Нора Робертс - The Perfect Hope

“How about a field green salad, lasagna, garlic bread?”

“And cherry pie,” Hope added to Avery’s rundown.

“I say bring it on.” Clare levered herself up. “All of it.”

MAN NIGHT. RYDER HADN’T INTENDED TO GET ROPEdinto spending the evening with kids and dogs. It just sort of happened.

Plus, Beckett sprang for the manly meal of spaghetti and meatballs, apparently a Man Night tradition.

Anyway, the kids were appealing, and along with Yoda and Ben, their young Lab mixes, generated enough energy to power the whole damn county.

Dumbass was in dog heaven.

Ryder didn’t know what rules applied when the lady of the house was in residence, but Man Night equaled a free-for-all. The kids ran around like demons, ate like wolves, fought like mortal enemies, and laughed like loons.

It reminded him of his own childhood.

The house was made for kids and dogs, he mused. Big, sprawling, open, colorful. He knew Beckett had added on to the plans for the then-unfinished house once he and Clare got together, and had redesigned it with their family at the center. Now the kids had a big boy-style playroom with built-in shelves and cabinets for kid debris. He knew because he’d helped build it, and because Murphy dragged him up to see it.

Then proceeded to haul down every action figure known to man.

Ryder had a collection of his own boxed away. Some things were sacred to a man.

“Yoda ate Green Goblin.”

“Kid, they’re not even in the same universe.”

“Not the real Yoda. Our Yoda. He chewed him up, but he was just a puppy. He doesn’t eat action figures anymore. And Santa brought me a new Green Goblin for Christmas. He left it in my stocking. And he brought me Gambit.”

“You’ve got Gambit?”

“Uh-huh.” Delighted with the interest, Murphy dug into the colorful bodies, pulled it out. “Sometimes he and Wolverine fight, but mostly they fight the bad guys together.”

Ryder had always had a soft spot for Gambit.

“We should have a war now. See, we can use the Bat Cave and the Millennium Falcon for bases, and the Green Goblin and Magneto and the Joker, and like that they are planning the attack in the garage. See, you can put cars in it, but bad guys, too.”

What the hell, Ryder decided, and helped the kid set it up.

The war proved vicious, bloody, and, like all wars, involved cowardice, heroism, and numerous casualties. Collateral damage included a one-legged T-Rex, three Storm Troopers, and a ratty teddy bear.

“Teddy took it in the gut!” Murphy shouted.

“War’s hell, kid.”

“War’s hell,” Murphy repeated since it was Man Night, and giggled insanely.

Owen walked in as the allied Avengers, X-Men, and Power Rangers blew up the enemy base.

“We defeated them.” Murphy leaped up to do his victory dance and exchange high fives with Ryder. “But Iron Man’s wounded bad. He’s in the hospital.”

“He’s Iron Man,” Owen said. “He’ll pull through. You’ve got to take Harry on in Wii Boxing,” he told Ryder. “He beat the crap out of me.”

“Let Beckett fight him.”

“He beat the crap out of Beckett, too. And Liam. You’re our last hope.”

“Fine. You’ve got to help the runt clean this up.”

“I wasn’t in the war,” Owen protested. “I was Sweden.”

Ryder considered. The room resembled a battlefield—that had been hit by a tornado. Bribery worked. “I’ve got pie in the truck.”

“Where’d you get pie?”

“Cherry pie. You want any, help the runt. I’m going to take the other kid down.”

“I like cherry pie.” Murphy hit Ryder with his beautiful angel smile.

“Clean it up, and you’ll get some.”

Pretty good deal, Ryder decided as he headed toward the family room. Skate out of cleanup, and prevent himself from eating a whole pie—which he would have, and no doubt he’d have felt sick after.

He walked in, rolled his shoulders, did a little boxer’s dance in place. “You’re going down, Harry Caray. Down and out.”

Harry raised his arms over his head. “Undefeated. World Champ. I knocked Owen out! He had X’s in his eyes.”

“Glass-Jaw Owen,” Ryder scoffed, tapped his own jaw with his fist. “Big whoop.” He went to the fridge under the bar, got a beer. “Say your prayers.”

“I’ll say some for you,” Beckett offered his brother. “The kid’s merciless.”

“Save ’em. I’ve got a cherry pie out in the bed of the truck. Why don’t you go get it?”

“Pie?” Liam jumped up from the floor where he’d been rolling with the dogs. “I want pie.”

“Then pie you shall have, grasshopper.” Beckett shoved out of the big leather chair.

“Okay, current and soon-to-be ass-kicked champ. Set it up.”

Harry brought up Ryder’s Mii—dark hair, eerily green eyes, scowling face—offered the controller.

The crowd went wild.

The kid beat the crap out of him.

