Adding Up to Marriage

by Karen Templeton

  “Oh…not today?”

  Jewel sighed. Much as she truly loved her mother, all she wanted was for the woman to grow up. To be her mother and not that clingy chick in high school who tells everybody she’s your BFF when she’s not.

  To give Jewel a chance to do some growing up of her own.

  “I’d love to, Mama, really, but my day’s already full. But hey—why don’t you go shopping? You know that always makes you feel better.” For at least twenty minutes.

  “Well…I suppose I could.” A delicate sniff sounded in Jewel’s ear. “But it’d be so much more fun with you along.”

  At one point, that had been true enough. For Jewel, anyway. Nobody knew her way around a mall better than her mother, even if Mama was always trying to buy Jewel prissy, girly-girl things she’d never wear. “I know, but I can’t today. I’ll call you later, how’s that?”

  After promising her mother she’d call as soon as she could, Jewel pocketed her cell and shut her eyes again, willing the coffee aroma into her veins. As usual the conversation was ripping her in two: she could be what her mother wanted her to be, or what Jewel needed to be, but not both. And the endless tug-of-war was making her bonkers.

  Still, self-preservation kept her heels dug in and her bleeding hands tight on that rope, boy…or risk toppling right over into the Aching Void of Need she’d had to haul Kathryn DuBois out of more times than she could count, when yet another relationship fizzled out on her. On them both, actually, since losing three “daddies” and any number of also-rans hadn’t done Jewel any favors, either.

  But if nothing else she’d learned from her mother’s example, having seen first-hand the vicious cycle of hope and heartbreak that were part and parcel of letting “love” blind you to reality. Hence her resolve to never let anybody do to her what so many had done to her mother.

  Besides, if she didn’t stay strong, who’d take care of Mama?

  “Let me guess,” Silas said behind her, making her jump. Because somehow she’d forgotten he was there. “I woke you.”

  Jewel made sure she was smiling before she turned. “Only because I slept through my alarm.” She peered behind him. “You lose somebody?”

  “The kids? Like there was any way we could talk with them around. Anyway, Ollie’s in school already. I left Tad at the shop with Noah. And my dad. And everybody else. One kid, a half-dozen sets of eyes…should work out just about right.” Silas folded his arms over his chest. Doing the Stern Look thing. On him, it worked. As did the gray, geometric-patterned sweater and jeans. Geek chic. “You do that often? Sleep through your alarm?”

  Jewel’s stomach growled, reminding her of the vast void within. “No, actually,” she said, opening another cupboard door for oatmeal. “But I got called out unexpectedly last night with a mother having false labor. She didn’t settle down—” she yawned “—until nearly five.” The oatmeal dumped into a bowl with milk, she set it in the microwave and edged toward the fridge. “Want some eggs with your coffee?”

  “Already ate. Thanks.”

  “Whatever. I’m starving.” She cracked three eggs into a bowl, dumped two pieces of what her mother called “bird seed” bread into the toaster. “But don’t you worry,” she said, banging a skillet onto the old gas stove, “that was a one-off. My sleeping in, I mean. Normally I’m up at like six, raring to go. I have a lot of energy, which you may have noticed.”

  But she doubted he’d heard her, since when she turned he was frowning at the disaster of a living room with its re-re-recycled furniture, littered with DVDs and textbooks and clothing that had wandered out of her closet and hadn’t yet found its way back, not to mention the dozen bulging, partially ripped garbage bags of kids’ and baby clothes and toys the church ladies had left for her to pass along to some of her and Patrice’s needier clients. The pelvis. Then his gaze drifted back to her, those green eyes positively teeming with questions.

  And something else, something that sent little flickers of heat hoppity-skipping through her blood. Good thing, then—really good thing—she didn’t have to worry about pesky things like him maybe coming on to her. Because, alas, she was only human. And kinda, um, lonely, truth be told. As was Silas, she’d bet the farm.

  Which could present a problem. Because while Jewel was not into sharing her body with all and sundry, she did have to admit to a certain fondness for sex, dimly remembered though that might be. Hence the hormones, which even now were whispering how little stoking it would take to go from flickers to raging conflagration.

  Little creeps.

  “Maybe you should get dressed,” Silas said softly, taking the bowl of beaten eggs from her, and she thought, Don’t look at the mouth, even as she noticed how turned down that mouth was at the corners. Disapproving and whatnot. “Before somebody sees us through the window—” he nodded toward the curtainless kitchen window facing the street “—and gets the wrong idea.”

  Oh.

  Her cheeks flaming, Jewel fled, feeling like a scolded little girl.

  Which went a long way toward damping those flickers, boy. Yes, indeedy.

  Silas beat those eggs as if his salvation depended on it.

  Since his reaction to Jewel was making him feel close enough to perv status to ratchet the discomfort level up to, oh, about a million-point-two.

  Even though there was no reason it should. Okay fine, so a brief glimpse of her bare bottom—hell, if he’d blinked he would’ve missed it—when she’d lifted her arms had fired a jet or two. Perfectly natural. And inevitable, frankly, considering how long it’d been since those particular jets had fired.

  It was who the jets were firing for that had him all shook up.

  Why hadn’t he blinked? Why?

  Silas set the bowl of eggs on the counter—no point scrambling them until she returned, they’d only get cold—and wandered back into the living room, which could only be called a wreck. Gal hadn’t been kidding about her housekeeping skills. Or lack thereof. Scrupulously avoiding the model of the female innards on the coffee table, he instead found himself checking out the dozen or so videos scattered beside it.

  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.r />
  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.

  Chapter Four

  Like 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?”