“That’s bull, Cletus. You’ve been with other women and none of them were the one.”
I glared at him, not willing to explain the obvious. Clearly my brother didn’t understand the concept of research: the value of gathering data, the necessity of testing theories, and the importance of post-coital analysis. Not everything could be discovered in a laboratory environment. Knowing something in theory is meaningless if you have no experience with real-life application.
“Maybe she isn’t the one,” he suggested, likely growing weary of my silent glare. “Maybe you’re just attracted to an exceptionally pretty lady. Have you thought of that?”
“Nope. She’s the one.”
“Momma always used to say that you have a fixation problem. You get a thought in your head and you can’t let it go. One of these days, making up your mind too fast is going to land you in a heap of trouble.”
I gave him a non-committal grunt in response. Our mother had frequently said I was a “fixator.” She was right. I was a fixator. I fixated. I focused. It was a good personality trait in that I never had difficulty achieving a goal, once I set my mind to it. But it was a bad personality trait in that sometimes I couldn’t stop focusing on something, even when I wanted to.
“Why does everything have to be black and white?” Jethro continued to press. “Why does every person have to be a zero or a ten on your worthwhile scale? Maybe she’s a seven or a four.”
I shrugged. “I don’t have time for fours and sevens, I have too much to do. If someone isn’t a ten, they’re a zero.”
He sighed loudly, like a deflating inner tube. It was not a healthy sound. “Well, whatever. You do what you want. You always do anyway.”
“I will. Now what is it that you want?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“I know you’re not loitering around here for your health. You want to ask me a favor.”
The eyebrow lowered and now he was squinting, which meant I was right.
“How do you know these things?”
“I know everything. So ask. I’m busy.”
“Already planning the wedding?” Jethro teased.
I narrowed my eyes on him, not liking his teasing. “Something like that.”
He took the hint and changed the subject. “Fine. So, Sienna—”
“You mean, your fiancée.”
“Yeah. Sienna—”
“You should call her your fiancée.”
“What? Why?”
“’Cause that’s who she is to you. I’m your brother, you say, ‘My brother.’ Sienna is your fiancée and has earned that title in your life. She puts up with your ugly face and bad manners, the least you can do is address her properly.”
Jethro whistled low before saying, “I guess you really are irritated.”
“Just earning my title as your brother. Now, back to your fiancée.”
“Fine, crusty britches. So, my fiancée and I, we’re moving into the carriage house when she gets home next week.”
“She doesn’t like living with us?” I was disappointed. I liked Sienna. She made me laugh and often surprised me with her shenanigans and tomfooleries. Very few people ever surprised me. “Is it the bathroom schedule? She doesn’t like the idea of it?”
“No. She likes it just fine. In fact, she wanted to add her name to the schedule.”
I grinned. “That’s funny.”
Jethro scowled. “No. It’s not funny. And don’t repeat it either. I don’t like living with Sie—” He broke off, huffing when I lifted my eyebrows at him, and began anew. “I don’t like living with my fiancée and my five brothers—each of whom have more than earned their title in my life. So we’re moving to the carriage house.”
“You’re not living with five brothers. Roscoe is gone, off to horse school.”
“You mean veterinary school.”
I nodded once. “That’s what I said, didn’t I? And Duane and Jessica leave before Thanksgiving for Italy. Who knows when they’ll return? So it would only be three of your brothers.”
He ignored this detail. “Back to the carriage house, I can do the big stuff, finish the framing and such. But I need your help with the details, doing the drywall, running the electrical. I wouldn’t ask if I had more time.”
I waved away his explanation. “Why not move into Claire’s place? Didn’t she offer it to you before she left town?”
Claire McClure was an overall high-quality person, definitely a ten. It took some convincing, but I’d tricked her into performing with me at a talent show in Nashville next month. She’d sing and I’d play the banjo. I didn’t want to win the talent show, but I did want to buy a car from one of the judges.
It was a perfect twin of a car I already owned and I wanted it. The car did not blend, everyone knew it was mine, and therefore owning two would give me the ability to be in two places at once.