Читать книгу Real Marriage Material - Jodi O'Donnell, Jodi O'Donnell - Страница 8

How positively…uncivilized, Mariah Duncan decided as she followed the directions that took her out of Sherman and into the brushy country surrounding Lake Texoma. Wildflowers of every color rioted along the roadside, rousing banners for a bright new season that dressed up the overgrown bracken behind them.

It had always intrigued her that one could leave any metropolitan area in Texas and within minutes be virtually in the wild. Not that Texoma was inordinately remote. Still, it occurred to her that, should she take Wiley Albright on as a client, she’d be making this rather rugged journey regularly.

Spying a landmark, Mariah braked gently, tires bumping over the patched asphalt. Now came the tricky part, following the kind of instructions true locals gave. “Keep on a-goin’ till you pass the picnic area on your right,” Mr. Albright had told her. “There’s a gravel road just beyond, but don’t take it, just slow down a bit, ‘cause there’s a hump comin’ up that’ll put your stomach up ‘round your tonsils if you ain’t lookin’ for it. Then I’d say maybe a mile, mile and a quarter farther, you’ll see a sign for Bubba J.’s Everything For Fishing And Camping. Can’t miss it. Turn left past Bubba J.’s and take the lane behind the store on down the hill. The house there—that’s the place.”

And so it was. The house sitting among a stand of pecan trees was actually an older-model mobile home. A skirt of flashing rimmed the bottom in the same beige as the trailer’s siding. Upon the attached porch, its floor and steps covered in green artificial turf, sat a well-used barbecue and a couple of blue-and-white-webbed lawn chairs. Past the mobile home, the lane continued down to the shore of the lake, where there was a private boat ramp and both a small boat house and a U-shaped dock. Incongruous with the rest of the modest surroundings, a sleek and expensive-looking boat, secured in the narrow slip formed by the dock, bobbed in the water under the shade of a weeping willow.

The whole effect was placid and prosaic—and a world away from what she was used to. She had yet to learn exactly what service Mr. Albright required of her, and she had to admit she was stumped. Most of her clients lived the hectic lives of city dwellers—hence their appreciation for the enrichment her services brought them.

Mariah parked on the shady side of the trailer, next to the huge satellite dish she presumed to be de rigueur in rural areas, and gathered her bulky organizer into her arms. Leaving her car, she climbed the stairs to the porch and knocked firmly on the frame of the screen door, with no answer.

Becoming concerned for the first time, she checked her watch. Mr. Albright had said after six. And this had to be the right place. Hugging the black leather organizer to her chest—typical of spring, the day’s warmth was dispelling rapidly with sunset—Mariah glanced around the yard and thought yet again how truly wild this setting was.

A whole different kind of person lived in this environment, she mused, descending the steps slowly. People who had their own ideas about what constituted a civilized lifestyle—which was often protected by means of Smith & Wesson.

Had she been naive coming out here merely on the basis of a friendly phone call?

Nonsense, Mariah told herself staunchly. Still, she decided to err on the side of caution. She would drive back up the lane to the store on the corner and wait there. Although Mr. Albright hadn’t mentioned Bubba J.’s other than as a landmark, the proximity of the business to the house—plus the well-traveled path leading from its back door to the trailer—led her to guess an association existed between the two.

She was halfway to her car when she heard a sound coming from the direction of the dock. With a private nod of confirmation, she rounded the corner of the mobile home just as a tall man did the same.

They collided, and she had the impression of a broad, unyielding chest pressed against hers before call used hands grasped both her upper arms. Whether the hands were meant to steady or constrain wasn’t immediately obvious. What was clear was the physical impact of this man, solid and real.

Her chin came up, and she was blinded by the setting sun behind the man’s shoulder. The man’s physical presence and the setting sun, plus the realization that a barking dog was insinuating itself between them, caused her survival instincts to go into overdrive. Oh, she had been naive!

Mariah dropped her organizer in order to flatten her hands against that firm expanse of muscle and shove herself away. An ant might as well have tried to move a mountain.

Now totally unnerved, she struggled madly. “Let me go!”

