Husband Under Construction (8 page)

“It's cold out there.”

“Sure is.” She started through the door, knowing Noah would follow. Which could lead to all sorts of giddy, silly feelings, if she were inclined toward such things.

The back door actually opened up to the side yard and a walk meandering around to the Machu Pichu-esque steps between the front porch and the street; Noah tagged along in silence, bless his heart, waiting for her to make the next move. Had to admit, an admirable quality in a man.

Did he have any idea how many tangled messages he'd
managed to deliver in those few sentences? Although, since he was, after all, a guy, she doubted it. Roxie had no idea whether to be flattered or annoyed. Disappointed or relieved. Although what he'd said about their not being right for each other was, and always would be, true—that whole attraction confession notwithstanding—what woman wants to hear she's being used to prove something to a guy's father? Even as a sidebar.

Even though the guy thinks she's hot.

Gonna chew on that one the rest of the night, aren'tcha?

Even so—and here was the weird part—she didn't doubt his sincerity for a second. Call it intuition, call it her reaction to that whole mess with Eden—whatever. But the man now walking beside her was not the same person who'd shown up to give the estimate a couple of weeks ago. Despite his balled up, backhanded explanation, Roxie really did believe he wanted to change.

And she could use a friend right now.

They'd reached the lousy sidewalk at the bottom of the stairs. Across the street, the light from Noah's folks' TV screen eerily pulsed through the drawn family room drapes, sending another wave of envy pulsing through her.

What was wrong with
her
tonight?

Hunching against the wind, she made a left turn down the road that eventually led to what passed as the center of town.

“Christmas lights'll be up soon,” Noah observed as they walked, contentment evident in his voice. A hodgepodge of three centuries' worth of architectural styles plunked down along a series of twisting roads carved out of the mountain forest, Tierra Rosa was strictly a why-would-anyone-want-to-live-here? town…except for those who couldn't imagine living anywhere else.

“Have they changed any since we were in high school?”

“Not a lot, no.” Then he chuckled. “Evangelista Ortega tried to put up icicle lights instead of luminarias a few years back. You wouldn't've believed the stink. She never tried it again.”

“That's actually kind of scary,” Roxie said, digging a knit hat out of her other pocket and ramming it over her curls, so aware of Noah's solid presence beside her she nearly trembled with it. “Being that resistant to change.”

“A lot of folks might take issue with you on that. Keeping traditions going…it's comforting in a world that isn't much inclined to be comfortable. And not to push you or anything, but if you want to talk, you might want to think about getting started before we both turn into Popsicles.”

“Who says I want to talk?” Except, when Noah shrugged, she said, “Trouble is, I don't know where
to
start.”

“Just pick something and run with it. See where it takes you.”

“To hell, in all likelihood,” she muttered, then glanced at his shadowy profile. “Since I'm not real happy with myself right now.” She sighed, the earlier scene in Charley's dining room replaying in her head. Ugh. “You sure you're up for this? Could get whiny.”

“I'll take my chances. So why aren't you happy with yourself?”

She clamped shut her mouth. Noah nudged her with his elbow. “Go on.”

“I…” She sucked in a breath. “Okay, I hate that I'm judging Eden on surface stuff. That I'm judging her at all. She can't help who she is, and for all I know there's a really good person under there.”

“But that's not what your gut's telling you, is it?”

“Yeah, well, my gut's been wrong before. Except it's
just… Charley has no idea what easy pickings he is right now. And you must think I'm crazy.”

“No, ma'am. I think you're a good niece who has every right to be concerned.”

She snorted. “Not sure Charley sees it that way.”

“Of course he doesn't. But that's not the point, is it?”

Roxie stole a glance at Noah's profile. She'd forgotten what it was like to have somebody in her corner. How good it felt.

How loath she was to trust it.

Stuffing her hands in her pockets, she muttered, “To tell the truth, I'm not sure what the point is anymore.”

