Love Worth Finding

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “The team,” she opened the door, “is suffering a delay due to—”

  “—an equipment malfunction,” he finished as he swiped the shoe from her hand. “I’ll see to it. You go ahead and change.”

  She looked down at her outfit and confessed, “I already did.”

  “Don’t you have real clothes? Jeans? Shorts?”

  “My jeans were in the hamper.”

  He nodded somberly. “Gotcha. On your last outfit before you do laundry.”

  Della didn’t disabuse him of his faulty assumption. Instead she turned. “I’ll go grab a rubber band from the register so I can tie back my hair.”

  “Good thinking.”

  When she returned, he hunkered down, wrapped his callused hand around her ankle, and twisted the shoe onto her stockinged foot. “I gave up on trying to unknot it.”

  “Then what—” She looked down. “Oh.” A small knot lay on the floor beside him. He’d cut it from the lace, connected the pieces, and now tugged on the ends as he finished tying it into a lopsided bow. “Thank you.”

  He plucked the knot from the floor and rose. “Nothing to it. Let’s go.”

  She set the alarm and slipped out the back door. He shut it then nodded. “Good set up. Secure.”

  Della hitched her purse onto her shoulder. “It ought to be. My dad and brothers put it in—they’re electricians.”

  Brandon shot her a quick look. “What company?”

  “Power.”

  “Power?” he echoed. “Gabe and Justin are your brothers?”

  “You know them?” She caught herself. “Of course you do, if you know their names.”

  “I’ve worked with them a couple of times on a site.” He scrutinized her features. “But your last name is Valentine. I didn’t mentally place you with them.”

  “Oh, they’re Valentines, too.” She slipped her keys into the pocket of her purse. “Daddy said no one would trust ‘Valentine Electric,’ so he named the company ‘Power.’ ”

  He took a few long strides and opened the passenger door of a jeep. As she climbed in, he murmured, “You don’t look anything like your brothers.”

  “They’ve each had a broken nose.”

  “Yeah,” he drawled as he shut the door. As he walked around to the driver’s side, he muttered under his breath, “They did it fighting back the men who wanted you.”

  Zing! Della shivered at the thrill of knowing the attraction wasn’t one-sided. She pretended she hadn’t overheard him and asked as he drove toward the edge of town, “So you work with Nathan’s firm?”

  He nodded.

  She liked that curt, masculine mannerism. Growing up in a household of men, the abbreviated conversation, the brisk actions, and brusque ways didn’t bother her. She found them oddly reassuring. If a woman wanted information from a man, she needed to prod each tidbit out of him. Della settled into her seat and started in.

  “So you’re a former SEAL?”

  “Six years.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “You didn’t interrogate Vanessa about me?”

  “Oh, I tried,” she confessed merrily. “But she just got a whole shipment of puppies; Jeff’s on summer break and ‘helping’ her at the shop, and I’ve spent hours on the phone trying to track down a certain pattern of Belgian lace for a client. The only time we actually connected on the phone, Van told me she’s not a gossip and you’re a good man.”

  “I knew I liked her.”

  “So the ball’s in your court.”

  “You can’t bat, but you use sports metaphors?”

  “I’m all talk and no action.” Once the words popped out of her mouth, Della groaned.

  Deep, male laughter rippled in the air.

  “See? You need to talk so I can keep my mouth shut.”

  “Crying for mercy, huh?”

  She gave him a wry look. “You’d better believe it.”

  “Okay. Yeah, I was a SEAL for six years. Now I’m doing construction.”

  “Why did you leave the SEALs?”

  His features tightened. “Got banged up.” Just as quickly, he flashed her a cocky grin. “So for the sake of the team, I bugged out.”

  “Ah, yes, the all-important team,” she nodded sagely. “What kind of injury, and how did you do it?”

  “Shoulder. Training exercise.”

  Della dipped her head and studied a chip in her manicure.

  Almost a mile later, the silence in the jeep nearly crackled. “Anything else?”

