Husband Under Construction

“You know,” Silas said after a moment’s silence, “maybe the idea of being ‘stuck’ with somebody for the rest of your life gives you the heebie-jeebies, but in case you haven’t noticed, not everybody sees it that way.”

“Sorry,” Noah mumbled, his face warming as he turned back to the printer. Silas’s first marriage had sunk like a stone, followed by his ex’s death in a car crash when the boys were still babies. For so long, and whether it was right or not, Silas had felt like a failure, Noah knew. So why was he taking potshots at his brother’s well-deserved happiness?

Fortunately single fatherhood had turned Silas—who God knew had taken inordinate pleasure in torturing his younger brothers when they were kids—into a model of forbearance.

“Oh, you’ll get yours someday,” he said, cuffing Noah lightly on the back of his skull before heading out the door.

When hell freezes over, he thought as he yanked on his own jacket and scooped up the estimate, then hotfooted it out of there before his father had a chance to check the new figures.

Or before Noah could think too hard about what he was about to ask of Roxie Ducharme.

For three days, between temping as a receptionist for the town’s only family practitioner, continuing to pound the virtual pavement looking for a “real” job and the unending task of sorting through her aunt’s things, Roxie had kept herself so busy she’d begun to think she’d imagined the close-to-knee-buckling jolt at the end of Noah’s visit earlier in the week.

Except now he was here, his forehead creased as he gently explained to her uncle why his budget was too small by half, and there was the jolt again, stronger this time, undeniable, and she found herself nearly overcome with a sudden urge to bop the man upside the head with the kitchen towel in her hand.

Or herself.

“Well. That’s that, girl,” Charley said, sounding almost…disappointed. Weird. “Can’t afford to do all this. So let’s go with the new windows and let the rest of it ride—”

“Hold on, I’m not finished,” Noah said, and Roxie’s eyes flashed to his. Right there in front of her, not quite the same brown, but definitely the same kindness. The same…genuineness. That it had taken her so long to see the resemblance only proved how prejudiced she’d been. How much she’d been determined to see only what she’d wanted to see.

Her breath hitching painfully in her chest, she propelled herself out of the chair and over to the fridge to pull out stuff for lunch. Cheese. Ham. Lettuce. Leftover spaghetti sauce. Cottage cheese.

“Roxie?” she heard over the roaring inside her head. “You listening?”

Sucking in a breath, Roxie shoved the streak of wetness off her cheek and turned. Both men were frowning at her.

“I’m—” She cleared her throat. Sniffed. “Sorry.”

“You okay?” Noah asked, simply being nice again, and more memories surged to the surface, memories she’d assumed the spectacular implosion with Jeff had wiped out for good.

Silly her.

“Yes, fine,” she said, snatching the three-page estimate off the table and leafing through it. Forcing herself to focus. Holy moly. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “If I’d realized…” Letting the papers flutter back onto the kitchen table, she crossed her arms against the sick, you-screwed-up-again feeling roiling in the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t as if Noah hadn’t warned her, warned both of them, how costly the project might be. But this was…

Wow.

Roxie never begged or bargained or haggled. Ever. So even though embarrassment seared her cheeks, she said, “I d-don’t suppose there’s any way to, um, bring down the prices…?”

“Not without jeopardizing our payroll,” Noah said, his eyes even more apologetic than his voice. “But—”

“Then…I guess we’ll have to stick with the windows. And maybe the front porch—?”

He chuckled. “You weren’t listening, were you?”

“Um…I thought I was—”

Charley slapped the table in front of him, making both the sugar bowl and Roxie jump. “Man says if enough people pitch in to help—you know, do some of the easier stuff—Noah and his crew can handle the rest and we might be able to get everything done for the same price.”

Roxie felt her forehead pinch. “I don’t understand.”

“Silas offered to help since things are slow, taxwise, right now,” Noah said. “Maybe Jesse, too.” Noah glanced down, then back up at her with a little-boy grin. “And we figure there’s a lot you could do, too. If you’re amenable.”

She wasn’t sure what was making her heart beat faster—the grin, the eyes or the proposal. To gather her thoughts—and break the mesmeric hold Noah had on her gaze—Roxie frowned at her uncle.

“And you’re okay with this?”

“Heck, yeah.”

“Even though three days ago you were ready to throttle me for even thinking of changing anything in the house…oh.” She sighed. “Mae?”

Her uncle’s smile faltered for a second before he gave a vigorous nod. “It’ll be like an old-fashioned barn raising! Or one of those HGTV shows! So whaddya say, Rox? You up for ripping off some wallpaper? Slapping on some paint?”

Roxie sighed. On the face of it, it was a brilliant plan. In some ways it could even be fun. But…working alongside Noah? Hot, sweaty, sexy, gentle-to-old-men, major player Noah?

Who strangely reminded her of someone who’d broken her heart ten times more than sorry-assed Jeff could even dream about?

“It won’t work without you,” Noah said, sounding even more reluctant about the whole idea than she. If that was possible.

Oh, boy. Part of her would rather dance naked with African bees. But as much as her uncle and she got on each other’s nerves, she loved the old grouch. And she really did worry about the house falling down around his ears. So…if she sucked it up now, she could leave later with a clear conscience. Right?

Not only that, but considering what she’d put him and Mae through after her parents died? She supposed she could deal with Noah’s hotness for a few weeks.

“I’d have to see what I can work out with the clinic,” she said. “But sure, why not?”

Charley let out a whoop and clapped his hands, his wide grin warming her heart—even as Noah’s twisted it like a wrung-out washcloth.

Family dinner nights at Noah’s parents’ were not for the faint of heart. Especially as his brothers’ broods grew and the noise level increased exponentially. However, unless somebody’s wife was giving birth or there were flu germs involved, there was no “will not be attending” option.

So here Noah slouched on the scuffed-up old leather sectional in the relatively quiet family room, his belly full of his mother’s pot roast and his head full of Roxie—even though he had a date later that evening with some chick he met while working on a project in Chama—all by his lonesome. Well, except for his father’s old heeler seeking refuge from way too many shrill little voices and eager little hands, and Eli’s sacked-out, newborn son hunched underneath his chin.

That he was even thinking of canceling only went to show how messed up he was. Wasn’t as if he’d never had more than one woman on the brain at once, for heaven’s sake. Not that he’d ever two-timed anybody, exactly—he was capable of monogamy, especially once getting naked was involved, and as long as nobody was talking long-term. Except, truth be told, things went down that road a lot less often than people assumed. Having a few laughs, kicking up his heels on the dance floor, simply enjoying a pretty gal’s company…that’s about as far as the vast majority of his dates went. And sometimes, when things were totally casual…his mind wandered.

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.”