Husband Under Construction (5 page)

Or, he thought morosely as the baby squirmed and gurgled softly in his sleep—and Blue lifted his head to
make sure The New One was okay—got stuck someplace it shouldn't. Tonight, much to his consternation, he couldn't blast Roxie out of his head.

“Aw—don't you two look adorable?” his sister-in-law Tess whispered, still cute as all get-out despite the bags under her deep brown eyes. He supposed she and his next older brother, Eli, qualified as high school sweethearts, despite the ten years of Tess's subsequent marriage to, and two children by, someone else. But now here they were, together again and blissfully adding to the world population. Somebody shoot him now.

At the sound of his mama's voice little Brady let out a “feed me” squawk. Smiling, the brunette carefully peeled the kid and receiving blanket off Noah's shoulder. “You're such a good uncle.”

“And don't you forget it,” he said, telling himself he didn't miss the warmth, the slight weight. The trust. Knowing he didn't miss the responsibility at all.

No sooner had Tess left, however, than his dad came in, dropping with a satisfied groan into the brown La-Z-Boy recliner that had been around longer than Noah.

“Your mother will be the death of me one of these days,” Gene said, his hands clamped over his stomach, “but damn, she can cook.”

Noah regarded his father for a moment, thinking about how tangled his and his father's relationship was, that they could be so close and yet butt heads so often. And so hard. “I take it your stomach's okay then?”

“What? Oh. Yeah, yeah, fine. Couldn't be better.”

“Glad to hear it,” Noah said, leaning forward to push himself off the sofa. But his father's hand shot out.

“Hang on a minute, I want to talk to you.” Grunting, he curled over the arm of the chair to dig the remote out of the pocket. The clicker found, he aimed it at the flat-screen TV,
talking to the screen instead of Noah. “Why'd you jack up the figures for Charley's job?”

Sneaking a glance at his watch—it was too late to cancel now without looking like a sleazeball—Noah lowered himself again to the edge of the sofa, his hands linked between his knees. “Because you'd cut them too close,” he said over some crime show he never watched. “If any of our supply prices had gone up, you'd've been screwed. And Silas agreed with me,” he added before his father could protest.

“Damn repeats,” his father muttered, clicking the TV off again before meeting Noah's gaze. “Except Charley doesn't have that kind of money.”

“I understand that. Since I was the one who discussed the budget with him. So we all came up with a solution.”

“We all?”

“Silas and me, mostly. But Roxie, too. That if a lot of the demo work got done for free, Charley's contribution would still cover materials and the crew's wages. There's like zip profit margin, but it won't take you under, either.”

His father looked at him steadily for several seconds. “What about your salary?”

“I'm good for a couple of weeks. Shouldn't take any longer than that.”

More staring. “Why?”

Noah knew what he was asking. “Because I know how much Charley means to you.”

His father broke the connection first, shifting in his chair and turning the TV back on. “Roxie know you're doing the project gratis?”

“No. Why should she?”

The uncomfortable silence that followed was broken by Donna Garrett's hearty laugh from the dining room, where
she was supervising dessert for a batch of grandchildren. “Guess that could work.”

Noah knew the grudging acknowledgement was as close to a thumbs-up as Gene was going to give under the circumstances. Before he could reply, however, his father said, “I've been thinking about what you said. About how I should spend some time with your mother.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Get away.”

“Oh?”

“Except…what if I did want to go traipsing around Europe or take your mother on a cruise or something? Who'd handle things while I was gone?”

And here we go again.
“Actually…probably the same people who handle things now.” When his father frowned at him, Noah said, “Dad. Everybody knows you worked your butt off all those years when we were little. And that the business wouldn't be what it is today if you hadn't. But it also wouldn't be what it is if it wasn't for all of us. You gotta admit, you haven't run it on your own for some time.” And it occurred to Noah that he wasn't asking for a go-ahead to take on more responsibility as much as an acknowledgement that he, and his brothers, already had.

Gene met his gaze dead on. “You telling me I'm no longer necessary?”

“Didn't say that. But it's been a long time since you were the sole decision maker—”

“Maybe so. But you all, you're…” His father made a circle with one hand, like he was searching for the right word. “Spokes of the same wheel. And a wheel's nothing without an axle.”

