She let him have at it, braced her tired back against the door frame while he made bomb and battle noises. Alerted by the sound of padding feet, she turned to Liam.
“Did you have a good nap?”
“I guess. We woke up. Can we watch a movie now? We’re going to watch Star Wars.”
“I killed the germs.” Murphy waved the rag like a flag. “I wanna watch, too.”
“All right. Let’s go set it up.”
When she got downstairs, Harry—and he looked so much better—gave her a pleading look. “I’m really hungry.”
“Why don’t I fix you some cereal to hold you off until—Wait a minute.” She held up a hand as she heard the front door open. “Provisions have arrived. We’re saved!”
“There’s my guys.” Rosie Murphy, with Ed just behind her, strode in, arms loaded. She winked at her daughter, passed her a grocery bag. “Look what we’ve got here for two sick boys and their brother.”
She pulled action figures out of a separate bag. In the ensuing pandemonium, Clare smiled at her father. “She raided her bribery stash.”
“You know your mom.”
“Yes, I do. I’m going to get this stuff in the kitchen. Harry’s withering away from a lack of Chicken and Stars.”
Tall, beefy, his sandy hair streaked with silver, Ed carried his bags in, set them on the counter. “I’ll get the rest.”
“More? I just asked for—”
He wagged a finger, grinned in the way that crinkled his mossy green eyes at the corners. “You know your mother.”
She wouldn’t have to squeeze in a stop at the store tomorrow, Clare thought as she put away a week’s worth of groceries, which included, from the indulgent grandparents, Popsicles, gummy worms, potato chips, and ice cream bars.
“Popsicles and ice cream bars?” Clare said when Rosie came in.
“They’ve been sick.”
“Just don’t tell them until they’ve had some lunch. The receipt wasn’t in any of the bags.”
“Consider it your reward for dealing with two sick boys and I imagine their pesky little brother all weekend, with no casualties.”
“It was close. But I don’t want you to pay for—”
“Never argue with a woman giving you food.”
“Murphy’s law?” She turned and put her arms around her mother. “Thanks.” Then laid her head on Rosie’s shoulder a moment.
Always there, Clare thought.
“My baby’s tired,” Rosie murmured.
“Some.” She eased back.
She’d gotten her sunny hair from her mother, though Rosie wore it short and sassy, and cleverly low-lighted. It suited her angular face, the delicate-as-a-tea-rose skin.
“You look so good.”
“New moisturizer. And a good night’s sleep, which I don’t imagine you’ve had lately. Oh, be sure to ask your father if he’s lost weight.”
“Has he?”
“Three pounds. I’ve nagged him into exercising with me. I’m shooting for ten. Now, what can I do for you?”
“You did it, and possibly saved lives.” She picked up the soup can. “Harry was getting desperate.”
“They all want grilled cheese sandwiches. I’ll make them. You, take a break. Get some air, take a walk. Get out of the house.”
Clare started to protest, then saved her breath. Besides, she could use a walk. “I owe you.”
“Give me three grandsons. Oh, wait, you already have. Take an hour.”
“Half hour, and I’ll have my cell phone in case.”
“I think we can handle things. We’re watching Star Wars. Oh, and the boys want a sleepover. Is Friday night all right?”
“Yeah, sure, if you want.”
“We want. And maybe your night out with Beckett Montgomery will go a little smoother.”
“It would have to. Though I told you, he was great about it.”
“I always liked the Montgomery boys.” Rosie assembled ingredients for grilled cheese sandwiches. “And I’m glad you’re dating someone—and someone I know.”
“We’re not really dating. I mean, obviously we would have, but . . . It feels a little strange yet.”
“You like him.”
“I’ve always . . . Yes, I do.”
“Then give him a test-drive, honey. But drive safe.”
“Mom, are you having the kids over so I can take the wheel?”
“Just clearing the road,” Rosie said cheerfully.
Clare shook her head. “I’m definitely taking a walk.”
MIDDLE OF THE week, Beckett thought, and though they’d run into countless glitches, they’d made some decent progress. The gas lines were in, and that was a huge headache behind them. He’d spent the weekend in the shop, working with Ryder on the bookcases and the arches while Owen built the counter his mother wanted for the gift shop.
The extra project wasn’t as much of a time suck as he’d feared. And he had to admit, seeing the building painted in the warm cream and sage gave him a