Love Worth Finding

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “Both!”

  “Babe, I’m easy. What you see is what you get.”

  “Well, it’s the same for me.”

  “No, it’s not. Underneath that makeup and behind whatever lessons Miss Someone-or-Other taught you, there’s a real woman.”

  “For your information, I am a real woman, and I can cover my freckles if I want to.” She yanked at the hem of her strawberry-colored T-shirt, leaving oily streaks on it. “And you have no right to pass judgment on Miss Mannerly. She was a wonderful woman, and—” She huffed. “Oh, forget it. I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

  As she turned to stalk off, Brandon grabbed her arm. “Hang on.”

  “Are you okay, princess?” her father called from the porch.

  “Of course I am, Daddy. Just a little greasy.”

  Her father hustled down the steps with a roll of paper towels. “I saw that. Don’t know why you’re doing this. Your brothers and I can change the oil for you.”

  “A little oil never hurt anyone,” Della placated as she accepted a paper towel and wiped off her hands. “You never fuss when it’s olive oil.”

  “That’s different,” her father scoffed.

  Brandon leaned against the car again. “How is it different?”

  “It ruins everything.”

  “Like what?”

  Her father seemed almost nonplussed by the simple question. He finally stammered, “The balance. Yes.” He nodded as if he’d solved the complex question entirely. “It ruins the balance.”

  “What balance?” Della gave her father a quizzical look.

  “Princess, you already do so much for the men in your life. You need to let us do things like this to make up for it.”

  “Since when,” she asked her father in an exasperated tone, “did we keep accounts of who does what for whom?”

  Brandon held up his hand. “Hang on. I didn’t mean to cause a problem. It just occurs to me, Della needs some basic skills so if her car ever goes on the fritz, she isn’t stranded.”

  “I gave her a membership in the Auto Club,” her father shot back. “My daughter is demure, and it’s insane for a girl to have to do these things.” He looked at her. “Your brothers and I made a vow.”

  “Oh, not that again,” she moaned.

  “What kind of vow?” Brandon sensed he’d finally stumbled across something that would explain aspects of Della that puzzled him.

  “She’s a girl.”

  “This isn’t important,” Della cut in hurriedly. “Daddy, we need to clean up here. I—”

  “Oh, we have a few minutes,” Brandon drawled.

  “Her brothers and I promised each other we weren’t going to rear her to be a tomboy. She deserved to grow up to be a lady, and we’ve done everything we could to make sure she did.”

  “You’ve done a good job. Della’s a fine young woman.” Brandon lifted her hand and squeezed it, leaving a smudge. “But a little grit or grease won’t ever change what’s on the inside.”

  “Doesn’t change the fact that we can do stuff for her.”

  “As much as Della loves you, I’d bet she’d rather have you do things with her instead of for her.”

  “You’re changing the balance,” her father muttered.

  Brandon let out a chortle. They both looked as if he’d taken leave of his senses. “Fair’s fair. Ever since I met Della, I’ve been off balance.”

  ❧

  Brandon squinted through the dust and evaluated the effect of having knocked down the wall. “Looks good, guys. Let’s do the other side, too.”

  Work boots crunched through fallen plaster as the men followed his instructions and demolished the second wall. Nathan hadn’t been kidding when he said Brandon would be working with a skeleton crew. Then again, Brandon liked it that way. This project relied on detail, and his small crew took pride in the restoration.

  As it turned out, the western exposure of the downstairs featured two walls that weren’t shown in the original blueprints and bore no weight. Tearing down those walls was a no-brainer. Brandon watched the dust settle and knew a sense of satisfaction that this place would be functional, yet very true to the original design.

  A little strip of old wallpaper appeared where it had been protected beneath one of the walls. Taking out his pocketknife, he painstakingly peeled a long swatch. With all of the choices available, he’d like to have the decorator find something that matched as closely as possible.

