Karen Templeton - Adding Up to Marriage

“You yanked the rug out from under me, Jewel, and I didn’t take it well.”

“I—I know. And I’m sorry—”

“Not your problem. And I mean that.”

“Oh.” She bit off another chunk of her burger, although her insides were shaking so much—and not only from the cold, despite the fire—she doubted she could get it down.

“So,” Silas said, sitting again. “You find someplace to stay yet?”

He would bring that up. “‘Fraid not.”

“When you’re ready to move in, then, let me know.”

Jewel stared at his profile for what seemed like forever before saying, very quietly, “You sure?”

“Not a bit.”

She understood completely.

Dear Reader,

“I guess I’m ready now.”

That’s how, more than thirty years ago, my husband proposed to me. Because, y’know, “Will you marry me?” would have been such a cliché. Of course, I’d been ready practically from the moment we met more than five years before, when I was (gulp!) twenty … but, bless him, he knew I needed more time to ripen before taking that big step. Considering the challenges that came with raising the five sons who showed up over the next fifteen years … he was right!

Although sometimes, as Jewel Jasper and Silas Garrett (Eli’s brother from A Marriage-Minded Man) discover in Adding Up to Marriage, not being “ready” is another way of saying, “I’m scared … of being hurt, of being abandoned, of making a mistake. Of not being who I need you to be.” Especially in Jewel’s case, whose life hasn’t exactly given her a lot of examples of how to keep a relationship going. Girlfriend’s convinced she’ll never be “ready” … until Silas rocks her preconceived notions all to heck and makes her reassess a thing or three. Because the right person will do that.

Enjoy.

Karen Templeton

Since 1998, RITA ®Award winner and Waldenbooks bestseller KAREN TEMPLETONhas written more than thirty books. A transplanted Easterner, she now lives in New Mexico with two hideously spoiled cats and whichever of her five sons happens to be in residence.

Adding Up to Marriage

Karen Templeton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Vista Care Hospice in Albuquerque without whose

above-and-beyond support during the most stressful

months of my life this book would not have happened.

To Mama

1912–2010

Here’s hoping there’s ham, chocolate

and dogs in Heaven!

And

to my beloved husband Jack

1942–2010

whose above-and-beyond support

for everything I did

and everything I was

is sorely missed.

Love you.

To Jules Johnstun CPM, LM, LDEM, PES who

enthusiastically answered my questions about being a

home-birth midwife in northern New Mexico.

The plastic pelvis? Totally her idea.

Seated behind the computer in the woodworking shop’s cramped, cluttered office, Silas Garrett caught the blur of color zip past the open door. Then back. Then finally light in the doorway.

“Oh! Hi!” a breathless, bubbly Jewel Jasper called over the whine of saws ripping lumber, a booming “… mañana en Santa Fe y Taos …” from the Spanish talk radio station. “Noah around?”

Silas couldn’t help it—every time he saw her the image of a cute little bunny popped into his head. And not, alas, the sort clad in skimpy satin, bow ties and high heels.

Even more unfortunately, if Jewel—with her shiny brown ponytail and her big, blue-gray eyes behind her delicate oval glasses and her skimpy, ruffly sweater buttoned over her even skimpier breasts—was a bunny, his brother, Noah, was definitely the Big Bad Wolf. Fine, so Silas was mixing his fairy tales, but he doubted it was much of a stretch to suppose the Big Bad Wolf occasionally dined on bunny.

Especially if the bunny kept hopping across the wolf’s path.

This had to make the third or fourth time in as many weeks the midwife-in-training, temporarily living in the house another Garrett brother had vacated after his marriage, had popped in—or hopped in, in this case—on the pretext of “needing” Noah to fix something or other in the quasi-adobe.

“Sorry.” Jabbing his own glasses back into place, Silas returned his gaze to the bookkeeping program on the screen. Numbers, he got. Women, not so much. Especially women who fell for his brother’s chicanery. “Not here. Won’t be until later.” He entered a figure, then forced himself to be polite, despite all that ingenuousness taking a toll on his good humor. “Care to leave a message?”

“It’s the roof again,” Jewel said, inviting herself in and plunking her baggy-pantsed bottom on the cracked plastic chair across from Silas. Why, God only knew. “Over the living room, this time. I’m really sorry to be such a pain—especially since I’m not even paying rent!—but I can’t exactly get up there and fix it myself.”

She giggled. Silas’s least favorite sound in the world. From anyone over ten, at least. Then her pale little forehead bunched.

“If Eli’s fixing to sell it, I don’t imagine he wants to keep repairing water damage. Oh—and I tried to make a fire the other night and ohmigosh, there was smoke everywhere!” Her hands fluttered. Visual aids. “So I’m guessing the chimney’s blocked—oh! Noah!” She bounced up when his younger, bigger, buffer brother appeared. Damn. “Silas said you wouldn’t be back until later!”

Slapping his denim jacket on a rack by the door, Noah barely spared Jewel a glance before tossing a crumpled stack of receipts on the desk. “From the Manning project,” he said, swiping his muscled forearm across his sweaty forehead. “Figured I’d better get ‘em to you before I lost track—”

“Noah?” Jewel tapped his shoulder. “Sorry to bug you, but the roof needs attention. Again. And the chimney’s clogged, too.”

Noah shot Silas the same “why me?” look he did every time Jewel made an appearance. Since even wolves, apparently, could be picky. And Jewel was not, apparently, on Noah’s menu. Although for how long, Silas surmised, was anybody’s guess. Since not having a hankering for myopic bunnies this week didn’t mean he wouldn’t at some point.

However, it still being this week, Noah cut his eyes to Jewel, nodded, mumbled, “I’ll send someone over,” and walked away.

Jewel collapsed in a deflated heap on the chair again, clutching the seat edges on either side of nonexistent hips. “Honestly. You’d think I had cooties or something.”

Wondering Why are you still here? Silas muttered, “Did it ever occur to you he’s not interested?”

She straightened, her rosy little mouth pursed. “There is that, I suppose. But …” Standing, she yanked down the hem of the short sweater. Despite at least two other layers—a T-shirt and a tank top, neither of which matched the sweater or each other—it was quite evident, in the early fall chill permeating the small room, that she wasn’t wearing a bra. “I thought Noah was more equal opportunity than that. And did you know you’re staring at my boobs?”