Husband Under Construction (11 page)

“Except you'd said yourself, when we were driving last night, that he seems to have changed in a lot of ways.”

“Did I?”

“Yes, you did. So maybe he's growing up. It does happen, you know. My Sal, you should've seen him in his early twenties. Wild? You have no idea. Then suddenly he hits twenty-seven, twenty-eight, and boom! Like night and day.
Thirty-five years we were married, and never once did he so much as flirt with another woman. And I know what you're thinking—how can I be sure?”

She took a sip of her iced tea. “Because these things, they never stay a secret. The guy trips up, or somebody always blabs, whatever. Especially after the funeral. That seems to be when the hitherto unknown mistresses come crawling outta the woodwork.” Her head wagged. “Not with Sal. So sometimes people do change. And you know…” Her gaze averted, she picked at her gelatin. “Having her settled…well, it would take a huge load off your mind, wouldn't it?”

Charley looked up, the Jell-O quivering on his fork. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, come on, Charley! She's what, thirty? And not even your daughter! It's not right, you worrying over her like she's still a child! Or her acting like you're still one! You both deserve your own lives, don't you think?”

Funny, how thoughts that make perfect sense inside your own head sound not so perfect coming out of somebody else's mouth. Because for all Edie had virtually echoed Charley's own take on the subject, the flare of annoyance setting ablaze the chicken and gelatin in his stomach made him realize things weren't nearly that black and white.

“For one thing,” he said, “it's not up to me to get her ‘settled.'”
Or fix her,
he silently added to his wife, in case she was listening in. “Whether Noah really is changed or not, I have no idea. But that's for Rox to decide, not me. Or anybody else. For another, maybe she's not blood kin, but she's the closest thing to a daughter Mae and I ever had. Nor do I recall there being an age cutoff for when you stop being concerned about somebody.”

Her cheeks pinker than usual, Edie leveled him with her gaze. “I'm sorry if I overstepped. I'm just afraid…” Petting the dog, she sagged back in her chair. “She doesn't like me,
Charley. And my gut tells me she'll do anything she can to break us up.”

“She doesn't
know
you, Edie,” he said, thinking, with a start,
And obviously she's not the only one.
“Yes, we worry about each other. And it's sometimes annoying as hell. But we don't get in each other's business. I can promise you no matter what she thinks she would never interfere—”

“Maybe not overtly,” Eden said, her eyes shiny. “But believe me—” she pressed one hand to her chest “—and I'm only speaking as another woman, here—if she thinks I'm bad for you she'll wear you down until you think it, too. Especially as long as she's still single herself!” At Charley's probably flummoxed expression, Edie lifted her chin. “Sorry, but I can't keep this inside. And I feel like I'm on really shaky ground here, with her.”

A long moment passed before Charley folded his napkin, placing it carefully beside his plate before getting to his feet, thinking it wasn't Roxie she was on shaky ground with right now. “I like you, Edie. A lot. But if you're convinced I can't think for myself, or tell the difference between manipulation and being cared about…that's a deal breaker. Believe
me,
” he said, his eyes on hers, “I can. Thanks for lunch,” he mumbled, then started for the door.

“Charley?”

When he turned she was practically on top of him, clutching her little dog and looking quite distressed. Moved—and frankly torn—Charley laid a hand on her cheek. “I don't see my niece as either a burden or an obstacle. As long as you do, however…” He took a deep breath. “If you don't trust
me,
maybe it's best if we take a break.”

Then he kissed her on her soft, fragrant cheek and left, realizing with a kick to his gut that following your conscience doesn't necessarily mean you're going to be happy about it.

I
n front of Roxie stood a grinning, wriggling little boy wearing well-worn blue jeans, a heavyweight hoodie and straw-colored, choir boy bangs. Beside him stood an unshaven Noah wearing well-worn jeans—black, natch—a heavyweight hoodie…and a smaller boy in plush, dinosaur-splotched footed jammies, clinging to him like a limpet.

