By the time everyone else arrived, all three tents were pitched and a hearty stew bubbled on the camp stove. Jordan sat down at the picnic table and announced, “I’d like to bless the meal.”
“Sure.” Brandon thumped down his cup.
Della glanced around the table. She and Brandon were the only non-Christians. Katie and Jim didn’t go to church much, but they’d immediately bowed their heads and chimed in on the Amen. Later, around the campfire, Katie taught them some songs she’d learned at high school church camp.
Curled up beside Brandon at the campfire rated as a highlight in Della’s life. Warm, cherished, comfortable, she laughed as he torched another marshmallow into a charred mess. “How can you eat that? It’s charcoal!”
“Think you could do any better?” He stabbed another marshmallow on a stick and handed it to her. “Have at it.”
“I’m great at this,” she boasted. “Just ask Val. We used to have beachside picnics in high school. I’m not utterly helpless, you know.”
“No one,” Brandon said as he speared another ill-fated marshmallow, “with a brain like yours is helpless.”
Valene cheered.
“What got into you?” Jordan gave Valene a baffled look.
“In high school, Van and I hung out with Della. We were known as Zany, Brainy, and Prissy. Someone finally realized Della’s smart!”
“Acting like that, we’ll all think you’re zany.” Jordan’s voice held affection.
“Well, I’m sleepy.” Katie yawned and rose.
Brandon sandwiched his marshmallow between two broken bits of graham cracker and gobbled it down. “Della’s still not done with that marshmallow. When it’s done, we’ll extinguish the fire.”
She didn’t regret the last five minutes alone as the others turned in. Brandon brushed his temple against hers and murmured, “I was an idiot to eat marshmallows. I can’t kiss you without leaving sticky junk on your face.”
She turned and whispered, “I haven’t eaten any yet. Hold still.” She brushed a kiss along his jaw line then pulled away. “I guess we’d better put out the fire.”
“Yeah.” His gravelly undertone gave a completely different twist to her words.
Della hopped up, but Brandon captured her hand. “Some fires you put out. Others, you bank the embers so you can bring them to life again at a later time.” He dumped what was left from the coffeepot onto the dying flames. “Go on and join Katie in your tent before I douse this, so you have some light.”
She scampered into her tent and zipped it shut. Della didn’t mention she had a tiny flashlight in her pocket.
Nine
“Della.” Brandon stood outside her tent and hissed her name again. This time, he heard some rustling.
“Huh?”
“Come on out here.” A few moments later, the tent zipper buzzed. He snickered when she held the flaps closed and barely peeked out with one eye. “We’re on breakfast detail.”
“It’s still dark.” Her whispered words carried more than a hint of accusation.
“Not for long.”
She sighed. “Give me fifteen minutes.”
“Three.”
The zipper sounded, and the flap sealed completely again. Ten minutes later, she emerged. She’d pulled on neatly pressed tan slacks. He bet whatever shirt she had on beneath her jacket was just as impractical. The tip of her ponytail bounced along at her waist, and she’d somehow managed to slap on some makeup.
“You need to learn to tell time,” he said as he tugged her along. He had to keep moving before he kissed her silly. Months ago, he’d thought his life was over. He’d left the “family” of SEALs. Suddenly, things had changed. He saw a future with Della, of them having their very own family—trips to the beach and camping. Rowdy little kids who jumped on their beds. . . . Seeing the woman he loved first thing in the morning jolted him. He’d found sheer contentment in a very disturbing package.
Their first stop was his jeep. Cracking open the first-aid kit, he searched for an alcohol swab. “No perfume up here unless you want to get eaten alive.”
“Oh.” She hastily swabbed off her wrists and behind each ear. She’d put in earrings. Dangly ones. Brandon grinned and wondered what she’d do if her told her—oh, why not? “Those earrings—”
“Aren’t they pretty? I got them on sale.”
“At Joe’s Bait and Tackle?”
Her eyes grew huge. “What?!”
He reached over, unhooked it from her ear, and dangled it between them. “Looks like a great fishing lure to me.”
She snagged it from him and popped it back into her earlobe. “You haven’t had coffee yet. I forgive you.” Leaning into the jeep to put the alcohol swab into his litterbag, she asked, “So what are we cooking?”
“Whatever we catch.” He grabbed a pole from the jeep and shoved it into her hand.
“Fish for breakfast?”
Brandon chuckled softly. The glee in her voice made the whole trip worthwhile.
An hour later, Brandon sat on the shore and cast his line again. Della didn’t have the patience it took to sit still and wait for a nibble. Soon after they’d started fishing, she’d stuck her pole into the dirt, tried unsuccessfully to dust off her seat, and wandered up and down the stream. She stayed in sight, and Brandon enjoyed watching her exploring the area with such intensity. Finally, she’d grabbed his net. “Careful,” he called.
“It’s only water.” She nimbly made her way across several stones. “You said fish like cool, deep water. This looks like a good spot.”
“You do know how to swim, don’t you?”
