"When you started researching."

"Anyway, Avery fell pretty hard for the pug idea. Then she talked to Mom, and Mom put her onto the rescue idea. So we're getting a year-old pug named Tyrone who's deaf in one ear."

"A half dog-not the deaf part, the size. He's half a dog, so you'll have a dog and a half with the Lab."

"Bingo." Owen shook his head. "What kind of s.a.d.i.s.t names a dog Bingo? He's only four months old, so we'll change that. Give him some dignity."

Beckett came back in, went straight for a beer. "Jesus. I've been at this, more or less, for almost a year, and sometimes I still wonder how Clare did it all on her own."

He shoved Owen's legs off the couch, dropped down. "It's the first time she's been away all night. It's kind of weird."

"You've already knocked her up," Ryder pointed out. "She can use the rest."

"She wants to start fooling with the nursery. She's talking ba.s.sinets and changing tables."

"Nervous?"

"Maybe, but mostly it's ba.s.sinets. It sounds girly."

"What the h.e.l.l is it?" Ryder wondered.

"It's like a basket on a stand."

"You're going to put your kids in a basket."

"A fancy baby basket. The one she showed me has this frilly white skirt with blue bows on it." Needing support, Beckett gave his brothers a pleading look. "You can't put a boy in a basket with a frilly white skirt. It's not right."

"So put on your pants and man up," Ryder suggested.

"She's pregnant."

"Which is why you're sitting there talking about frilly white skirts. It's embarra.s.sing."

"Eat me." Beckett looked down the couch at Owen. "I'm thinking we could build something. Well, two somethings. A kind of cradle, but raised on a stand so you don't have to bend down to get the kid. A little fancy work to make Clare happy, and enough so she won't want to cover it up with a d.a.m.n skirt."

"We could do that. Make them so they'd rock."

"Carve their names into them."

Intrigued, Beckett looked back at Ryder. "Their names."

"Makes them unique, and it'll keep you from mixing them up. Better come up with something for the three you've already got so they don't get their noses out of joint."

"I'm going to build them a tree house. I haven't gotten past the design stage yet. Too much going on."

"Nothing like a tree house," Owen said. "Man, we spent hours in ours. Stockpiled candy, comic books. Remember," he said to Ryder, "you bought that skin mag off Denny. I saw my first p.o.r.n in that tree house. Good times."

"I got laid the first time up there. Tiffany Carvell. Excellent times."

"Christ." Beckett closed his eyes. "Don't mention p.o.r.n or getting laid to Clare. She'll never let me build it."

"p.u.s.s.y."

Beckett sneered right back at Ryder. "Say that to me again when you're married."

"The two of you can drive that train for a while. The women of the world need at least one Montgomery brother free and clear."

"I'm going to like being married," Owen commented.

"You might as well be already."

"Yeah. And I like it. I like knowing she'll be there when I get home, or she'll be coming home. And it is weird," he said to Beckett, "that she won't be tonight."

"They must be having a good time. Clare only called in once to check on the boys. And she said Hope needed some girl time. Speaking of which, what's the deal with this Wickham guy? Clare didn't have the whole story."

"He thought he could poach her."

"f.u.c.ker."

"f.u.c.ker in a five-thousand-dollar suit."

"He dumped her, right?" Owen lazily sipped at his beer. "For some blonde. Pretty hot blonde if you like the type. Avery showed me her picture in the Style section of the Post."

"The Style section?" Ryder snorted. "Seriously?"

"Kiss a.s.s. Avery found it, showed me. So, he dumps her for the blonde, has his big, splashy society wedding, then he comes up here to our place and tries to poach our innkeeper? Makes you want to kick his a.s.s and mess up his five-thousand-dollar suit."

"He added a perk. She'd hook back up with him and he'd set her up."

Owen sat up now. "What the f.u.c.k did you say?"

"You heard me. He'd set her up as his side piece. Buy her a house, toss in some spending money and a trip to Paris or some s.h.i.t."

"And yet he lives," Beckett murmured. "Why didn't you beat the s.h.i.t out of him?"

"Because I didn't know about it until he'd left. Besides, she handled it, handled him. She was telling him to stick it when I walked by. And check this." He dug for more chips. "She sashays right up, tells me to go with it, and plants a long, steamy one on me."

"I didn't hear about that." Owen looked from one brother to the other. "Why didn't I hear about that? I hear about everything."

"It was just yesterday, and we've been busy since. Word's probably inching along the grapevine now, which I figure she didn't think about at the time."

"You went with it?" Beckett asked.

"Sure. Why not? I got the picture, and I didn't like the look of him. Or his suit. I figured she just wanted to give him the business, make him jealous. No skin off mine. Then after he left ... She was shaking."

"G.o.dd.a.m.n it," Beckett muttered.

"Most of it was mad. She was plenty mad. Insulted. But she was shaken up, too."