“Does Charley have anything worth picking, though? Besides the house? I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry—”

“No, I know you don't. You wouldn't,” she said, giving him a little smile, catching one from him in return that wreaked serious havoc with her tum-tum. “And in any case, I'm talking about his heart, not his money. That…that he'll fall for her and then she'll see something sparklier over there and dump him. And he'll be devastated.”

Not that she'd allow such a thing to happen to
her,
nope, havoc-wreaked tummies be damned.

Exhausted, Roxie sat on a low stone wall in front of somebody's house, ignoring the muffled yapping coming from behind a closed window. “As far as I know, Mae was Charley's only love. They met, they fell in love, they got married. No drama, no second-guessing, that was it. He has no idea what heartbreak is. Not that kind anyway.”

Noah lowered himself onto the wall beside her. “And to play devil's advocate for a moment—”

“As if I haven't done that a thousand times in my own head for the past week.”

“I know, but it might help to hear it outside your head. So let's see…from your standpoint, Charley's a clueless,
vulnerable widower who's blinded by Eden's…vibrant personality.”

“And her boobs.”

“I wasn't gonna say that, but, okay, yeah. But what if we give him more credit than that? What if he knows exactly what he's doing? What if
he
's playing
her
?”

Roxie's head snapped around. “Holy schmoly,” she said, valiantly fighting not to be distracted by Noah's lovely, firm mouth mere inches away. “I hadn't even considered that.”

“Right? I mean, sure, he's not exactly a spring chicken, and maybe he's inexperienced, but he's still a man. Maybe this is just a fling that'll burn itself out.”

“Not that you'd know anything about that.”

“Me? Nah.”

Then, in the feeble glow from yapping mutt's porch light, she caught the grin, and it was cocky and endearing and she felt things she had no business feeling from a
friend
in general and Noah in particular. Well, crap.

As if on cue, her cell phone rang. Jeff. Of course. Because this night hadn't been strange enough.

“You gonna get that?” Noah asked. Since, apparently, she was staring at the phone as if she'd never seen one of these newfangled things before.

“It's my ex.”

“Then you should definitely get that. Otherwise you'll end up flinching every time the phone rings.”

“Which you know all too well.” He shrugged. “And if you answer and tell them to stop pestering you and they don't?”

“You get a new number.”

Not wanting to know how many numbers Noah had probably gone through, over the past ten or so years, Roxie thought
I can do this,
and answered the phone.

Too late to catch the call, of course. Except this time, good ol' Jeffrey had left a voice mail.

Whoopee.

 

Noah discreetly stood again to give Roxie space while she listened to her ex's message, trying not to let on that his ass was frozen solid. And that he was having some serious, not-exactly-friendly thoughts about kissing her, which weren't doing a whole lot to bolster his self-esteem.

Her phone shoved back into her pocket, she jumped to her feet and started speed-walking down the sidewalk. Noah scurried to catch up, almost missing the “He wants my address,” tossed over her shoulder.

“To…see you again?”

“Have no idea.” She somehow sped up, which at least got the blood in Noah's butt moving again. “Not that there's a chance in hell of that.”

“He cheat on you?”

“What? Oh. No. Well, not that I know of anyway.” She kept going, her breath puffing in front of her face.

“Then—”

“Why did we break up? Because I got pregnant.”

Noah stopped dead in his tracks. “You have a
kid?
” he said, only to realize of course she didn't. And that she wasn't happy about that. “Oh, hell. I'm sorry.”

Turning, Roxie let out a brittle half laugh. “Oddly enough, Jeff wasn't. And Charley doesn't know. So please don't say anything.”

“No, of course not—”

With a sharp nod and an even sharper turn, she continued down the street, practically at a trot by now, making Noah sprint behind her.

