Husband Under Construction (18 page)

Donna smiled. “It does happen eventually. Even to boys.”

“Except…he still doesn't see himself doing the kids-and-mortgage thing. Which doesn't make him less of a grown-up, but it does mean I could never do what Gene asked. Even if I wasn't leaving.” She tried to swallow again, only to nearly choke. Donna yanked a bottle of organic milk from the fridge, pouring a glass and handing it to Roxie. She washed down the mashed turkey, then said, “Which should be a solution, right? Out of sight, out of mind? So why do I feel like I'm being ripped apart inside?”

On a soft moan, Noah's mother took Roxie into her arms, holding her tight for several seconds before releasing her to
snitch her own piece of turkey. “You know…nothing ever scared that boy growing up. Nothing. And he's got the scars to prove it.” She wagged the turkey at Roxie. “So why the idea of settling down, having kids of his own, rattles him so badly, I have no idea.”

Sipping her milk, Roxie walked over to the window to watch Noah set up a family of lit reindeer on the front end of the lawn. “Me, either. But damn…it seems such a
waste.
”

A soft chuckle preceded, “Do you trust the goofball?”

Roxie wheeled around. “You're calling your own son a goofball?”

“Oh, you have no idea some of the things I've called my boys over the years. Well?”

A second or two passed before Roxie slowly nodded. “Yes, I do. Because he's never played the player with me. He's always been totally up front about his expectations. We both have, actually.”

“Then the foundation is there, believe it or not. Now all you can do is have faith that if this is meant to work out, nothing or no one can stop it.”

Roxie smiled, not having it in her to disabuse the woman of her fantasies.

 

Noah walked into the office and shut the door, barely muffling the noise from a half dozen power tools doing their thing. The past few days had been beyond busy. Not that Noah couldn't handle it, he was handling it all just fine—and loving it—but between his dad's return home on Saturday and his consequently needing to help his mother out, then his diving headfirst into his new duties even before the shop reopened after the holidays, he hadn't seen Roxie since the day after Thanksgiving. Meaning he felt like a game show contestant playing against a relentlessly ticking clock.

“Lunch?” he said when she answered Naomi's phone.

“Oh, um…really swamped here,” she said, her voice sounding strange. And strained.

“Dinner, then? Although it might be late, I'm not getting out of here before seven these days—”

“Can't. Charley and I are going to Eden's—”

“Boss?” Benito said as he opened the door, knocking as an afterthought. “Oh, sorry—didn't realize you were on the phone.”

Waving Benito inside, he said, “Tomorrow?”

“I'll call you, how's that?” she said. And hung up.

Noah frowned at the phone for a couple of seconds before clipping it back on his belt. His father's—now his—right-hand man frowned in concern.

“Everything all right?”

“Not sure,” Noah said, feeling like his brain was stuffed with Silly Putty. “You need me?”

“Yeah. Thought you'd want to look over these specs for that new job before we get started.”

Forcing himself back to the present, Noah considered the barrel-chested, bulbous-nosed man in front of him, who'd been working for his father since before Noah was even born. Who'd taught him even more than his father had. And who probably needed him to sign off on a project about as much as he needed Noah to teach him Spanish.

“You really think that's necessary?”

Thick, salt-and-pepper brows lifted on a weathered face. “I jus' figured, you'd want to do things like your dad.”

One side of Noah's mouth lifted. “Which doesn't answer my question.”

He could see the older man try to hide his smile underneath his heavy mustache, but it wasn't working. “I like to think of myself as a smart man, Mr. Noah. Smart enough
to play the game however the boss man wants. No skin off my nose, you know?”

Dude was a master of diplomacy, that was for sure. “And what if I said I completely trust you to handle things on your end? Probably a lot better than I would.”

Benito gave him a quizzical look. “I'm real flattered. But in this case, your daddy had the right idea, making sure at least two people know what's going on. So if it's all the same to you, I'd feel better having that second set of eyes.”

“Then I'm good with whatever works for you.”

The foreman nodded, then said, “Anything else?”

“Yeah. That you won't laugh too hard at my stupid questions.”

“Not sure I can promise that,” Benito said, his dark eyes sparkling. “Damn, it seems like yesterday when you were a baby, coming in here with your daddy an' building towers outta wood scraps over there in the corner. And now, here you are. The boss.”

“You
think that feels weird?”

Benito chuckled, then clamped his meaty hand around Noah's upper arm. “You know something, it takes a real man to admit he doesn't know it all. You're gonna make Mr. Gene real proud of you.”

