Real Marriage Material

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.”