It was a lot to take in at seven-thirty in the morning. Especially given her lack of sleep over the pending job interview, her screwing up the courage to call Jeff
and
her uncle's two-days-and-counting mopefest, which she assumed had something to with Eden but God forbid he actually talk to her or anything.

“Sorry,” Noah mumbled as he ushered in his six-year-old nephew, Ollie, then gently set a still very sleepy, two years younger Tad on the sofa, along with a jumble of pint-size clothes and a largish paper bag smelling of greasy heaven. “Silas had an early appointment and Jewel's out at a birth.
So I said I'd get Ollie to school by nine, and whichever one finishes up first'll swing by to collect Tad. Hope that's not a problem? Ollie!” he shouted as the boy vanished into the back of the house. “Get back here!”

“Coming!”

“Of course not,” Roxie said, aching to take the sagging little boy in her arms, even as she kept an eye on his brother, darting from room to room like a pinball, his backpack going
thunkathunkathunka
between his slender shoulders, his sneakers pounding against the bare wooden floors.

First things first, though. “Hey, I called—”

“What's all that racket?” Charley called from upstairs. Blast.

“Silas's boys are here for a little while,” Roxie called back up. “Come say hi!”

Slam.

Crouching in front of the wobbly kid, who was seriously listing east, Noah shot her a glance. “Still?”

“Yeah,” she said on a sigh. “Um, I—”

“Tad! Wake up, buddy!”

Shaking his curly head, the little boy collapsed into a ball on the sofa cushion, hands smushed underneath his cheek. Roxie gave up. For the time being, anyway. “You want me to set out plates and stuff for the boys?”

“Nah, paper bags, fingers—we're good. Okay, Tadpole,” Noah said, heaving the kid upright again, “I need to get you dressed—”

“Don'wanna,” the pink-cheeked tyke said on a huge yawn, drooping forward to crumple against his uncle's chest, thumb in mouth, eyes drifting shut again.

“I know, guy,” Noah said, real softly, rubbing the little back, and Roxie could actually feel her heart melting. And her knees. And…other things. “But you gotta. Aren't you hungry?”

With a slow, curl-quivering head shake, the squirt cuddled closer. Chuckling, Noah gently untangled the little arms, letting Tad slump against the back of the sofa to tug off his pj bottoms…earning himself a shriek of laughter when he tickled the soles of the little guy's feet. Meanwhile, Ollie thunked and clumped back and forth, back and forth, back and forth…

“You're good at that,” Roxie said to Noah, snatching up the bag of food before the grease reached the sofa, carrying it to the one end of the dining table not covered in Mae's stuff and renovation detritus.

“What? Dressing kids?” Noah yanked a long-sleeve T-shirt over Tad's head. Not looking at her. “Line up limbs to corresponding openings in clothes, how hard could it be?” The little boy blinked, then grinned, and Roxie could practically see the jets firing, one by one. Countdown to liftoff in three…two…one…

“Shoes!” Noah boomed, grabbing Tad before he could take off after his brother. Feet rammed into a pair of SpongeBob sneakers, the little one let out a war whoop and threw his entire small self at the bigger one, igniting an instant wrestling match. In one sweet move Noah surged to his feet and yanked the two apart; Roxie tried to swallow her laughter, but a muffled snort still escaped.

“Knock it off, you two!” Noah pointed at the table. “Go, sit!”

This said with a mock stern look at the giggling boys, who flew into the dining room, chairs shimmying dangerously as they scrambled up into them, and then Noah was calmly divvying up egg sandwiches and hash browns and pint-size milk cartons between the two wiggle worms, and Roxie thought,
Yes, please, just like that,
although of course she didn't mean exactly like that, since Noah would never—

Because he wasn't—

Girl, don't even go there.

“There's plenty,” Noah said to her, unwrapping his own sandwich as he sat at right angles to his nephews. “Help yourself.”

Honest to Pete. Roxie plucked a bunch of napkins off the sideboard and distributed them, then pulled a still-warm sandwich out of the bag. “Mae used to make these,” she said with a blissful sigh, as she settled across from the boys. “I tried once, but it was a spectacular failure.”

