they would. Time for a firm hand there, but he’d forgive her, of course. Women were weak.
Opening her closet, he stroked dresses, blouses. He remembered her wearing most of them, thought of how she looked walking down the street or pushing a cart in the grocery store, standing behind the counter in that silly bookstore.
A whole new wardrobe was called for. He imagined how excited, how pleased she would be when he helped her select it. He should probably do the selecting himself, until she acclimated to her new status.
Yes, that would be best. He’d teach her how to dress.
Curious, he crossed to her dresser, opening drawers, touching, studying. Obviously, she needed his guidance on nightwear, on what went under her new clothes. A woman, certainly his woman, needed style and status even in very private moments.
He came across two pieces unlike the others—sexy, seductive. His pulse picked up as he brushed the material with his fingers, pictured her wearing them for him.
Then he realized, no, not for him. She’d worn this for Montgomery. He ripped a froth of lace from the bodice. She wouldn’t wear them again, he determined. He’d make her burn them. She’d have to apologize—he’d accept no less—and burn the slutwear she’d worn for Montgomery.
Then she’d wear what he bought her, what he told her to wear. And be grateful.
Anger, so acute, roared in his head. He nearly missed the barking dogs.
He closed the drawer, quietly, carefully, and slipped into her closet moments before he heard the door open downstairs, and the sounds of the brats running through the house, shouting like hoodlums.
They’d be taught, too, he assured himself. They’d soon learn to live by his rules if they knew what was good for them.
HER SUPERHEROES RUSHED to the back doors as a team to let the dogs in. Five minutes, she thought, as fresh mayhem began. She’d give them another five to settle down before getting ready for bed.
They wouldn’t be the only kids in Boonsboro Elementary the next day who’d gone to bed a bit late and hyped on sugar.
She put the bags of Halloween treats far back on the counter—away from curious dogs and sneaky kids—and thought just how much she wanted to yank off the wig, peel out of the costume, scrub off the Storm makeup.
Fun while it lasted, she decided. But she was ready for the fun to end. She let them chatter about their big night, thrill the dogs with games of tug—then brought the hammer down.
“Okay, boys, time for bed.”
She got the expected But, Moms, the protests, excuses, negotiations—and stood firm against them as much for herself as the boys.
She wanted her comfortable pj’s, some quiet, maybe a big mug of tea and a book.
“I guess you’re not that interested in going to the arcade on Sunday.”
“Yes, we are!” Harry shot her a stunned and appalled stare.
“Boys who argue with their mothers don’t go to arcades. I want you in your pajamas. And you’re all going to brush your teeth extra well tonight. Let’s move out, troops.”
She herded them upstairs, stood in their doorway a moment to make sure they got started. “Don’t throw your costumes on the floor. Put them in the costume box—I mean it. I’m going to get in my pajamas, too.”
“Can we wear our costumes to the arcade?” Liam asked her.
“We’ll see. Put them away for now.”
She crossed to her own room, started to yank off the wig, but caught her reflection in the mirror. The grin snuck up on her. “Well, you’re no Halle Berry, but not half bad.”
Pulling off the wig, she let out a long, long sigh.
In the closet, his breath shallow, his eyes riveted to the thin opening in the slats, Sam wondered what he was doing. The moment of clarity sent his heart into a gallop.
He’d broken into her house like a thief, and now he hid in her closet like—it didn’t bear thinking about. What if she opened the doors? What would he say? Do?
She’d put him in this position, this terrible position, and now . . .
The moment passed as she tugged the ridiculous costume off her shoulders, drew the snug skirt down her body. Her hair tumbled free down her back as she folded the skirt, laid it on a little chair.
She wore a plain white bra, plain white panties. He hadn’t known plain and white could be so arousing.
He knew what he was doing, he reminded himself. He was taking what he wanted.
He reached up to open the closet.
“Mom! Harry’s hogging the toothpaste!”
“There’s plenty for everybody. I’ll be there in one minute.”
The brats, he remembered, and quietly lowered his trembling hand. He’d forgotten them. He had to be patient a little longer. He had to wait until they were in bed.
