Читать книгу Real Marriage Material - Jodi O'Donnell, Jodi O'Donnell - Страница 9

Jeb didn’t believe his ears, so he asked incredulously, “Saved by the what?”

Mariah Duncan lifted her proud chin in a way that both irritated and stirred him, which only increased his irritation. “Saved by the Belle. I’m a professional organizer with a Southern touch. My qualifications include a degree in liberal arts and six years’ experience participating in nearly every aspect of some large philanthropic events in Dallas, as well as serving as a volunteer in several other capacities.”

“Well, and dang if I wasn’t just wondering where I’d find an ex-debutante to help me with my next charity ball,” he drawled.

“It’s not meant to be taken literally, Mr. Albright,” Mariah retorted. “I assure you I am able to offer a wide variety of services I tailor to each client’s specific situation. You might say I function like a combination of wife and secretary, doing the jobs they might. You know, the personal things everyone needs done for them now and then.”

He couldn’t help his reaction, he was just so aggravated. And embarrassed to the roots of his being. Jeb raised one brow suggestively. “How personal?”

Mariah flushed. Oh, yes, he’d been right about those looks she’d been giving him, yet he wasn’t all that gratified.

“Jeb,” Wiley said warningly.

He shot his uncle a lethal look. Dad-blast Wiley! Here was the person who deserved being hit with both barrels. He could imagine the lead-in his uncle had given this woman: Got a nephew here I can’t see as ever sprucin’ his ways up enough to be passable in polite society—or to attract a woman—and he needs to, real fast. So I figured it was time I took matters into my own hands and called in a professional.

“Well, Miss Duncan,” Jeb said, “sounds like you’ve got yourself a nice little concept there, but I don’t think anyone here would begin to mistake needing the services of some charm-school-educated Southern belle.”

She turned even redder, hugging her precious black leather date book tighter than a Bible. Then she lifted her chin a notch higher and said, with that starch in her voice he’d heard a couple of times already, “It’s just a name. That’s all.”

It was his own statement thrown back at him, from when she’d asked him about Bubba J.’s. Well. Score one for the lady, he thought with grudging respect, even if her snooty tone nettled him. He could see why she resorted to loftiness, though. At about five-two and somewhere in the vicinity of a hundred pounds, Mariah Duncan probably had a hard time convincing anyone she had the muscle to solve their problems, since she looked as substantial as a blue-bonnet in the breeze. And felt the same, he remembered, suddenly reliving the delicateness of her bone structure under his palms.

Yet her tailored slacks and silk blouse casual while businesslike, did lend her an air of professionalism if not competence, as did the way she wore her cinnamon brown hair, pulled back in a sophisticated braid. The style also accented the purity of the fine features in her heart-shaped face, her skin pale and glowing as the pearls at her throat:

A face that reflected her apprehension of him, though she tried to hide it.

Remorse stabbed him. Had he hurt her with his rough handling, either physical or verbal? Certainly he knew he’d repulsed her with his fresh-from-under-a-rock aroma and that shower of lake water, courtesy of Lucy. Recalling her distaste made Jeb want to crawl under something for real. Of course, then there had been the patronizing way she’d asked him, all the while idly fingering the pearls Daddy had no doubt given her at her coming-out, if Jeb was Bubba J. As if she found the name—and him—a bit too hick to believe on first examination, but just so darn fascinating.

He’d heard that tone before, just as he’d seen that look.

Then he recalled, too, that Mariah had said she didn’t know why Wiley had contacted her. Well, he’d be the last to fill her in on the matter.

“Begging your pardon, ma’am, for any disrespect or inconvenience in driving all this way for nothing, but my uncle’clearly got the wrong impression of what your business does.” He gave her a nod goodbye. “Have a nice evening.”

“You’re not even going to give the lady a chance?” Wiley spoke up.

“There’s nothin’ she can do for me,” Jeb answered with a warning in his voice as he headed toward the store. He was not going to let his uncle take this conversation one step further.

