Adding Up to Marriage (5 page)

Big mistake.

Orgasmic Birth?

“Snooping?” Jewel said from the other side of the room, making him spin around to see she'd buried all jet-firing attributes beneath a too-big, zipped-to-the-neck hoodie and a pair of holey jeans. Hair back. Face bare. Eyes wary.

Aaaand there went the protective mode again.

Better than perv mode. Right?

Maybe. Maybe not.

“Of course not—”

“Oh, that's the one in the player now,” she said, nodding at the case. Still in his hand.
Busted.
He lifted it, coherent speech beyond him. She grinned, effectively disabling the protective mode. “It's excellent, you should give it a look-see sometime. Eggs ready yet?”

“No, sorry…” Silas dropped the case—setting off a clattering DVD avalanche which he had to stop and clean up—before following her back to the kitchen. “Didn't want 'em to get cold,” he said, turning the flame on underneath the cheapo skillet.

“I can do that—”

“No, it's okay, you sit.”
So I don't have to look at you.

She got her oatmeal out of the microwave, stirred in a generous pat of butter and like half a cup of syrup of some kind. Good Lord. “You sure—?”

“Yes,” Silas said.

So she sat, and he scrambled—the eggs, his brain, whatever—a minute later sliding the plate with eggs and toast in front of her at the chewed-up dining table. Her gaze met his for a nanosecond then skittered away, yanking her usual exuberance along with it. Huh.

“Thanks,” she said, pushing her glasses up on her nose, and it occurred to him she didn't see herself as sexy. Which was not his problem. No, his problem was
him
seeing her as sexy.

“Can't remember the last time anybody made me breakfast,” she said, not looking at him as she scraped the last bit of oatmeal from the bowl and dived into the toast and eggs.

Silas poured himself a cup of coffee, leaning up against her counter to drink it while she ate. And ate, and ate. Where on earth she put it all, he couldn't begin to guess.

“Your mother okay?” he asked, more out of politeness than curiosity. Heaven knew he had enough issues with his own mother, he sure as heck didn't want or need to hear about anyone else's.

After staring at him a moment too long, Jewel shoved her cheerfulness back out front, like a pushy mama making little Johnny sing for the folks. “Oh, she'll be fine,” she said with a wave of her hand and a let's-not-go-there smile. “She's real good at landing on her feet. In more ways than one. So…” Her eggs polished off, she crammed the last bite of toast into her mouth and brushed off her hands. “What all do I need to know about the boys?”

And would somebody explain to him, considering he was only being polite to begin with, why the brush-off stung? Not a lot, but enough to make him wonder.

He pulled a list of instructions and emergency phone numbers from his back pocket and unfolded it, setting it in front of her. Still chewing, she quickly read it, then glanced up at him, her eyes glittering with amusement behind her glasses.
Like snow in shadow,
he thought, then mentally slapped himself.

“Why don't you just send 'em to military school and be done with it?”

Silas bristled. “I love my kids, Jewel. And I take my fathering responsibilities very seriously.”

“Well, of course you do! I don't mean…” After checking for a clean spot on her napkin, she yanked off her glasses to clean them. “Okay, I was only trying to make light of the moment, but…” The glasses shoved back on, she huffed out, “My mouth has this bad habit of spitting out random inappropriateness when I least expect it. I apologize.”

This said eye-to-eye. Earnestly. Sincerely.

“And anyway, this—” she lifted the list, thankfully oblivious to the sudden, random buzzing in Silas's head “—isn't near as bad as I expected. Considering the boys', um, high energy level.”

The buzzing faded. For which Silas was even more thankful. “The phrase ‘holy terrors' has been bandied about a time or six.”

Jewel's eyes popped wide enough for him to see gold flecks in the dusky blue irises. “They are not
terrors!
By any stretch of the imagination! And whoever would say such a thing…” Her mouth pulled flat, she shook her head. “Honestly. Some people need their brains washed out. They're just little
boys,
for crying out loud,” she said, her fervor pinking her cheeks and making her eyes bluer, and
Damn, she's beautiful
smacked Silas right between the eyes. Hell.