Smiling slightly, Noah got to his feet, checking to be sure his phone was in his jeans pocket before grabbing his jacket off the seat beside him. “Axle's kind of pointless without the wheel, too, you know. This family, it's a team. We got
the whole working-together-for-the-common-good thing down. Nobody's trying to put you out to pasture, okay? But I think, between us, we can keep things going for a couple of weeks while you take Mom on a second honeymoon.”

“The cabinetry, though—that's still the core of the business. The biggest moneymaker. Who's gonna oversee that?”

Noah felt his good humor quickly fade. “Me. Who else?”

His father looked away. “I don't know, Noah….”

“Okay, Dad, that's it.” At Gene's startled expression, Noah hauled in a breath. “Maybe it's your prerogative that you don't agree with how I live my life. Although I would think, since I've never shown up drunk or stoned, or messed up a job, that would count for something. But whatever.”

He shrugged into his jacket. “But it really chaps my hide that you apparently don't believe I'm every bit as dedicated to this business as you are. That I know it inside out. Probably better than you do at this point, since I'm the one keeping up with the technological advances and what all. I love you and I respect you, but it sure would be nice to see that respect returned, you know?

“Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a date. And no, you don't know her and probably never will, and maybe that makes me a flawed human being in your eyes.” Shoving his hands in his jacket pockets, he softly said, “But that doesn't mean you can't count on me not to screw up what's really important.”

His father and he did the gaze-wrestling thing for several seconds before, sighing, Noah walked away.

J
umping at the duck's quacking a foot from his head, Noah grabbed for his phone off the nightstand, his brain coughing up
Who the hell changed my ring tone?
long before his bleary eyes made out the teeny, tiny numbers of the display. When he did, he jumped again, nearly dropping the phone trying to get it to his ear.

“Ma—?”

“What on earth did you say to your father last night? He's gone all mopey and won't tell me why.”

Noah crashed back into his pillows, willing his heart to settle back down as he registered it was still dark. On a Saturday. “I take it you know it's not even seven yet?” he said, his eyes finally adjusting to the murky light in the bedroom. “And why are you automatically assuming I had anything to do with—?”

“Noah. Please. So what went down between the two of you?”

“I don't suppose this could wait?”

“No, it can't.”

Blowing out a silent breath, Noah shoved back his black-and-tan comforter—chosen by sheer virtue of not looking like something out of either a palace or a brothel—and swung his legs over the edge to hook his abandoned jeans with one foot and kick them into his hand.

“Same old same old,” he muttered around a yawn as he yanked them up one-handed, then lurched to the kitchen of his over-the-garage apartment—on the other side of town from his parents—to punch on the coffeemaker. Donna Garrett was well aware of the ongoing conflict between him and his father, no need to rehash the whole thing. Especially before coffee. “Except this time I might've put my foot down a little more. For his sake. And yours.”

“Mine?”

“Yeah,” Noah said, kicking on the thermostat. Dang, it was cold. “Because he told me you've been after him to take some time off. Since I agree—” although even he knew better than to bring up the Tums episode “—I had to convince him the business wouldn't fall apart if he left for a few weeks. Why are you laughing?”

“You know, sometimes I really wonder how your father and I have made it through all these years without killing each other.”

“That's easy.” Noah yawned again and forced his eyes open a little wider. “Neither one of you wanted to be left raising us on your own.”

She laughed again. “You got that right. But the thing is…he did ask me if I wanted to get away, maybe after Christmas. A cruise.”

Noah stopped in the middle of scratching his stubbled cheek. “You serious?”

“I am. And apparently he is, too. Except he practically
growled the suggestion. Didn't exactly make me want to hop online to search for cruise clothes. Now, though, things are making more sense.” She laughed again, more softly. “He
listened
to you, Noah. Whatever issues the two of you might have, he listened. So thank you, honey. From the bottom of my heart.”

The coffee ready, Noah filled a mug already sitting on the counter, wincing when a single, grudging shaft of light pierced the kitchen blinds. The first hit of caffeine sent off to swim through his veins, he said, “It doesn't bother you that it wasn't Dad's idea?”

“Are you kidding? If left to his own devices, the man would be perfectly content going to work, coming home, eating, watching TV and sleeping. Rinse, repeat. With maturity comes the ability to be grateful for the
what,
and not worry so much about the
how.
You might have annoyed him no end, but in one conversation you pushed him further out of his comfort zone than I've been able to do in twenty years.”

