Husband Under Construction

by Karen Templeton

  The plans a blur, Noah threw down the pencil he’d been using to make notes and roared into the office to get his coat, still wrestling into it as he walked to his truck through a gentle blizzard of lazily floating flakes, as if somebody’d busted open a featherbed. The snow was too wet to stick to the roads, although the minute the sun went down that’d change. Now, however, it was safe enough to take a drive, clear his head. Although what he really wanted to do was bang that head against the steering wheel, maybe jar something loose. Or give himself amnesia so he’d forget about Roxie once and for all.

  He drove away from town on a sparsely populated stretch of road that led past Garcia’s Market, the Baptist church, a small storage facility…nearly running the truck off the road when he caught a glimpse of Roxie carting a big box around to the back of a U-Haul, the snow nearly turning her curls white.

  Feeling as if King Kong was squeezing the hell out of his chest—and having no earthly idea what he was going to say—he drove up alongside the van and got out. From the Oh, crap look on her face as he approached, it was pretty obvious she’d hoped they wouldn’t run into each other. And if her heart was beating as hard as his was right now, her chest probably hurt like hell, too.

  “Why didn’t I know your stuff was stored here?”

  Typically, though, she met his gaze dead on. “It never came up?”

  “You could’ve asked me, I would’ve gladly brought it to you. Saved you a trip.” So take that, he thought, as her brows lifted.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Really.”

  “Everything okay, Roxie?” her uncle called from a few feet away, shuffling through the snow, carrying a box.

  “Yes, of course,” she said with a glance in Charley’s direction, then back at Noah, who could barely breathe for wanting to haul her into his arms. Get over the woman? In what universe?

  Even through the snow he saw her cheeks redden before she cleared her throat. Behind her the van’s loading door rumbled shut.

  Noah slugged his hands into his coat pockets. “You sticking around for a bit?”

  “No,” she said on a pushed breath. “In fact, if you hadn’t come along when you had, you would’ve missed me altogether. Hey, I hear you’re doing great. With the shop and everything.”

  Fine. If that’s the way she wanted to play, so be it. “I am.” He paused. “How’s the new job?”

  “Everything I hoped it would be,” she said, and he could tell by the way her eyes softened, she meant it. “And more. I was in Italy for a week. Going to France in the spring.”

  Want company? he almost said, suddenly imagining waking up in Paris with her snuggled up against him, naked and warm and smelling of faded perfume. And sex. Not that he’d ever been to Paris, but he could fill in the blanks as well as the next person. “Sounds great,” he said flatly. “You seeing anybody?”

  The question apparently caught her so off guard she reeled. “Um…no. Way too busy, for one thing.”

  His eyes trapped hers. “And for another?”

  He watched probably a dozen possible responses flash behind her eyes before she finally said, “Not really interested, to tell the truth.”

  Noah felt the corner of his mouth tuck up. “You’re not just saying that?”

  Tears bulging over her lower lashes, she shook her head, and now King Kong planted his hairy butt right on Noah’s chest. “No,” she whispered, then swiped her mittened hand underneath her eyes, leaving snow stuck to her lashes. “How about you?”

  Against his better judgment, Noah lifted a hand to brush away the tiny white clump. “You kidding?” he said softly, then turned and walked back to his truck. Yeah, just like that, like the whole thing had been a dream.

  Or a nightmare.

  Except, the minute he walked back inside the shop it was as if something really big and really loud bellowed What the hell do you think you’re doing?

  He stopped, looking around the shop, at what, up to that moment, he’d considered his life. The only thing he’d ever believed would be a constant in it. A second later his gaze landed on his father, joking with Benito as he showed a new hire the ropes, and he knew what he had to do. No matter how much it scared him.

  Because, quite simply, if he didn’t he’d die.

  “Dad?” he called across the shop, waiting until his father’s eyes met his before he said, “we need to talk.”

  God knew how long the banging on her front door had gone on before Roxie roused herself enough from her coma to hear it. Opening one eye, she saw it was barely eight, an unholy hour when you’d stayed up until nearly five unpacking.

  She briefly considered ignoring the increasingly insistent knocking, only to decide it might be her landlady bringing her coffee cake or something equally yummy—which Mrs. Harris was prone to do, bless her seventy-something heart—and it would be rude to turn her away.

  Yelling, “Just a sec!” Roxie heaved herself upright, shuddered at her Brillo-headed reflection in the mirror over the dresser, and grabbed her ratty chenille robe, yawning as she tied it closed on her way to the door. Through, she noted with disgust, stacks of boxes that had clearly multiplied during the night.

  She briefly considered at least running a comb through her hair, decided Mrs. Harris wouldn’t care—or see, being blind as a bat—before she yanked open the door.

  And then shrieked.

  Grinning around a lollypop stick, a beard-shadowed Noah straightened up from leaning against the doorjamb. “About damn time you answered the door.” He pulled two Tootsie Roll pops out of his jacket pocket. “Cherry or chocolate?”