  “It’s not worth asking. I won’t trust what you say.”

  “Why not?” He veered to the curb and gave her a dis-gruntled look.

  “Because you just lied to me.”

  Four

  “What gave you that notion?”

  Features strained, she hitched her right shoulder. “I can tell. Listen, it’s none of my business and—”

  “Hang on a minute.” She looked ready to open the door and bolt, so he curled his hand around her forearm. “Sorry. I’m used to dealing with people who know the rules.”

  “What rules? I thought you guys were all about honor and duty and integrity.”

  “We are. But that involves silence.” He rubbed his thumb against the soft fabric of her sleeve. “No matter how or where a man’s hurt, it’s always a ‘training exercise,’ Della. The phrase is a shield for security purposes, and everyone accepts the need for that discretion.”

  Her brow puckered, but she didn’t look up at him.

  “I’ve been places and done things I can’t discuss—not now, not ever. Flat out, that’s just how it is.”

  “Like it or lump it?” She finally looked at him. Dozens of questions glittered in her eyes, ones he’d never address. National security relied on it, but even if he were allowed to say anything, he wouldn’t. Not to her.

  Just like the peachy-colored material beneath his fingers, this woman was soft. There was a fineness, a femininity, about her that brought out all of his protective instincts. Part of serving his country revolved around preserving the beauty and innocence of people like her who’d be destroyed by the ugly currents beneath the international scene. A warrior paid the price by keeping silent. He’d seen plenty of teammates’ relationships tear apart under the stress that silence imposed. If Della couldn’t innately trust him, he might as well find it out now.

  “So,” he looked at her and quietly asked, “you gonna like it, or do I turn around and take you back to your shop?”

  “You don’t believe in compromise?”

  “There’s plenty of give-and-take in relationships, but some things are non-negotiable. I don’t compromise my values.”

  Finally, she smiled. “Vanessa was right. You’re a good man, Brandon Stevens. Are you a good teacher?”

  “Let’s find out.”

  ❧

  Thwop.

  “Run!”

  Brandon’s bellow set Della in motion. She sped toward first base. The first baseman laughed so hard, he dropped the ball as she approached.

  “Tag the base!” Brandon hollered.

  She stepped on it and turned to give him a triumphant smile.

  He punched the air, let out a victory yell then cupped his hands to his mouth. “You can let go of the bat now.”

  She looked down at the bat. Giggles of embarrassment shivered out of her. Even so, nothing took away the thrill of her achievement. He’d taken her to the batting cages three times now. She twirled the bat like a baton and called out, “It looks like the third time was the charm!”

  He’d jogged out of the dugout. “There’s no such thing as luck. Practice pays off.”

  “Be careful of your shoulder.” She let him take the bat.

  “Stop fussing and pay attention.” The sparkle in his eyes took away the sting of his words. “We’re behind. You need to earn us a run.”

  “Hey!” the pitcher yelled. “Is this a social or a softball game?”

  Della propped a hand on her hip and called back, “Is there a third option?�
�

  “You bet.” Brandon gave her a stern look. “Winning. Never settle for anything but your goal.”

  The first baseman punched his fist into his glove and grinned. “That’s my kinda thinking, and we’re about to beat the socks off you.”

  Brandon let out a derisive snort and walked off to the batter’s box. With a solid hit, Kip ended up on first and sent Della to second. She stood on second base and watched Brandon take his place at bat. Other guys would scuff their feet in dirt, restlessly find a stance, change their grip on the bat and take practice swings, or look around the diamond. Brandon didn’t. Exuding confidence, he stepped up, assumed his stance, and watched the first ball without moving an inch.

  “Outside. Ball one.”

  A moment later, the ball went whizzing by. Della let out a whoop and headed for third.

  “Run, Della!” Vanessa and her twin, Valene, shouted in unison. When she hit third, Vanessa waved.

  Della waved back.

  “Go home!” Vanessa screamed.