“That's what I'm hoping,” he said, as the nonconversation with Roxie replayed in his brain, and he realized he'd never be able to fully concentrate on business until he figured out what was going on with her. Getting up to snag his barn coat off the rack by the door, he nodded in the general direction of the desk. “I need to go out for a while. Can you hold down the fort?”

“Sure thing. No problem,” Benito said with a wide smile. Then he winked. “Although it might cost you.”

The coat half on, Noah frowned at the other man. “How much does—did—my father pay you?”

The other man snorted. “Not enough. Not that I'm not grateful for the work—”

“Say no more.” Noah hiking the coat onto his shoulders, digging in the pocket for his keys. “I'm not that familiar with the finances yet, but let me talk it over with Silas, see what we can do.”

Affection gleamed in the man's dark eyes. “You know, sometimes you hear about these family businesses, the father passes it along to his kid, and the kid doesn't want it, or isn't interested, or the whole thing goes to hell in a handbasket, you know?” He shook his head, then extended his hand. “I'm proud to work for your daddy for more than thirty years. And God willing, I'm proud to work for you for thirty more.”

“Same goes, Benito,” Noah said, clapping the man's hand and giving it a hearty shake before heading toward the door. “I won't be long.”

“Take your time, boss,” he heard behind him. “Everything's under control.”

In
there,
maybe,
Noah thought as he stomped out to his truck. In his head,
not so much.

F
unny, Roxie thought—when she looked up from the clinic's computer to see Noah looming over her—how you think you've got your feelings about somebody all sorted out until there they are, in front of you, and suddenly you don't know squat. Especially when the sight of the looming somebody makes your mouth go dry and your stomach turn inside out, and pheromones are flitting about like frakking sugarplum fairies.

“Noah! What on earth are you doing here?”

Angling his head toward the doctor's open office door, he called out, “Hey, Naomi—you got a problem with me taking Rox out for lunch?”

“What? Now hold on just a minute—!”

“Not at all,” the doctor said, coming to the door. At which point Roxie shot her a you're-not-helping glare. “Although Roxie might.”

She turned the glare on Noah. “Thought I said we were busy?”

Noah glanced around the empty waiting room, prompting Naomi to say, “Yeah, I know. Slowest afternoon we've had in forever. Can't believe it myself.”

“A lull,” Roxie said. “It'll pick up. With appointments. And things.”

“So where you taking her?” Naomi said.

“Evangelista's. Where else?”

“Oh! Bring me back a couple of cinnamon rolls, would you?” She dug in her pocket for a five-dollar bill, handed it to Noah. “And a cup of coffee?”

“Oh, see,” Roxie said, banging her knee as she sprang up from behind the desk. “I need to make coffee, I can't go.”

“Baby,” Naomi said, “you know I adore you, but you can't make coffee to save your life.”

Pocketing Naomi's five—because, you know, Roxie was just a bystander, this had nothing to do with her—Noah gave her a funny look. “You can't even make coffee? Now that's sad. Get your coat, it's freezing out there.”

“I can't, I've got—” At Noah's glower, she muttered, “Fine,” and trudged to the closet.

“What's this all about?” she said, once they were in Noah's truck. Black. Like a hearse. Fitting, somehow.

“You want to call it off, then call it off. Because this avoidance crap is not you.”

Okay, that was her bad, hoping he'd be so busy this thing between them would simply die a natural death, and she wouldn't have to actually act on the conclusion she'd come to the moment she saw all that
hope
in his mother's eyes. “I don't want to have this discussion in the truck—”

“Or on the phone, or probably not at Ortega's, either.
Well, tough. We're together for the first time in days. We're talking.”

“I thought men didn't like talking.”

“Never said I liked it. But you do what you gotta do. Now.” He pulled the truck into the restaurant's parking lot. “We can chat out here where it's freezing, or go inside where it's warm. And where there's food. I haven't had lunch and I'm starving.”

Brother.

Roxie marched through the spicy-scented restaurant to a small table at the end of a wildly colorful, primitive landscape mural and plopped down, Noah following suit. Evangelista, the mostly Mexican restaurant's bosomy owner, took one look at the pair of them, dropped menus and waddled discreetly away. Roxie smacked hers open, even though she'd memorized the damn thing in high school, only to smack it closed again. Noah was staring a hole through her. Since this wasn't going away, she said, “Noah, look. I don't know what got into us the other day, what got into
me,
but—”

“But you changed your mind.”