Then from behind him, Wiley said, “What about Robbie, Jeb? You’re gonna lose everything that matters to you if you don’t do somethin’. You got a better idea of where to start?”

Jeb stopped. Turned. He loved his uncle like a father, but…“You’re way outta line here, Wiley.”

Mariah glanced from one to the other of them. “Perhaps it would be better if you both discussed the situation in private and then called me, if there’s still a need for my services.”

“Thank you for that consideration, Mariah,” Wiley said, “but you’re here now and I’d be next door to rude to send you off without an explanation. We owe you that, at least.”

“Actually you don’t—”

He put a hand on her forearm. “Stay, if you will, and listen to what my nephew’s situation is. If there’s even the slightest chance…”

“Well, all right,” Mariah answered with obvious reluctance, and Jeb figured it was because of his rudeness she was feeling so, even though she regarded him with that expression he’d seen when she knelt at his feet petting Lucy. As if, despite being put off, she was willing to try to find a way to relate to him.

“Fine, then, Miss Duncan. Give us your expert opinion on the matter.” Fixing his uncle with a look that could boil water, Jeb crossed his arms and said bluntly, “The situation is I’ve got exactly eight weeks before I stand up in front of a judge and try to convince him that an unmarried fishing guide and part-owner of an.outdoors-supply business living with his bachelor uncle in a trailer out in the sticks can provide a proper, well-rounded environment to raise a kid in. I already know the obvious way to improve my case would be to take me a wife. The problem is, even if I was interested in gettin’ married—which I’m not—I don’t think it’d be a stretch to say livin’ out here in this sort of setup isn’t what a woman would find particularly appealing, for pretty much the same reasons.”

He supposed exaggerating his good-ol’-boy accent wasn’t going to win him any favors, but dad-blast Wiley for making him go through this! Jeb willed his face not to turn red at having to reveal details about his personal life to this woman, and went on, “So I assume what my uncle was thinkin’ in his tangled-up way was that if I didn’t have a wife or wasn’t about to get one on my own, I could hire someone to help snare one by turnin’ me into something that might appeal to a likely prospect, all in eight short weeks. And I’d be mighty surprised, ma’am, if miracles of that sort are part of the ‘wide variety of services’ you offer.”

Comprehension dawned on Mariah’s face. Out of the corner of his eye, Jeb saw that Wiley was thoroughly disgusted with him for deliberately painting the situation in such an unfavorable, and irretrievable, light. Well, he was just a tad disgusted himself—for caring what Mariah Duncan thought of him.

He waited for her to thank them both for the opportunity to do business but she couldn’t help him. And off she’d go, back to her city living and her charities and clients and who the hell else that could use her brand of help..

Except it seemed she wasn’t leaving. Not yet, at least.

“I don’t quite see why you feel you need so urgently to change or take a wife,” Mariah mused. “I mean, am I right in concluding that this Robbie you mentioned is your nephew?”

“No. That’s the whole problem, y’see. Robbie is my—”

He was interrupted by a shout from up the hill. “Uncle Jeb!”

The three of them turned to see a girl, all jeans-covered legs and flying hair, running pell-mell toward them.

Robin—his niece.

Lucy galloped up to meet her, and girl and dog hailed each other like long-lost friends before racing the rest of the way home with the energy only the young have after a full day of activity.

Both came to a breathless halt in front of Jeb.

“I did it,” bragged Robin, blue eyes shining as she looked up at him. “I mean, Wiley cashed out the register, but I swept the floor and put bait saver in the tank. I washed the fingerprints off the front-door window, and I even arranged the lures and cans of Skoal and Copenhagen in the display case.”

“I’ll bet they needed it.” Jeb had to smile. Wiley, who minded the store most of the time, didn’t think about such things. Not that their normal customer gave a hoot, but it was nice to have a touch of order, even if it was just neatening up cans of chaw.