Chewing, Noah frowned at her. “You can't make an egg sandwich?”

“I can barely make toast. I can, however, identify a piece of antique glassware down to the decade, so I'm not entirely useless. So, where'd you get these?”

“Jewel made 'em, I'm guessing. Silas sort of shoved them at me when I walked through the door. Tad, sit up, buddy, you're gonna fall out of the chair—”

“Ahmjushtryingtosee—”

“Don't talk with your mouth full.”

The preschooler's arm jutted toward the window as he gulped down his bite. “That is like the
biggest
crow
ever!
”

Noah caught Oliver with one hand before the kid fell out of his chair trying to get a better look; then all three traipsed to the window, where Noah let out a long, low whistle. “Holy moly, you ain't whistling Dixie! Rox, get over here and look at this sucker!”

When she did, Noah put his hand on her waist to steer her to the right spot, and she thought,
Okay, maybe that's not such a good idea,
even before the skin-searing, hoo-hah tingling
zing!
that all too smartly reminded her exactly why celibacy sucked. Especially when it wasn't by choice. Except, as he moved away, the vivid memory of her surreal
phone conversation last night reminded her that, in her experience, the alternative—as in, intimacy with the wrong person for the wrong reasons—sucked far more.

Yes, it did.

The space shuttle-size bird duly admired by all, Noah got the boys settled back in their chairs, then snapped his fingers. “I keep forgetting…Mom wants you and Charley to come over for family dinner Thursday night,” he said, and Roxie's instant reaction was
Oh, heck, no,
until he added, “because you're currently kitchenless,” and she remembered there'd be a million Garretts there—Noah and she probably wouldn't even see each other. And she was getting really sick of microwave dinners with mushy rice and limp broccoli—

Roxie heard Charley's floor creak overhead, then his door
eerrrk
open. And close again. Softly. As though he didn't want anyone to know he
so
wanted one of those egg sandwiches.

Sighing, she glanced at the kids, who were busy having a who-can-stuff-the-most-food-in-his-mouth contest, then said, “If I can pry Charley out of his bedroom by then, sure—”

“We're done,” Ollie said, scrubbing his greasy napkin across his mouth. “C'n we go outside?”

“Yeah, c'n we?”

“I don't know, guys,” Noah said, but Roxie laughed.

“The backyard's fenced. Not much harm they can do,” she said.

To which Noah replied, “Remember you said that,” and they were off at top speed through the kitchen and out the door.

They both took a moment to absorb the silence before she said, “All he does is sit in his room, listening to old opera recordings,” while watching Noah efficiently gather
the leftover debris and stuff it back into the paper bag. “I see evidence of his sneaking down to raid the fridge in the middle of the night, or going out for food while I'm at work, but other than that, he's turned into a mole.”

“You think it's over?”

“Who knows? But now he's back in grump mode. I swear, it almost makes me wish Eden was still in the picture, because he's reminding me a lot of me when I was a teenager and some boy or other blew me off.”

Noah gave her a look. “Like me?”

“Actually, I was thinking of Sammy Rodriquez,” she lied, thinking she already had more than enough pots on the stove without stirring that one, thank you. “Speaking of former boyf—”

“Knock, knock!” came a perky female voice from the entryway, before, a moment later, Silas's windblown fiancée appeared at the dining room doorway, her little glasses fogged from coming from the cold into the heated house. “False alarm, no baby yet.” A symphony of color in bright blue leggings, red high-top sneakers and a multicolored paisley jacket, Jewel glanced around.

“You lose 'em somewhere? Ah,” she said as shrieks from the backyard found their way into the house. “Thanks, guy,” she said to Noah, dimpling at him as she reached up to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “You're the best.”

Yes, you are, dammit,
Roxie thought despondently, as Jewel gathered her stepsons-to-be and herded them out to her car, around the same time the crew's assorted trucks and vans began pulling up outside, and the slamming of doors, the shouted greetings officially heralded the start of a new workday. With a grin, Noah started out of the room. “Showtime—”

“I called Jeff.”

