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Real Marriage Material
Jodi O'Donnell
WIFE FOR HIRE?Country bachelor Jeb Albright was in trouble. What did he know about little girls? So when his orphaned niece came to stay, he treated her like one of the guys. But now social services wondered how she'd become such a tomboy?Enter elegant and refined Mariah Duncan. She was perfect to show Robin how to be a lady. But she was not the type Jeb would choose for a wife! He needed someone who could see beyond his rough exterior to the caring man inside.Then one day Jeb saw Mariah looking at him–and realized she not only saw the man he was, but the husband he could be!



Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u0b5c1eb7-25d6-59ad-80fd-8be1f711de6e)
Excerpt (#u6bccc0be-279a-5391-abe5-b66cd0f37a59)
Dear Reader (#ue412a1d7-154e-5fc9-bdf6-d88532b66604)
Title Page (#u453e1449-0902-578f-9f1d-31d3890c9ac4)
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS (#ulink_5227df78-b3ef-591a-a401-4c35ccef499c)
DEDICATION (#ulink_a93a4de4-ae94-55a2-8845-4c3f753aba28)
About the Author (#u813d9804-6d57-5fb5-9127-27d5571a3409)
Chapter One (#u4c206c8f-a9c2-5595-aa83-3de0510864ac)
Chapter Two (#u715a446c-9bd2-50aa-8efc-e5e9b22cbf23)
Chapter Three (#u96e74be7-830b-5929-b965-18c180d4fdf4)
Chapter Four (#u1089119a-c570-5c03-bb69-5e2144414c92)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“So you think we should take the plunge and get married?”
Jeb asked sarcastically. “You’ll be my barefooted fishwife and I’ll be your redneck lover—”

“Don’t!” she cried. “You’re not a redneck good ol’ boy, Jeb Albright.”
“And I wonder if you have any genuine idea what you’re offering…or what you’d be getting.” He bent, and before she knew what was happening, Jeb had swung her into his arms in one effortless movement. “You need to know exactly what you’re getting. Exactly.” At the base of her throat he slid a finger under the strand of pearls nestled there. Lower he went, as he trailed his fingertips through the valley between her breasts. His hands drifted lower still….

Mariah moaned softly as she surged against him in silent invitation. Yes, she thought. He was made of the stuff that endured and lasted a lifetime. And this was what she needed, more than life.
Dear Reader (#ulink_dffa0365-e969-5530-93af-dce772452799),
In 1993 beloved, bestselling author Diana Palmer launched the FABULOUS FATHERS series with Emmett (SR#910),” which was her 50th Silhouette book. Readers fell in love with that Long, Tall Texan who discovered the meaning of love and fatherhood, and ever since, the FABULOUS FATHERS series has been a favorite. And now, to celebrate the publication of the 50th FABULOUS FATHERS book, -Silhouette Romance is very proud to present a brand-new novel by Diana Palmer, Mystery Man, and Fabulous Father Canton Rourke.
Silhouette Romance is just chock-full of special books this month! We’ve got Miss Maxwell Becomes a Mom, book one of Donna Clayton’s new miniseries, THE SINGLE DADDY CLUB. And Alice Sharpe’s Missing: One Bride is book one of our SURPRISE BRIDES trio, three irresistible books by three wonderful authors about very unusual wedding situations.
Rounding out the month is Jodi O’Donnell’s newest title, Real Marriage Material, in which a sexy man of the land gets tamed. Robin Wells’s Husband and Wife.. Again tells the tale of a divorced couple reuniting in a delightful way. And finally, in Daddy for Hire by Joey Light, a hunk of a man becomes the most muscular nanny there ever was, all for love of his little girl.
Enjoy Diana Palmer’s Mystery Man and all of our wonderful books this month. There’s just no better way to start off springtime than with six books bursting with love!
Regards,

Melissa Senate
Senior Editor
Silhouette Books
Please address questions and book requests to: Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325. Buffalo, NY 14269 Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Real Marriage Material
Jodi O’Donnell


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS (#ulink_93405921-4295-5bfe-8152-7227bf2f135a)
My thanks to Don Anderson, owner of Don’s Guide Service on
Lake Texoma, for keeping me straight on striper fishing, and to
Larry Martin, for filling me in on adoption procedures in Texas.
