Jodi O'Donnell - Real Marriage Material

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.

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.