  “I can’t believe it,” Kip said later as the whole team wolfed down barbequed hot dogs. “You didn’t just hit the ball. You made it on base and got a run!”

  She beamed up at Brandon. “I owe it all to my coach.”

  Brandon swiped the mustard from her. “Next, I’ll teach you how to run.”

  “Told you she runs like a girl.” Nathan tore open a bag of chips and passed them down the picnic table. “That’s going to be a real challenge.”

  “Me being a girl, or me running like one?”

  “No complaints about what you are, ma’am.” The left corner of Brandon’s mouth kicked up in a rascal’s grin. “In fact, it might come in handy. Are you doing anything on Saturday, the fifth?”

  She thought for a moment. “Yes.”

  “Change your plans, and go with me to my cousin Linda’s wedding.”

  Della shook her head rapidly and blinked as if she couldn’t quite process what he’d asked. “Only a man could blend running and a wedding in the same breath.”

  “Self-preservation.” Kip slapped Brandon on the shoulder. “Makes perfect sense to me.”

  “Careful!” Della half rose. “Brandon—your shoulder! Is it—”

  “I’m fine.” He didn’t look fine at all. Deep grooves bracketed the corners of his mouth.

  Della’s instinct was to fuss over him, but she quelled the urge. He had that macho, I-can-take-it look. Instead, she covered for him. “So that pained look is because you’re thinking about having to wear a suit for the wedding?”

  “Yup.” Gratitude flashed in his eyes. “I’m going to swelter.”

  “Guess again.” She took a long, lazy lick of her Chocolate Decadence ice cream and gave him a jaunty grin. “Now that you mentioned it’s Linda’s wedding, I remember all of the details. I planned the whole affair with her. It’s an outdoor event, and they’re doing a picnic-style reception. The invitations came with a map to Seaside Park and mentioned casual wear.”

  “Yes!” He made a fist and jerked it downward in a pumping action—the same one her brothers used whenever they were particularly pleased with something.

  Come to think of it, Brandon managed to find joy in the simplest of things. It was a good quality. Admirable. Then again, she had yet to learn something about him that she didn’t like. But it would have been far more thrilling if he’d been that excited about her going to the wedding with him.

  “Were you already going?” Vanessa asked her.

  “Most of Granite Cliffs is.” Della smiled. “It’s why they’re holding it outside—so there’ll be enough room.”

  “But you’re going with me,” Brandon asserted.

  It sounded more like an order than a question to her, but Della smiled. She didn’t mind a nice guy like Brandon getting a tiny bit possessive of her. She found it flattering.

  That thought crossed her mind later that evening. She’d never liked the guys around her acting domineering. In fact, she’d quickly parted company with more than one guy because he’d been too controlling. The fact that her brothers made pests of themselves actually came in handy on those occasions.

  But Brandon didn’t behave like a caveman who wanted to boss her around. He treated her as though she had a brain and was able to think for herself. Never once had he said she couldn’t do something—he’d taken the time to teach her how to bat, promised he’d teach her to change the oil in her car, and yet never failed to be a gentleman by opening doors for her or showing small courtesies.

  This guy is too good to be true.

  So far, they’d met at her shop or in the park. Daddy, Justin, and Gabe didn’t have a clue that she’d been seeing Brandon. The first two times Brandon picked her up at work, it had been simple expediency—the last time was because she still wanted a chance to decide if things stood enough of a chance for her to endure the third-degree grilling from her family if her relationship with Brandon continued.

  Pulling back her white eyelet duvet and sliding between pale pink sheets, Della wondered how The Meeting would go. When she’d seen the case of oil in Brandon’s jeep, he’d offered to change her oil today, too. She’d gotten bold and told him she’d rather learn to do it herself. Tomorrow ought to be interesting.

  Daddy wouldn’t wait for Brandon to knock on the door—he’d stand on the porch so he could do what he termed, “Taking the man’s measure.” Over the years, Della learned that involved a complex combination of noticing not only what vehicle her date drove, but whether it was freshly washed, the engine sounded smooth, what any bumper stickers might say, how the man walked, dressed, and about two hundred other silly things.

