There he went with the back and forth with himself. That, he didn’t like.
“Brandon? Are you all right?” she asked.
“Yes, just thinking.” He kept his gaze on the window. Looked like there might be more snow by nightfall, the way the sky edged into a grey pall.
“Care to share?” Ana’s voice, no longer light, dimmed with concern.
“Personal.” He sounded gruff.
She huffed a breath. “How are we going to get anywhere?”
He knew she meant with the wedding, but he wanted it to mean more. Wanted her to mean more in his life than an enforced wedding co-planner.
“We’ll get where we’re supposed to.” He did believe that, because he trusted in the divine plan, which was at work even now, even when Brandon had no idea anymore what that plan was, for himself, at least. But he trusted, to paraphrase Jeremiah 29:11, that God had a plan for him, one that would give him a future and a hope.
“You sound sure.”
“Yes. Aren’t you sure?”
“No. How can you be sure things are on the right path?” She tilted her head, genuine curiosity shining from her.
“Maybe that question isn’t helpful? Is there a ‘right path’?”
She blinked then studied him a moment before glancing over his shoulder. But he didn’t think she was seeing anything that was actually there on the other side, but rather she considered what he’d said. He liked that about her too: she was willing to consider, to ponder issues, life. She didn’t just take life, or her own views, or others’, at face value.
“I hadn’t thought about it that way. But, when it comes to the wedding, don’t we need a plan? A concrete one.”
“Here I’d thought you were a dreamer.”
“But I’m not the only one,” she sang to the tune of the John Lennon song. The look she gave him, a kind of secret smile, made his chest expand at the same time his stomach tumbled at the feeling of exposure—that she’d found out something private about him. “I think you’re a dreamer too,” she whispered, leaning so close her scent filled him.
She could read him too well, and affect him too much. A tendril of her dark hair grazed his hand as he moved to grip his mug. He couldn’t help fingering the coarse strands, just for a moment. He tried to move his hand quickly, but she moved hers at the same time, and their fingers collided in a rough pass.
Ana pulled her hand back quickly with a small frown.
“I didn’t hurt you?” he asked.
She shook her head. They both turned back to face the table and sipped their coffees.
“So, where does this leave us?” Ana asked, still in a whisper.
He didn’t know how to answer her, because her question felt weighted with what-ifs and could-bes. Then he took a risk.
“In this together.”
She fingered a knot in the wood of the table in a fidgety way. He placed his hand over hers and squeezed gently. Somewhere in him, he must’ve expected a smile or affirmation in response, because when she frowned slightly and pulled her hand away to cup her mug, his chest caved in response.
Then she nodded. But it was too late for reassurance. He’d gone too far, made the moment awkward for her. Maybe.
“Or, if you’d feel more comfortable just working with Mrs. G, I’ll step out of the way. Whatever you need.” He meant it. He’d do whatever was best for her, whatever she needed. Even if that was to be away from him.
She didn’t face him, but instead gazed out the window. “We’re a team, like Mrs. G said.” Sipping her coffee, she seemed lost in thought. “Can you give me a clue as to what kind of venue for the reception?”
“Homey. Maybe outdoors. Or partially.” He was still waiting to hear the final confirmation that Middleton Ranch was his.
Mrs. G bustled back to the table. “What’s this? Homey and maybe outdoors? What are you up to, Brandon Manning?”
Now Ana glanced at him with an odd look on her face. Her beautiful, trusting face. Her cheeks plumped out slightly, giving her an innocent look, but the spark in her eyes and smirk on her lips complicated the picture.
“He’s a minister, for heaven’s sake, Mrs. G. What could he be up to?”
“Former chaplain,” he said.
Ana straightened her posture, as if in response to his zipped-up tone. “Aren’t you a bit young for retirement?”
“Not retired, exactly.”
“Thirty-eight isn’t unheard of for retirement, anyway,” Mrs. G put in. The reminder of his age, when Ana had just associated him with “young,” hit him in the gut. Fourteen years between him and Ana. He had no right to be thinking of her as anything but a friend.