“Sounds like you've had experience with little boys,” he said, and her indignation melted into a chuckle.

“You couldn't tell?” Then she flicked her hand:
Never mind.
“Yeah, I do. When my mother married my stepfather—my second one, I mean—my stepbrother was a toddler. I was eleven, and ohmigosh, I thought Aaron was the cutest thing ever. I adored him, took him everywhere, played dress-up with him—you can wipe that look off your face, your boys are safe, I outgrew that phase years
ago—even let him sleep in my bed with me. 'Course,” she said with a crooked little grin, “the older he got the more I decided he was a pain in the posterior, but I still loved him. Still do,” she added softly. “God, I miss that kid.”

Again, with the sincerity. Still, with the buzzing. “Where is he now?”

“Denver.” Her eyes lowered again to the list, although Silas guessed she wasn't seeing it. “Keith—that's his dad—and Mama split up when I was sixteen. Aaron and I still talk, every couple of weeks or so. Mostly I follow him on MySpace, although he's lousy about updating his page. I do, however, send him horribly embarrassing birthday and Christmas presents…”

Silas could have sworn her hand shook slightly before she fisted it, then looked back up at him, her mouth hiked up again on one side. “So I know all about little boys.” A short, light laugh
hmmphed
through her nose. “Trust me, after Aaron? There's no stunt your two can pull I haven't seen a dozen times.”

For a good couple of seconds, Silas wrestled with the impulse to ask questions he had no right to ask. Questions that would lead places he doubted either of them wished to visit. Fortunately, the impulse faded and he asked, “I often work at home—that a problem for you?”

Her brow crinkled. “No. Why should it be?”

“Because I'm not one of those blessed souls who can work with kids racing and tearing around the house. I don't expect absolute silence,” he said when her frown deepened, “only that you keep them from crashing into the office every ten minutes when I'm working.”

“Understood. Although…” The frown relaxed into something he couldn't quite define. “It must be hard on all of you, you being there, but not.”

“Believe me, I'd much rather hang out with my kids than
stare at spreadsheets. But it's those spreadsheets that keep a roof over their heads.”

“Yeah, I hear ya,” she sighed out, then gave a sharp nod. “I promise, I'll do my best to keep the boys occupied while you're working. Just remember—” mischief curved her mouth, danced in her eyes, and Silas suddenly wanted to dance with her, naked in the pale moonlight “—what you don't know won't hurt you.”

“That's what I'm afraid of.” That, and the wanting to dance naked in the moonlight thing. Because that was crazy,
she
was crazy, and Silas didn't do crazy. “Tad, especially, will test you with every breath he takes.”

“I'm sure. But don't you worry, I can take anything he can dish out. And anyway, if he doesn't test his limits—” she rose to carry her dishes to the sink “—how's he ever gonna find out what those limits are?”

“I'm thinking that's not his decision to make,” Silas said, reasserting his control over…everything. “Which means you and I better agree on some boundaries.”

Rinsing her dishes, she tossed him another mischief-riddled grin over her shoulder. “Like your folks set for you and your brothers?”

“They set 'em, sure. We kept barreling right past 'em.”

Jewel grabbed a dish towel off the cabinet knob under the sink and turned, drying her hands, that damned impish smile still twinkling at him. Unnerving him. “You did hear what you just said, right?”

“You could at least humor me, you know.”

The towel replaced, she giggled, then stuffed her hands in her hoodie's pockets. “I've heard the stories. You guys were legendary, huh?”

“Some of us still are,” he muttered, earning him another laugh.

“So you'll do anything to prevent history from repeating
itself. Got it. I mean, good luck with that and all, but I'm only the hired help. Whatever rules you set, I'll abide by 'em. Promise. Can't promise that I won't bend 'em every now and again, though.”

“Jewel—” Silas sighed. “Oh. You're messing with me again.”

“Now you're catching on,” she said, grabbing her car keys—and the list—and heading out. “Well, let's get going—you've got work to do. And for heaven's sake, a woodworking shop is no place for a four-year-old—whatever were you
thinking?
”

Good question,
Silas thought as he followed her, mesmerized by her gleaming, bouncing ponytail in the morning sun.