“Whatever you say,” came the surprisingly mild answer, and suddenly Mariah found herself without support and backpedaling for footing on the muddy ground. Arms flailing, she nearly fell, catching her balance only at the last second. Then she almost lost her footing again as the dog doused her and the man in a spray of water as it shook itself.

“Lucy!” He bent slightly to loop his fingers under the dog’s collar and retreated a few feet. She understood the precaution as the animal strained against the restriction before she, too, dropped back. The dog, a white one with black markings of indeterminate breed, sat on her haunches and leaned against the man’s leg.

It was then Mariah noticed the dog’s tongue lolling in a grin of barely contained welcome. So this was the vicious beast that had sent her into a near-frenzy.

“You almost scared me to death, Mr. Albright,” she explained crossly. More from embarrassment than necessity, Mariah concentrated on brushing her clothes off.

“Did I, now?” he drawled in a tone that said he wasn’t quite sorry. It brought back all of her apprehension. Where was the affable man she’d talked with on the phone?

“You are Mr. Albright, aren’t you?” she asked with a boldness she hardly felt. She couldn’t prevent herself, however, from raising one hand to finger the strand of pearls at her throat in an ingrained gesture of security, as if to reassure herself after the fright he’d given her—and still was rousing in her, for she watched his mouth tighten visibly at her action.

He stooped to retrieve her organizer, wiping it against the thigh of his jeans before handing it to her.

“Yes,” he finally answered her question. The word was cautious, which puzzled her. She was the one on unfamiliar territory right now. The one who had something to be wary of, something to lose.

His face now visible to her, she studied it, looking for clues. What she discerned first was that he was younger than she’d believed, judging from his voice over the telephone. She could see why he himself had been unperturbed by Lucy’s dousing: the faded white T-shirt he wore, patchy with sweat and stains and even a hole or two, looked in little danger of being damaged by a few drops of water off a dog. In fact, his tousled, dark brown hair was already wet, as if sometime in the past half hour he’d dunked his head to cool off and hadn’t even bothered to finger-comb away any residual moisture.

Yes, he looked wild and uncivilized—and not a little annoyed with her, for some reason.

How was she to get past this unfortunate start with this man? Or perhaps the question was, did she really want to?

“You did say between six and six-thirty,” Mariah said, unable to keep the defensiveness from her voice,

His eyebrows rose. “I did?” Another of those cautious, unrevealing questions.

Now she became vexed. She firmly agreed with the motto that the customer was always right, but intimating she might have made a mistake in date or time cast doubt upon her care for detail, which was one of the main benefits she claimed she would provide her clients.

“I have my notes on your phone call to set up the appointment and the directions you gave me right here,” she said crisply as she opened the organizer to her calendar. Her actions were stayed by a raised hand.

“I think I know what’s happened,” he said, features relaxing a little. He nodded in the direction of Bubba J.’s at the top of the hill. “You must be looking for my uncle.”

Mariah shook her head. “You’re not Wiley Albright?”

“I’m Jeb Albright, Wiley’s nephew.”

“Oh! Yes, he did mention you.” And she had forgotten, mostly because she’d gotten the impression this meeting had to do with a youngster rather than an adult. Mariah had to smile at the mix-up even if she was still puzzled as to why her showing up unexpectedly would provoke such wariness in this man. Unless that was the usual state of affairs with Jeb Albright. “And am I right in assuming he didn’t mention me to you?” she asked.

“Seems that way, doesn’t it?” He actually returned her smile with a half smile of his own, revealing a thumbnailsized dimple in his cheek.

The sight of that dimple did wonders for his looks—and something to her respiration rate.

She was compelled to try another smile on him. “No telling what must have gone through your mind when this woman showed up without warning…”

He dropped his chin to rub it, slanting her a suddenly probing look from under his lashes. “I’m not sure what I thought, ma’am,” he murmured in a not altogether unappealing backwoods twang, his voice at a pitch that could have been pensive or provocative. Either way, it sent a shiver down Mariah’s spine.

It was just another chill from the now-brisk afternoon, she told herself as she fell back into her formal persona. “Well, then, proper introductions are in order. I’m Mariah Duncan,” she said, extending her hand. “From Saved by the…”

Her voice trailed off as she saw Jeb stare at her hand. His own curled closed at his side. What now? she thought as the dog stretched inquiringly toward her fingers.

