Gia poured what remained of her coffee down the sink and rinsed her cup, then took Tyson’s to do the same so they could get next door to work.
Where Derek Camden probably would not show up because Tyson was right.
And where she would throw herself into the job and try not to feel as if she’d wasted almost an entire week fantasizing about Derek Camden flexing muscles to hoist fertilizer bags and paving stones....
* * *
Tyson was wrong.
Derek Camden arrived at the Bronsons’ small redbrick two-bedroom house along with everyone else enlisted to work on Saturday. He wasn’t even a minute late.
His outfit for the occasion—tennis shoes, old jeans and a plain green crewneck T-shirt—let Gia know she hadn’t imagined the muscles behind those dress shirts the two times she’d seen him before. The well-worn, unflashy clothes also caused him to fit in seamlessly with the other volunteers.
And when she introduced him to the group, he cut her off before she said his last name and was simply Derek to everyone except her and Tyson.
Derek mentioned how he and Tyson had met the one time, even remembering that Tyson was an attorney and a diehard Miami Hurricanes football fan. He also asked about Tyson’s cousin Sharon, wishing her well without any sign of bitterness in regards to their relationship that hadn’t panned out.
Then he pitched in. Not only did he have a can-do attitude, he had a surprising amount of knowledge and experience to back it up, especially when he offered to mow the lawn and actually repaired the lawnmower to do it.
But Gia’s conversation with Tyson before leaving home served as a warning to her not to be too impressed.
Sure, Derek Camden could fix a lawnmower and mow the lawn.
Sure, he could hoist fertilizer bags and paving stones with the best of them—flexing muscles that made Gia’s mouth water in a way that didn’t happen at the sight of anyone else’s flexing muscles.
Sure, he couldn’t have been more pleasant or agreeable or uncomplaining.
Sure, he made friends with everyone there and she even watched Tyson accept more and more of his overtures as the day went on.
But she continued to remind herself that appearances could be deceiving, and that she would not—could not—let herself be deceived by them.
Which wasn’t always easy to remember as the day went on and she got an eyeful of broad shoulders, thick thighs and a tight, perfectly shaped derriere she knew she had no business looking at.
And yet somehow couldn’t help stealing a glimpse of over and over again....
* * *
By six o’clock the Bronsons’ front and back yards were in better shape than they’d been in since Gia had known the elderly couple. Weeds were gone, bushes and trees were trimmed and the lawn was a well-manicured green carpet.
The volunteers had added a sandstone path from the front to the back and a second path from the back patio out to the toolshed. Landscapers had built a multitiered rock garden with room for flowers to be planted in the spring, and two of the horticulturists had planted shrubbery to line the fence in back. Gia and another botanist had formed a perennial garden just below the front porch on each side of the steps leading to the house.
The final effect was a vast improvement and upgrade that would require only minimal, easy maintenance either for Gia or for any new owner should the house have to be sold.
Throughout the day Larry had been in the center of things, unable to work but chatting with the people who were, while Marion went in and out of the house with beverages and cookies.
Gia had kept an eye on them both and had seen no indication that they were going to turn the hose on Derek or secretly dose him with laxatives, and she was glad that really had only been a joke.
But after both Larry and Marion had had Gia confirm on the sly that Derek was who they thought he was, neither of the Bronsons ventured too near to him, either. Or made any effort to talk to him the way they did everyone else.
For Derek’s part, he gave them the space they so obviously wanted, and the one time there was unavoidable contact he was polite and respectfully pleasant without pushing anything or going overboard trying to win their favor.
It was the best way he could have handled it, but still Gia wasn’t exactly sure what was going to happen when the work was finished and everyone—including Tyson—left, and only Derek and Gia remained to roll up hoses and put away tools.
As the elderly couple took a stroll around their newly enhanced yard to see the end results, it was impossible for them not to acknowledge Derek.
Gia was relieved when they spoke to him with guarded courtesy. But it was noticeable how all of their gratitude and praise went to her alone.
Even then, Derek handled the situation with aplomb. He agreed with them that Gia had done a remarkable job and didn’t seem in the least offended by their lack of gratitude for the backbreaking work he’d done all day.
When the older couple went inside, Gia said, “Thanks for everything you did today.”
“You’re welcome.” He grinned as if her gratitude was payment enough.
“I’m surprised that you knew your way around this stuff.”
“My grandmother raised my brothers, sisters, cousins and me—there are ten of us—and she was originally a farm girl, so she believed in chores for everybody. As a kid, I did yard work—among other things. All the boys in the family did—sexist, I know, but the girls had to do more dusting so I guess it evened out.”
“The Bronsons told me that H. J. Camden’s son, grandsons and granddaughters-in-law were killed in a plane crash—you were one of the ten great-grandchildren left....”
“I was. Left to GiGi—that’s what we call our grandmother—and H.J. and Margaret and Louie Haliburton, who work for GiGi but who are really more like family than anything.”
