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.
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KEEP READING FOR AN EXCERPT FROM
THE SECOND BOOK IN THE INN BOONSBORO TRILOGY
BY NORA ROBERTS
The Last Boyfriend
AVAILABLE IN MAY 2012 FROM BERKLEY BOOKS.
A FAT WINTER MOON POURED LIGHT OVER THE OLD STONE and brick of the inn on The Square. In its beams, the new porches and pickets glowed and the bright-penny copper of the roof glinted. The old and new merged there—the past and the present—in a strong and happy marriage.
Its windows stayed dark on this December night, prizing its secrets in shadows. But in a matter of weeks they would shine like others along Boonsboro’s Main Street.
As he sat in his truck at the light on The Square, Owen Montgomery looked down Main at the shops and apartments draped in their holiday cheer. Lights winked and danced. To his right, a pretty tree graced the big front window of the second-floor apartment. Their future innkeeper’s temporary residence reflected her style: precise elegance.
Next Christmas, he thought, they’d have Inn BoonsBoro covered with white lights and greenery. And Hope Beaumont would center her pretty little tree in the window of the innkeeper’s apartment on the third floor.
He glanced to his left, where Avery McTavish, owner of Vesta Pizzeria and Family Restaurant, had the restaurant’s front porch decked out in lights.
Her apartment above—formerly his brother Beckett’s—also showed a tree in the window. Otherwise her windows were as dark as the inn’s. She’d be working tonight, he thought, noting the movement in the restaurant. He shifted, but couldn’t see her behind the work counter.
When the light changed, he turned right onto St. Paul Street, then left into the parking lot behind the inn. Then sat in his truck a moment, considering. He could walk over to Vesta, he thought, have a slice and a beer, hang out until closing. Afterward he could do his walk-through of the inn.
He didn’t actually need to walk through, he reminded himself. But he hadn’t been on site all day, as he’d been busy with other meetings, other details on other Montgomery Family Contractors business. He didn’t want to wait until morning to see what his brothers and the crew had accomplished that day.
Besides, Vesta looked busy—and had barely thirty minutes till closing. Not that Avery would kick him out at closing—probably. More than likely, she’d sit down and have a beer with him.
Tempting, he thought, but he really should do that quick walk-through