My thanks also to Alyson Brown for keeping me legal. Any
errors concerning these areas are entirely my fault.

DEDICATION (#ulink_8e32dbb5-5ba5-5614-8123-2270db878f6d)
For my agent, Pam Hopkins—the real deal, the genuine article,
the best!

JODI O’DONNELL
grew up one of fourteen children in small-town Iowa. As a result, she loves to explore in her writing how family relationships influence who and why we love as we do.

Jodi is a two-time National Readers’ Choice Finalist and winner of Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Award. She’s married to the hometown boy she has known since fifth grade and lives near Dallas in a ninety-five-year-old Victorian home with her husband, Darrel, and two dogs, Rio and Leia.

Chapter One (#ulink_090f7343-df81-59e0-b5a6-7e1173119cee)
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.”

Chapter Two (#ulink_01b97bcd-5ef5-5113-8dcf-13d6dc04a1c6)
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…

Chapter Three (#ulink_139c74c4-e3d6-5e26-95aa-1cfd3a3f81a6)
I must be out of my ever-loving mind, Jeb thought.
After Robin left, he stood for a few moments, fingers of one hand tucked in the back pocket of his jeans as he rubbed the palm of his other hand across his forehead, painfully aware that he was about to step way out of his comfort zone. Mariah was silent
He squinted at the sky, the waning light making it a pale robin’s-egg blue at its apex, the wispy clouds with their flamed undersides kicking up from the horizon like waves left in the wake of a boat.
“Let’s take a walk,” he announced, then in after-thought glanced down. “Or maybe not. Where I’m thinkin’ of. going is kind of uneven in places, and those shoes of yours don’t exactly look to be made for a hike along the lake.”
“Lead on,” Mariah said gamely. “These flats will hold up.”
“Fine.” He wasn’t about to talk her out of it. If she wanted the opportunity to put her two cents in, then she needed to know what she would be getting into.
With Lucy shadowing them, they tramped down to the lake, then south along its rocky edge to a cove with a beach of sorts. There, Jeb dropped to a crouch and picked up a stone, rubbing its flat, smooth surface with his thumb. Perfect for skipping.
Lifting his arm to the side, he flicked his wrist, sending the rock flying. It leapfrogged across the water—one, two…five skips in all.
“I’m impressed,” said Mariah, watching from her spot a few yards away.
He cut her a skeptical, sidelong glance, wondering if she was thinking such tactics would work on him—again. He couldn’t tell; dusk was falling more quickly than he’d gauged, and Jeb became singularly aware he was alone with this woman in the burgeoning twilight.
“My personal best is nine skips,” he said obligingly enough. “It’s something I’ve always had a knack for. It used to irk Cody something terrible….” He peered into the darkness. The explanation wasn’t going to be easy any way he did it.
“Who’s Cody?” Mariah asked in that cultured drawl of hers he found almost mesmerizing.
Not looking at her, he answered, “My older brother— Robin’s dad. He never was the outdoors buff I am. Or Wiley is. I didn’t realize until years later that he must have felt like a fish out of water around us.” Gesturing toward the lake, he gave an ironic snort at his comparison before sobering and going on.
“But Cody found his calling, eventually. Got a scholarship and went to A&M to become an engineer. So now the ugly truth comes out.” Jeb paused dramatically. “Yes, I am the brother of an Aggie.”
She gave a soft chuckle but wasn’t going to let him off the hook. “What happened to him, Jeb?”
It was the first time she’d said his name, and it sent a shaft of that yearning he’d experienced previously shooting through his very vitals, making him believe more than ever that nothing good would come out of this interview.
He must remember, he was doing this for Robin. But he didn’t have to tell Mariah everything, he reminded himself.
“Cody and his wife, Lisa, died in a car crash a little more’n four months ago,” he said, forcing the words out “I got custody of Robin. Right now I’m what the lawyers call Robin’s temporary managing conservator.” He pronounced it distinctly, carefully. “But I’m hoping to adopt her. That was to be decided once she’d lived with me six months.”
He picked up another stone, tested its feel in his palm and discarded it. “Anyway, I knew if she got to live permanently with us two bachelors that there’d come a time when she’d need a feminine influence. A girl should have a mother, y’know.”