“Dammit, Rox—” Grabbing her shoulders, he spun her around.
“Stop.”
At the tears glittering in her eyes, he
loosened his grip. But when she averted her gaze, clearly retreating once more into her own little safe place, he said, “You know how the tiles were coming loose in Charley's bathroom? Easiest thing would've been to simply cement 'em back into place, call it a day. Except that wouldn't've solved the problem, since the loose tiles were only a symptom. The moldy wall behind it,
that
was the problem.”

She frowned up at him. “Where are you going with this?”

Hopefully not straight to your S-list.
“That…there's no point in trying to fix the surface stuff without cleaning up the mess underneath. All at once. Not in bits and pieces when the mood strikes. And yes, it's messy and potentially disgusting, and even scary because you don't know exactly what you're going to find, but better that than a crap job you're only gonna have to redo at some point down the road. I'm not afraid of what's under the surface, Rox. But if you don't open up all the way, let me see the mess, I can't fix it.”

Her gaze danced with his for several seconds before she said, “What makes you think you can
fix
anything?”

“What makes you so sure I can't? Rox, honey,” he said when she looked away again, “it's like you keep bringing me these loose tiles, like…you want me to know they're falling off, but you won't let me see why. Like you don't trust me or something—”

“It's not that!” she said, wide, startled eyes swinging back to his. “Ohmigosh, no! It's not
you
. It's just…” She swallowed. “I'm sorry for the fits and starts, I really am. But it's just been
me
for so long….”

When she pressed her lips together, Noah exhaled. Because, by rights, that was his cue to say,
It's okay, it doesn't have to be just you anymore, I'm here.
That he couldn't made him feel like a fraud.

“But it also feels good to be pushed out of my own head,” she said.

“You sure?”

“No,” she said on a short, soft laugh, then sighed. “Okay. When I said earlier that Charley has no idea how vulnerable he is? That's because…that was me, three years ago when I met Jeff.” At Noah's frown, a sad smile curved her mouth. “See, I was engaged before. To this amazing, funny, sweet guy…who dropped dead of a freak aneurism at twenty-eight. A month before our wedding.”

“Holy hell, Rox…”

Noah pulled her close, cupping her head against his chest, for the first time in his life feeling someone else's pain like it was his own. Not a pleasant sensation, God knows, but humbling. And oddly…gratifying. After a moment, though, she slipped out of his embrace and started walking again, only at a more normal pace this time. He took her hand; she didn't object.

“How is it you're even functioning?” he asked quietly. “After everything you've been through—”

“What? I should be curled up in a corner sucking my thumb?”

“Anybody else would be.”

“Not my style. Although, yeah, Mac's death hit me pretty hard. Especially after losing my parents. But you know, I figured if I could come out the other side of that, I could do the same this time. That I
had
to. So about six months after Mac died, I forced myself to start dating again. That part was good. Better, anyway. Believing I'd fallen in love with the first man who reciprocated my interest—not so much.”

“And that would be this…Jeff?”

She nodded. “He was very different from Mac. But I was so lonely, and still raw, and being with him seemed to
fill the void. Not that I admitted that at the time,” she said with a smirk. “The being raw part, I mean. If you'd asked me, I probably would've said I refused to see myself as a victim, that putting myself out there was my way of taking back my life. But the point is, I was so intent on filling that void I'd convinced myself Jeff just wasn't
sure
about having kids. Especially since, even though he was stunned about the pregnancy—heck, so was I, I was on the pill when it happened—he did seem to come around once the shock wore off. Or at least—and again—I heard what I wanted to hear.”

Several seconds passed, their footsteps echoing in the silence, until she said, very softly, “Except I miscarried at twelve weeks. And Jeff's reaction? ‘Probably for the best, right?'” She let out an equally soft, but obviously bitter, laugh. “Via a text message, no less.”

“You're kidding?”

“Nope. And then—”

Now she turned all the way to Noah, anger and pain and disappointment colliding in her eyes. “Then he accused me of tricking him, of getting pregnant on purpose. Why he waited until then to unleash that particular fury, I have no idea—”