  The hardwood floors upstairs were all in decent shape, but the downstairs ones were beyond redemption. Well—almost. He’d marked boards around the edges of the rooms that he deemed salvageable. Those were pried up, taken upstairs, and left in a room designated as a storage place for all hardware, boards, and trims they could reuse.

  Brandon looked at the site with pride. It was coming along beautifully, and he loved coming to work each day to get more done. He grabbed a push broom and started cleaning up the mess as his team carted out the beams and plaster. A quick glance outside let him know the day was about over, and he wanted this place shipshape. Jim Martinez was coming over to show samples for restoration work. Better, though, when he’d mentioned it to Della, she’d invited herself along so she could see how the renovation was going.

  Until now, he wouldn’t allow anyone near the site who didn’t have a job to do. It was just plain dangerous. With Della, it would have been downright insane. He’d found a daredevil streak in her that alternately pleased and appalled him. Visions of her twisting her ankle or falling kept him up part of the night, so he’d called this morning and told her she couldn’t step foot on the place if that dainty little size five-and-a-half was in a heel.

  Jim arrived with an armful of catalogs and went back out to his truck to bring in samples of hardware and moldings. Brandon gave the place a quick inspection then went out to offer to help carry things in. The minute he saw Della talking to Jim, jealousy flashed through him.

  He and Della didn’t have an agreement to date each other exclusively, but that didn’t matter. No one else was getting a chance. Della managed to befriend everyone she met—the new checker at the grocery store, the county parking meter inspector—no one crossed her path without the woman cheerily making them feel as if they were the most important person in the universe. She had no idea how alluring that was to a man, and Brandon marveled she didn’t have a ring on her finger and a slew of kids by now. One thing for certain: He wasn’t going to step aside and let anyone else have a chance at her. She was his.

  “I’ll make a reservation,” Jim said to her as Brandon jogged up.

  “Perfect!”

  He stopped dead in his tracks. She wanted to date Jim?

  Six

  “Brandon!” She turned her thousand-watt smile on him.

  “You two know each other?” The question grated out of him.

  “We sure do.” Della stepped to Brandon’s side and brushed plaster dust from his sleeve.

  A glint flashed in Jim’s eyes, and he shook his head. “Not that it means much. Granite Cliffs is so small, everyone knows everyone else.”

  Still not mollified, Brandon asked, “So what kind of reservations are you making?”

  “Supper.” Jim hefted a case from his truck. “Della found out where Katie’s dad proposed to her mom.”

  Realizing he’d reacted to a non-existent threat, Brandon relaxed and tucked Della into his side and jerked the case of hardware samples away from Jim. “Obviously Granite Cliffs is bigger than you think, because I’ve never met anyone named Katie.”

  “She’s been in Europe for the past six weeks.” Jim pulled out another case, and they started toward the house. “Gawking at cathedrals and famous buildings.”

  Della slipped her arm around Brandon’s waist and squeezed. “Katie’s in college—an architecture major.”

  “And absence made Jim’s heart grow fonder.” Brandon steered her around a clump of azaleas he’d specifically guarded during the renovation.

  Della ente
red the huge, old building and slipped from his hold. She slowly spun around, surveying the place. “Oh, this is magnificent!”

  “Yeah,” Brandon agreed, but her reaction pleased him to no end. “But it needs a bunch of work still.”

  She tugged on the case he held. “What are we waiting for? This place is perfect for wedding receptions!”

  Jim chuckled. “There’s no hurry, Della. Knowing Katie, she’ll want a long enough engagement to plan everything down to the last detail.”

  Slowly rubbing his thumb back and forth while he continued to cup Della’s shoulder, Brandon asked, “So if it were yours, sweetheart, what would you do?”

  ❧

  “I must be out of my mind.” Della crammed her hands into the pockets of her windbreaker. She’d been in such a great mood last evening, deciding on moldings and trims and a kitchen layout for the place Brandon was remodeling, he’d somehow managed to get her to agree to a morning jog. “I can’t believe I’m up this early.”