“Of course, if it’s at all possible. But do you think the court would take Robin away from you merely for lack of such influence on her?”
“Up to a few weeks ago, I didn’t think so. Now there’s more to the situation, you see,” he went on with reluctance. “We were served with papers saying Lisa’s half sister was coming forward to intervene for custody and adoption of Robin.”
The thought of that action—and the implied impetus behind it—still had the power to upend Jeb’s better judgment and raise panic in him, which he beat back with the aid of the indignation the situation unfailingly roused in him. With superhuman effort, he made himself go on, to tell Mariah the story.
But it would not be the whole story.
“Anita Babcock,” he said flatly, “is Lisa’s half sister. Her husband—he’s an engineer, too, like Cody was, I guess—does some kind of work for an oil company that took them out of the country up until recently, but now they’re back in the States to stay, or so I’ve been told. The judge kept the adoption hearing for June, even with the Babcocks intervening.”
With sudden intensity, he jabbed a twig into the ground, almost to poke it into the heart of his dilemma. “From what the lawyer I hired tells me, as things stand right now, it could go either way. I could get Robbie—or Lisa’s half sister could. I’ve definitely got the biggest advantage, with her livin’ here with me and Wiley since Cody and Lisa died. But it’s not like they named me Robin’s guardian, which would have sealed the deal for sure. And Anita and her husband are already raisin’ a couple of kids of their own, have the ability to give her all sorts of advantages— private school, lessons in just about anything Robbie might take a fancy to, travel, exposure to all sorts of experiences. Put that kind of home life up against the one I’m providing, and what would you decide if you were a judge?”
“I see…” Mariah frowned, her gaze distant, searching.
She still clutched her black leather organizer in her arms. He wondered if she ever went anywhere without it, and couldn’t imagine being so tied to a schedule. Perhaps that was part of his problem, as she’d indirectly suggested, this reluctance to adapt to changing circumstances.
“And I gather from what you said earlier,” she continued, “about your not being interested in getting married, that there’s no one you’re even seeing whom you might eventually consider…that is, for the judge to acquire some confidence you’d ultimately…” Her voice trailed off awkwardly.
“I take your meanin’, and you’re right,” he said with a calm he didn’t entirely feel. “I’ve known some women I’ve liked real well, and it’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility that I’d find one some day that I’d want to settle down with, even given that my occupation doesn’t afford much opportunity for socializing. After all, you can’t tell what’s bitin’ till you test the waters. But things are different now—”
Jeb broke off. No, there was no reason Mariah Duncan needed to know this part of his predicament. No way was he going to discuss it with her, because it was the one aspect of this whole situation that had the least chance of being addressed.
Lucy, who’d left to forage in the brush on the water’s edge, came trotting back over to see if he’d found anything more interesting, and Jeb occupied himself with locating a stick to throw, as if that were the reason he’d interrupted himself.
Again, though, Mariah wasn’t buying his evasion. “How are things different now?” she asked with that sincere interest that pulled at him with tidal strength.
He chucked a short piece of driftwood into the water and watched as Lucy jumped in after it. He lifted one shoulder, feigning nonchalance. “I guess I feel it’s my duty that whoever I eventually marry should be a woman like my sister-in-law was.”
“And what was that?”
“Oh, you know—” he gestured vaguely “—a woman like yourself, brought up to be a lady, knowin’ what’s proper, who’d want to pass on such sensibilities to her daughter.”
Jeb cleared his throat. He had never intended to stray into such deeply personal territory. And yet somehow he had.
“I don’t mean to sound like Lisa couldn’t let her hair down,” he continued doggedly. “She was…genuinely nice. But it’s not like that kind of woman would come lookin’ for me.”
Oh, but he was glad for the fading light now! He’d wanted to get that out, state the obvious to let Mariah know he knew the score. But when she didn’t respond immediately and the silence stretched on, Jeb grew annoyed—with himself. Well, what did he expect? That she’d protest, say that of course women from all walks of life considered redneck fishing guides prime marriage material?
