“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 w
ay.
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.
“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 h
er 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.”
Husband Under Construction Page 11