She rang off after that, about ten seconds before Noah's bladder exploded and a good two, three minutes before the ramifications of his father's actions sank in: that maybe, finally, Noah'd gotten through to the old man. That maybe, finally, he'd earned the old man's trust.

A smile spreading across his face, he yanked up the blinds to let in more light. His date last night had gone better than expected—enough that the prospect of meeting Roxie at Lowe's later to hash out tile and paint selection and such wasn't even bothering him—and his father
trusted
him.

Was this going to be a great day, or what?

 

“What the hell do I know about any of this?” Charley barked. Loudly enough to make everybody in the tile aisle turn their heads. Roxie was briefly tempted to say, “I have
no idea who this guy is, never saw him before in my life.” Instead, she lugged a large square of veined slate tile off the sale pile and held it up. “This would go great with the new countertops, don't you think?”

Her uncle grunted, as cranky as a three-year-old who'd missed his nap. In theory, a field trip to Santa Fe to choose the decorative materials for the renovation had sounded like the perfect thing for a beautiful fall morning. In reality…not so much.

“Whatever you pick out is fine,” Charley muttered. “I don't care. Actually, why don't I go wait in the car until you're finished?”

Replacing the tile before it somehow found itself shattered over the old man's head, Roxie sighed. “Charley. It's your house. Where you're going to be living for a long, long time. I'd think you'd want to be in on the decision making.”

His face set in a mulish expression, her uncle shoved his hands in his baggy khaki pockets. At least they were an improvement over the god-awful coveralls. He'd been a good-looking dude once upon a time, when he actually took pride in his appearance.

“And why would you think that? Never did when Mae was alive, still not interested now.”

Roxie opened her mouth to make him see reason, only to realize at this rate they'd be here until Christmas. Ten years from now.

“If you really don't care—”

Charley's eyes snapped to hers, full of hope. “I really don't.”

“Fine. Why don't you wait in that Burger King we saw when I parked the car? I'll meet you there when I'm done. But no complaints about whatever I choose!” she called to his rapidly retreating form as she fished her ringing cell
phone from her purse. Noah. She told herself the funny, fluttering sensation in her midsection was a hunger pang.

“Just walked through the door,” he said, damn his bone-melting voice. “Where are you?”

“Tile. I think I found something that could work.”

“Cool. Um…is that Charley headed out the exit?”

“Yep. I thought he'd like to be involved. I was wrong….” She looked up to see Noah turn into the aisle—all windblown and hunky and competent-looking—and she felt another “hunger” pang.

She dropped her phone back into her purse, pointing to the tile as Noah drew close enough for her to catch a whiff of wood-smoke-and-leather-scented stud. This time it wasn't her stomach growling. “What do you think?” she said, trying not to breathe.

He hefted a square in his hand, turned it over to give it an approving look. Hormones surged. “Good stuff,” he said. “Especially at this price.”

“Oh. Great.”

He looked at her funny. “You have a cold?”

“What? Oh. No. I'm, um…it's the lumber smell, I guess. Tickles my nose. Anyway…so that tile for the floor. And maybe this—” she scooted down the aisle to a display of netted, one-inch tiles in coordinating shades of beige “—for the backsplash?”

“Excellent,” Noah said. Grinning. But not at her, she surmised. Let alone about her.

“You seem awfully chipper this morning.”

The grin broadened. “I suppose I am.”

When no explanation followed—not that Roxie needed, or even wanted, one—she said, “Well. Anyway. Here's the paint samples, but I don't know how much to get—”

“Don't worry about that,” he said, flipping through the samples, which she'd already marked for each room. “I'll
pick it up, use my discount. So those tiles, and these, and you chose the laminate for the counter. Wanna see those tub surrounds I told you about?”

So they did, and she approved, and then they discussed schedules and things, and it was all very businesslike and professional, and little by little Roxie found herself actually becoming more impressed with Noah's expertise than his scent.

Hope. Yay.

 

Noah knew all about the theory that men's brains couldn't multitask, especially when anything even vaguely resembling sex was involved.
Well, screw that,
he thought, as they walked toward the parking lot after submitting his purchase orders at the customer service desk. Because the whole time he'd done the professional contractor act with Roxie, another part of his brain kept firing off random, totally unprofessional observations.

Like how the overhead lighting made her curls all shiny.

That her top blouse button underneath her corduroy jacket stopped just short of showing any cleavage.

The way the space between her dark, natural eyebrows would pucker in concentration when he explained something, even when she was smiling.