“Of course, even if a woman like that did come around, it wouldn’t be right to marry someone just for the sake of marry in’, regardless of my duty to Robin. And the truth is, I don’t find that sort of woman, on the whole, real riveting, if you get my meaning,” he put in pointedly—and not altogether truthfully.
Another lull pervaded the air between them as Mariah did not immediately respond. Jeb slapped at a mosquito, resolved he would reveal no more to her.
Finally, her voice distinctly strained, she said, “At least I can see now why you considered your uncle’s calling Saved by the Belle to be an oversimplified answer to your predicament.”
“Yeah, well. That’s Wiley,” Jeb said. So he’d made her uncomfortable with his indirect judgment of her. Welcome to the club, he thought, for he’d gotten an answer from her nonanswer. No, it didn’t seem Mariah Duncan saw any way he might proceed from here. He couldn’t help feeling aggravated, especially after she’d made such a big deal about hearing all the details. But she couldn’t help him, not with this. He was on his own, just as he had thought.
Yet he couldn’t prevent himself from feeling again the apprehensive tightening in his chest he’d experienced upon seeing his niece interact with Mariah. It was as if, even in that brief contact, there had passed between them something he could never fully understand. It struck him that Robin hadn’t always been such a tomboy, had really only become so since moving to Texoma to live with him and Wiley.
Abruptly he stood, knee joints popping. “It’s late. You’d better start back to town before you lose every scrap of daylight. I know you got here fine, but it won’t be so easy in the dark.”
Not waiting for her concurrence—or actually not wanting to answer any more of her questions—Jeb left her to follow as best she could as he led the way back up the path and to her car. He did think to wait politely while she unlocked her door, and opened it for her with as much decorum as a man could muster while dressed in an overripe T-shirt and grungy jeans.
“Thank you again for driving out here,” he told her formally.
“It was no trouble,” Mariah answered, her voice subdued, as if she were a million miles away. She probably wished to be shed of him and this place, and again he wondered why she had even bothered to find out more about his situation with Robin.
He tried not to bear Mariah Duncan ill will. After all, it wasn’t her fault that Wiley had called her here on a wildgoose chase. It wasn’t her fault, either, that their problems couldn’t be solved with one phone call.
“I hope you know my uncle’s intentions were good. And I apologize for being unsociable toward you at first. I just didn’t see, even then, that there was much you could do to help.”
“I…I understand.” Dropping her chin, she brushed the toe of her shoe through the twig-strewed dirt. “So what will you do about your situation?”
“That’s the poser, isn’t it? I’ll keep on as I am already, I think, and just hope for the best. Let Robin know that Wiley and me…I…are her family and this is her home for as long as she needs it to be.” He let his own gaze fall, thinking of his brother. “That we love her, which will never change. What else can I do?”
“What, indeed?” he heard Mariah murmur speculatively. Or was it skeptically?
“I mean,” he continued, his tone defensive, "I know I could concentrate on givin’ Robbie more occasion to act like a girl than a boy. I could stop calling her Robbie, for one,” he admitted with a wry twist of his mouth. “And not encourage her so much to join in runnin’ the business, even if she has taken to it like a fish to water….”
This time he didn’t find his pun amusing.
As if reminded by his remark, Mariah said, “Oh, about Robin’s request. What if I mailed her a book I have that shows how to do all sorts of braids and hairstyles with long hair?”
He was again surprised—and pleased. She hadn’t forgotten his niece. “Robbie—Robin, I mean—would like that.”
“You might help her at first, since it’s easier if there’s someone back there to hold the different sections of hair. That is, if you felt comfortable with that sort of thing.”
Jeb shrugged. “How much more difficult could it be than snelling a hook?”
That brought out her smile, fleetingly, and the constricting band around his chest eased ever so slightly.
“I’m sure I wouldn’t begin to know,” she answered.
He knew Mariah hadn’t been serious about him teaching her to fish, but Jeb suddenly wished for that opportunity to do so, because if there was one thing he did know backward, forward and sideways, it was fishing.
In that way, he and Mariah were alike, both involved in service businesses. But that was where the similarity ended. His responsibility was to produce tangible results; hers…not so apparent or defined. He felt he had the easier job of it.
“You know, I almost feel obligated to change the name of my business if I’m to adhere to truth in advertising,” Mariah said.