“If you’re not retired, then what are you, a gentleman rancher?” Ana asked, the mischief back in her tone and smile.
“Not a rancher. That’s for my brothers, or some of them. A gentleman, I hope. A gardener. Landscaper. Surveyor.”
“A Renaissance man?”
He shook his head. He hadn’t meant to paint himself in such a way. “Just a man.”
“Not just a man, a gentleman,” Ana said in a quiet voice.
The hollow in him filled, expanded again at her words. He tried to distract himself by sipping his coffee, but it was at the dregs. The waitperson appeared and poured more.
“Everything okay here?” the waitperson asked.
He nodded and Mrs. G spoke to them. But nothing was okay. He wasn’t sure if things were fantastic or on the edge of a chasm, but okay wasn’t the word. Anything to do with Ana Delgado couldn’t use such a banal word. Because she was anything but boring.
Chapter Five
ANA DIDN’T KNOW IF she was up, down, sideways, or...falling in love. Daring to peek at Brandon, her cheeks heated again, the warmth coursing into her neck and chest. When they’d first met, she’d thought him kind of irritating, staid, but soon she saw the gentleman beneath the gruff exterior. And now how attractive he was, from his dark hair and slim, square-jawed face to his tall, lean frame. His strong forearms flexed as he lifted his coffee mug to his full lips.
Okay, whoa there, stop staring. She turned her gaze to Mrs. G, who had stopped talking to the waitperson and was now giving Ana a knowing smile. But what did she know, when Ana herself didn’t know?
“All right, you young ones,” Mrs. G said with her grin still twinkling, “we’ve got work to do. But, I’m needed here, so you’ll have to carry on without me. So, Brandon, I think whatever this secret of yours is should be shared with Miss Ana, so you can make progress on the reception. I’ve got the church covered, what with my in with the altar guild and Women’s Group, so I need the two of you to make a success of the reception.”
“But—”
Mrs. G waved a hand at Brandon’s interruption. “No if, ands, or buts. Nora wants something elegant yet homey, and Cutler wants to give her the wedding she wants. I think with the two of you working together, the reception will be in the best of hands.” Mrs. G laid her hand up on the table and motioned for Ana and Brandon to place theirs atop hers. They both hesitated. “Come on, I’ve got to get in to the cook.”
Ana set her hand on Mrs. G’s thin hand, and Brandon covered Ana’s hand with his large, warm palm.
“Team Wedding,” Mrs. G said, but this time Ana didn’t have it in her to reply. “Go on.” Mrs. G rose, sliding her hand from under theirs before hustling into the kitchen.
Brandon kept his hand on Ana’s a beat longer than was necessary, not that she was complaining. With his hand resting on hers, all felt right in her world again, something that she hadn’t felt in a while. Then he pulled his hand away as if she’d burned him.
“We don’t have to do this today,” she said.
“Do you not want to?”
“I’m willing if you are.”
“Then let’s go.” Brandon unfolded himself from the chair, set down some cash, and held her chair for her.
“You don’t have to pay. I can—”
“I’d like to.”
; “Then thanks,” Ana said, walking out. He hovered his hand near her back, but he didn’t touch her. The awareness of his nearness tingled through her core. She loved that feeling. She worried at her cheek with her teeth. She really liked Brandon.
But what could she do about it? Nothing right now. Had it been a year or two ago, she would’ve leapt right in, told him how she felt, kissed him, or done something else impulsive. But she’d learned her lesson about that. Learned to get to know a man before she dove into her feelings. At least more than she had. She’d never be like her cousin Maya, who took things at what seemed like a glacial pace, at least to Ana, or like Nora, who’d hidden her feelings for Cutler all these years.
Ana and Brandon sat in the car, as they had before. She breathed in the scent of him, something akin to safety and excitement in the vague familiarity of his clean, woodsy fragrance. His phone pinged, and she looked out the window while he excused himself to check his message. Then he set the phone down and started out.