  “Sissy.” Brandon yanked her away from his jeep and toward the edge of the parking lot. “You said you didn’t want anyone watching. This is perfect timing. Tide’s going out. The sand at the tide line is hard packed, and we own the beach.”

  She didn’t argue. He’d been good enough to honor her request for someplace that wasn’t crowded. With anyone else, she’d feel vulnerable out here, all alone. Brandon could protect her against anything.

  He wore a ratty T-shirt with an almost-washed-to-death US Navy emblem on the front and a pair of gym shorts he should have pitched into the ragbag years ago. Impervious to the tendrils of morning fog drifting in the chilly air, he plowed ahead.

  “I must be crazy,” she muttered under her breath. Love makes you do foolish things. The thought made her stumble in a small pile of sand that had drifted onto the asphalt.

  Brandon caught her, held her steady. “You okay?”

  I’m falling in love with you. Afraid he’d see the truth in her eyes, she ducked her head and rested against him, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “Mmm. You’re warm.”

  He didn’t seem in a hurry to let go of her. For a few minutes, he held her close then briskly chafed his hands up and down her arms. “There. Let’s get busy.” He started doing some stretches, and she copied him. “Warm up. No muscle pulls on my watch.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “Feeling sassy, are you?”

  “No, I’m still too cold to waste my breath arguing.”

  “You’ll be warm soon enough.”

  Once they finished warming up, they hiked through the sand to the water’s edge. Brandon stopped, rested his hands on his hips, and instructed, “Now run.”

  “With you watching?”

  “Ten yards. Do it.”

  Self-conscious as could be, she did as he bade. When she turned around, he’d squatted near her footprints. “What are you doing?”

  “Come look.” He waited until she joined him then pointed at the imprint her athletic shoes left behind. “Your heel imprint is the deepest, the ball of your foot leaves a perfect impression, and then your toe digs in.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You land wrong and don’t push off. You lose your impetus by bouncing up instead of pushing off. When you have that impetus, you’ll lengthen your stride, too.”

  “Oh.” What else could she say? It made sense, but she didn’t know exactly how to correct the problem. “I always thought running is just fast walking.”

  He shook his head. “No wonder you run like a woman. Listen up: Impact on the very back of your heel will hurt you.” One of his hands curled around her ankle as the other cupped the top of her foot. “Put your hand on my shoulder.”

  She took care to use his left shoulder. Warmth and strength radiated from him.

  He jostled her ankle. “Let loose. Relax.”

  “Oh. Okay.” She forced herself to pay attention.

  “You want to basically hit almost flatfooted and use your ankle to push off.” His hands guided her foot as he gave the instruction. He did it a few times.

  “So it’s sort of like walking in heels, but not.”

  He looked up at her, eyes full of mirth. “I wouldn’t know.”

  She laughed. “I land the same, but I don’t toe off. If I pushed off with my ankle in heels, I’d walk right out of them.”

  Brandon chuckled, rose, and dusted off his hands. “Hold my hand.”

  She clasped his right hand with her left. “Now what?”

  He briskly rubbed her hand. “I’ll bring gloves for you next time.”

  “I’m starting to warm up a little.”

  “Good. Now start running around me. Begin with your normal form, and when you’ve hit your stride, I’m going to pull you faster. That’ll give you forward impetus so you can feel the difference when you push with your ankles instead of toes.”

  “Good thing I don’t get dizzy easily.” She started jogging, and he rotated about like a hub as she wheeled round him.

  “Pick it up.” His grip tightened, and he rotated a little faster, then faster still. “I’m going to let go. Keep your form and run along the same line you ran last time.”

  Once he released her, she dashed down the beach.

  “Okay. Come back!”

  When she turned around, his grin made getting up so early and having sand in her shoes worth it. “Well?”

  “Take a look at your footprints.”

  She stood beside him and compared them. “My stride is longer!”

  “Significantly longer. Less effort, more distance.”

  “The ball of my foot dug deeper, and my toes aren’t digging holes.”

  “Yup. Now that you have the basic form, let’s get a move on.” He started to jog in the dry sand, and she scurried alongside him.