It was as if she’d read his mind. “Well, it is just a name,” he reminded her. “I bet you wouldn’t find everything for fishing or camping at Bubba J.’s.”
For some reason, she brightened at that, even gave a low, feminine, silvery laugh that oddly seemed to fit right in with the increasingly distinct night sounds around the lake.
But she wasn’t here to fit in, which was as it ought to be.
“I’ll wish you good luck, then, Saved by the Belle.” He had yet to call her by her given name, and the omission served as a reminder as he found himself, against his very will, looking down at her and trying to memorize her features.
“Good luck to you, Jeb Albright,” she said. And she held her hand out to him again.
Even though his own was no fresher than it had been when she’d extended hers before, something in his man’s pride wouldn’t let him balk this time. He took her hand in his.
It was soft against his palm, small and delicate. A woman’s touch…The thought flitted through his head, bringing back that craving for…something—he didn’t know what, only that it had gone unmet for years now.
His other hand covered hers, more complete contact with that softness—and in a test of sorts. He heard her short intake of breath as her other hand went to her throat again, fingers grazing across the pearls there as if touching a talisman. Yes, he saw the reaction he’d thought he would, that attraction that tugged at them both. Then her gaze flew up to meet his, doe eyes flaring slightly, as he felt in her grip the apprehension he’d first encountered upon seeing her. Or more accurately, her seeing him.
Immediately Jeb let go of Mariah’s hand and stepped back. She said nothing but got into her car.
He stood there long after her red taillights had disappeared into the night.
So. She felt she wasn’t being truthful in hiring herself out as Saved by the Belle. Well, he’d bet there were more than a few people out there looking for her kind of redemption.
He hated that the thought sent another torrent of longing ripping through him.
* * *
For the tenth time in an hour, Jeb flipped from his front to his back on the bed. It was going to be one of those nights, he guessed, of which he was having more and more lately.
This one was quite a bit different, though, for he wasn’t just restless. He was edgy as a caged bobcat without its mate.
“Jeb?” Wiley whispered from the other side of the darkened bedroom. The mobile home had only two bedrooms, situated at opposite ends of the trailer. As a result, Wiley had given up his room to Robin and bunked on the extra twin bed in Jeb’s room, vacated years ago by Cody. Jeb was only too happy to share, but sometimes Wiley snored like a hibernating grizzly. Or if awake, he talked, knowing he had a captive audience. Well, tonight Jeb was in no mood for confidences, not after today’s fiasco.
“Jeb?” Wiley repeated. “You asleep?”
“Yep.”
His uncle sighed. “You bein’ surly with me ain’t going to do anything more than earn you a second’s worth of satisfaction.”
Jeb hauled himself onto one elbow and peered across the room. “You don’t think I have the right to be put out with you for pullin’ that stunt today?”
“I didn’t say that—”
“Well, then, what would you say?”
“I was just tryin’ to help, son.”
“Right. I know what you were thinking, Wiley, and it wasn’t that Saved by the Belle could help any of us. At least not the way Mariah Duncan advertises she could. No, you saw her on that show and thought if you could just get her out here to meet me, lightning would strike us both, and there’d be the answer to all our troubles.” That’s what really chapped his hide about this whole deal. Wiley knew what had happened with Anita, and still he’d called Mariah out here.
The absurdity of it hit him afresh, as did every bit of his chagrin. “Good God, Wiley, what possessed you?”
“Well, there weren’t no listing in the Yellow Pages for Saved by the Ign’rant Hick Uncle!” his uncle shot back. “Or believe you me, I’d’ve called the number on both our accounts!”
There was a moment of silence in the room before the two men burst out laughing. Jeb let his head fall forward, shaking it slowly. He never could stay mad at Wiley for long.
“Come on, now. Admit it.. Didn’t you think she might make as likely a candidate for a real fine wife and mother as anyone else?” his uncle asked.
“Miss Junior League? Yeah, right.” All humor left him as Jeb scowled. “Besides, how could it possibly matter if I did?”
“I dunno. Seems to me I heard someone say a while back he’d try just about anything to keep Robbie.” Wiley grunted as he rolled over, for the first time in Jeb’s memory being the one to end the conversation, though not before delivering a parting morsel of food for thought, “You know, I always taught you and Cody that what you catch all depends on the bait you use.”