“I came to my senses!” Leaning forward, she lowered her voice, even though the only other patrons were four cowboys from some ranch or other, laughing it up in a booth on the other side of the room. “What's the point of torturing ourselves? I'm leaving, you're staying, we still don't want the same things.”

“Yeah. Got that. But I thought we were at least friends—”

“You guys ready to order?” Evangelista said, setting a basket of chips and a small bowl of salsa between them.

“Three tamale plate,” Noah said, handing her the laminated menu but not taking his eyes off Roxie. “Red on the side, corn, potatoes. Oh, and two cinnamon rolls and a large coffee to go.”

“Got it. And you, doll-baby?”

“Fried ice cream.”

Noah frowned at her. “For lunch?”

“I'll eat my veggies tonight. Promise. And that friendship thing,” she said after Evangelista waddled away again, “doesn't work for me, okay? And don't you dare give me that look, we already established things between us had gotten a little…wonky.” At his continued staring, she went on. Like a runaway train, gack. “See, you're a guy, you can separate your feelings into these nice, neat compartments—friendship here, sex there, love way the heck over there somewhere. In theory, anyway. But turns out I can't really do that. At least, not with you. And
damn
you,” she said, her face reddening, “for being everything I've ever wanted and everything I can't have. I mean, have you
watched
yourself with kids? With Eli's newborn?” She grabbed a chip and dunked it in the salsa, muttering, “Jerk.”

Dipping his own chip, Noah glanced at her. With, to his credit, a troubled look in his eyes. “You done?”

Exhausted, Roxie sagged back against the chair as Evangelista brought their food. Roxie grabbed her spoon and gouged out her first bite so fast the woman snatched back her hand. “I think so,” she said around a mouthful of hot crunch and cold, smooth sweetness.

This time Noah waited until they were alone again before saying, “Okay, you wanna know the truth? The friendship thing doesn't work for me, either.”

Bent over her dessert mountain, Rox lifted her eyes to his. “Meaning you
do
want sex?”

“Was that ever even a question? You make me so hot my core temperature goes up a good five degrees every time I look at you.”

“Flatterer,” she said around another blissfully anesthetizing mouthful.

“Which doesn't happen as often as you might think,” he said, and she
hmmphed.
At which point he leaned across the table and grabbed her hand, and the look in his eyes wasn't doing a blessed thing to cool her off. “Or at least not as much. That's gotta count for something.”

“Yes, Noah, we have great chemistry. Still not enough. Not for what I want. Dammit,” she whispered. Wiping her mouth on her paper napkin, she stared at the decimated mound of Frosted Flake-coated ice cream, angry that her eyes were stinging. “What do
you
want?”

“From you?”

“From me, for yourself…whatever.”

“I want…things to be different.”

At the genuine misery in his eyes, Roxie sighed around the clenched fist in her own chest. “But they're not.”

“And…maybe they could be.”

“Maybe? Could? Do you even hear yourself?” Jabbing her spoon into the ice cream, she crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair, her forehead pinched so tightly it hurt. “So, what? I should blow off the best job offer I've ever had in my life on the off chance that
maybe
you'll change your mind? That
maybe
I won't get my heart broken again? Holy heck, Noah—nobody knows better than I do that there are no guarantees, but there is such a thing as minimizing the risks!”

She shook her head. “I don't want an affair, Noah. I'm simply not wired that way. I thought you understood that. I guess I was wrong. And you should eat, your food's getting cold.”

“Not hungry,” he mumbled, signaling to Evangelista to bring a take-out box. “Finished?”

Amazingly, she was. Although she wasn't entirely sure he was talking about her “meal.” His food boxed, Noah paid at the register and picked up Naomi's bagged rolls
and coffee, then walked ahead of her to his truck, yanking open the passenger side door but saying nothing, the suffocating silence cocooning them as they drove back to the clinic. Where Noah finally said, “Just so you know? I've never cared one way or the other before whether a gal stuck around or not.”

“Never?” His gaze fixed out the windshield, he shook his head, and she sighed. “Still no cigar, sweet cheeks.”

Tortured eyes glanced off hers, then away again. “I know.”

She waited a moment, then said, very softly, “This is killing me, too, Noah. On the one hand, I already know how much it's going to hurt, leaving. On the other…” She waited until he faced her again. “I also know how much it would hurt if I stayed.”

When he didn't say anything, she snatched Naomi's bag off the console, then grabbed the door handle, only to gasp when warm, strong fingers clamped around the back of her neck and brought their mouths together. And if it'd been anybody but Noah, she would've clobbered the bejeebers out of him. Instead of, you know, letting herself fall into the sweetest, hottest, deepest kiss of her life. When it was over—approximately a year later—she said, through a tear-clogged throat, “And
that's
why I'm glad I'm leaving.”

