The Next Always by Nora Roberts Page B

she heard the front door open, and Avery’s hail. “We come bearing gifts.”
    “Back here!” Clare took one last glance out the window before hurrying toward the front of the house. “Hope.” She grabbed the woman in a hug. “You look amazing.”
    It was invariably true. She radiated chic in her casual summer skirt and flounced top the color of chili peppers.
    “Oh, it’s good to see you.” Hope returned the hug with an extra squeeze. “It’s been too long. God, something smells amazing.”
    “Dinner, which is a little behind. Oh, sunflowers.”
    “Couldn’t resist them.”
    “I love them. Come on back.”
    “Where are my men?” Hope shook the trio of gift bags she carried.
    “You know you don’t have to bring them presents.”
    “It’s as much fun for me.”
    “Hey, I brought the wine.” Avery tapped the bag in her arm. “Which will also be as much fun for me. Let’s go open it, get this party started.”
    Hope headed straight out the back, laughing as the kids stampeded toward her, and the gift bags. Clare watched through the screen door while Avery opened the wine.
    The kids adored Hope, Clare thought, with or without gifts. And she really did look amazing. Sultry looks to go with the smoky voice, the short, razor-sharp wedge of dark hair with spiky bangs suited the knife-edged cheekbones, the long, heavy-lidded smolder of her eyes.
    The body Clare knew she trained with vigorous daily workouts managed to be both athletic and intensely female at the same time.
    “God, she’s beautiful.”
    “I know. She’d be easy to hate.” Avery passed Clare a glass of wine. “But we’re bigger than that. We love her despite her beauty. We’ve got to talk her into taking this job.”
    “But if she decides she doesn’t want it—”
    “I’ve got the gut feeling.” Avery pointed at her belly. “The McTavish Gut Feeling. No one dares ignore the McTavish Gut. She’s unhappy down in D.C.”
    “Small wonder,” Clare muttered and felt her gorge rise over Hope’s miserable prick of an ex yet again.
    “She’s made some noises about going back to Philly, or trying Chicago, and I know—Clare, I know that’s not what she should do. She should be here, with us.”
    “Well, I can do my part, hyping the inn, and the Montgomerys. But it’s going to be her call at the end of the day.” She slipped her arm around Avery’s waist. “But it sure is good to have both of you here.”
    So good, Clare thought over dinner while the food she’d prepared was enjoyed and the sunflowers beamed at the head of the table.
    She let the boys burn off dinner and excess excitement until dusk. “I’m going to put them in the corral for the night.”
    “Want some help roping them in?” Avery asked.
    “No, I’ve got it.”
    “Good, because after that meal, and the ice cream and fresh strawberries, I’m not sure I can move yet.”
    Clare called them in, got the expected whines and protests. “We had a deal,” she reminded them. “Say good night.”
    They obeyed, heads hanging, feet dragging like a trio shackled for the chain gang.
    By the time she got back, her friends had cleared the table.
    “I’d say you didn’t have to do that, but I’m glad you did.” She plopped back down, reached for the wine Avery topped off. “Boy, does this feel good. It’d feel great if we could do this anytime at all.”
    “Avery’s been pitching this B&B since I got here.”
    “Well then, it’s my turn.” Prepared, Clare straightened up, leaned forward. “It’s more than a bed-and-breakfast. I think it’s going to have that kind of warmth and charm, but combined with the pizzazz of a boutique hotel. I’ve been through parts of it, gotten a sense of the setup, looked at the cut sheets and photos of furniture and fixtures. I’m still dazzled.”
    “Living where you work.” Hope lifted her shoulders. “There are pros and cons there.”
    “Come on, Hope, you practically lived at the Wickham anyway.”
    “Maybe.”