  For the first time, she had a feeling the man walking up to the porch would meet Daddy’s requirements. Then again, Brandon had made such a stunning first impression on her, she wasn’t exactly impartial. But her subsequent impressions were even more favorable.

  Brandon Stevens just kept getting better and better.

  Five

  Brandon didn’t bother to hide his grin. She said she wanted to learn how to do things for herself, and changing the oil in her car ought to have been a simple, straightforward exercise. Only with her, nothing ever was.

  She’d insisted on learning the names of the components of the engine and singsonged them under her breath to recall their names. Dainty little Della had a voice that would detonate grenades.

  She drew out the oil stick with more flourish than a swashbuckling pirate and tried to discuss the varying colors of clean-to-dirty oil with the intensity of an artist mixing a paint palette for a masterpiece. She thought maybe she ought to shake or stir the oil before adding it. Left to her own devices, the woman could destroy an entire motorcade in an hour.

  “What?” Della shifted from one foot to the other and scrunched her nose.

  “You’re cute.”

  “I’m capable. That’s more important. See? I knew if someone showed me, I could learn this.”

  He nodded gravely. “Just one more thing. . .”

  “I thought you said that was all it took. Did I forget something?”

  Brandon swiped a rag from the workbench and rubbed a streak of oil from her forehead. “Next time, don’t rub your face when you’ve got goop on your hands.”

  “I’ve got oil on me?”

  The glee in her voice made him laugh. “Yes.” He dabbed at the bridge of her nose. “Hey. You’ve got freckles!”

  She looked mortified at that discovery then quickly reached up and rubbed her finger across the spot he’d just bared, leaving another smudge. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Brandon propped a hip against the car and gave her an amused look. “Della, freckles are—”

  “Don’t say it!”

  “What’s wrong with looking—”

  Her glower dared him to finish his sentence. He wasn’t a man to back down from a dare. “Spicy.”

  Her eyes widened in shock.

  “What?” he taunted. “You expected me
to say something cliché like cute?”

  “I should have known better. You’re not like everyone else.”

  “Nope, I’m not.” He leaned toward her. “And I’m not about to miss out on seeing all of the cinnamon and spice on your cheeks.”

  To his delight, she stood still as he wiped off the streak of oil she’d used to cover her freckles. He didn’t stop at just that smudge, but flipped the cloth to a clean spot and continued to buff the makeup off her cheekbones. “Why do you wear all of this stuff?”

  “Because I don’t want to be cute. I want people to take me seriously.”

  “Sweetheart, you’ll always be beautiful. It’s not how you look that matters; it’s how you act.”

  “Oh, great. I’m sunk.” As soon as she spoke, she groaned. “See? I talk before I think. Daddy says I need to wear heels just so I can’t run everywhere I go.”

  “I’ve seen you run. Heels wouldn’t make any difference.”

  “What’s wrong with how I run?”

  “Everything,” he said succinctly.

  “Huh-unh! It gets me where I want to go!”

  The memory of seeing her run around the bases caused him to let out a bark of laughter. “Della, your running does get you there, but the idea of running is to go directly to your destination.”

  “I just said I get there.”

  He strove to come up with a way to explain the problem. “Yes,” he drawled, “You do get there, but you manage to go up and down and side-to-side as much as you go forward.”

  “Are you saying,” she asked in an arctic tone, “I wiggle?” When he nodded, her chin raised a notch. “Impossible.”

  “Hey—you’re the one who pointed out you’re a woman.”

  “A lady. And ladies glide; they do not wiggle or bounce.”

  “Who fed you that line?”

  “Miss M—” Her brows arched. “What does it matter?”

  Everything about you matters. He didn’t dare tell her that. Instead he slammed down the hood of her car and shook his head. “I can’t figure you out.”

  “That makes two of us!”

  “You can’t figure yourself out, or you can’t figure me out?”