And just who were you thinking was which in this case? Jeb thought but didn’t ask. What would be the point? It didn’t matter what his opinion was of Mariah Duncan, just as it didn’t matter what she thought of him.
With a snort of self-disgust, Jeb flopped back on the bed, lacing his fingers behind his head and staring at the ceiling.
He had to admit, if only to himself, that the reason he’d been embarrassed at every turn today was because he had been attracted to Mariah Duncan, incredibly so, even with that touch-me-not haughtiness that put a man more in mind of a prim schoolteacher than a desirable woman.
Except he could tell, in that all-too-brief moment when she’d been pressed against him, that she didn’t lack for curves in all the right places. No, ma’am.
But it wasn’t his fancy for her looks that had him tossing and turning. That he could acknowledge for what it was, as he recognized her own surface fascination with him. Oh, yeah, he’d seen that look before.
No, it was Mariah’s demeanor that had socked him in the gut. How, he wondered, could he be even remotely captivated by some snobbish, butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth Southern belle? Again?
But there had also been Mariah’s grace under fire, not to mention her continued kindness toward Robin even when he hadn’t been much friendlier than a badger, twice as gamey smelling and three times as wild-looking. And given those factors, she still hadn’t suggested it might be best for all concerned if Robin went to Lisa’s half sister, Anita.
Yes…Anita Babcock. Now, there was a Southern belle. Aside from Cody and Lisa’s funeral, he hadn’t seen her in over fourteen years, and had never faced her here on his own turf until her visit a month ago. She and her family had been passing through DFW Airport on their return from whatever country they’d been residing in to their new home in’Houston, had rented a car and “dropped in” to see Robin. It had been the first time, too, the Babcocks had seen where and how the girl was living. Which was fine with Jeb; he’d felt then and still felt he had nothing to hide or be ashamed of.
But Anita had picked the very day he, Wiley and Robin were spring-cleaning the store and boat house. The three of them had looked and probably smelled like something Lucy’d kept under the porch for a week.
And the result of that visit was that the Babcocks had come forward to say they simply couldn’t ignore their duty to provide a more appropriate environment for Robin than her present one.
Dammit, why couldn’t the woman leave him be? She’d gotten what she’d always wanted out of life, hadn’t she? A successful husband, two kids and a status life-style. Why must she now pass judgment on his?
But she had done so before, too.
Jeb stifled a sigh of frustration. Yes, he had only felt like this once before in his life—that who he was and what he did were not…enough. And the doubt had bombarded him repeatedly in the past two weeks since receiving the news about Anita intervening for custody of Robin.
With his edginess at a peak, Jeb flung back the covers and stood, clothed in his usual sleeping attire of a pair of briefs. He reached for the jeans he kept at the foot of his bed and slid them on before stepping out into the hallway and making his way to the kitchen. He was still unaccustomed to remembering to wear proper clothing in the common areas of the trailer, was used to walking about in or out of whatever he pleased as he had for the past twenty-five years. But that behavior wouldn’t do with a young lady in the house.
Jeb was unusually conscientious about that aspect of his guardianship. He knew part of the reason the court hadn’t waived the normal six-month period for awarding him adoption of his niece—as was often done in cases where the parties were related—was that of the very strikes against him thrown by Anita, now and fourteen years ago. He was a bachelor living with his own bachelor uncle in a trailer out on Lake Texoma, with no prospect of change.
Jeb filled a glass with tap water from the kitchen faucet, recalling how he’d stood here earlier this evening while doing dishes with Robin. They’d been almost through when she had spoken up, her cheeks flushing, about needing a permission slip signed for school. It was only after he’d read what she needed permission for that he understood her embarrassment at approaching him: the girls in her class were to see a film and presentation about puberty and how it would affect them.
At the bottom of the slip was the simple statement, “Mothers are invited to attend.”
Jeb’s fingers tightened reflexively around the glass. In the deepest corner of his heart, he had to wonder if a judge might not be right giving Robin to Anita. How quickly the girl responded to Mariah today told him a lot about Robin’s need for a mother. Though she never said a word, he knew the girl missed her mother. What kid wouldn’t?
