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reason you can’t take an assist when it’s offered, or is it just an assist from me in particular?”
“No. Yes. Oh for—” She pressed her fingers to her eyes. “God, crappy day, starting with dragging three irritable boys to the dentist.”
“Cavities?”
“No, so it could’ve been worse. Fine, I’m sure the boys would be happy to see you, if you’re sure you’ve got the time.”
“I can clear my busy social schedule.”
“Um, I’ll pick them up, get them started on their homework. I promised to make tacos if they were good at the dentist, which they weren’t particularly. But we’ll give that a pass as they’re quick, and easier for me.”
“How about I come by about four? Does that work?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“See you then.”
“Beckett. I’m sorry I snapped at you, and I do appreciate you fixing the leak.”
“No problem.” He started out, stopped. “You know, Clare, being able to do everything doesn’t mean you have to.”
Maybe not, she thought. But she didn’t want to forget how.
RYDER WATCHED BECKETT packing it up for the day. He knew when his brother was in a mood, and decided to poke at it to get to the root.
“You know, we could use a hand in the shop.”
“My talents are required elsewhere.”
“Babysitting. She’s got you whipped, bro.”
Beckett just shot up his middle finger.
“I guess you’ve got to make nice if you want some touch since you had that fight at Vesta.”
“What fight?” Now he looked over, and with a scowl. “We didn’t have a fight.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
“We had a discussion. If people can’t tell the difference—shit.” He kicked the front tire of the truck. “Maybe she can’t tell the difference. What do I know?”
“Trying to figure her out’s your first mistake. Nobody figures women out.”
“Something’s up with her. She nearly took my head off when I fixed a leak over at TTP. It’s Lizzy, that’s what it is.”
“Clare thinks you’re making time with your ghost?”
“She’s not my ghost. Clare got freaked the other night when I took her and the kids through, and Murphy saw Lizzy.”
“Now you’ve got kids sharing your delusion?”
“And it’s not a delusion, you damn well know.” He jerked a thumb at D.A. while the dog peed on the tire he’d just kicked. “How come your dog goes upstairs and hangs out in that room every day?”
“He’s a dog, Beck. I don’t try to figure him out either.” But this was interesting, he had to admit. “The kid said he saw her.”
“He did see her. I never mentioned her to any of the kids.” He told Ryder about the incident. “Then Clare’s wigged out, and pissed off. Seems like she still is.”
“She’ll get over it. Take her some flowers or something.”
“I don’t have time to get her flowers. Besides.” He kicked the tire again. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Yeah, that matters.” Ryder shook his head in pity. He leaned in the truck window when Beckett got in. “They’re always going to figure you did something, so the easiest way around it is to distract them with flowers. Then you’re more likely to get laid.”
“You’re a cynical bastard.”
“I’m a realist, son. Go babysit, maybe that’s the same as flowers to a woman like Clare.”
Maybe it was, Beckett thought as he drove away. But he wasn’t hanging out with the kids because he’d done something. He was just helping her out.
He liked helping her out. He wanted to help her out.
Sooner or later she’d have to get used to it.
When he got there, the crowd went wild. Both his ego and his mood took a boost when the kids raced around, vying for attention, assailing him with questions and pleas to play.
“Take a breath,” Clare ordered, then laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder as she turned to Beckett. “We just have to finish up some math homework.”
“Math, huh? That happens to be my best thing.”
“I’ve been doing homework forever.”
“It certainly seems like it. We just have to finish this worksheet, then you’re free.”
“Go on,” Beckett told her. “We got this.”
“Oh, but—”
“We have no time for women here.”
“It’s Man Night!” Murphy flexed his little biceps the way Beckett had shown him.
“Man Hour and a Half,” Clare corrected, then eyed the bag Beckett set on the counter.
“That’s of no concern to you. It holds manly things.” He snatched it up again, gave her a light kiss that inspired Liam to make gagging noises while Harry stared at his worksheet and Murphy tried to climb Beckett’s leg like a monkey.
“All right.” She sent Harry a long look, then brushed her hand over his hair. “Don’t do the math for him. And you guys, give your brother a little quiet so he can finish up. Then you can all play. I won’t be long.”
“Have a good time.” Beckett sat at the table. “So what have we got here?”
Clare gave Harry one more long look, then left them.
“You have to add the three numbers and write the answer. I don’t know why there are so many of them.”
“You’ve got a good start.”
“Can we have the bag now?” Liam asked. “Is it cookies?”
“No and no. You two hit the playroom. I need you to separate all the action figures into good guys and bad guys, then put them into teams.”
“What for?”
Beckett drilled a finger into Murphy’s belly. “For the war.”
The prospect of war sent them both racing away with bloodcurdling screams.
“So,” Beckett began, “fifty plus eight plus two hundred.”
It didn’t take long, and Beckett discovered Harry didn’t need help so much as someone to keep him focused.
“Good deal. You aced that sucker.” From the sounds coming from the playroom, they’d started the war without him. He got the bag, brought it to the table. “Now for math homework, over and above the call of duty, this seems fitting.”
He took out a measuring tape. “This is the real deal, not a toy. It’s one of mine. There’s probably tons of stuff that needs measuring around here.”
Harry pulled the tape out, let it snap back.
“When you need it to stay out, you push this—then it sticks. Just push it back to release.”
Saying nothing, Harry tried it a few times. Then he looked at Beckett. “How come I get this?”
“You seemed interested in how to build things, and fix them, how it works when we were at the inn the other day. You can’t build anything without a measuring tape. My dad gave me a measuring tape when—”
“You’re not my dad.”
“No,” Beckett said, and thought uh-oh. “I just remembered getting one when I was a kid, and figured you’d like one.”
“I saw you kiss my mom. I saw you kiss her before, too.”
“Yeah.”
After setting the measuring tape down, Harry folded his arms. “Why are you kissing her?”
“Because I like her. Maybe you should talk to your mom about it.”
“I’m talking to you.”
“Okay, fair enough.” So the answer, Beckett decided, had to be fair enough, too. “I like your mom a lot. Kissing’s a way to show it.”
“Are you getting married?”
Whoa. How did he explain to an eight-year-old the long, sticky stretch between kissing and marriage? “We like each other, Harry, and we like being with each other, doing stuff together.”
“Laurie’s getting married, Mom said.”
“Yeah, but—”
“You can’t ask her to get married unless you ask me first. I’m the oldest.”
“Okay.”
“And you can’t kiss her if she doesn’t want to.”
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