Adding Up to Marriage (6 page)

“Oh, honey…I'm so sorry. But look on the bright side—this one probably won't last, either.”

A sigh came through the phone. “Yeah. I know.” He paused. “I sure wish I could come live with you—”

“And we've been all through this, sweetie. I love you to bits, you know that, but I'm not in any position to take care of a fifteen-year-old boy—”

“But you wouldn't have to take care of me! You wouldn't!
I even get myself ready for school, pack my own lunch and everything! Please?”

“Honey…no. First off, I doubt your dad would be on board with that. And second, I simply can't be responsible for you. And I would be, whether you think so or not. Besides, are you sure maybe you didn't misinterpret what that woman said—?”

“You're not here, Jewel, you don't see…” She could hear him fight tears; her own eyes stung in response. “It's like Dad doesn't know what to do with me or something. Like I'm gum on his shoe he can't get off.”

Oh, Lord—the child was gonna burn her heart right out of her body, and that was the truth. “Tell you what,” she said as she heard the front door open, Silas's keys clatter into the metal dish on the hall table. “Maybe you can come visit for Thanksgiving. You, me, a twenty-pound turkey and football until your eyes fall out. How's that sound?”

“And your mom, right?”

“I suppose. Who knows? But…you'd be okay with that?”

“Sure. I mean, yeah, Kathryn's a little weird, but at least she was always nice to me. When she was around, anyway.” He paused. “You really mean it? About me coming for Thanksgiving?”

“Of course I do! If it's okay with Keith, why not?” She signaled to the frowning Silas she'd only be a sec. She also told herself he only looked that good on account of her spending the entire day with people who barely came up to her hip, but she knew that was a bold-faced lie. “I gotta go now, but we'll talk again later, okay? Love you, kiddo. My stepbrother,” she said to The Scowl when she disconnected the call. “I'm gathering my ex-stepfather is being a butt.”

Catching sight of the plate of oatmeal cookies, Silas slid onto a barstool in front of them. “Sorry to hear it,” he said,
shoving a cookie into his mouth and making a big old mess all over the counter.

Jewel shrugged, then pulled two glasses and a pair of plastic tumblers from the cupboard, briefly contemplating whether to bring up Tad's needing to talk about his mom before deciding, no, it wasn't her place. Not yet, at least. Instead she said, “You know that mulberry out back? Those low branches are perfect for a tree house. And the kids would love it, right?”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Silas said, like he was only half listening. Jewel turned to see him sweeping cookie crumbs into his palm, obviously avoiding eye contact.

“Silas? Is something wrong?”

The crumbs deposited into a napkin, he rubbed his fingers together, then finally met her gaze. “Noah says the roof on Eli's house is worse than he thought. A lot worse. In fact, it needs to be completely replaced before there's any more damage to the structure underneath.”

“O…kay…?”'

“Which means you'll need to find someplace else to live in the interim.”

Her stomach dropped. “‘Interim' meaning…?”

“Maybe…two weeks?”

“Oh.”

Dazed, Jewel wandered out into the living room where her knees went kaflooey, sending her crashing onto the edge of the sofa. Doughboy, sensing unhappiness afoot, waddled over to nudge her thigh, offering slobbery condolences.

“It's really that bad?” she said.

“Worse. Noah said one good rainstorm and the whole east side of the roof could turn into a skylight.”

Jewel doubled over, palming her face. “Where on earth am I supposed to go for two
weeks?
”

“You don't have friends or somebody you can stay with?”

Her face still buried in her hands, Jewel shook her head. And realized she was an inch away from acting like her mother. Hell. “I'll figure something out,” she said, putting on her Brave Face as she stood, wiped her hands on her jeans and returned to the kitchen to check on the pork roast, which was dumb because the whole
point
of a slow cooker was not having to check on it—

“Um…”

She glanced up to see Silas doing that palming-the-back-of-his-head thing men did when they were dreading what came next. “If worse comes to worst, there's the sofa bed in the office.”

“What office?”

“My office. Down the hall.”

Clutching the cooker lid, she gawked at Silas. “You're asking me to stay here?”

