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
