sometime, don’t they?” She hefted the laundry basket. Since she hadn’t taken any out of the linen closet, she’d save a step and put the freshly washed ones back on.

No folding. Woo-hoo, she thought as Murphy chattered his way into the living room. Where she found a miracle. Both boys had passed out.

“Shh. Quiet now. They’re sleeping, so let’s be sneaky.”

Nobody’d gotten much sleep the last two nights—which didn’t seem to bother Murphy the Mouth—though he did chatter in a whisper as they went upstairs.

She’d barely reached the top when someone banged the door knocker.

“Go get your Power Rangers,” she told Murphy, and raced down. She’d kill anyone who woke her two sleeping kids. Strangle them with her bare hands.

She yanked open the door, and language she’d trained herself not to use because of the children ripped through her head. “Sam.”

“Hello, gorgeous! I was in the area, thought I’d stop by, and sweep you off for brunch. I’m meeting my parents at the club. We’ll make a party of it.”

“This is a bad time. My two oldest boys have been sick all weekend, and they’re sleeping.”

“Sounds like you need a break. Call your sitter.” He added that broad smile and wink. “I’ll take you away from all this.”

“All this is my life, and I’m not leaving my children when they’re not well.”

“Mom!”

“Murphy, quiet. You’ll wake your brothers.” She sensed Sam moving forward behind her, shifted to block.

“But I got my Power Rangers, and you said—”

“I’ll be right up. I’m sorry, Sam, but I’m very busy. I have to go.”

“I’ll have my mother call you about that au pair.”

Lack of sleep, lack of patience, lack of goddamn Chicken and Stars just snapped it. “I’m not getting a damn au pair, for God’s sake. I’m not interested in brunches at the stupid country club. I’m interested in getting the beds made. Now, I have a lot to do, so you’ll have to excuse me.”

Rude wasn’t her default, but she shut the door in his face.

Outside it, Sam balled his hands into fists. He’d had enough, just about enough of her games. Smiling and flirting with him one minute, brushing him off the next. Just about enough of her using those three brats to hold him off.

More than enough, he thought as he strode to his car, especially since he’d seen Beckett Montgomery walk out of her house the night before—at nearly eleven.

She wanted to make him jealous, he decided. Well, he’d about finished being Mr. Nice Guy. It was high time Clare Brewster learned who was in charge.

He pulled his car out of her drive and to the curb. As he had the evening before, he sat, watched the house, and stewed.

Inside, Clare burned off the temper Sam had ignited by wiping down the kids’ room with disinfectant. She left the windows open to freshen the air, and felt the heat cooling in her brain and belly as she worked.