L
ike many northern New Mexican villages, tiny Tierra Rosa blurred into the mountainous countryside beyond its borders. Silas's adobe, clinging to the outskirts on one of the last named streets, had probably started out life as a single-room farmhouse a century or more ago, gradually expanding like a multiplying cell as successive generations added bedrooms, indoor plumbing, a working kitchen. A flagstone patio with a built-in firepit. Even so, the multiple—and not always successful—attempts at modernization only added to its kitschy charm.

Two words Jewel never in her wildest dreams would have associated with Silas Garrett.

Now—after installing the booster seats his parents usually kept in their SUV into Jewel's—Silas had gone off to save the world from incorrectly added numbers and Jewel, Tad and Doughboy were in Silas's backyard, scouting out the many holes Doughboy had thoughtfully already
provided for little boys looking for a place to bury deceased hamsters, mice or—in this case—goldfish.

“You sure you're warm enough?” she called out to Tad, who was darting from spot to spot, baggied fish in hand.

“Uh-huh. How 'bout over there?” The fish, mercifully oblivious, bungeed up, then dropped as Tad pointed with it. So much for respect for the dead.

“Looks good to me.”

Huddled against the chilly breeze, Jewel carefully navigated rocks and tree roots and a dozen more holes on her way over. Despite the obstacle course, it was a nice yard, big, shaded by an enormous, gold-splashed mulberry tree—just begging for a tree house, if you asked her—in one corner, the other taken over by one of those big wooden swing and play sets. Beyond the tall cedar plank fence bordering the space, live oaks and dusky, prickly piñons sparkled and swayed, teasing little boys—and young women who chafed at being fenced in—to come explore.

Not that she didn't understand that you couldn't simply let babies wander off into the woods unsupervised. But the fence seemed so…forbidding. So solid. So be-careful-bad-things-might-happen-
if.

Man, she hated that “if.”

“You sure you don't want to wait until your daddy gets home?” Jewel asked, catching up to the boy as he solemnly laid the fish in the hole farthest from the house. Closest to the fence. Like maybe it could swim to the other side. Blond curls quivered as he shook his head, then turned those great big, pine-colored eyes on her, reminding her so much of her step-brother at that age her heart squeezed.

“Daddy gets all weird when people talk about dead stuff.”

He stood, dusting off his hands, and Jewel wondered if
the kid had missed the memo that he was only four. Honest to Pete.

Jewel took up one of the two spades they'd carted over from the small shed a few feet away and started shoveling dirt back into the hole, provoking a pang of misgiving that the fish would be encased for all eternity in his plastic shroud. “Weird, how?”

“Like he doesn't know what to say. No, Doughboy!” Tad grabbed the stocky dog around the chest—sort of—and gave him an ineffectual shove away from the hole. “Leave it alone!”

Jowls quivering, the dog trudged right back of course, but he seemed more respectful this time, plopping down with his head between his chunky paws. Undoubtedly biding his time until he could dig the corpse up again, thereby putting certain ecological issues to rest. The hole filled, Tad leaned back on his knees and rubbed his nose, smearing dirt across his face. “You think Harvey's in heaven?”

Jewel squatted beside him. “I don't see why not. In fact, I bet he's swimming around in this big, beautiful, sunny pond in God's garden—”

“Does he have wings?”

“Oh. I'm no expert, sugarpie, but I'm guessing not—”

“Do you think Mama's in heaven? Watching me and Ollie?”

Jewel stared at the back of Tad's head as he leaned forward again to smooth the dirt over the tiny grave. Silly her, thinking the hardest thing about the job would be whether to make peanut butter or tuna sandwiches for lunch. She touched his hair. “You know, maybe that's something you should ask your daddy.”

“I did. Lotsa times.” Tad scooped up a trowel full of extra dirt, letting it dribble onto the ground. “He always finds something else to talk about.”

Jewel remembered how she'd pestered her mother half to death about her father when she was about Tad's age, finally able to ask questions at four she hadn't been able to at two. She supposed that's what was happening with Tad, only now ready to deal with his mama's death. However, it was up to Tad's daddy to dole out answers. Not her.