It wasn’t how Gia—or the Bronsons—had pictured things. They had imagined the Camdens as growing up like royalty, not as having to do their chores like any other family.
“But even with ten kids around, the Camdens didn’t have a troop of gardeners?” she asked.
He laughed. “Sure. A troop of seven able-bodied grandsons. We still trade off going over to help with the yard work even now—you’re just lucky that this wasn’t my week or I’d have been late getting here this morning.”
“Well, I’m glad you weren’t since no one else knew how to fix the lawnmower.”
“That church minister was making the attempt, though,” he reminded her. Then, after a pause, he said, “He wanted to take you to dinner tonight....”
The pastor had given it a second try.
“I didn’t know anyone had overheard that,” Gia said.
“Is he trying to convert you, or is he interested in more than that?” Derek asked with a hint of teasing to his tone.
Gia laughed. “I’ve wondered the same thing. I’m not exactly sure either way. But since he knows his congregation doesn’t approve of him being with someone who’s been divorced, it could be conversion.”
“So you said no.”
“Because I’m not interested in dating anyone for any reason.”
Derek Camden nodded. “Then what would you say to going our separate ways to clean up then meeting for a nondate bite to eat—just because you and I seem to be the only two without plans tonight?” He leaned in so he could add confidentially, “You can tell me how you think I did with the Bronsons today and maybe give me some tips for improvement.”
No.
It was a simple answer and the only one she knew she should give him.
But the wheels of Gia’s mind instantly began to spin.
It was Saturday night.
She’d put in a long day.
Everyone else had gone off on dates like Tyson had, or dinners out with
spouses.
Larry and Marion were inside fixing their own dinner, after which they would cozy up on their sofa with popcorn to watch an old movie—their Saturday-night-at-the-movies tradition upheld even though they could no longer afford to go to a theater.
And she was slated for a shower and sitting alone in front of the television, eating whatever leftovers were in her fridge.
Or she could shower and meet Derek Camden for a bite to eat. A nondate. Unlike what the minister had invited her to.
She hadn’t been at all tempted to accept the minister’s offer.
But Derek Camden’s?
She just couldn’t seem to bring herself to say no....
“Not a date,” she clarified firmly, knowing even as she did that she was walking a fine line but really hating the thought of those leftovers in front of the TV....
“Not a date,” he confirmed. “We can both wear whatever—shorts, T-shirts, anything comfortable. I won’t pick you up. I won’t open your car door. We’ll just meet at the restaurant. I’ll buy you dinner in exchange for tips on how better to win over these guys so they let me really help them,” he said with a nod at the Bronsons’ house. “And then we’ll go our separate ways afterward.”
She did want to encourage a truce between the Bronsons and this man in order to get the Bronsons as much aid from the Camdens as she could.
That was what put it over the top for her. She was doing this for the Bronsons....
“Okay,” she agreed.
“What do you feel like eating—Italian, Mediterranean, Moroccan, Mexican, Chinese, sushi...?”
She closed her eyes to think about it and when she opened them he was grinning at her.
“Did that help you decide?” he asked with a laugh.
“I was just giving my stomach the chance to tell me what it wanted,” she said as if it should have been obvious.
“And what did it tell you?” Another question within another laugh.
“Lemon chicken at the Red Lantern on Broadway.”
“Your stomach is very specific,” he teased. “No dessert?”
“Always dessert—that was actually the deciding vote. The Red Lantern has this really, really dark chocolate pudding—the lemon chicken is just what I have to eat to get to that.”
He laughed again but there was something about it—appreciation or delight or something—that didn’t make her feel as if he was making fun of her at all. “Of course—really, really dark chocolate pudding. Can you be there in an hour?”
“An hour,” she confirmed, knowing that didn’t leave her a lot of time.
But that lack of time ensured that she couldn’t make this a bigger deal than it needed to be, so that was all she gave herself.
* * *
Gia didn’t wear shorts—she wore khaki capris. But she did put on a simple red square-neck T-shirt with a red-and-white-striped tank top peeking from underneath it. Without much time to get ready, she’d washed her hair in a hurry, scrunched it and left it loose in order to spend some of that time applying blush, mascara, eyeliner and a glossy lipstick.
When she got to the Red Lantern she noted that Derek—who was waiting for her by leaning against his black sports car in the parking lot—had also not opted for shorts. Instead he was wearing jeans that were much better than what he’d worn to work in earlier today. But he, too, had gone with a T-shirt—a white V-neck with long sleeves that he’d pushed to his elbows.
He was freshly shaven, his hair was clean and casually perfect, and it didn’t matter whether or not he’d put much thought into his attire; he still looked great.
She warned herself not to pay too much attention to that as she parked.
Having spotted her when she’d turned in from the street, he pushed off of his car and followed her all the way back to the only open space at the far end of the lot. As promised, he didn’t open her car door for her, but he was waiting right there when she got out of her small hybrid sedan.