He himself had been six years old when his parents had died, and he remembered Wiley saying once that when Jeb had come to live on Texoma, he’d been like a whelp weaned too soon from its mama. Cody had been older, and neither of their parents’ deaths had impacted him the same way as they had Jeb.
So make that twice, he realized. Twice in his life he’d been made to feel that he had not been enough—enough to keep his parents from leaving him.
Maybe because Robin was older, she would adjust more easily, as Cody had. But he and Cody had been boys; Robin was a girl, and she was entering that age when a girl needed a mother most.
And not just a mother. A mother for Robin should be someone…naturally tender, with a combination of gentle strength and kindness. So kind and soft—
Abruptly Jeb tipped his head back and slugged down the whole glass of water in three swallows, as if to distract his mind from such thoughts. Crazy thoughts they were, showing him how desperate he was becoming. He’d told Mariah he wasn’t going to take a wife just to give Robin a mother, but what if in doing so he managed to fill one or two needs of his own?
There were saner alternatives. Maybe his marital status wasn’t going to change soon, but why couldn’t he move the three of them—Robin, Wiley and himself—into town and take a job? He didn’t know what on earth kind it would be, but at least Robin might take up more-appropriate interests than learning to bait hooks or gut fish. Wouldn’t she be happier there, too?
Did it matter that something would die in him—and in Wiley—to leave here for the city?
Something would die in him, too, though, if he lost Robin.
Besides, Jeb had never dreamed of leaving the place he had come to as a grief-stricken orphan. He reckoned the reason he had set down such roots here, which continued to thrust ever deeper, was that as a boy, he had feared he would never have a place where he belonged again. That he would never be loved or needed. Memories of those fears were why Jeb encouraged Robbie to become involved in the fishing business, make her feel that it was part hers, too. To exclude her from joining in, from being a part of their family completely, would permanently disable a sense of hopefulness in the girl that had just barely learned to stand on two feet again.
Yes, he and Robin shared a special bond, having lost their parents and coming to live on Texoma with their only uncle. She was all either he or Wiley had left of Cody.
She was also all that Anita had left of Lisa. Sure, right now Robin was resistant to the prospect of living with her aunt, but perhaps that was because Robin didn’t know Anita very well, she and her husband having been on the move so much. Maybe if Robin got a chance to get to know the whole family, see how she fit in, she’d feel differently. Maybe he would, too….
Dropping his chin, Jeb stared at his hand, barely visible in the dimness. Whether his fingers were turned white by the half-light or the way he gripped the edge of the sink, he didn’t know.
But one thing he did know with soul-deep certainty: he simply could not lose that little girl.

Chapter Four (#ulink_bea87415-3084-5a89-b602-ddf06c9e1638)
Nearly out of breath, Mariah entered the crowded bar where she was to meet Jeb Albright, painfully aware that she was late by a good twenty minutes. So much for impressing clients with your punctuality. Of course, Jeb wasn’t a client; he’d merely called and said since he had to come into town this afternoon, perhaps they could arrange a place to meet and he could pick up the booklet she’d promised Robin. So this appointment was just a matter of convenience for them both, and Mariah had no reason to think it might be otherwise, although her brain raced with several possibilities. Almost as much as her heart
For whatever reason, she hadn’t been able to get Jeb Albright—or his niece, of course—out of her mind in the few days since she’d learned of their plight.
Then her pulse kicked up into another gear as she spied him. He was again dressed in jeans, these fairly new, though, and from the looks of them, as well fitting as the others he’d worn. His collared shirt, open at the throat, was clean and pressed but otherwise unremarkable. In this light, she saw that rather than dark brown, his hair was brunette shot through with gold highlights, and just as shaggy as it had appeared the other day.
As if he had heard her thoughts, Jeb looked up, catching her gaze, and ran a hand through those unruly waves. The action only marginally improved his hair’s arrangement, making him seem a little less wild, although—strangely— no less appealing.
He’d been leaning back against the actual bar, fingers tucked into his front pockets, and he straightened at the sight of her, appearing both relieved and apprehensive at her arrival. As if one minute longer and he’d have bolted, appointment or no. She.couldn’t imagine why.
Unless there really was another reason behind this meeting.