He reached out and rumpled her hair. “Thanks, Robbie. Don’t know what we’d do without you.”

She grinned, a heartbreaking split in her angular face. She’d thinned out in the past few months—Jeb guessed because she’d sprouted at least an inch in that time, too. He’d have worried except she had the appetite of a pack mule. Hopefully she would fill out again, although it seemed impossible she’d ever grow into the coltish legs that were longer than the rest of her put together.

Yes, Robin was growing up fast, would turn eleven in just a few weeks. She’d become a real part of the family, and he had been tickled at the way she’d taken to the ins and outs of their distinctly male-oriented business. She had even begun imitating the pattern and inflection of his and Wiley’s speech. And yet now, contrasting the two females, he saw how rag-tag Robin appeared against the polished and feminine Mariah Duncan. Almost as unkempt as he must look in comparison.

“I practiced my clinch knot, too,” the girl chattered on. “I’m not near as good as you or Wiley at tying it, but maybe after school tomorrow I could-try it on a real rig and see what I can catch. Wouldn’t it be somethin’ if I brought in another like that big ol’ striper I caught this winter out near…”

Robin’s smile faded as she finally noticed Mariah, who was studying the girl—and him.

Jeb put an arm around Robin’s shoulders. “Miss Duncan, this is my niece, Robin. Robbie, uh, Miss Duncan. She’s here to…for…a visit.” He gave both Wiley and Mariah a covert lowering of his brows that said Let’s not get into explanations.

He should have known that Wiley would be oblivious to any message not spelled out on butcher paper in foot-high red letters. “Mariah’s here to see about doing business with your uncle Jeb,” the older man provided meaningfully.

This earned him an exasperated look from Jeb, even as Mariah smoothed the moment over with a warm “I’m pleased to meet you, Robin.”

Jeb glanced down and noticed his niece’s face had lost its earlier animation. She rested her weight on the outside edge of one cowboy boot, a thumb snared in her belt loop. Hooking an untidy lock of dark gold hair behind her ear, she solemnly regarded Mariah from under her lashes in a bout of shyness.

Then Jeb saw that Robin wasn’t shy, but watchful. And he knew she’d come to the same conclusion about Mariah. he had. It wasn’t so farfetched. After all, the last time a woman dressed in professional clothes had shown up here, she’d been from the Department of Human Services and had given them the news that had triggered today’s episode.

Damn. Jeb knew his niece had detected his worry these past few weeks, hard as he’d tried to hide it. Not that he hadn’t kept her informed, in a simplified fashion. After all, she had a right to know about the situation, since it concerned her. But it was inevitable that she would look past his explanations and assurances and realize the real threat that hung like a thunderhead over them all.

A child shouldn’t have to be afraid of such basic securities as home and family being taken away from her, Jeb thought, and he vowed not for the first time that somehow he’d think of a solution—a practical one, and not some harebrained idea that the answer to their woes could be found on the shopping channel!

At that thought, he lifted his gaze to find Mariah once again—or was it still?—studying his niece. And him.

“It sounds as if you’re quite an angler, Robin,” Mariah commented as though the girl had answered her greeting in kind, turning on that Southern charm that really was hard to dismiss as insincere. Hard to resist, too.

Robin’s lashes flicked up for a quick look at Mariah, then down again. “I’m just learnin’ still.”

“Well, isn’t that the way any one of us becomes an expert at what we do, by learning and practicing?”

This time Robin’s gaze remained pinned on the ground as she confessed in a low voice, “Yeah, but…but I’m a girl.”

Jeb’s heart wrenched within him, a sensation of defeat before he’d barely started. Blast it, he was doing the best he could to make her feel she belonged!

Hoping the right words of reassurance would somehow magically spring to his lips, he opened his mouth. But Mariah again defused the awkward moment by asking, “Women can become practiced anglers, can’t they? I mean, say I set my mind to it, I could succeed relatively well at it eventually, couldn’t I?”

