Нора Робертс - The Next Always

“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.”

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.