“Only as an absolutely last resort.”

She replaced the lid, muttering, “Your hospitality is overwhelming.”

“You couldn't possibly
want
to bunk with me. Uh, us.”

“After such a heartwarming invitation?” Jewel said, gathering placemats and flatware, then whooshing past Silas to set the table. “No. But like you said—” she smacked down the placemats, clunked the silverware on top “—I may not have a choice. And beggars can't be choosers and all that fun stuff.”

“You're overreacting.”

“You might not want to say that to a woman with a knife in her hand.”

“It's a bread knife, I'll take my chances. And you just made my point—hey!”

Man was nimble, she had to give him that. Not that she'd
actually aimed the knife at him, it bounced off the floor a good foot from his shoe, but still close enough to make him jump. And, she was guessing by the dipped brows behind the glasses, seriously reconsider his offer. Pushing out a breath, she stomped over to snatch the knife off the floor and wash it, annoyed as all hell to feel tears coming on.

But, dammit, she was getting so tired of being in limbo, of not having her own home, her own life, of feeling torn in two between being there for assorted family members and desperately wanting,
needing,
to figure out who Jewel was—

“Jewel? The knife only fell on the floor, not into a pig sty. I think it's probably clean enough. And whatever's in the cooker smells fantastic, by the way.”

She shoved down the faucet handle. Turned. Felt her renegade heart do a slow flip-flop at the contrite expression on Silas's face. Maybe his chivalry was a tad rusty, but this was a good man, as stalwart as they came. No, he clearly didn't want her there, but that didn't mean he didn't care.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, swiping the knife through the dishtowel, then shoving her glasses back up her nose with the back of her hand. “You're right, I did overreact.” One shoulder bumped. “But it's been one of those d-days—”

Oh, crud. There went her chin, going all wobbly on her. Jewel turned back to the sink, but it wasn't like she could hide wiping the tears. At least she wasn't all snotty or anything, but still.

“No, I'm sorry,” Silas said softly. Gently. “I should've…” He sighed. “Ever since the boys' mother died—no, before that, when my marriage fell apart—I've had this problem with wanting to keep everything under control. Which is stupid because the more you try to make things go your way, the less inclined they are to do that.”

“Tell me about it,” Jewel said, folding her arms across
her ribs but still not looking at him. She sucked in a deep breath, then finally shifted her gaze to his. “I'm sure I can find someplace to stay, Silas. I mean, I appreciate the offer and all, but I'd never in a million years want you to feel uncomfortable. A night or two, that's one thing. But two weeks having a stranger in your house is asking a lot—”

The scream made them both jump. Like a flash, Silas was down the hall, Jewel right behind him, Doughboy lumbering along at the rear.

“I didn't do anything, I swear!” Ollie said, sobbing, rushing his father and clamping his leg. “Tad was just playing and all of a sudden he tripped and hit his head on the table, it wasn't even that hard, and then there was all this
blood!
”

Blood? That, she could handle. The look in Silas's eyes, not so much.

 

You'd think, with all the times Silas had seen, worn and wiped up his sons' blood over the last six years, he'd be inured to it by now. You'd be wrong. You'd also think a woman who got all emotional as easily as Jewel would fall apart at the amount of the red stuff oozing from Tad's forehead.

Wrong, again.

“Come here, baby,” she said, calmly gathering the freaked, bloody little boy in her arms and steering him into the bathroom, where she hauled him up on the sink, grabbed a washcloth and carefully pressed it to the wound.

“I should be doing that,” Silas belatedly called out over his other son's wails, which got him a “No, we're good, Ollie needs you,” in reply.

“Blood doesn't bother you?”

“I'm studying to be a midwife, what do you think? Not to mention I was an ER nurse for six months…it's okay,
sugar,” she said to the other wailing child, “it's hardly more than a nick. Daddy? You got any butterfly bandages?”

“A lifetime supply. In the medicine cabinet.”

“Is h-h-he okay?” Ollie managed between sobs.

“Oh, sure, baby—” She shot a smile in their direction. “There's just lots of blood vessels up there, so it looks a lot worse than it is. In fact, it's nearly stopped already.”