“Did you know about Cutler and Nora, I mean, before they got engaged?” she asked.
He drove out of town the same way they’d come in, but soon turned onto a different road than the one to Maya’s house. Ana fidgeted with her fingers, waiting. A man like Brandon seemed to weigh his words before speaking. While that made her a bit antsy, it also assured her that he was a man who was careful and considerate.
“No, why?”
“I didn’t know either. Doesn’t that bother you?”
He glanced at her. She met his gaze, and saw only concern for her in it.
“Is that why you and Nora haven’t been talking much?” he asked, putting his attention back on the road.
The snow melted in some areas, green patches beginning to force through, a sign of spring she’d waited for. New growth, new life was on its way. Ana wanted it, all. The new beginning, the new experiences. Maybe even new love.
“I can’t believe she’d keep that a secret from me. I tell her everything.” Well, not quite, not anymore. Not since Papá died. Not since her last boyfriend cheated on her. Not since she and Nora moved here to Loving. Not since Ana had noticed Brandon. Not since feelings of attraction and friendship she’d thought might not happen to her for some time blossomed in his steady presence.
“Sounds hard, that she didn’t tell you.”
“Yes.”
“I was away when Cutler...I’d been away a long time. But I’m here now, and so are you. And they’re happy. And we’re included in that.”
She smiled. Nora had her reasons for not talking to Ana. After all, Nora had been like a mother and a sister to her all these years, and hadn’t wanted to share difficulties with Ana, had wanted Ana to be able to enjoy her childhood, be as carefree as possible. Nora was only five years older than Ana, but she’d always been more practical and mature. Now everything had shifted, and Ana felt both unsure and happy.
“I’ve depended on her so much,” she said. “She deserves this happiness, and we both deserve to live our own lives, free of the burdens of the past.” Ana kissed her hand, and blew the kiss into the distance, a symbol of loving what was, but being ready to let it go.
“What’s that for?” Brandon asked as they pulled into a long, narrow road.
“Lovingly saying goodbye to my past. Have you tried it?” she asked, at once curious and teasing. A man like Brandon seemed immune to both loving deeply and holding onto the past.
The view opened to a circular drive with a gorgeous old ranch house centered on it. Evergreens surrounded the property, which seemed to include a couple of gardens, though it was difficult to tell in this transitional season.
“Yes,” he said in a low voice.
She started, having been taken in by the view, and some magic in this place. A grounding, a centering, made her know she’d come home. The house, similar in a few ways to the Delgado Ranch main house in its color and dimensions, also had its own beauty belonging to the mountain surroundings so different than Southern Arizona. She looked at Brandon.
“Yes?” she asked. “Will you tell me?”
“Let’s go inside first.”
“You’re ready to share your secrets with me?” she asked, again halfway teasing.
Her grin faded when he didn’t answer and exited the truck. A blast of cold air further dampened her spirits. But Brandon opened her door for her and took her hand in his, and the warmth of safety and the anticipation of this place and this season washed over her.
“It’s beautiful,” she said as he led her, her arm snugly tucked under his, across the paved drive to the front steps. The house, with its various natural materials—river rock, half timbers, and iron work—appealed to her, as did the hint of extensive grounds.
He released her arm and opened the front door, ushering her in. The interior was heated and surprisingly cozy feeling for such a grand old house.
“I love old houses. This is, right? Looks like early twentieth century?” she asked, admiring the woodwork.
“You have a good eye. 1910. Made mostly of local materials. My friend’s family has kept it up as carefully as possible. Now I hope to carry on that tradition.”
“You own this?”
“It’s in process, but that text I just got was confirmation I own it now. I thought this would be the perfect place for the reception. Homey but elegant, just like Nora wants. The gardens in summer are spectacular, though they need some work. I hope...I hope you’d like to work with me.”
“Me? You’d trust me with this?”
“Yes,” he said in a serious, grave voice. “If you’re sure you want to know.”