“Lucy, no,” he commanded. “We’ve already done enough damage.”

The dog drew obediently back.

“She doesn’t look bent on harm.” Her hand still extended, Mariah added rather pointedly, “Neither am I.” But she felt somehow the assurance was needed.

His gaze cut to hers, again probing. He hesitated before explaining stiffly, “It’s just that we’re neither of us too savory right now, ma’am.”

“I see.” Now that he mentioned it, she did detect what smelled like a combination of silty lake water, honest perspiration and wet fur, which was actually not all that unpleasant, especially out here in the fresh air. Mariah might have told him so except for his wariness, which left her feeling even more self-conscious.

On another impulse, she crouched, hand still extended, and said softly, “Lucy, is it?”

The direct greeting was more than the dog could stand. Feathery tail slashing back and forth like a windshield wiper, the animal shoved her nose into Mariah’s palm and gave a hearty sniff before moving in to try for moreintimate contact, namely Mariah’s face. She managed to avoid the invasive advances of Lucy’s questing nose while giving the dog a few friendly pats.

Up close, Lucy’s odor was a little overpowering, but Mariah bore up as best she could, since she could see from the corner of her eye the softening of Jeb’s features she’d hoped for. Not that she’d exactly been trying to soothe the savage beast. Still, Mariah discovered she’d achieved her aim when she turned her face upward and found herself the recipient of another one of those grudging half smiles—as if his mouth was unused to tipping up at the corners—that seemed to suggest he appreciated the spirit of her gesture.

Her heart quickened in response. For the first time, she saw how handsome Jeb Albright was—or might be, once he’d had the chance to tidy up. Although it was only April, his strong features were tanned. His hair could have used a good trimming, even if the way it hung over his forehead had its allure. Beneath the dusting of a five-o’clock shadow, his jaw and chin and mouth were finely formed. Her gaze wandering, she noticed that the worn-out T-shirt that had first caught her attention covered—quite snugly—wide shoulders and the defined musculature of the chest she’d been fleetingly pressed against. From her position crouched at his feet, she could see up close that his jeans, like his T-shirt, were worn, stained—and fit just as well.

He looked wild, all right. Wild and…real.

Mariah glanced up to find dark-lashed blue eyes perusing her as thoroughly. Abruptly she was certain she must have imagined both his wariness and his regard, for his gaze was filled with some earthy, predatory emotion. And rather than holding her at bay, it pulled her to him, kindling in her an answering primitiveness.

She’d heard the phrase animal magnetism before, but this was the first time she’d experienced it in the flesh, so to speak.

Another wave of fear washed over her, this one out of concern for her emotional well-being rather than her physical safety. Yes, she could see the seduction in that earthiness, how it could become a demanding need.

Of course, that had been the accusation Stephen had thrown at her before she left him—-just as he’d also told her a woman like her could never understand such a need.

Escaping those thoughts, she lit upon the first subject that came to mind. “So you must be the J in Bubba J.’s.”

At her statement, Jeb’s expression clouded over yet again. “Nope,” he said curtly.

“Well, I just wondered.” Her fingers groped for the pearls. “A lot of boys in Texas grow up being called that—”

“There is no Bubba J.,” he interrupted, then with the same stiffness he’d shown before, he went on, “It’s supposed to give the feeling of us being ‘just folks.’ You know, what city people expect to find when they come out here—” He cut off his explanation with a sound of impatience. “It’s just a name. That’s all.”

“Fine.” Quite obviously she’d hit a sore spot. Several, in fact. This, along with the hazard to her emotional equilibrium she’d just experienced, led Mariah to decide she might be best to conclude this interview, such as it had been, and return to Sherman, even if she still had no idea why she’d been called here. Now, though, she really wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

But before she could act on that decision, she heard a door open and close distantly behind her. Rising, Mariah saw the man who must be the real Wiley Albright hurrying toward her and Jeb from Bubba J.’s.

“I’m late, I’m late, I know I am,” he called to them, pointing his hands skyward, stick-up style. “I was teachin’ Robbie how to close up and clean forgot the time.”

“Everything okay?” Jeb asked Wiley.