  She had nothing. Speech, thought…all gone. Until, after roughly fifty years, “What…? How…?” finally screeched out, followed immediately by her realizing she looked like a haunted house reject and probably had morning breath and ohmygod, what was he doing here?

  He waggled the Tootsie Roll pops. “Breakfast of champions,” he said, and she took the cherry one, which she shakily unwrapped and stuck in her mouth, sucking on it like mad for several seconds before the sugar kick-started her brain enough to realize the man didn’t come all the way here just to give her candy, and with a little cry, she threw herself across the threshold—nearly tripping over the doorjamb, natch—and into his arms, and then it was all about tangled tongues and knocking teeth and mixing cherry and grape and salty tears, and she grabbed his hand and yanked him inside, through the boxes and down the hall to her tornado-struck bedroom, where she proceeded to rip off his clothes, explanations could wait, she couldn’t.

  Apparently neither could he, praise be, and seconds later they were naked and joined, and she cried with the sheer bliss of his filling her, then cried again when he pushed her over the edge into a soaring free fall the likes of which they’d never believe down on the farm.

  And when it was over, Noah gathered her close, both of them panting and sweaty, and said, “And here I was just hoping to score coffee,” and she laughed so hard she started to sob, and he held her tight until she could breathe again. Could think.

  Gently brushing her hair away from her temple, over and over, he whispered, “What was all that about being afraid to bond?”

  “It was worth the risk,” she said, then bit her lip.

  And then he said, very gently, “God, I love you, Rox,” and she burst into tears all over again. Jeebus.

  Finally, she got out, “You’re not just blowing air up my skirt?”

  “That would be hard to do, seeing as you’re not wearing one.” And then she was laughing and crying at the same time. In his arms. Reasonably sure he was never going to let her go.

  Even so…“Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you love me? If you even know, I mean—”

  “Because you surprise me,” he said easily. “And make me laugh. And when you smile it’s like all the bad stuff in the world simply…goes away. And…” He paused, then lifted her chin to look into her eyes. “And you made me dig deeper inside myself than
I ever have before. Which was scary as hell, because, man, it was like my folks’ garage in there. But it’s okay,” he said over her chuckle, “because I know you’ll never let the crap pile back up, ever again. That answer your question?”

  “Very nicely, thank you,” Rox said, feeling all warm and fuzzy as she laid her head back on his chest. Only to suck in an oh, hell breath. “Um…speaking of risks…we weren’t using anything.”

  A long, long moment passed before Noah said, “And what’s the worst that can happen? We make a baby?”

  Feeling as though her curls had grown into her brain, Roxie struggled up enough to lean on Noah’s chest and look down into his face. “You’re not serious.”

  “After facing my father? And your uncle? And driving twelve straight hours to get here? Trust me, I’m serious. And if little whosits comes out with these,” he said, fluffing her curls, “all the better.” He kissed her, then said, “Marry me.”

  She stiffened. As, she noted, did he. Again. Wow. “What?”

  “I can’t live without you, Rox. Okay, I suppose I could, but I’d be miserable. Discovered I’m not real partial to being miserable. Or lonely. You messed with my head, lady,” he said softly. Sweetly. Smiling. “Only one way to straighten it out. Marry me.”

  Tears crowded her eyes. “I can’t go back, Noah—”

  “Not asking you to. I’ll find work here. Or anywhere you go. Because I’m awesome,” he said, and she laughed.

  “But…your father,” she said, sobering. “The business…?”

  He tucked her head under his chin. “When I went to see your uncle to get your address—and asked for his blessing, because it seemed like the thing to do—”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “Nope. Think he got a big kick out of it, too. Anyway, when I made some noise about not being sure how this was all gonna work out, he quoted some Scottish dude who’d gone on an expedition to the Himalayas in the thirties. Something about…that without commitment, there’s always this temptation to turn back. To give up. But once that commitment is made, things have a way of lining up exactly the way they should.”

  She thought her heart would burst. “Wow. Deep.”

  “Hey. After the hell I went through to get to this point? No way am I gonna accept that something this good has a downside.” His lips tilted. “I swear with everything I have in me, I would never hurt you. That I’m in this for the long haul. You gotta believe that.”

  “I do,” she said, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt she could trust this man with everything she had in her.

  Looking vastly relieved, Noah tangled his fingers through her hair, then snorted. “This really is a mess, you know that?”

  “And to think some fools actually pay to get this look.”

  Laughing again, he kissed her forehead. “Marry me? Have my kids? Be my sparring partner for the next sixty or so years?”

  She paused, skimming her knuckles across his naked chest. Oh, my. “This mean I have to learn how to cook?”

  “Only if you want to, honey. Or I will. Or, hell, we’ll hire someone to cook for us. Will you just answer the damn question?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, grinning so hard she half feared her face would freeze that way. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes.”

  “Right answer,” Noah said, kissing her again. “Now about that coffee…?” he said, and she laughed and wrapped a sheet around her to pad into the kitchen, where she soon discovered—when Noah folded her into his arms from behind as she filled the basket—exactly how much fun one can have while waiting for the coffee to brew.