“Sorry I’m late,” she apologized once she’d made her way to his side. She caught the whiff of a spicy after-shave. Too much of it, she thought.
“No problem. I didn’t have anything urgent to get back to.”
Despite that assurance, he seemed a bit restless to be on his way. Vaguely disappointed, Mariah pulled the pamphlet out of her purse and handed it to him. “I’ve gone ahead and marked a few of the simpler braids to start out with.”
“Good…good.” Jeb nodded rather emphatically.
“And please, tell Robin she can keep it.”
“Fine, I will. She’ll like that.” He stared at the booklet in his hands and shifted from one foot to the other. Definitely restless.
“Well, if that’s all—”
“I…Would you like to sit down for a while?” he said on a rush. “I mean, have a drink? Although, we might have trouble finding a seat with the after-work bunch comin’ in.”
Mariah contained her surprise, along with the small jolt of pleasure his suggestion generated in her. “That would be nice.”
Briefly he looked taken aback, as if he’d expected a different answer. Then he nodded again and, almost in afterthought, extended a hand in front of him. “After you.”
Mariah took in the rustic surroundings and clientele as she scanned the admittedly overfull room for an open table. She’d never been to this establishment before, on the out-skirts of Denison. It evidently catered to the blue-collar crowd—or actually, the T-shirted, Western-boot-shod and cowboy-hatted crowd, with a few billed gimme caps sprinkled throughout. Pitchers of draft beer seemed to be the beverage of choice. Smoke and the kick-it-out beat of a country song filled the air, making the place seem even more congested. Peanut shells crunched under the soles of her low-heeled pumps as she and Jeb made their way through the throng, most of whom stared frankly—and rudely—at her out-of-place attire, a pale peach linen pantsuit over a cream-colored shell of raw silk.
She jumped at the brush of his breath on her cheek as he bent to say into her ear, “I’ve only been here a few times, and I would’ve suggested a different place to meet you at, but I flat couldn’t think of one. I don’t come into town that often, y’see.” He hesitated. “If you’d like, we can go some place else that’s more, you know, your style.”
“No, every place in town is just as packed this time of day,” Mariah told him, pulling away from him. But the crowd’s scrutiny made her a little jittery. Or maybe it was the scrutiny of a man who’d claimed he didn’t find women like her “real riveting.” Of course, he’d been speaking of his late sister-in-law, but Mariah had caught his meaning. And despite herself, such judgment of her had hurt, even coming from the kind of man she might least expect to understand.
“This is fine,” she said tightly, her pleasure at his unexpected invitation waning. “Really.”
Turquoise blue eyes marked her expression, and he answered with his own tight “Whatever you say.”
Finally they spotted a table, a tiny one back in the far corner. Taking the chair next to the wall, she pushed back her hair. She’d only recently taken to wearing it down on occasion, or in one of the less traditional braids. Then she recalled Jeb’s other remark about his late sister-in-law, of her being able to let her hair down once in a while. She hastened to explain, “I was at a soccer match.”
“A soccer match?” With difficulty, Jeb squeezed into the chair next to her. Elbows bumped, knees brushed, gazes collided in unspoken apology and she became physically even more aware of this man.
So nothing had changed for either of them. Jeb Albright still had every bit of that tangible sexuality she’d perceived the other day. But what struck Mariah now was how that image continued to lure her in. Abruptly the feel of his roughened hands holding hers was revived. There had been an earthy honesty in that touch, uncultivated but quite genuine, and she experienced again the apprehension it had raised in her—that such sexuality had a power that could not be denied.
“The son of one of my clients plays in a junior soccer league,” she found herself babbling, in an attempt to escape her thoughts, “and I videotape his games. Both parents work in Dallas and find it difficult to get away for the matches.”
Scooping her hair over one shoulder to finger-comb it into order, she continued with some pride, “Watching a tape isn’t as good as being there, but they tell me it’s become a family ritual, with full commentary and instant replays. Apparently the boy thinks he’s living the best of both worlds, getting to sit at his parents’ sides as they watch him play.”
“You can actually make a livin’ doing that? Taping the kid’s games, I mean?” Jeb asked, his expression one of amazement—or skepticism, which called up their inauspicious first meeting, when he’d been so dubious of her ability to help him.

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