The Next Always Read Online Free PDF Page A

the shop.
    Finch’s chase was a study in mad joy.
    “Do you jerk off with that hand?” Ryder asked him.
    Beckett wiped the dog slobber on his jeans. “I’m ambidextrous.”
    He took the next length of chestnut Ryder had measured and marked. And Finch charged back with the ball, dropped it at his feet.
    The process continued, Ryder measuring and marking, Beckett cutting, Owen putting the pieces together with wood glue and clamps according to the designs tacked on sheets of plywood.
    One set of the two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that would flank The Library’s fireplace stood waiting for sanding, staining, for the lower cabinet doors. Once they’d finished the second, and the fireplace surround, they’d probably tag Owen for the fancy work.
    They all had the skills, Beckett thought, but no one would deny Owen was the most meticulous of the three.
    He turned off the saw, tossed the ball for the delirious Finch, and noticed it had gone dark outside. Cus rose with a yawn and stretch, leaned against Beckett’s leg for a rub before wandering out.
    Time to call it, Beckett decided, and got three beers out of the old shop refrigerator. “It’s oh-beer-thirty,” he announced and walked over to hand bottles off to his brothers.
    “I hear that.” Ry kicked the ball the dog dropped at his feet out the open window with the same accuracy he’d kicked a football through the goalposts in high school.
    With a running leap, Finch soared through after it. Something crashed on the porch.
    “Did you see that?” Beckett demanded over his brothers’ laughter. “That dog’s crazy.”
    “Damn good jump.” Ryder wet his thumb, rubbed it on the side of the bookcase. “That’s pretty wood. The chestnut was a good call, Beck.”
    “It’s going to work well with the flooring. The sofa in there needs to be leather,” he decided. “Dark, but rich, with lighter leather on the chairs for contrast.”
    “Whatever. The ceiling lights Mom ordered came in today.” Ryder took a pull of his beer.
    Owen took out his phone to make a note. “Did you inspect them?”
    “I was a little busy.”
    Owen made another note. “Mark the boxes? Put them in storage?”
    “Yeah, yeah. Marked and in the basement at Vesta. The dining room lights—ceiling and sconces—came in, too. Same deal.”
    “I need the packing slips.”
    “They’re on-site, Nancy.”
    “We’ve got to keep the paperwork organized, Jethro.”
    Finch trotted back in, dropped the ball, banged his tail like a hammer.
    “See if he’ll do it again,” Beckett suggested.
    Obliging, Ryder kicked it out the window. The dog sailed after it. Something crashed. Intrigued, Dumbass wandered over, put his paws on the sill. After a moment he tried crawling out.
    “I’ve got to get a dog.” Owen sipped his beer as they watched D.A.’s back legs kicking and scrabbling. “I’m getting a dog as soon as we get this job finished.”
    They closed up, and taking the beer outside, spent another fifteen minutes talking shop, throwing the ball for the indefatigable Finch.
    The cicadas and lightning bugs filled the strip of lawn and surrounding woods with sound and sparkles. Now and again, an owl worked up the energy to hoot mournfully. It made Beckett think of other sultry summer nights, with the three of them running around as tirelessly as Finch. With the lights on in the house on the rise as they were now.
    When the lights flicked on and off, on and off, it was time to come in—and always too soon.
    He’d wondered—and worried a little—about his mother, alone up here in the big house tucked in the woods. When his father had died—and that had been hard—the three of them had basically moved back home. Until she’d booted them out again after a couple months.
    Still, for probably another year, at least one of them would find an excuse to spend the night once a week or so. But the simple fact was, she did fine. She had her work, her sister, her friends, her dogs. Justine