  Eyes on the prize, cupcake….

  And here it was, right in her kitchen.

  Heh.

  Epilogue

  Two days before Christmas, three years later

  Noah quietly let himself inside the new, still mostly unfurnished house on the outskirts of Austin, taking a moment to savor the soon-to-be-shattered peace before hanging his keys on a hook by the front door too high for eager little hands to reach. From the back of the house he heard his wife’s low laugh, his little girl’s high-pitched giggling. Contentment spreading through his chest, he shuffled through a maze of stuffed toys and board books and discarded juice cartons to peer down a hallway already adorned with jelly fingerprints and crayon graffiti. “Hey! Where’re my girls?”

  “Daddy! Daddy!”

  Soft brown curls bouncing, Phoebe barreled toward Noah as fast as her little thunder thighs could manage, squealing when he snatched her into his arms and swung her around.

  It never got old, Noah thought, his heart squeezing at her laughter, her absolute trust that he wouldn’t let her fall. “Hey, Pheebs—you ready to go see Gramma and Papa? And Uncle Charley and Aunt Edie?”

  Securely seated in the crook of his elbow, Phoebe nodded vigorously, her mouth puckered out in her “serious” expression. Noah quickly kissed that irresistible little mouth, then rubbed noses with his daughter. “Where’s Mama?”

  “Right here,” Roxie said, rubbing her six-months-pregnant belly as she entered the room, lifting her face for Noah’s kiss. When he pulled away far sooner than, no doubt, either of them would have liked, she arched one brow. “That the best you can do?”

  “With a two-year-old in my arms? I’m thinking yes. You all packed?”

  “We are, believe it or not. Even if a certain party—” she leveled a mock stern gaze at their daughter “—was determined to take all of her ‘friends’ with her. Did you talk to your folks?” she asked, anticipation twinkling in her eyes. “Is there snow?”

  “They’re predicting it for tomorrow, so it’s looking good for a white Christmas.”

  “Yay!” Roxie said, taking the slightly puzzled baby into her arms and dancing around the cluttered floor with her for a moment before letting her down to go wreak even more havoc. Definitely her daddy’s kid. Then Rox sighed. “Can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to this week.”

  “Although you do realize between my folks and yours, you might not see our daughter the entire time?”

  She grinned. “As I said. So, can I have the rest of my kiss now?”

  “I think that can be arranged,” Noah said, pulling her as close as their gestating little boy would allow, the kiss this time nice and slow and lingering…until Phoebe decided to sing her version of “Jingle Bells” at the top of her lungs. While jumping on Roxie’s cream leather sofa.

  Noah laughed. “Kid’s gonna fit right in.”

  “Which she’s not going to do if we miss our flight,” Rox said, pulling away.

  Tugging her close again, Noah murmured, “We’ve got time.”

  Even so, he thought—through the next kiss, and the one after that—he was champing at the bit, too, to get back. Even if only for a visit. Although Austin had been damn good to both of them—Noah’s fledgling renovation business was taking off, due in no small part, Noah was sure, to the advice he sought from his father on a regular basis, and Rox was still having a blast with the store—even his big city gal had to admit there really was no place like home. So for two weeks every summer and a week at Christmas, they trekked back to recharge, reconnect, remind themselves what was important. Not, Noah thought as he palmed his wife’s belly, that they really needed reminding.

  “Was he a good boy today?”

  “You kidding? He’s a Garrett. Hasn’t stopped moving all day. I fully expect him to yell ‘Charge!’ when he comes out.”

  “You ready for that?”

  With a sly, sexy curve of her mouth, Roxie pulled out of his arms and slowly backed away. “Hey. After breaking you in? This one’ll be a piece of cake—! Noah, no!” she shrieked, reduced to helpless gales of laughter when he caught her and mercilessly attacked her extremely sensitive neck.

  “Breaking me in?”

  Breathless, still laughing, she grabbed his shoulders and grinned up at him, her curls a jumble around her face. “And what would you call it?”

  “Saving my life?” he said softly, watching
something melt in her eyes.

  Smiling, she knuckled his cheek. “Same here,” she whispered, then turned to their daughter. “Come on, sweetie,” she said to their little jumping bean. “Time to go!”

  “On airp’ane?”

  “On airplane, yep! So let’s go potty and get our coats….”

  As Rox and a chattering Phoebe disappeared down the hall, Noah scanned his chronically messy living room, his gaze lighting on the big-screen TV as he tried to remember the last time he’d watched a DVD all the way through. Or been able to walk around the house naked.

  Or what he thought he’d been so afraid of.

  His old life? History.

  But his new one?

  Rox and Pheebs reappeared, Phoebe rolling a Dora the Explorer backpack behind her, and Roxie glanced over and winked at him.

  A little piece of heaven.

  ISBN: 978-1-4592-0568-0

  HUSBAND UNDER CONSTRUCTION

  Copyright © 2011 by Karen Templeton-Berger

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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