“Only if I’m wearing arm floaties.” Her laughter drifted to him.
Brandon smiled at her sass and spirit. She’d stolen his heart. Never one to hesitate when he’d decided on a course of action, he grimaced at the realization that Della would probably want a long engagement so she could plan the perfect wedding.
She skipped back to him. “Look what I got!”
He ignored the fish in her net and swept her in a circle then hugged her tight. “Nope. Look what I got.”
❧
Brandon couldn’t get the camping trip out of his mind. Watching Della had been a real kick—the woman embraced life with such zest, he’d loved opening her eyes to all the little things around them. She’d actually gotten grubby, and he’d never seen a woman look more appealing than she did, sitting on a rock beside him, trying to copy how he held a blade of grass between his thumbs to make a whistle.
Coming back to work—well, at least he liked his job. If he didn’t, he would have been sorely tempted to stay right up in the mountains with her. She’d invited him to come over for supper tonight—Power Electric worked on the site today, and her father volunteered that she’d stuffed the biggest roast he’d ever seen in the crock pot. The old adage about the way to a man’s heart being through the stomach didn’t hold true—she’d already captured him before he ate a bite of her cooking. . .but Della’s great cooking sure sweetened the deal.
“Hey, Brandon! Did Della—” Gabe began.
“—rope you into the show, too?” Justin finished in a morose tone.
Brandon shoved his cell phone back into its holder and asked, “What show?”
“For her shop. She bullies us into tuxes, and we have to pretend to be besotted grooms.” Justin measured a length of electrical wire from a spool and cut it.
“At least she’s trying to line up safe ‘brides’ this time,” Gabe said as he pulled more wire. “Van and Val are both married. Katie already has Jim.”
“It’s just a show. What’s the problem?”
The wiring in Gabe’s hands snarled just as badly as his voice. “The models are piranhas in white satin. They’re total man-eaters. Get close, and your days are numbered.”
Brandon chuckled. “Thanks for the warning. Della didn’t ask, though, so I’m safe.”
Just then, his cell phone rang again. “Hello? Della!”
Della’s brothers
started laughing like loons.
❧
“Dreams can come true. . . .” Della lost her line for a moment as she watched Brandon step on stage in his tux. There ought to be a law against men that good-looking being let out alone. And I’ll volunteer to escort this one. . . .
The microphone let out a small squawk, jarring her out of her own fantasy and back to the bridal extravaganza. “The styles this season are classic and more tailored, accentuating the groom’s masculinity, and they photograph especially well. . . .”
Just about every waking minute for the past week had revolved around the details for this show. Two hundred fifty brides and their mamas or sisters filled the room. Caterers, photographers, florists, stationers, jewelers, two lingerie stores, and two other bridal shops put on this extravaganza twice a year. Almost a quarter of her year’s sales would be generated from the contacts here, and she took every opportunity to promote her shop.
One look at Brandon striding down the walkway in that tuxedo ought to make every woman in the room swoon. The rascal hit his mark at the end of the runway, half turned, and winked—at her!
“Where’s the bride?” someone called out.
Della only then realized the model who was supposed to be with him hadn’t materialized. She quickly extemporized, “This is the best man.” The best man I’ve ever seen. . . “Next, we’ll see the bride with the man of her heart. Yes, ladies, here comes the bride. . . .”
Times like this, family and friends really helped. Vanessa and Nathan, Valene and Jordan, Katie and Jim—they all radiated the contentment of couples in love. As for her brothers—for all the fuss they kicked up about getting roped into helping, they’d actually gone the extra mile and rigged up special lights and a fantastic backdrop. Two of the three models she hired as brides/bridesmaids walked the runway with flair—but one seemed to be having difficulty.
Katie tugged on the back of Della’s dress and whispered from behind the curtain, “Angela’s sick.”
Della waited until another couple posed on the runway and hissed, “Your mom’s here, isn’t she?”
“Yes. Pink dress, second row.”
“I hope she’ll forgive me. . . .” Della smiled at the audience and looked at them. “I’d like to do something a little different today. It occurs to me that my brides are all younger women. I’d like to have a mature woman come back and show us all that love is ageless.”
The idea electrified the audience. “When love comes again, the son often has the honor of escorting his mother down the aisle. Let’s have Brandon come out here to escort the ‘bride’ from our audience.”
Brandon appeared and plucked a rose from the trellis and turned to Della.
He’d shocked her on the phone when he volunteered to help with the show before she even told him about it. Clearly, he didn’t mind pitching in, and the extemporaneous action showed style.
Della stood on the toes of her already high heels. “How about if we match that rose to the dress of the woman in the audience?”
Brandon hopped off the runway with a lithe move and soon stopped in front of a pair of young, giggling girls. His voice cut through the air. “A lady in the second row since this is the second time around.” He extended the rose to Katie’s mother with a gallant flourish. “M’lady?”
Tessa Garrett accepted the rose and stood. “I never had a son, but I’m more than willing to adopt you!”