His head whipped around. “Why didn't you say something sooner?”

“I've been trying to!”

“So…what…?”

She took a deep breath. “We talked for maybe three minutes. He said, again, he wanted to see me. I said no, no point, delivered my little speech and…that was that. Except for his saying he'd found a couple of old CDs of mine mixed up with his, could he have my address so he could mail them back to me?”

Odd. If she hadn't known better, Roxie would have sworn she saw a little
“Thank you, Lord,”
flash in Noah's eyes. “Did he at least sound brokenhearted that you'd refused him?”

“Not really, no. But then, dude's got an ego like a bomb shelter.”

The front door, already left ajar, burst open, followed by heavy, work-booted footfalls, more laughter, the hum of energy enveloping a half dozen men focused on what they had to do. Noah glanced toward the noise, then back at Roxie, his voice barely more than a whisper when he spoke. “You okay?”

Such a simple question, but so heartfelt it nearly brought tears to her eyes. “I think so. I'd expected…actually, I don't know what I expected, exactly. But something. Regret? Anger?” She shook her head. “It was weird. I felt absolutely…nothing. As though none of it had ever happened, really. Except for…well. You know. The baby.”

Noah's gaze darkened, for barely a moment, before a slight smile curved his mouth. “Now aren't you glad you called?”

“Yeah,” she said on whooshed breath. “I am.”

The smile softened. “I'm real proud of you, Rox—”

“Hey, Noah—” One of his crew stuck his dark-haired
head in the kitchen. “We brought the new cabinets. You installing them today?”

Ever since they'd started this project, Roxie had been all too aware of the obvious respect Noah's crew had for their boss. And he for them. Not once had she heard them talking trash about him behind his back, or seen them goof off when he wasn't there, nor had he ever complained about any of them in her presence. In fact, the more she got to know him, the more she saw the rock-solid core beneath the cocky exterior…and the more he reminded her of what she'd loved about Mac. Not personality-wise—in that respect, they couldn't have been more different—but integrity? Honesty? Fairness? They might as well have been twins.

Except, lest she carry this twin thing too far, Mac had wanted to be a father. And even she wasn't naive enough to confuse Noah's devotion to his brothers' kids for a suppressed desire to have his own. So, falling for the guy would be pointless and dumb and frustrating, especially since she'd been down that particular dead-end road once before.

Noah tore his gaze away—dear God, how long had they been staring at each other?—to nod at the baby-faced young man in a flannel shirt grinning at him. “Sure are, let's get 'em in.” Then he turned to Roxie. “Ready to lend a hand?”

She blanched. Stripping wallpaper and mutilating tile was one thing. Actually helping to install something that could fall on someone's head if she screwed up?

“I'm not sure—”

“You'll be fine, Miss Roxie,” the kid said. “Mr. Noah would never let you make a mistake.”

Then she met Mr. Noah's mischief-filled eyes again and thought,
I wouldn't be too sure about that.

 

Noah didn't know about that Miss Roxie.

Just as well she'd had to leave for work, he thought on
a suppressed chuckle, as he held the next cabinet steady while Luis bolted it into place, since her carpentry talents were decidedly limited.

Not to mention for a boatload of other reasons. Like the way she'd look at him, so directly it shook him up. Probably every bit as confused as he was, too. Nothing like the coy glances he was used to. Sure, Rox would undoubtedly move mountains if necessary to achieve her own goals—rather than waiting for somebody else to do it for her, which was strangely sexy—but she wasn't the type to pout and whine in order to get her way.

Nag, yes, he thought on another chuckle as he remembered her trying to cajole her uncle into leaving his room by refusing to bring his lunch to him. She'd walked out of the house muttering something about coddling sixty-five-year-old children not being part of her game plan. Except Noah noticed she'd left sandwiches and what all for Charley in the fridge, anyway.

“What's so funny?” Luis asked, repositioning the drill.