He dropped down with his beer while Harry circled the room, pumping fists in the air.

“What do you do, play this twenty-four/seven?”

“I’ve got natural talent.”

“My butt.”

“Granddad said so. I beat him, too. But he’s kind of old.”

“I want to play!” Murphy came tearing in.

“It’s my turn.” Liam braced to defend his rights. “Beckett said we could do PlayStation next, and I got to pick. WWF.”

First boxing, Ryder thought, now wrestling. Beckett must sleep like the dead every night.

“I’m going for pie.” Ryder pushed up. Young desire turned on a dime as they stampeded into the kitchen.

NOT A CRUMB of pie remained, a fact Ryder regretted a little. They wrestled, chased thieves, outwitted assassins. Liam was the first to give it up, passing out in the pile of dogs. Beckett plucked him up, carted him up to bed.

By the time he got back, Harry was sprawled facedown on the sofa. While Beckett repeated the process, Murphy sat cross-legged and wide awake on the floor, guiding Owen through some Mario Brothers game.

“Doesn’t he ever conk?” Ryder asked, jerking a thumb at Murphy.

“Kid’s like a vampire. He’d stay up till sunrise if you let him. Time to call it, Murph.”

“But I’m not tired. There’s no school. I wanna—”

“You can watch a movie up in my bed.”

“Okay! Can I watch two movies?”

“Let’s start with one.” Beckett hauled him up, tossed Murphy over his shoulder to make the boy laugh.

As Beckett carried Murphy out, Owen stretched out on the couch. “Two more?”

“Yeah. But Beck seems to have the dad thing down. Plus, he’ll have his own basketball team, if the runt ever gets some inches on him.”

“Avery and I figure on two.”

“Nice even number.” Absently, Ryder dug a hand into a partially mangled bag of barbecue potato chips. “Have you got the date of conception, birth, college graduation mapped out?”

Used to it, Owen merely shrugged.

“Jesus, you do.”

“Just ballparking. Anyway, we’re starting with dogs.”

“I’m not sure a pug is a dog. They’re more cat-sized.”

“They’re dogs, and they’re good with kids. Gotta think ahead. When we started researching breeds—”

“When you started researching.”

“Anyway, Avery fell pretty hard for the pug idea. Then she talked to Mom, and Mom put her onto the rescue idea. So we’re getting a year-old pug named Tyrone who’s deaf in one ear.”

“A half dog—not the deaf part, the size. He’s half a dog, so you’ll have a dog and a half with the Lab.”

“Bingo.” Owen shook his head. “What kind of sadist names a dog Bingo? He’s only four months old, so we’ll change that. Give him some dignity.”

Beckett came back in, went straight for a beer. “Jesus. I’ve been at this, more or less, for almost a year, and sometimes I still wonder how Clare did it all on her own.”

He shoved Owen’s legs off the couch, dropped down. “It’s the first time she’s been away all night. It’s kind of weird.”

“You’ve already knocked her up,” Ryder pointed out. “She can use the rest.”

“She wants to start fooling with the nursery. She’s talking bassinets and changing tables.”

“Nervous?”

“Maybe, but mostly it’s bassinets. It sounds girly.”

“What the hell is it?” Ryder wondered.

“It’s like a basket on a stand.”

“You’re going to put your kids in a basket.”

“A fancy baby basket. The one she showed me has this frilly white skirt with blue bows on it.” Needing support, Beckett gave his brothers a pleading look. “You can’t put a boy in a basket with a frilly white skirt. It’s not right.”

“So put on your pants and man up,” Ryder suggested.

“She’s pregnant.”

“Which is why you’re sitting there talking about frilly white skirts. It’s embarrassing.”

“Eat me.” Beckett looked down the couch at Owen. “I’m thinking we could build something. Well, two somethings. A kind of cradle, but raised on a stand so you don’t have to bend down to get the kid. A little fancy work to make Clare happy, and enough so she won’t want to cover it up with a damn skirt.”

“We could do that. Make them so they’d rock.”

“Carve their names into them.”

Intrigued, Beckett looked back at Ryder. “Their names.”

“Makes them unique, and it’ll keep you from mixing them up. Better come up with something for the three you’ve already got so they don’t get their noses out of joint.”

“I’m going to build them a tree house. I haven’t gotten past the design stage yet. Too much going on.”

“Nothing like a tree house,” Owen said. “Man, we spent hours in ours. Stockpiled candy, comic books. Remember,” he said to Ryder, “you bought that skin mag off Denny. I saw my first porn in that tree house. Good times.”

“I got laid the first time up there. Tiffany Carvell. Excellent times.”

“Christ.” Beckett closed his eyes. “Don’t mention porn or getting laid to Clare. She’ll never let me build it.”