Giving up, Silas leaned back in his father’s chair, his hands laced over his stomach. In a small town like Tierra Rosa you knew everybody, by reputation at least if not personally. So between what he’d heard and what he’d seen, he’d concluded Jewel was the strangest mixture of naive and world-weary he’d ever met. And God knows he’d met his fair share of women. Even if not solely by choice, his mother having sworn to end his single-father days if it killed her. In fact, how Jewel had thus far slipped Donna Garrett’s radar was a mystery.
Especially as Silas had no doubt his mother would think Jewel was perfect for him. Being female and breathing and all.
“I don’t get it—why are you so determined to hook up with my brother?”
“And what earthly difference does it make to you? Or do you discuss Noah with all his girlfriends?”
Whoa. Bunny had a bite. Who knew?
“First, to call them ‘girlfriends’ might be pushing it,” Silas said, having no idea how to answer the first part of her question. “Second … no. Hell, half the time I have no idea who he’s … seeing.”
Arms folded over the nipples. “They why single me out?”
He didn’t figure she’d appreciate the bunny analogy. “Because I seriously doubt you know what you’re getting into. Noah isn’t, uh, exactly looking for forever.”
Her gaze sharpened. “First,” she said, mimicking him, “you’re a lot safer staring at my breasts than patronizing me. Second, I’m well aware of your brother’s reputation—”
“But you just know you’re the one who can make him change, right?”
“Change?” She burst out laughing. “Boy, have you got the wrong end of the stick. I’m no more interested in settling down right now than I am in growing horns. Which is why Noah would be perfect. All I’m looking for is … a little fun. Somebody who isn’t interested in ‘serious’ any more than I am.” Now her eyes narrowed. “So if you could, you know, kinda drop that hint …?”
After several seconds’ of Silas’s silent glare, she shrugged, then stood, sighing out, “It was worth a shot,” before hiking to the door … only to swivel back in her black-and-white checked rubber-soled flats. With red daisies over the toes. “But you really need to lighten up, Silas. You are way too tense.”
Then she was gone, leaving Silas staring blankly at the computer screen, his shoulders knotted.
“She gone?” he heard a minute later.
“Not nearly far enough, I don’t imagine.”
Palming his short brown hair, Noah exhaled. Loudly. “She’s a sweet kid and all, but … not my type.”
“Seriously?”
“Dude. She’s like, twelve.”
“Actually, she’s somewhere in her mid-twenties. Well past legal but nowhere near desperate. Your perfect woman, in other words,” he said, through inexplicably gritted teeth.
Noah seemed to consider this for a moment, then shook his head, and Silas’s teeth unclenched. “Nah. Cute hasn’t been my thing for a couple of years now.”
“Then perhaps you should tell her that. Although maybe not in those exact words.”
“I have. Several times. All she does is get this goofy—and yet, eerily knowing—look on her face.” He paused. “Not that she doesn’t have a certain weird appeal—”
“Hence the eerily knowing look.”
Another moment of consideration, another head shake. “Nope, not caving. Not this time. Shoot, it would be like taking candy from a baby. Besides—” his younger brother grinned “—I met this gal in Española last weekend …”
“Don’t want to know,” Silas said as the phone rang. Chuckling, Noah waved and was gone before Silas answered. “Garrett Woodworks—”
“The boys are fine,” his mother said, well aware of Silas’s tendency to freak whenever she called while watching his two young sons. “Me, however …” She sighed. “I was bringing in some firewood and somebody left a toy truck on the porch step, and I tripped over it and fell—would’ve made a great America’s Funniest Home Video—and now my ankle’s all big and purple. Ollie says it looks like Barney—”
Phone still in hand, Silas hit three wrong keys before finally logging out of the program, then rocketed from the chair. “On my way—”
“Why don’t you see if Jewel’s around, let her have a look at it?”
So much for the not-on-his-mother’s-radar theory. “She delivers babies, Mom. I’m guessing you’re done with all that.”
“She’s also a nurse, smarty pants.”
True. Unfortunately. “Fine. If she’s home, I’ll bring her.”
“Good. Oh, and—” Donna lowered her voice “—you might want to hurry before the boys realize they could set the house on fire and there wouldn’t be a darn thing I could do about it.”
Plugged into her MP3 player, Jewel flinched when she opened her door to find Silas punching his arms into his corduroy jacket sleeves and looking extremely annoyed. But then—as he indicated she needed to ditch the earbuds—when was he ever not?
“My mother messed up her ankle. She asked if you wouldn’t mind coming over.”
Yep, caught that emphasis, all righty. Then his words sank in. “Ohmigosh—” she shoved her bare feet back into her shoes, yanked her sweatercoat off the hook by the door and pushed past him and down the stairs “—does she think it’s broken?”
“No idea.” She heard the door shut, Silas catch up with her. “But she said it was real swollen. And purple.”
“Might only be a sprain,” Jewel said, tucking her chin into her chest against the suddenly frigid breeze—September in northern New Mexico tended to be fickle—as she hotfooted it down the flagstone walk. At the end she made a sharp left, only to practically get whiplash when Silas grabbed her elbow and lugged her toward his Explorer, parked in front of the house.
“Quicker this way,” he said, hauling open her door, then zipping around the hood, the wind wreaking havoc on his normally neat, dark brown hair and probably irritating the very life out of him. Oh, yeah, Jewel had him pegged, all right—a man who prefers his universe precise and orderly, thank you very much, and woe betide anything or anybody who disturbs it. Or him.
Silas climbed in, rammed his key into the ignition. Glanced over, all Heathcliffian glower. “Seat belt.”
“For heaven’s sake, it’s two blocks—”
“Seat. Belt. Now.”
Sighing, Jewel secured the lap belt, only to release it less than thirty seconds later. Without, it should be noted, passing a single other vehicle. But considering the don’t-mess slant to Silas’s mouth, she opted to let it go.
The moment they were out of the car, the Garretts’ white front door swung open to expel a pair of wide-eyed, agitated little boys. The younger one, a curly blond cherub of maybe four or so, made a beeline for his father and grabbed his hand.
“Gramma fell and hurt her foot!” he said, tugging him inside. “It’s huge! I gave her the phone so she could call you!”
“Did not!” the older boy said, his straight, wheat-colored bangs blowing every which way in the breeze as he smacked his younger brother’s shoulder.
“Did too—”
“Boys. Not now,” Silas said with the sort of quiet authority that makes a person go,