“I’m sure... Very sure I want to get to know you better.” She stopped and looked again at him. “Will you tell me more about yourself?”
He nodded with an easing of his shoulders and an upward quirk of his lips, as if he’d understood the implications of her statement. Motioning her into a hall, less grand than the foyer, he showed her into the kitchen. It had been updated, with stainless appliances and a lovely eat-in area, where he indicated she could sit.
“Coffee? Tea?” he asked as she slid into an oak chair. The rectangular table matched, and a long, padded bench took up one side while chairs filled out the seating. Curtained windows let in diffused light behind the bench, filling the room with a softness she warmed to.
“Tea, please. You bought the place furnished?”
“Partially. I’ll have to add some pieces, but it’s enough for me to be in-residence.” Brandon then went about, turning on an electric kettle and getting down mugs. He brought over a chest full of teas, and she chose Earl Grey. He did the same. Soon, he sat with her, two steaming mugs by their sides and a tray with sugar, lemon, and milk on it. She fixed hers the way she liked: a lump of sugar, a splash of milk. Brandon had his black.
“This is a big house for a bachelor,” Ana said. She wondered if she’d misread him, and he already had a girlfriend somewhere.
“I know. But I didn’t want it sold to developers. John Middleton took me in after my first tour, when I needed time and didn’t want to go home. This place is as much home to me as the family ranch. Which I sold out of anyway, so it’s my brothers’, not mine. I’ve spent a lot of time letting go of the past, though I never blew it a kiss.” His lips upturned further and she smiled, beginning to understand his dry sense of humor.
“Long story short,” he continued.
“But I like long stories. And I want to hear your story.”
“Another time? I want to show you around. I want...” He cleared his throat. “Okay?”
“Yes,” she said. She sipped her tea and waited for him to go on.
“Mrs. G told you something about me?”
“That you were an army chaplain and made lieutenant colonel before you retired.”
“Correct. During my first tour, I met a woman in Afghanistan. Amara. We fell in love, were planning to marry, but she was killed in a drone strike. That was when I came here. I felt I’d never get over her, couldn�
�t keep serving. But I found my purpose again, to serve the troops, and God, and to try and change policies from within, and I went back. I’ll never forget Amara, and I didn’t believe I’d ever feel anything like that again.” He stared at his hands, resting on his thighs.
Ana wished she could grasp his hands, but she stayed in her seat, not wanting to push herself in, not yet.
“I thought I’d keep going in the army, but I felt called home last year, when I was up for reenlistment. So I retired, came here, found out John wanted to sell so he could be closer to his children and grandchildren, who’d moved away. My love for Amara will stay with me, but I...”
Brandon met her gaze. The tenderness in his deep-set eyes told her what he seemed unable to. At least, she hoped... She slid off her chair and knelt in front of him, grasping his hand and kissing his knuckles with a soft brush of her lips.
“Thank you for sharing yourself with me,” she whispered and gazed up at him.
He cupped her cheek in his hand, the warmth of his touch singing through her limbs. Then he rose, pulling her gently up with him, their bodies close together. Now he cradled her face in his strong hands and gazed down at her.
“You’ve become dear to me, Ana Delgado.” His voice, firm and strong, made her smile.
“And you me, Brandon Manning. I like you, very much.”
“May I kiss you?” he whispered in a raspy tone.
“Please,” she said, stepping into his embrace, making their bodies flush.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he caressed his way to her waist. Their lips met in a tender exploration, at first just the whisper of a petal opening, and then a torrent like rain pelting parched earth. They drank each other in, their kiss deepening, leaving them panting, their hands pressing each other close.
“Ana,” he whispered in a reverent tone.
“Yes?”
“Will you be mine?”
She tickled the short hairs on the back of his neck. His lips curved up again. She answered his question with her own: “Will you share yourself with me? Will you let me find out how to make you smile? Will you let me be here with you, working to make this wedding beautiful?”
Sweet Spring Page 3
