Once Upon a Love Story

by Beth D. Carter

  “I don’t really, you know, date…” her hand waved at him.

  “Date what? Men?”

  “Oh, no. No, I’m not a lesbian.” And she laughed, a light tinkling sound that washed over him.

  “Then what?” Caleb pressed.

  Delilah reined in her amusement and flashed him a look as if questioning his mental reasoning. “You’re white.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  She cocked her head. At that moment, another man came up, so she did her job. The man shot Caleb a look, then glanced back at Delilah before saluting her with the drink and sauntering off. Again, Caleb had the urge to go after a stranger and pound the shit out of him. He didn’t like how all the men seemed to objectify Delilah, as if she were only a body without a brain.

  “What time do you get out of here?”

  “Midnight.”

  Caleb looked at his watch. “That’s an hour away. What are you doing after?”

  She shrugged.

  “Then let our first date be tonight.”

  She sighed and looked him up and down again. “I must be out of my mind,” she muttered.

  “Is that a yes?”

  She gave him a nod and opened another beer for a man walking up to her. This time, however, the man gave a wink at Caleb before walking away.

  “I believe that one was for you,” she commented.

  “I’ll be damned,” Caleb said softly, scratching his beard again. “I didn’t think I was so pretty.”

  Delilah laughed, and he decided then and there all he wanted to do was make her laugh more.

  “I came with a friend,” he told her. “I need to let him know. Where should I meet you?”

  She looked him up and down. “Through the curtains behind me is the dressing room. But I gotta warn you, I have mace and I know how to use it.”

  “Fair enough,” he replied. “In not wanting to burn the hell out of my eyes, I promise to be a perfect gentleman.”

  He held up his right hand. She pursed her lips in a lopsided smile.

  “One hour, Miss Delilah,” he warned and turned back to the crowd to find Jake.

  Chapter Three

  What the hell am I doing?

  Delilah stared at herself in the mirror as she powdered her face and reapplied lip gloss. There went her own rules. Never date a man from a gig. Definitely broken. Never date someone poor. Possibly broken. He sure hadn’t dressed like a rich man. And never date a white man. Rule destroyed. She had grown up in the deep Mississippi south, firmly entrenched in tradition and censure. Discrimination, perhaps, but she’d been taught that blacks stayed with blacks and whites stayed with whites.

  Still, there was something engaging about the man. Caleb. Caleb the forest ranger. She must be getting daft. That or she was getting sentimental since hell if she knew what direction to take next in life. No way did she want to go back to Mississippi, but did she really want to stay in Los Angeles working beer gigs and dancing at the Pink Pony for a living?

  She tossed the cosmetics back into her handbag and gave herself a once over in the mirror before deciding she was as good as she was going to get. She’d taken off her red swimsuit that was her work uniform and had slipped into jeans and a t-shirt. When she’d packed her change of clothes, a date had been the last thing on her mind. Still, Caleb Tasker seemed to be channeling the Brawny man so what the hell was she nervous about? Murmuring good night to her fellow workers, she headed out to meet Caleb.

  He stood off to the side, smiling as he watched people do a type of mosh pit dancing. The music was loud and obnoxious as usual, but he wasn’t nodding or tapping to the beat. Dressed in ordinary jeans and red t-shirt, he definitely stood out in the sea of black-on-black clothing with shocks of glitter here and there. He was a handsome devil, she had to admit, so maybe that was way she ignored the fact that he was a white boy. His blue eyes were so sharp they had felt like they were piercing her. As if he sensed her, he turned suddenly and pinned her with those sky-blue eyes. He smiled at her and raised his hand, as if he expected her to take it. She simply walked up to him, ignoring the outstretched hand.

  “Ready?” she yelled because that was the only way to be heard with the band’s screeching music being played.

  He nodded and took her arm, escorting her out of the busy room. Once outside, the heavy thump of the music was contained behind the building’s walls. Caleb put his hand over one of his ears and shook his head.

  “It’ll stop in a bit,” she said.

  He looked at her. “Excuse me?”

  “The ringing,” she said, using her finger to point at his head.

  “Good to know,” he replied. “There’re a few taxis right down the street.”

  She held up her keys. “I have a car.”

  He bent and swept his arm out. “After you, my lady.”

  She rolled her eyes and walked down the steep San Vicente incline. Her little red Honda waited for her, and she prayed that it started up. It might be close to twenty years old, and the red might be more rust than candy apple, but she’d gotten it for practically nothing. It had been the first thing she’d bought herself after obtaining her driver’s license.

  Caleb settled in next to her, his long legs looking cramped as they were thrust into his sternum. He tried to adjust the seat, but it was already back as far as possible.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  He gave her a thumbs up. “Peachy.”

  She bit back a smile as she started up the engine. It chugged to life after a second and she mentally sent it a thank you. Delilah eased into traffic.

  “There’s a Denny’s on Sunset near Gower,” she said.

  “Okay,” he said as he looked out the window. She turned onto Sunset and followed the curving road. “Wow, its past midnight and the streets are crowded.”

  “Welcome to West Hollywood on a Saturday night.”