Had to wait. Had to watch.
Clare stripped off her panties, tossed them in the hamper before pulling on cotton pants. She unhooked her bra, tossed that in as well, pulled on a faded T-shirt.
Hearing sounds that didn’t strike as teeth-brushing, she grabbed her hairbrush on the fly.
Harry and Liam stopped their sword fight with their toothbrushes, Murphy stopped making bomb sounds as he dropped a dog ball in the sink he’d filled nearly to the rim.
Mad with excitement, dogs leaped at boy and dripping ball.
“We brushed.” Murphy sent her a cherub’s grin. “I’m going to wash the ball ’cause it got slobbered.”
“Let the water out, Murphy.” She bent down to Liam. “Open up.”
She sniffed when he did, caught the distinctive scent of their bubble-gum-flavored toothpaste. “You pass. Into bed. Harry.”
He rolled his eyes at her, but opened up for the sniff test. “And you’re clear. Bed.”
Grabbing a towel, she homed in on Murphy.
“The ball’s clean now.”
“I bet. And your pj’s are wet.” She set her brush aside to tug off the damp top, then dried his hands, his arms, his sweet little chest. “Open up.”
“I brushed real good.” He opened, and huffed out a big breath to prove it.
“Very nice. Go get another pajama top.”
“I have to change the bottoms, too, or they won’t match.”
“Murphy—” She bit back the impatience. Two minutes, and they’d be tucked in. “Of course you do. Make it fast.”
She used the same towel to wipe up the water on the counter, the floor, draped it over the shower bar to dry out before it went in the hamper.
When she went into the boys’ bedroom she spotted Murphy in a dog’s bed with Yoda, and Ben wiggling under the covers in Harry’s bed. Liam sprawled in his own with the glazed, droopy eyes of the nearly passed out.
“Murphy, you’re not sleeping in the dog’s bed.”
“But he gets lonely.”
“He won’t. Ben can sleep with him.”
“But Mom!” Harry clutched at the dog as she wondered how many times she’d heard those two words today.
“He can’t sleep on a top bunk, Harry. He could fall out, or try to jump out, and get hurt. You don’t want him to hurt himself. Come on now. It’s late.”
She managed to get the dog down, set him in his proper bed while Murphy—executing impressive fake snoring—continued to curl up with Yoda.
“No chance.” Clare hauled Murphy up, dumped him in his lower bunk. “Stay,” she ordered the dogs, and kissed Murphy, then Liam, then Harry. “And that goes for boys as well as dogs. Good night.”
She’d made it halfway to her bedroom when she heard the distinctive sound of puppy toenails crossing the floor, and Murphy’s muffled giggle as, she imagined, the dogs joined him in bed.
Discipline started, in earnest, tomorrow, she promised herself. Remembering her brush, she backtracked to the bathroom. She brushed her hair out as she walked back. Once she got the makeup cleaned off, she’d go make that tea. Check the boys one more time, then settle down.
She really should write the copy for the store’s upcoming newsletter
, but she was too damn tired. She’d get an early start on it tomorrow.
She caught the movement as she crossed the bedroom toward her little bath, and whirled toward it. The hairbrush dropped with a clatter as Sam stepped out behind the bedroom door, closed it.
“You’re going to want to be quiet.” He spoke casually, with a smile on his face. “You wouldn’t want to disturb your sons. They could get hurt.”
AT VESTA, BECKETT took another pull on his beer. It felt good to kick back, hang with Avery, talk about nothing important or in particular.
“Are you heading over to Chuck and Lisa’s party?” she asked him.
Only a couple blocks over, he thought, and plenty of his friends, and both of his brothers would be there. “I’m going to pass.”
“Aw, no partying without your girlfriend?”
“Smartass. What’s your excuse?”
“I was going to, but my feet betrayed me. What’s wrong with us, Beck? We’ve always been up for a party.”
“You’re right. Tell you what. You can be my date. We’ll go for an hour. Buffy and Carpenter X need to preserve their reps.”
“Can I have a piggyback ride there and back?” she asked as Hope came in.
“I was hoping you were still here.”