When she went to open the door this time, he didn't stop her.

 

“…and that's about it,” Roxie said to Thea Griego, the clinic's new receptionist. “Everything's pretty straightforward, actually. Although you can call me on my cell anytime if you have questions.”

Seated behind the silver garland-festooned reception desk, the pretty blonde grinned up at her. Married to a handsome rancher and mama to a rambunctious toddler
boy, Thea had brought little Jonny in for a check-up when she'd heard about the job opening. Gal had jumped at it like a cat on a fly.

“Heaven knows, this is a lot easier on the back and feet than waitressing,” she said with a low laugh, referring to her pre-marriage, pre-mama life. “And now that Jonny's old enough to hang out more with daddy, I figured it was time for me to spread my wings. So this is gonna be perfect.”

One more thing settled, Roxie thought a few minutes later as she drove back to Charley's through a powdery, Christmas card snow. Even though it was only the middle of the afternoon, it was so dark some people had turned on their Christmas lights, and all the twinkly cheeriness was making her a little melancholy.

Okay, a lot melancholy.

Despite her best intentions, she had to admit the sleepy little town had grown on her. There was a lot of good here. A lot of love. She suspected she was going to miss it a lot more than she would have believed a few months ago, when she'd felt like a failure, having to move back. And of course there was Noah, whom she hadn't seen since the fried ice cream episode a week ago. Not sure who was avoiding whom, but he hadn't even come to his parents' family night dinner last Thursday.

And yes, she knew that because she'd looked for his truck in front of the house. So sue her.

Speaking of his parents' house…it was blazing in full Christmas glory when she pulled into Charley's driveway alongside his much more modestly decorated abode. A single string of large colored bulbs hailing from before the Moon Walk stretched along the top of the porch, a battered wreath on the door. That was it. Not even Eden had been able to convince him how sorry it looked. And Lord knows she'd tried, Roxie thought with a smile as she let
herself inside to be greeted by a gleeful black-and-brown fluff ball named, of all things, Stanley.

“And you can take that mutt right back to the pound,” Charley said before she'd even removed her coat, only to scoop the wriggling puppy into his arms and let him lick his chin.

“What'd he do now?”

“Only chewed up the new paperback I just bought.”

“All the more reason to get an e-reader.”

Charley rolled his eyes. They'd had this discussion before. “So he can chew that up instead of a seven-buck paperback? I think not. What's that?” he said, looking at the check she'd dug out of her purse and handed to him.

“From the eBay sales.”

Holding the check out where the curious pup couldn't get it, Charley let out a low whistle. “Holy crap.”

“Yeah. You did really well.”

His eyes swung to hers. “No,
you
did really well. Okay, okay, you can get down,” he said to the now yipping dog, who, once on the floor, tripped over himself in his haste to scramble up onto the chair in front of the window and bark at the blinking lights across the street. Charley laughed, then turned back to Roxie. “Did you take a good commission for yourself?”

“You bet.”

“Seriously?”

“No. Hey, if it hadn't been for you I'd've been homeless. This was the least I could do.”

Eyes watering, her uncle pulled her into a hug. “I'm gonna miss you, you big pain in the butt.”

“Same goes,” she said, chuckling.

Then he let her go. “Just so you know…Edie's moving in after you leave.”

“As in, she's giving up her apartment?”

“Doesn't make sense to keep two places. And this way she'll finally have a room for her crafts. And yes, I know it seems fast, but—”

“Charley,” Roxie said, taking hold of his arms, “you are not obligated to explain anything to me. Your life, your heart, your house. Your happiness. Go for it.”

“You really mean that?”

“I really do. Besides,” she said, her gaze dropping to Stanley, gnawing on something he probably wasn't supposed to have, “Diva needs to be taken down a notch or two.” Then she looked at her uncle again. “Being alone—when you don't want to be—sucks.” She glanced over at the fragrant Noble fir taking up a quarter of the living room, looking more like a Mardi Gras float than a Christmas tree. “Especially at Christmas.”

“You'll be back for the holidays, right?”

She shook her head. “I'm going to be way busy. But it's okay, I'll be with Elise and her husband, so I won't be alone,” she said, not stopping in time the memories of Christmases as a kid with her parents…the fantasy Christmases she'd always imagined she'd be having by now, with a husband and children.
Cut it out, bitterness gives you wrinkles,
she thought, grateful when Charley practically lunged at the landline when it rang.