Except before she could ask if he'd like her to say something to Silas, cutie patootie jumped up, swiping his filthy hands across his butt, then his nose. “I'm hungry. Can you make more cookies? Then can we give the dog a bath after lunch? 'Cuz he stinks.” He put his grubby hand in hers and led her back toward the house, wriggling and skipping and jumping to the point where he practically yanked her arm out of the socket. “An' then c'n we play Secret City again? That was
so
fun!”

“Yes to the cookies—although we'll probably have to go to the store first, I doubt there's anything to make 'em with—no to the dog and we'll see about Secret City. Your daddy got kinda…upset when we played it before.”

“But he won't find out if we get it all cleaned up before he gets home. Right?”

Then the kid grinned, and she was lost. Laughing, she grabbed him around the waist to tickle him, reveling in his squealing laughter and figuring what old stick-in-the-mud Silas didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

 

“Look sharp!”

Silas barely looked up in time to catch the wrapped burrito his brother Eli tossed across the desk, the cardboard box in his other hand holding three drinks large enough to give everybody's kidneys a good workout the rest of the day. The drinks set on the desk, Eli plucked off his ball cap, raked a banged-up hand through his too-long brown hair and grabbed his own burrito from the box.

“We may as well get started. Noah'll be along in a minute, he's over patching up my old roof.”

“And Dad?”

“Gone home to see how Mama's getting on,” Eli said, his butt not even making contact with one of the two chairs on the other side of the desk before he'd chomped off a quarter of the burrito. Blue, their father's old heeler, wriggled and whined in anticipation of whatever handouts he might get, getting his snout shoved out of Eli's lap for his efforts. “You know how he worries.”

A trait Silas had apparently inherited, he thought as he rose from his own chair, tugging his jacket off the back.

“And where do you think you're going?” Eli mumbled around a full mouth.

“Home. It's Tad's and Jewel's first day together. I should see how things are going—”

“Did anybody call and say there was a problem?” Eli said, licking his greasy fingers. Evangelista's burritos were not for the fainthearted.

“No, but—”

“Then sit your rear back down, you ain't going nowhere.”

Silas glared at his younger brother. “You got a problem with me at least calling to see how they're doing?”

“No. But Jewel might.
Sit.
”

“Since when do you get to order me around?”

“Since you started acting like a pea-brain about your kids.”

“And you being a stepdad for five minutes doesn't make you an instant authority on fatherhood.”

Eli gave Silas a hard look for a moment before swallowing. “No. It doesn't. And it's not like I don't understand where you're coming from, that there's always this shadow in the back of your brain that something might happen.

Before Tess told me she was pregnant I had no idea you could feel so excited and so terrified at the same time. But seems like you've gotten even more skittish about the boys over the last little while than you were right after the accident. You keep that up,” he said, taking another bite of his lunch, “and you're gonna push yourself over the edge. Not to mention everybody else.”

They glared at each other for a moment before, on a heavy sigh, Silas dropped back into the chair and unwrapped the burrito he didn't feel much like eating. “Sorry. It's just…” The pungent tang of
carne adovada
made his mouth water anyway. “The bigger they get the more they remind me of you and Noah. Then I remember some of the pranks the two of you pulled on me and my blood goes cold.”

Eli snorted. “You do realize most of those were in retaliation for the crap
you
pulled on us, right?”

“Uh, sorry, but I wasn't even around that time you goons jumped onto the trampoline from the roof.”

“Oh, come on, we were fine. Noah didn't even have a concussion.”

Silas almost laughed, then sighed. “It was like we were on a mission to make our folks' lives a living hell.”

“And yet, they still love us. Just like we'll still love our kids. You're thinking too hard, Si. Give it a rest—”

“He at it again?” Noah said as came in and swiped a burrito and drink from the box. Sensing new opportunities, Blue immediately switched loyalties.

“Had to stop him from going to check on Jewel and Tad.”

“Bro,” Noah said, and Silas jabbed a finger in his direction.