  “You live around here?”

  “Oh no, we are not discussing where I live. I draw the line at that.”

  “Okay,” he said again, tossing her a quick smile. “Would you object to last names? Mine is Tasker. Caleb Lee Tasker, of River Ice Alaska.”

  “Delilah Ward. Mississippi.”

  “I’ve never been to Mississippi.”

  She snorted. “You’re not missing much. Very humid. How is it that you know female poets? Ella Wheeler Wilcox is well known in the circle but not someone easily quotable.”

  “My wife loved poetry,” he answered softly. “She would read to me every night.”

  “Your wife?” she asked sharply. Damn, she hadn’t thought he was a cheater.

  “She died a few years ago,” he replied rather simply. “Cancer.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” She pulled up to a light and glanced at him. “I didn’t mean to dredge up painful memories.”

  “She’s been gone almost three years now,” he told her. “At first, I couldn’t even breathe. It was like she took the air with her.”

  “And now?”

  “I can say her name now without flinching. I don’t sit at the kitchen table feeling utterly lost. Still, there are times when I’ll start talking as if she’s still there and that’s when the loneliness hits the hardest.”

  A car honked behind them. Delilah jumped and looked forward. “Okay, hold your horses,” she absently muttered to the car impatiently beeping behind her. She continued driving.

  So, Caleb Tasker was an onion. Layers and layers hid under that muscular forest ranger façade, and she wasn’t sure if she liked that or not. She had just figured he’d be a great diversion for the evening, something to break up the relentless monotony, but now, she was afraid she might end up caring about what he said.

  When she’d first arrived in Los Angeles, she’d been a teenage drop-out searching for fame and fortune. She’d run away from home with a huge chip on her shoulder thinking the world owed her something, and the streets were a mean place for a young girl alone. She’d done some pretty stupid things, bu
t now she had a code, ethics that had helped save her years ago. And feeling sorry for a man was close to the top of that list. Emotions led to acting on stupid impulses and she refused to allow herself to be vulnerable ever again.

  Still, this was just one harmless little date. Right?

  She pulled into the Denny’s parking lot and cut the engine. He exited the car and hurried around to her side to help her out of the car. She stared at his hand as if it were going to bite her.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “A gentleman always helps a lady out of a car.”

  “Says who?”

  “My momma.”

  That made Delilah smile. “My momma taught me to pick the wealthiest drug dealer on the street and get myself pregnant by him.”

  That made him pause and blink in confusion. “What?”

  She waved her comment away. Why did I go and tell him something like that? “Never mind. Come on.”

  She locked the car up and headed toward the door, acutely aware of the big, muscular man behind her who towered over her. She almost felt small, which was saying something since she stood almost six foot tall in heels. Her legs were one of her best assets and she used them to her advantage when she danced at The Pink Pony.

  They were shown to a booth in a back corner and the bright lights finally allowed her to see him in vivid detail. Sky blue eyes and hair a dirty blonde, typical surfer looks… He reminded her a little of Daniel Craig. Very fine lines crinkled the area near his temples, alluding to a life where he laughed a lot, but the brackets that encircled his mouth hinted that some pain had mingled in there as well. He looked like a man of deep emotion, one who devoted himself wholly to whomever or whatever task he faced.

  The waitress came by, and they ordered coffee and breakfast plates, even though it was past midnight. As she placed her menu back, she looked up and caught those heavenly eyes staring intently at her.

  Doubts assaulted her. Was her hair sticking up? Was her make-up smudged? She fought the urge to pull out her compact and inspect her image. Then she frowned at herself. The last thing she wanted to do was preen in front of him.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “You frowned. In fact, you tend to frown a lot I’ve noticed.”

  Immediately, she smoothed out her expression. The waitress came back with their coffees and Delilah used that as an excuse to calm herself. She refused to get into a deep discussion on why she frowned.

  “So why are you in Los Angeles?”

  “Vacation. I have a friend who has a house in Malibu. She lent it to me when I mentioned I wanted to get away for a little bit.”

  “Your girlfriend?”

  “No. If I had a girlfriend, Delilah, I wouldn’t have asked you out.”

  “Really? Most men use the excuse of a vacation for a little fling.”

  “I’m not most men,” he replied. “And I’m not looking for a fling.”

  She arched a brow. “I’m beginning to see that. So, this friend of yours with the Malibu house must be pretty rich to let you stay in it.”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know anything about her financial affairs, but I’m good friends with her and her husband. It’s a funny story on how we met actually.”

  “Oh?”

  “She signed up as a mail order bride and was paired with me, of all people,” he told her. “Obviously, we didn’t go through with the wedding, but we did become very good friends out of the experience. And Thea went on to fall in love with her husband, Paden, so it was a successful venture for her.”

  “Mail order bride? You’ve got to be joking. They still do that in this day and age?”

  “You’d be surprised,” he answered as their waitress arrived with their plates of food. “Thanks.”

  The waitress laid down their food, asked if they needed anything else, and when they both said no, departed just as quickly as she’d appeared.

  “Wait, why did you sign up for that?” Delilah asked.