She caught him giving her the once-over, which prompted a small smile, as if he liked what he saw. But all he said was that he’d already gone in and put their names on the waiting list, so they should have a table shortly.
Gia wondered if he’d tipped the hostess in advance, because the place was crowded but all it took was him stepping up to the hostess station and giving his name for them to be led right to a table.
They ordered soon after sitting down, and once they’d been served their iced teas, he said, “So, how do you think I did today?”
“You were a lot of help,” she assured him.
He laughed. “I don’t mean how did I do with the work. I meant how did I do with the Bronsons.”
“Oh. Well, no rocks were thrown and the hose wasn’t turned on you, so I think that counts as a success at this point.”
“You say that as if you half expected it to happen,” he said with a laugh.
Gia shrugged. “You were the one who thought rocks might be thrown, so I didn’t think that would happen. But the hose part was mentioned....”
His laugh had just a touch of alarm to it. “They talked about turning the hose on me?”
Gia shrugged again. “You know, what your family did to the Bronsons was pretty bad.... Awful, in fact....”
He sobered somewhat and admitted, “Actually, I might not know exactly what went on. It was 1968—my father and my uncle were only teenagers then, so it was my great-grandfather and my grandfather at the helm. But even when my father and my uncle grew up and were on board they all kept things completely separate—business was business, home was home. They never brought business home with them—”
“But still the Camdens have a reputation....”
“I know. Over the years we’ve heard the bad stuff that’s been said about us. But H.J. always said it was nothing, not to take it seriously, that he’d never done anything wrong. And to us—” Derek took a turn at shrugging “—H.J. was our great-grandfather. He took care of us. He doted on us. That was all we knew from him. When anyone brought up something that was being said, he’d say that in business, in politics, in sports and in life there were wins and there were losses. And that whoever lost was never happy about it—that that was where the bad-mouthing came from and not to pay any attention to it.”
“So you didn’t,” Gia said as their meal arrived and they began to eat.
“Not really. GiGi’s take on it was that success came with a cost, and she guessed that having some negative things—she actually called them lies—said about us was that cost.”
“But they aren’t lies. I mean, I don’t know about anything else, but they aren’t lies when it comes to Larry and Marion.”
“With the Bronsons, I don’t know all the details, to be perfectly honest. I know that they owned a hotel—”
“The Larkspur,” Gia supplied.
“It was built in the late 1800s.”
“By Larry’s great-great-grandfather,” she filled in as they ate.
“And it was in the very heart of downtown Denver on a prime piece of real estate.”
Again Gia offered information. “A prime piece of real estate that H. J. Camden wanted to build a store on.”
“Right,” Derek concurred. “But while the real-estate was prime, what was on it had gone downhill....” he said diplomatically.
“The Larkspur needed work,” Gia conceded. “Larry and Marion admit that they hadn’t had the time or money it needed because of Roddy—”
“Roddy? Who’s Roddy?”
“Their son. You didn’t know they had a son?”
“I didn’t,” Derek said.
“So you don’t know everything,” Gia muttered more to herself than to him.
“I don’t,” he answered. “In fact, I think it’s probably safe to say that what I do know
is only the tip of the iceberg, and even that I haven’t known for long.”
Gia wasn’t quite sure what that meant but she didn’t see a point in trying to figure it out.
Instead she said, “Roddy was born with a lot of congenital problems. Larry says the doctors were actually surprised that he lived, but he thinks that Marion willed him to. He was ill and severely mentally and physically handicapped. He died thirty years ago, long before I knew Larry and Marion—”
“How long have you known them?”
“Three years. As long as I’ve been in my house—that’s when we met, when I moved in. But we got close fast. They were good to me at a time when I needed some—I don’t know, some kindness, people who cared about me, some bolstering—and they did all that and... Well, they treated me like I was their kid.”
But she didn’t want to say more about herself so she went on telling him about the Bronsons. “They’ve talked a lot about Roddy, though, and I’ve seen a few photographs. He spent his life in a wheelchair—spinal issues made him sort of twisted and he couldn’t walk. He couldn’t talk or do anything for himself.... But he was their son and they loved him and they were committed to taking care of him themselves, which took a lot.”
“I can imagine,” Derek said sympathetically. “And that’s where their time and money went.”
“It was a struggle for them. Roddy’s medical expenses were considerable and one of them needed to be with him all the time. And running a hotel is a round-the-clock operation, too, so they were stretched thin—although they never talk about it with any kind of complaint, it just was what it was.”
“And what it was was difficult.”
“I can’t imagine it myself,” Gia said. “But inn keeping—as they call it sometimes—was all they knew. The Larkspur was all they had. And they also had Roddy. So they did the best they could.”
“And the hotel went downhill.” His tone suggested that what he was learning didn’t sit well with him.
“It had been in Larry’s family since it was built. The Larkspur rivaled the Brown Palace and the Oxford, they tell me. And every generation that had managed it had made sure that it was updated and expanded to keep up with the times. Including Larry and Marion—”
To Catch a Camden Page 5