“Fine, son, just fine,” Wiley assured him as he came to a stop in front of them both, Lucy panting at his feet as she waited with scarcely restrained excitement to deliver her end-of-the-day welcome.

“Mariah Duncan, Mr. Albright,” Mariah volunteered formally. This time she didn’t offer her hand, hoping to avoid another awkward moment and to extract herself from this situation as quickly as possible.

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” he answered, stooping to pet Lucy before she hurt herself with her wriggling to remain still. “And call me Wiley.”

This was what Mariah had been expecting: a midsixtyish man emanating the relaxed friendliness she’d encountered in her phone conversation with him. Wiley Albright was more spare in build than his nephew but had the same aqua blue gaze that sized her up just as Jeb’s had seconds before. Then his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at her and offered his hand with none of his nephew’s reservation.

Slightly mollified, Mariah took it. For a minute there, she’d felt like a McCoy who had crossed onto Hatfield property. Or, she revised as she continued to feel Jeb’s gaze on her, was she more like Blanche DuBois encountering Stanley Kowalski?

“Thanks for drivin’ all the way here outside of regular business hours, ma’am,” Wiley said.

“Accommodating myself to my clients’ needs is my job. But really, I can’t begin to imagine what two men living in God’s country might need someone like me for.”

“Yes, well…” Clearing his throat, Wiley tipped his head toward his nephew. “I guess you’ve met Jeb here?”

“In a roundabout way. At first I thought he was you, and he had no clue who I was.” She turned toward the younger man, only to find him scrutinizing her with the same if not a greater caution than he had before.

“I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding the place,” Wiley said quickly.

She shook her head. “Your directions were perfect That’s probably why I was a little early. I like to leave myself a few extra minutes the first time I’m going to a client’s house, in case I have to backtrack.” Remembering Jeb’s earlier doubt, she couldn’t resist adding significantly, even if the point was probably moot, “It’d be rather difficult to show someone why they should depend on me to bring a harmony to their unsettled lives if mine wasn’t in order.”

“That’s exactly what I thought when I saw you talkin’ about what you do on the local cable hour last week,” Wiley agreed with another glance at his nephew, whose countenance had grown, if possible, more guarded. And distinctly aggravated.

“Of course, organizing is just one of the things I can do,” she went on almost challengingly, her gaze meeting Jeb’s without falter, even if she wasn’t sure why she would want to sell her services to a man who seemed to have little understanding or appreciation for what she was trying to do. “That’s why I named my business what I did. I assist people in all kinds of ways tailored to their specific needs.”

She didn’t know why, but the next statement came out not with assertion, but revelation. “I like to think, too, that they need me to fill some function no one else can, because I truly care about making their lives more genteel…more civilized.”

She was unaccountably wounded when Jeb, still piercing her with his gaze, showed no visible reaction to her heart-felt disclosure. Instead, he asked, “What’s goin’ on here, Wiley?”

“Time’s running out, Jeb,” the older man said rather defiantly. “I told you, you need to do somethin’. And soon.”

“So you took it upon yourself to bring this woman out here to make sure I did.”

Focused on her, Jeb’s blue eyes grew brighter—and hotter—than the flame of a gas jet. Where on earth, she wondered, had she gotten her earlier impression he’d come to any appreciation of her? Because there was definitely none of that perception now, not even a close relation of such. Abruptly she was reminded of how she’d felt upon running into him: threatened on the most basic of levels. How she’d felt when encountering his probing, skeptical gaze, which heightened her sense of vulnerability—and not just physically.

The reminder provoked Mariah. On the most basic of levels.

“Either people perceive the value of my service, Mr. Albright, or they do not,” she said coolly. “Clearly you don’t.”

And just as clearly, he wasn’t fazed by her tone. No, Jeb Albright’s eyes still held her, more thoroughly than his strong hands had earlier, a searching out of the truth that made her want to hide, or at the very least turn away. Which brought all of her feelings of peril flooding back.

“Just so we all know,” he said, “what exactly is your business, Miss Duncan?”

“I’m…I’m…” Mariah could have cursed her hesitation, but for some reason unknown to her at that moment, she would have given anything not to have to tell him, “I’m from Saved by the Belle.”