Husband Under Construction (12 page)

“Nothing,” Noah said as he checked the level. Dead on. Excellent. “We should have this done by knockoff time, don't you think?”

“Easy,” the young man said, hefting the next cabinet into place for Noah to hold. And kind enough to let the subject drop.

Of course, Noah guessed a good part of that directness had to do with her trying to figure him out, too. Or rather, what to do about the chemistry sizzling like acid on metal between them. Whether she'd admit it or not, he had no idea. Whether she'd be amenable to acting on it, he had even less. Whether
he'd
be amenable to acting on it…now that was the question of the century. And wasn't that a kick in the pants, that there'd even be a question. On his part, anyway.
Because, if she was leaving soon, that was perfect, right? No strings, no ties, no worries about the future….

Yeah. Perfect—if it'd been anybody but Roxie. A thought that made him feel like Luis had taken the drill to his head instead of the wall stud.

The cabinet in place and Luis called away for a minute to help with something else, Noah leaned against the counter and took a swig from the bottle of water he kept refilling from the bathroom sink, the kitchen sink being out of commission until the new laminate counters were installed. Yesterday, when the gal from the other night had called, he hadn't even hesitated to nip the whole thing in the bud. Gently, but firmly. Because somehow, when he hadn't been looking, Roxie had filled up his brain. And until that changed—probably when she left, a prospect that stung far more than it should've—he had no business dating anybody else. Even casually.

Yeah. Go figure.

“Is it safe?” came a gruff voice from a few feet away. He looked over to see Charley standing at the kitchen doorway, back in those crummy coveralls and looking like hell on a bad day, and Noah realized he'd probably never feel safe again, that the earth had shifted underneath his feet and he had no clue what to do about it.

“For the moment. Rox left your lunch in the fridge.”

Grunting, Charley slogged across the kitchen, his mouth pulled down at the corners. Noah couldn't resist. “Whatever you broke, I suggest you fix it.”

His hand on the refrigerator's handle, the older man swung his head around. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“The fight I'm assuming you and Eden had?”

Another grunt preceded his hauling out the plate of sandwiches, which he then clearly had no idea what to do with,
since there were no counters. Noah took the plate from him and carried it out to the dining table, as Charley muttered behind him, “If I'm not gonna talk about it with Rox, I'm sure not gonna talk about it with you. And what do you care anyway?”

“I care because Rox cares,” Noah said, which surprised him nearly as much as it apparently did Charley, who came to a dead halt on his way to the table, an expression on his face like Noah'd announced he was from Neptune. “And in any case,” Noah continued, once the shock subsided enough to get words out, “
talking about it
is the last thing I want. Do I
look
like a girl?”

That almost got a smile. Or at least, the grooves at the corners of Charley's mouth faded a little. He sank onto the chair where Noah'd set the plate, releasing a gusty sigh before mumbling, “Nobody talks trash about my Rox.”

Noah's brows dipped. “What do you mean?”

“Okay, maybe ‘trash' is a bit too strong, but…” He wagged his head. “Things kinda went sour, that's all.” A bite of sandwich taken, Charley set it back on his plate, the picture of dejection. “But God, I miss her.”

“So you
did
break up?”

“I didn't exactly mean to, but…yeah. I guess that's what happened. Rox was right,” he said with a curt nod. “I didn't know what I was getting myself into, and now I'm paying for it.” He waved Noah away. “You've got stuff to do, you don't need to stick around. I'm lousy company right now, anyway.”

If the poor guy hadn't been so obviously heartsick, Noah might've found his drama queen act almost funny.

“Charley?” When Roxie's uncle lifted pain-wracked eyes to his, Noah said, “God knows, I don't claim to know everything about women, but…I've got a little experience
with 'em. So if you do want a sounding board? I'm here. Okay?”

“When hell freezes over,” Charley said, one side of his mouth barely tilted, “but thanks for the offer.”

After a moment, Noah nodded and quietly walked away, although a sizeable chunk of the older man's misery had apparently broken off to follow Noah, doing its level best to find purchase in his gut.