“
You
do not get a say in this, Mr. Everybody-else-is-having-kids-so-I-don't-gotta.”

After loudly crumpling the burrito wrapping and lobbing it into the wastebasket, Noah sprawled on the old futon against the far wall. Scowling, he kneed the dog out of his way, only to immediately hand him a piece of steak from his burrito. “And if Mom's laying a guilt trip on me doesn't work, for damn sure
you
don't have a shot.” He stuffed another chunk of meat into his mouth. “Fatherhood's not in the cards for me. Deal.”

“I'm not arguing with your choice, bonehead. I'm arguing with your right to horn in on how I'm doing my job.”

Clearly unperturbed, Noah shrugged, then waved the half eaten burrito in their brother's direction. “You probably won't like what I've got to say, either.”

Eli's brows dipped. “Oh?”

“Yeah. That roof is a lot worse than I first thought. All that snow we got last winter leaked right through the barrier paper, did a real number on the wood underneath.”

“Hell.” Eli's brows dipped. “You sure?”

“Kinda got my first clue when my foot went through this morning. We could patch it, but if you're planning on selling?” He took another bite, shaking his head. “It'd never pass inspection like that. Whole thing needs to be replaced, if you want my opinion. And before winter sets in, or it's only gonna get a lot worse. The good news is, I'll do it for cost.”

“Jerk,” Eli said, tossing his crushed, supposedly empty soda cup at his brother. Laughing, Noah caught it and threw it back, making the dog bark.

Wiping soda drops off his arms, Silas frowned “What about Jewel? Can she stay there while you're working?”

Noah pulled a face. “I sure wouldn't want to, if I were her.”

“How long are we talking?”

“Depending on how bad it is, if the weather cooperates…a
week? Maybe two? Maybe she could stay up at the house? I'm sure the folks wouldn't mind.”

“No room,” Eli said, crossing his arms. “Aunt Marie's there helping out, remember? And Dad moved his car collection into our old room. What about your spare room, Si?”

Silas's eyes jerked to his brother's. “You're not serious?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, if she can't find someplace else, why not?”

“It's only for a week,” Noah put in. “Two at the most. Probably not even. And anyway, only as a last resort, right?”

Except, when Silas didn't respond fast enough, he caught the brothers' shared glance, followed by the sly, no-good grin creeping across Noah's face.

“Bunny rabbit got you scared?” Noah said, and Eli chuckled, and Silas briefly recalled—with a small thrill of satisfaction—the time he'd put garden snakes in their beds and made them both scream like girls.

Ah, those were the days.

“No,” Silas said, grabbing Blue's collar to jerk him out of the trash before he got Noah's wrapper. “And don't you two have work to do?”

“Sure thing—”

“Yeah, guess we're done here.”

Then they left, still chuckling, making Silas wonder, once again, why,
why
his parents hadn't stopped at one.

 

“You're right, sweetie, that sucks,” Jewel said to her cell phone, propped on the counter, as she turned down the heat under the pot of rice on the stove. True, Silas hadn't asked her to make dinner, but it wasn't like tossing the pork and fixings into the crock pot earlier had been any big deal.

“Seriously,” her stepbrother rumbled. Holy moly, who turned up the bass? “It's like every time I turn around Dad's got somebody new. Why can't it ever be just the two of us?”

An outburst of laughter from the boys' room, where in all likelihood they were plotting world domination, sent Jewel closer so she could hear better. She'd already learned not to leave them alone for longer than five minutes or there would be hell to pay. By the middle of the afternoon Tad had already managed to wipe out half her brain cells; his brother handily took care of the rest within fifteen minutes of his return from school.

“Jewel? You listening to me?”

“Sorry—” she pulled her head back into the kitchen “—I'm a little distracted—”

“And this last one's a real bitch!”

“Aaron!”

“No lie, she really is. I heard her saying it was too bad my real mom wasn't still alive so Dad could send me back to her.”

Jewel's heart cracked in two. For all her mother's faults, Kathryn would've kicked to the curb any man who'd tried to make her choose between him and Jewel. Mama might not be exactly the strongest nail in the bin, but she was nothing if not loyal.