  “For a bride?”

  She nodded.

  “Because I didn’t want to be alone anymore,” he answered softly. “I thought marrying again would ease some of the pain, help me move past Claire. But Thea reminded me that I had to do it on my own first, before I could fall in love again.”

  “You want to love again?”

  He nodded. “Of course. Humans need love. Ever heard the term failure to thrive?”

  She shook her head.

  “It’s a condition applied to babies as well as geriatrics, when they don’t have human contact they can go into a decline. It’s used as a referral of poor physical growth, malaise. Sometimes death. We’re creatures of need, Delilah. And I don’t want to grow old alone. I loved my wife, very much, but the last thing she’d want me to do was die with her.”

  “Are you still bride hunting?”

  He grinned. “Yes. And no. Right this minute I’m on a very nice date with a very nice woman.”

  Delilah cocked her head. “I’m not looking for a husband.”

  “Good to know. See, you’re on a very nice date with a handsome tourist. And besides being stunningly beautiful, you’re amazingly smart. So why not have a nice meal and talk poetry.”

  It took a lot to withhold a pleased, silly grin. “I’ll point out there were many absolutely stunningly beautiful women at that party tonight.”

  “True. I saw a few.”

  “But I appreciate the intelligent compliment.”

  “Besides, you looked like you had a story to tell. I’ve been in Malibu for a week now and I’ve seen a lot of women who seem to have this blank mask on their face, as if their attics were full of cobwebs,” he said. “You’re the first woman I’ve met who I thought I could have a conversation with.”

  “A conversation. That’s it?”

  “Is there supposed to be more?”

  She gave a little snort of amusement. “Most men look at me and think wham, bam, thank you ma’am.”

  “You’re talking about sex.”

  “Of course I’m talking about sex. That’s what most men want.”

  “I’ve already told you I’m not like most men.”

  “Do not tell me you’re gay because I refuse to believe that.”

  “No, I’m not gay. I just happen to think a man and woman should get to know each other before sex enters into a relationship.”

  She gaped at him. “You do know you can have sex without a relationship, right?”

  “For some people, yes. I’ve only loved one woman in my life.”

  “Wait. Does that mean what I think it means?”

  He cocked his head and she saw the answer in his beautiful eyes.

  “Wow,” she breathed. It made her feel funny that he shared something so deep and personal with her when he didn’t really know her at all. She ignored the little voice inside warning her that if he did know the real her, he’d go running back to his forest.

  “So, you’re not an ax murderer or something are you? You don’t like to kidnap women and tie them up in your basement for your psycho pleasure, do you?”

  He burst out laughing at that. “Good god, where’d you get such an idea?”

  “Television.”

  He shook his head, trying to contain his mirth. “If I were you, I’d change the channel. No, Delilah, I’m not a socio or psychopath. I can provide you with a town full of phone numbers from people who could verify my sterling credentials.”

  She held up a hand. “Okay. I don’t think we need to go that far. So why don’t you tell me what a forest ranger does. I assume you plant trees and stuff like that.”

  “Yes, for the most part. I manage the flora, the fauna and lands contained within the parks of the government. Currently I’m the only one running the Gates of the Artic National Forest in the Far North Territory.”

  “It sounds very cold.”

  “It can be. River Ice gets a lot of tourists during the summer months. It’s how
the town sustains itself. One of my jobs is organizing hikes and campsites for the tourists.”

  “Hunting?”

  “Yes. There’s a lot of game up there.”

  “Crime?”

  “Not too much. Sometimes theft, but that’s mostly when tourists arrive. Drunkenness is about the height of the misdemeanors.”

  “Sounds like paradise.”

  “A very cold paradise.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “The only snow I’ve ever seen in my life was man made when some of my friends took me to Big Bear Mountain. I had this wild idea I wanted to learn how to ski.”

  “Did you learn?”

  “Hell no. My one and only lesson had me more on my ass than on my feet.”

  He chuckled. “We use a lot of snowmobiles and dogs in River Ice. It’s not really skiing country, although some people do to get around that way.”

  “Dogs? Really?”

  “Sleds are still a great way to get around in snow. I’ve had to adjust to the traffic in Los Angeles, especially along the Pacific Coast Highway.”

  “Yeah, the PCH is hell on weekends. Can’t really use sleds on that road.”

  “Do you like the beach?”

  “Not really,” she replied. “I’m not a sand type of girl.”

  “I like going to where the water breaks on the beach, letting it splash my feet,” he said. “Especially at sunset. I hear the sun sizzle every time it sets in the ocean.”

  “That’s an old wives tale.”

  He shook his head. “God’s honest truth. If you don’t believe me, then join me. I’ll prove it hisses as it sinks.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Is that an invite to come spend the night?”

  “No. It was an invite to spend an evening on the beach with me. I’ll even bring a blanket, so you don’t have to sit on the sand.”

  She pushed the food around on her plate. She’d been really hungry when they sat down but his conversation stimulated her more than she thought it would. For the next few minutes they ate their rapidly cooling food. It was nice talking to a man just for the sake of talking, without him try to negotiate getting into her panties.