“Eight acres. Nice little stream on the far side of the house—or what will eventually be a house.”

“This is your place. It’s beautiful, Beckett. You’re crazy not to finish it off and live here.”

“Maybe.”

Kids and dogs bolted out. Lots of room to run, he noted as they did just that. He knew where he intended to put a yard, some shade trees, where he intended to put a garden—and where he intended to put a lot of things.

“This is all your trees and stuff?” Harry demanded. “We could go camping here. Can we?”

“I guess we could.”

“I draw the line.” Clare held up a hand. “I do not, will not camp.”

“Who asked you?” Beckett plucked the ball from Harry, heaved it so all the four-legged and two-legged boys gave chase.

“This is the perfect boost,” Clare told him, wandering, circling. “Better than normal and boring. It’s beautiful and quiet. You have to show us the house, tell us what it’s going to look like when it’s finished.”

He took her hand to stop her from heading over to it. “I’ve come out here a couple times this last week, looking at what I started and never finished. And asking myself why I didn’t finish it. I love the way it feels here, the way it looks. The way it will look.”

“Who wouldn’t?”

His eyes, deep and blue and suddenly intense, met hers. “I hope that’s true, because I figured out why I’d never finished it, what I was waiting for. I was waiting for you, Clare. For them. For us. I want to finish it for you, for them, for us.”

Her hand went limp in his. “Beckett.”

“I can change the plans. Add on a couple more bedrooms, a playroom.”

He gestured with his free hand while the last of the season’s leaves swirled around them. “I think I should pave an area over that way, for riding their bikes, maybe put up a basketball hoop. They need more room, kids and dogs. I want to give them more room. I want to give you what you want, you just have to tell me. I need to give them what they want, have what I want. I want you Clare, I want all of you. Please—Shit. You have to wait.”

“What?” Her mouth fell open. “Beckett.”

“Sorry, just a minute.” He hurried over to the boys, who were hunting up sticks to throw for the dogs. “Harry.”

“They chew them up. They chew up the sticks. Watch.”

“Harry, I promised you something. I said I’d clear it with you before I asked your mom to marry me. I need you to tell me it’s okay if I do.”

Harry looked down at the stick while his brothers stood beside him, all eyes.

“Why do you want to?”

“Because I love her. I love her, Harry. I love you guys, too, and I want us to be a family.”

“The bad man tried to hurt her,” Murphy said. “But you came, and you and Mom fought him and they took him to jail.”

“Yeah, and you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Are you going to sleep in her bed?” Liam wanted to know.

“That’s part of the deal.”

“Sometimes we like to, if there’s thunder or we have bad dreams.”

“Then we’ll need a big bed.”

He waited while they looked at each other. He knew how it was, the unspoken language of brothers.

“Okay, if she wants to.”

“Thanks.” He shook Harry’s hand, then pulled him in, pulled them all in for a hug. “Thanks. Wish me luck.”

“Luck!” Murphy shouted.

If he hadn’t been nervous, Beckett would have laughed all the way back to Clare.

“What was that?”

“Man talk.”

“Oh really, Beckett, you start all that business about bedrooms and paving, then you just walk off for man talk?”

“I couldn’t finish until I’d cleared it with Harry. We had a deal, and guys have to know you keep your word.”

“Well, good for you, but—”

“I had to get his okay before I asked you to marry me. He said it was okay if you want to. Please want to. Don’t make me look like a loser in front of the kids.”

The hand she’d lifted to push at her hair froze. “You asked my not-quite-nine-year-old son for his blessing?”

“Yeah. He’s the oldest.”

“I see.” She turned away.

“I’m messing this up. I love you. I should’ve started with that. I swear I trip up more with you than anybody. I love you, Clare. I always did, but it’s different loving who you are now. It’s so damn solid. You’re so solid, so steady, strong, smart. I love who you are, how you are. I love those boys, you have to know.”

“I know you do.” For a moment she stared at the trees, their bare branches soft in the shimmer of her tears. “I could love you if you didn’t, because love, sometimes, just is. But I couldn’t marry you unless you loved them, unless I knew you’d be good to them. I love you, Beckett.” Eyes dry again, she turned back. “You brought them dogs I didn’t think I wanted, and you were so busy talking me into it you didn’t see me fall at your feet. I love you, Beckett, without any doubt, without any worry. And I’ll marry you the same way.”

She threw her arms around him. “Oh, you have no idea what you’re in for.”

“I bet I do.”

“We’re going to find out, because—What is that in your pocket? And don’t say you’re just happy to see me.”

“Oh, forgot.” He pulled out a small bag. “I got you a new hairbrush.”

For an instant she only stared. Then she cupped his face in her hands. “Is it any wonder?”

He scooped her in, swung her around. And holding her close shot a thumbs-up to the boys.

Her boys—his boys—their boys let out whoops and cheers, and ran toward him with dogs barking at their heels.