As had the tears. From that corner, at least. Still. “Maybe we should take him to the ER, just to be sure,” Silas said. “Head wounds are nothing to mess around with.”

“True. But honestly, it's not that serious. Lord, if we'd trekked to the ER every time my stepbrother knocked himself in the head we'd've never left. Doesn't even look like it needs stitches. Come see for yourself.”

Peeling his older son from his chest, Silas poked his head into the bathroom where Tad perched on the sink, swinging his legs and grinning. And true, the cut was so tiny you could barely see it between the scars from previous encounters with objects harder than his head.

“You feel dizzy?”

“Uh-uh,” Tad said, shaking that head.

“Any trouble seeing?”

“I'm okay, swear. What's for dinner? I'm
starving.
”

Smirking, Jewel slid her eyes to Silas's. “Do whatever you think best. But instead of sitting in the ER for three hours we may as well have dinner here and keep an eye on him. Or I can call Naomi, if you want…?”

Only doctor in probably three states who still did house calls. However… “No, that's okay. She…” He cleared his throat. “She's never actually said, but I can tell she thinks I—”

“Overreact?”

“You can stop smiling anytime.”

She giggled. Only for some reason the sound didn't grate
nearly as much as Silas expected. Especially when she laid her hand on his arm and those soft, sweet eyes grazed his and she said, “At least your kids will always know you care.”

And if that wasn't bad enough, then she got the boys—
his
boys—to eat pork that wasn't bacon. With
onions.
And
apricots.
Okay, so you could barely see the broccoli for the cheese sauce, but damned if that didn't disappear down their gullets—and not the dog's, Silas kept an eagle eye out to be sure—as well.

Of course, she did tell Ollie the planted broccoli spear in the rice was cute…but moments later, when a second spear appeared to keep the first one company, and Silas said, “Don't even think about it,” and Ollie gave Silas his “testing” look and said, “Jewel thinks it's funny!” she immediately said, “What Daddy says goes, honey. Always.”

“Then how come we got to play Secret City?” Tad piped up, and Ollie went, “Aww!” and Jewel flushed and said, “Pay no attention to him, that's the head wound talking,” and Silas decided maybe losing some control wouldn't be such a bad thing.

Maybe.

Dinner over, the boys stampeded into the living room, Ollie grabbing the remote to find Nickelodeon, Tad flopping on the floor to use Doughboy as a pillow.

One eyebrow raised, Jewel turned to Silas. “You let them watch TV?”

“A half hour a day,” Silas said, waving her aside when she tried to clear the table, wanting her gone. Wanting her to stay forever. Wanting to make an appointment to have his head examined.

Cocking hers, she listened for a moment, then snorted. “SpongeBob? Whoa. Subversive. Oh, shoot…where's my phone?”

Spotting the shimmying, hot pink, cutting-edge number on the counter, Silas felt the oddest sensation of…annoyance. Partly at the cutesy ringtone, but more because…because it was like being interrupted by an uninvited guest.

“Over here,” he said, stacking the dishes by the sink.

“Thanks.” Jewel zipped over and plucked off it the butcher block counter, said, “Uh-huh…uh-huh…be right there,” then slipped it into a back pocket so tightly molded to her butt he had no earthly idea how she could fit a credit card in there, let alone a phone.

“It's Winnie Black,” she said, her face all lit up, then vanished. For whatever reason, Silas followed her into the hall to watch her hustle to the front door to grab her purse and jacket. “Water broke, went right into hard labor—” struggling into the jacket, she yanked her ponytail out of the collar “—and it's her third birth, so I doubt it'll take too long.”

“And you're telling me this why?”

Her hand already on the door knob, she gave him that What Planet Are You From? look. “Because I don't want you to worry about me getting here on time tomorrow? Hey, guys! I'm leaving! Come give me hugs!”

Didn't have to ask them twice. No small feat considering their undying devotion to all things SpongeBob. Both kids rushed over to nearly strangle her with hugs and kisses. For barely twenty seconds, mind, but the point was not lost on Silas.