Robin blinked. “Well, sure, I guess…”

Jeb frowned, wondering the reason for such speculation by Mariah. He couldn’t imagine she was serious about learning to fish, and he was positive his niece was having the same trouble as him in envisioning Mariah, with her refined demeanor and pearl necklace, hauling back on a fishing rig and whooping it up as she pulled a twenty-pound striped bass out of the water. Still, he saw the girl considering Mariah’s remark.

Then Mariah added, “And just like any person finding themselves needing to learn how to do something outside their normal abilities, wouldn’t it be shrewd to explore as many avenues of assistance as possible?”

Puzzlement suffused Robin’s features, but even if she didn’t, Jeb definitely caught Mariah’s drift—and her implicit criticism of him. Which made his irritation bristle up again. Where did she get off judging him? She didn’t know a blamed thing about the situation!

Yet before he could voice his vexation, Robin said shyly, “I guess I might could show you a few things I learned from Uncle Jeb, if that’s what you’re gettin’ at. But he’s the expert on fishin’. And he can teach anybody. He’s real patient and would never make you feel backward just ‘cause a certain skill didn’t come natural to you.”

Jeb felt his chest swell at Robin’s praise. Then when he saw Mariah smile approvingly and so very warmly at his niece, an even greater swell pulsed through him, nearly making him forget his annoyance with this woman.

Damn again.

And damn, too, if he’d let her make dewy-eyed fools out of any of them.

“It’s true that when it comes to Texoma striper fishing, I’m your man.” He met Mariah’s gaze squarely. “But I doubt you really ‘need’ to learn to fish.”

“Call it professional curiosity, then,” she said. “Even if we eventually decide that I can’t…do business with you, I’d like to hear the facts. As your uncle pointed out, the situation merits a deeper look, doesn’t it?”

Jeb was on the verge of putting an end to the pretense that they were actually discussing fishing with a blunt disagreement when Mariah’s eyes made him pause. He’d previously noted that they were golden brown and almond shaped, like a doe’s. But what struck him now was the true interest in their depths.

Don’t be a fool, he warned himself. There was no way this society silk stocking could even begin to comprehend their world—which hadn’t even existed for her fifteen minutes ago—or a way of life so different from hers. How on earth could she help them?

“Go on inside, Rob. You too, Wiley.” Jeb gave his niece’s shoulder a squeeze, a silent reassurance to counter his sternness, which attempted to circumvent any protest Wiley might be inclined to make. He furnished his uncle with a glance, anyway, that brooked no argument. “I’ll be along as soon as I’ve seen Miss Duncan to her car.”

Yet his uncle seemed content enough—or disgusted enough—to depart without offering more of his opinions, thank God. No, it was Robin who hesitated, her large blue eyes darting from Mariah to him and back.

“I like your hair, Mariah,” she blurted, as if she’d had to force the statement out. Or perhaps couldn’t prevent herself from expressing it. “Maybe…may be if you do decide to take fishin’ lessons from Uncle Jeb, you could teach me how to braid my hair like that.”

“I’d like nothing more, Robin,” Mariah answered gently. “But that’s up to your uncle.”

His niece nodded, then did something he’d never seen her do before: she gave her hair a girlish flip off her shoulder with the back of one hand before running off in her tomboy clothes. And it became clear to him that she hadn’t been debating earlier what threat this woman might pose. No, his niece had been wondering how she could get her hair to look like Mariah’s did!

Was Robin so starved for a feminine touch in her life that a practical stranger could bring that longing surging to the surface?

Wiley was right Jeb needed to do something, more than just take care of the situation looming on the horizon, in order to do his best for his niece. And he knew it’d have to be something definite—and drastic.

He wanted nothing to do with Mariah Duncan, though. For all her highfalutin notions of believing she could, by dint of her Southern gentility, make people’s lives civilized, he was certain there wasn’t a single thing she could do for him.

But if there was a chance for Robin’s happiness…