  “Loose sand is harder. I’ll move—

  “Nope.” He gave her an indulgent smile. “I’m used to ten-mile runs in this each morning. I don’t want to get soft.”

  “Ten miles!”

  “You’re going to that lifeguard station and stopping.” He gestured toward a spot about half a mile away. “Respect your limits and push a little more each day. In a few weeks, you’ll be going five miles and will barely break a sweat.”

  “Ladies, do not—” she refuted then took another breath before she finished, “—sweat.”

  “No?”

  “They glow.”

  When they reached the lifeguard station, Brandon swooped her up, swung her around, and chortled. “You’re pretty when you glow.”

  “When I. . .catch my breath. . .”

  “Don’t.” His head dipped, and he kissed her.

  Della was sure she’d never catch her breath again.

  Seven

  Delicate, lily white. Soft. Brandon couldn’t get over the feel of Della’s hand in his. He’d positioned them on the bride’s side of the park where Della would be able to see the ceremony, yet he’d be on the very outside edge so his height wouldn’t block folks’ view from farther back.

  When he’d arrived to pick up Della for the wedding today, Mr. Valentine stood on the porch like a general inspecting the troops. After he’d taken his time, he shut one eye and squinted through the other, then rumbled, “Haven’t run you off yet?”

  Sensing plenty lay beneath the wry humor, Brandon stared him in the eye. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “You’re big, but if you make my baby girl cry, I’ll make every last inch of you hurt, and hurt bad.”

  Yeah. Well, Brandon couldn’t blame him. Della called forth a man’s instincts to shield his woman. Even now, a quick glance at her dainty, pale green sundress and strappy sandals made Brandon shift position so he’d cast Della into his shadow. She’d twisted her hair into a froth of curls at the top of her head, leaving springy little wisps at her nape. His brows knit. Fair skinned and freckled, she’d burn if he didn’t keep her in the shade.

  As weddings went, it was a nice one. Getting hitched when a coup
le was this wild about one another rated as a smart move, and Brandon liked seeing how this bride and groom were head-over-heels in love. But Brandon wished the pastor would limit the affair to simple vows and a short prayer. Instead, he inserted comments about Jesus’ first miracle being at a wedding feast and other Christian stuff. Especially with it being summer and all, he could have taken mercy on the guests, who stood in the hot sun, and just gotten down to business.

  As soon as the newlyweds kissed, Brandon swiped Della into the shade of a big, old sycamore. She didn’t come alone; she dragged Annette with her. He would have enjoyed trying to get a kiss from Della, but having an audience squelched that notion.

  “Brandon, could you bring a chair over here for Annette? A glass of water, too.”

  He looked at his wilting sister-in-law. She rested a hand on a just-beginning-to-bulge belly. “I’m going to pound my brother into the ground for leaving you alone in this condition.”

  Annette’s laughter sounded a tad faint. “Don’t beat him up. I need him.”

  “He’s a good man.” The curls atop Della’s head danced as she nodded her head to punctuate her praise. “In fact, Dave did a great job on the music. He’s never let on that he’s so talented. He needs to get cards made up, and I’ll recommend him to my clients.”

  “Really? How nice.” Annette stroked her belly. “This little one is going to be expensive, and we just blew through our nest egg last year when we went on our twenty-fifth anniversary cruise.”

  Brandon hadn’t seen a woman who could be as animated as Della, yet turn into such a gentle listener. She definitely was one-of-a-kind. He hiked off and came back with two bottles of iced water in his pockets and a pair of folding chairs. “Both of you rest and cool off.”

  “Oh, I thought I’d go help spread out the picnic blankets and—”

  Brandon winked. “Annette needs some company. I’ll go help.”

  “He’s afraid I’ll start crying again,” Annette said in a stage whisper. “It’s gotten to be a habit of mine lately.”

  “Soon, it’ll be the baby crying, not you.” Della twisted off the top of the water bottle and handed it to her.