That he was already having trouble remembering what's-her tootsies from last night. Although the restaurant had been kick-ass.

“By the way,” Roxie said, “I worked out my schedule with the clinic. Since Naomi's usually busier in the afternoons and evenings, anyway, I can work on the house every morning and one full day during the week. How's that?”

Huddled inside her jacket from the brisk breeze, she squinted up at him. She wasn't particularly short—sort of
average, in fact—but he was tall enough for there to be an appreciable difference. A stray curl drifted across her eyes; she shoved it behind her ear, studded with a single, small gold loop. If he looked closely he could see a bunch of tiny dots from other, closed-up piercings. Funny, how he'd never even really noticed Goth Roxie, and yet he couldn't take his eyes off Real Roxie.

“Sounds good,” he said. “How early you want to start?”

“I'm usually up by six. So whenever.”

“I'm not, so…eight?”

She laughed. The kind of laugh that made you want to laugh back. The curl blew into her face again, but this time she let it go. “Eight's fine,” she said, even as Noah decided that curl would be the undoing of him. Seriously.

He glanced out into the parking lot. “Where you parked?”

“Over there,” she said, pointing. “But I have to fetch Charley first. I banished him to Burger King. Anyway,” she said, turning and walking backward, her teeth chattering. “So…I'll see you Monday?”

“Actually, I could go for a hamburger myself,” he said, falling into step beside her, even though the rational part of his brain screamed,
Run, fool! Run!
“If it's all the same to you.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, clutching her jacket collar underneath the chin.

“You're freezing.”

“Wh-what w-was your f-first cl-clue?”

“Here,” Noah said, placing a hand on her waist to gently shift her over. “Walk on this side, it's not as windy next to the buildings.”

“Oh. Um. Yeah, you're right.” Her eyes flitted to his. “Thanks.”

“Anytime. That your phone?”

“What? Oh…damn,” she said, digging it out of her purse. “I can never hear it when I'm outside. But let me forget to turn it off at the movies, and it sounds like a symphony…orchestra….”

As her voice faded, Noah looked over. She was still walking, but kind of like a robot. “You gonna answer it?”

“No,” she said, stuffing it back into the bag as they reached the Burger King, the warm, intoxicating scent of fast food enveloping them when Noah opened the door.

“What the heck?” Roxie muttered beside him; frowning, Noah followed her gaze…to a table in the back, where Charley sat with a red-headed Shirley MacLaine look-alike, looking a lot more interested in her than his burger.

 

“I swear, I was just sitting there, minding my own business, and up comes this gal, asking if the seat was taken.” Charley traipsed over to the soon-to-be-history kitchen cupboard to get the box of tea bags—but with a spring in his step that reminded Roxie an awful lot of Noah. Dear God.

Her name was Eve. No, Eden. Dyed red hair, lots of jewelry. And makeup, not badly applied. Perfume, however, strong enough to overpower the fast-food fumes. Hailed from New Jersey, lived in Santa Fe for ten years. Had immediately assumed Noah and Roxie were a couple. Not that that stopped her from flirting with him, Roxie'd noticed.

“And what's up with the attitude, anyway?” Charley said. “Thought you were so hot for me to move on?”

“Charley,” Roxie said over the ten kinds of alarms going off inside her head. “You just met the woman—”

“We hit it off. Go figure. So I'm taking her to the movies tomorrow night. But could I borrow your car? The Blue Bomb's not the sort of vehicle you take a gal out in.
Especially for a first date. And get this—she's crazy about action movies.” Charley laughed, the sound freer than Roxie'd heard since her aunt's death. More alarms went off. At this rate, she'd be deaf before nightfall. “In fact, you should've seen the look on her face when I suggested that new Meryl Streep flick. Like she'd swallowed something nasty.”

Oh, dear. Poor guy had it bad.

“Maybe…you shouldn't rush into anything.”

Dunking his tea bag in the mug of hot water, her uncle shot her a reproving look from underneath his eyebrows. “I'd hardly call a movie date
rushing.
And since when are you my mother?”

“Since you started picking up chicks in Burger King?”

“Not sure which bugs me more,” he said, leaning against the counter on the other side of the room. “That you don't think I'm smart enough to spot a gold digger—”

“I never said—”

“Or that I deserve to have a little fun.”

“Of course I want you to have some fun! A lot of fun! As much fun as you like! It's just…”

“You think this is a rebound.”