 

By the time Thursday rolled around, Noah was so tired from pushing through on Charley's house—so he could take on another project waiting in the wings—he'd nearly forgotten that Roxie and her uncle were supposed to come to his parents' that night. Judging from Roxie's voice over the phone, when, after his mother reminded him, he reminded
her,
she'd forgotten as well. Or hoped everyone else would.

“Oh, Lord, Noah…I've finally got Charley downstairs, but actually getting him to leave the house might be a stretch.”

“Mom's insisting. In fact…” With one hand propped against the kitchen wall where he was doing the new estimate, he almost winced. “I think she might have someone for him to meet.”

“Who? Charley? You're not serious.”

“This is my mother we're talking about. Trust me, I'm serious—”

“Who're you talking to?” he heard in the background.

“Noah. Donna and Gene invited us for dinner tonight. I already told him you might not be up for it—”

“What're they having?”

“I have no idea.” Then to Noah, as she obviously tried to hold in a laugh, “He wants to know what's on the menu.”

“Beats me. Tell him to call Mom if he can't stand the suspense. So, sounds like he's recovering?”

“Apparently so. Although—” she lowered her voice “—he's still being a big old groucheroonie—”

“I heard that! And get off the phone so I can call Donna.”

“I'm on my cell, use the landline! Honestly,” Roxie said, chuckling aloud by this point. “I guess we'll meet you over there, then. We can't stay long, though, I've got a real early flight to Atlanta tomorrow morning.”

A comment that put Noah in a funk for the rest of the day.

 

She came bearing flowers and candy for his mother, who of course hugged her and told her she shouldn't have—except Noah could tell she was tickled pink, especially about the chocolate—before disappearing back into the kitchen, yelling at Noah to take the gal's coat, for heaven's sake. As if he couldn't figure that one out for himself. Charley immediately followed the sound of ESPN into the family room, where both the big screen TV and Gene resided.

“Mmm…roast pork?” Roxie said as Noah hung up her coat in the closet.

“Yep.” Noah turned, fingers shoved in pockets, to admire the way her soft, white, big-collared sweater both clung to her curves and exposed her neck, flanked on either side by long, glittery earrings. “You look good.”

“Well,
thank
you,” she said, grinning. “Thought I'd wear this to the interview, too. With a skirt, though, not jeans. Opinions?”

“Hey. What I know about fashion can be summed up in three words—
hot
or
not.
”

She laughed. “Good enough. And?”

“What do you think?” he said, leaning closer, smelling
her perfume over the rich scent of roasting pig, the combination about to make his head explode, and yep, her eyes darkened and her chest rose…before she took a step backward, craning her neck to see past him.

“So. Where's this chick your mom wants to fix Charley up with?”

Got it.
“Not here yet,” Noah said. Frustrated. Disappointed. Grateful. “Everyone else is in the living room.” A lusty newborn cry pierced the general chaos of a dozen Garretts sharing the same breathing space. “Including little Brady.”

Practically shoving him aside, Roxie made a beeline for the living room, where Eli paced, trying to calm the squalling, dark-haired infant. Noah guessed his brother hadn't shaved in several days. Or, judging by the messed up hair and bags under his eyes, slept.

“Where's Tess?” Noah asked over the caterwauling.

“Home. Sleeping,” Eli said, jiggling the baby, as his stepdaughter and stepson roared through the living room, Silas's two hot on their heels. He gave a slightly spacey laugh. “She actually fought me about it.” He jiggled the baby again; Brady only screamed louder. “Like I couldn't handle my own son for an hour.”

Rox lifted her arms. “Give him to me.”

Eli shot her an are-you-nuts? look, then nearly dropped the red-faced infant into her arms. “He's fed, changed, burped and pissed about God knows what—”

“Go. Eat. You can come get him when you're done.”

“You sure—?”

“We'll be fine.” One hand firmly clamped around the little one's back, Rox shooed his daddy away. “Go on. Get.”

Sagging with relief and gratitude, Eli blew Rox a kiss before gathering his two charges and heading into the dining room. Noah, however, followed her into the now vacated
living room, where she settled with the baby in a corner of the blue-flowered sofa, plopping him on his tummy over her knees and rubbing his back. Almost immediately the infant got a lot quieter, his hollering settling into periodic screeches before, lo and behold, he passed out.

“Okay, that was spooky,” Noah said from the doorway.

“Nah, just experience. I used to babysit a lot when I was a teenager. It doesn't always work, of course, but babies pick up on when the person holding them is tense. And poor Eli looks like his brains are leaking out of his ears.”

“He's taking this fatherhood thing very seriously. Tess told Mom if she wasn't breastfeeding he might not let her have the baby at all.”

Roxie's soft laughter quickly dissolved into an expression that both wrecked and humbled Noah as she shifted the infant to her shoulder and leaned back into the cushions, letting the small, limp body mold to hers. He could practically
feel
her longing, her pain for the baby she'd lost. Except right at that moment she lifted her eyes to his, a slight smile touching her lips.

“Believe it or not, this doesn't make me sad.”

“No?”

She shook her head. “More determined, perhaps, to have my own someday. But there's nothing better than the sweet weight of a baby in your arms.”

“I know,” he said, obviously startling her. “If you hadn't taken him, I would've. Don't know that I could've gotten him to crash like that, but I like holding babies, too.”

“As long as you can give them back.”

“You got it,” he said, telling himself the words sounded hollow because his ears were still ringing from the kid's crying.

“You're a strange one, Noah Garrett.” She nuzzled the baby's thick hair, like a shag rug run amok, before con
torting her neck to peer down into Brady's squished little face. “I think somebody finally wore himself out.”

“You want me to take him so you can eat?”

“No, we're good,” she said, slouching farther into the sofa. “You go on. I'm not real hungry, anyway. Too excited about tomorrow. But save me a piece of whatever's for dessert.”

“You bet,” Noah said, then added, “need a ride to the airport?”

“Oh, thanks…but Charley's taking me. Besides,” she said with a little smile, “when I said ‘early' I wasn't kidding. I have to leave here at five in order to make it to the airport by six. And I know getting up early isn't your thing.”

It could be my thing,
he heard inside his head, only to then wonder who'd traded out his brain when he wasn't looking. “Yeah, you're right, that is way too early,” he said, and she laughed, grabbing Brady's hands and kissing them when they shot up in his sleep. Noah stood for a moment, stealing one last glance at the pair before heading to the dining room, thinking there was a gal who deserved everything she wanted.

And for damn sure that didn't include him.

 

“You look like hell,” Gene said to Charley as he handed him a can of beer from the minifridge underneath the Garrett's family room bar. Dinner done, the rest of the family had crowded into the living room, knowing better than to encroach on Gene's man cave time.

Grunting, Charley dropped onto the sectional and popped off the top, took a swig. “Could say the same about you. Donna still on your case about working too hard?”

“Does the sun rise in the east?” his friend said with a cross between a sigh and a chuckle, settling into his recliner. “What'd you think of Patty?”

That she's not Edie.
“Nice enough gal, I suppose. No spark there, though, to be honest.”

“Yeah, that's what I figured. But you know Donna.”

“I do that.”

They both sipped their beer, idly watching ESPN. Football. Charley hated football, actually, but wouldn't dream of mentioning it. Nor would Gene mention Eden unless Charley did first. That's just the way their friendship worked.

Then Gene shifted in his chair, casting a glance over Charley's head toward the other part of the house before looking at Charley and whispering, “You catch those two with Brady earlier?” and Charley didn't have to ask what Gene was talking about. Because that was another way their friendship worked.

“I certainly did.”

“What's your take on it?”

Charley thought a moment, then said, “That youth is definitely wasted on the young.”

“Ain't that the truth?” Gene said, settling back again, the beer propped on his stomach. “Can I say something?”