“There you have it!” Della said into the microphone. “An adoption and a wedding in the same afternoon.”
Valene and Jordan walked the runway as Della cheerfully praised the features of their formalwear. Katie and Jim came next; then Della glanced over and caught sight of Brandon. He stood behind the curtain, out of sight from the audience. The minute their eyes met, he held up four fingers. He didn’t look apologetic or worried in the least about asking for more time. His confidence in her sent her spirits soaring.
Having done this event for the past three years, Della knew just how to organize everything backstage so the models could scurry back, change, and return. She also planned something to fill in a time lag, just in case. Taking advantage of a momentary pause, she lifted a basket. “I’m going to send this around. Slip in your cards, and at the close of the show, we’ll have a drawing. Della’s Bridal, Forget Me Not Flowers, and Genesis Photography have created a gift package valued at over one thousand dollars. . . .”
Minutes later, Brandon gave her a thumbs-up.
“Take a breath now, ladies, because once you see this next couple, you’ll be breathless! Brandon is escorting Tessa to the altar.” Brandon appeared with Tessa on his arm, and the audience burst into applause.
“Love is ageless, and so are the beautiful lines of Tessa’s gown. . . .”
It barely seemed possible that she’d spent weeks planning the show and it was over in an hour and fifteen minutes. Della mingled with prospective customers then went behind the curtains, took one look at Brandon, and burst out laughing.
Ten
“We must’ve done well—you’re happy.” Brandon grinned at her as he slowly unknotted his tie and drew it off.
“Get some orders, Sis?” Gabe asked.
“Five of the gowns are on reserve. I need to tag them.” She took the tie from him. “Your feet hurt, too, Brandon?”
“I’ll tag them,” Vanessa offered.
“No one’s toe-tagging me,” Brandon protested. “I’m definitely alive and kicking.”
“The gowns, not your feet.” Della took the tie from him.
“No kidding,” Van teased. “I’ve seen his feet, and I’m not that brave! Just tell me which gowns.”
While Della specified which ones, Brandon tugged her over to a chair and promptly yanked off her drive-a-red-blooded-man-crazy high heels. “Why did you wear these?”
“They match my dress,” she said with insane, feminine logic. “Oh, my word! Brandon, what happened to your feet?” She popped out of the chair and tried to shove him from his kneeling position.
He didn’t budge.
“Brandon!” Her voice took on a decided edge as she knelt beside him.
“It’s nothing.”
“Nothing?!” She stared at his blisters in horror.
He tilted her face up to his. “You must think I’m a real wuss if you think a couple of blisters are gonna bother me.”
“Are you gonna kiss my sister?” Justin’s words held unmistakable challenge.
“Your sister,” Della declared as she threaded her fingers through Brandon’s hair and dipped closer, “is going to kiss him.”
“Over my dead body,” Justin blustered.
“That can be arranged, can’t it?” Della asked Brandon right before her lips touched his.
Brandon hadn’t ever laughed through a kiss, but he couldn’t help it. Their lips barely brushed, and their noses bumped, then Della pulled away.
“My life is safe if that’s your definition of a kiss.” Justin sauntered off.
Brandon pulled Della closer and murmured, “The only reason I put up with him is because I’m nuts about you.”
“Brandon?”
“Yeah?”
“What happened to your feet?”
“Have I ever remarked on how stubborn you are?”
Jordan snorted as he hung up the tuxedo he’d been wearing. “Look who’s talking.”
Brandon stood and pulled Della to her feet. “It’s impossible to carry on a conversation around here.”
Jim curled his arms around Katie. “Get used to it. Once you have a woman in your life, you’ll never get a word in edgewise.”
“Hey!” Katie gave him a look of mock outrage.
“You all clear out. I’ll help Della load up the racks.”
“Gabe, please pull the truck to the south exit.” Della turned to zip a gown into a huge vinyl casing. “We won’t take long.”
Everyone sauntered away. Brandon held a hanger aloft as Della zipped the next gown into the protective casing. “You have this d
own to a fine art, and you handled that glitch like a pro.”
“Thanks. I was lucky Katie’s mom happened to be here and was a good sport.”
“I was proud of you—you’re a great emcee and came up with extemporaneous comments to make things work. You ran with it.”
“Speaking of running. . .”
“Tomorrow morning. I’ll pick you up at five fifteen.”
“Not a chance.” She looked at his feet again. “Not with those blisters. The shoes did it, didn’t they?”
He’d already put her off, but the woman could teach obstinacy to a mule. At the moment, Brandon rued his promise to always be totally honest with her. “The box says size thirteen, but they’re elevens.”
“And you wore them? And walked around like nothing was wrong?”
“No big deal. I’ve had blisters that deserved birth certificates. Let’s bag up that last gown.”
He thought he’d distracted her until they finished packing all of the gowns and tuxedoes into the truck with Gabe’s help. Della spoke to her brother, gave him a hug, and waved him off. Brandon didn’t think anything of hopping into her car to go back to the shop—until she turned the wrong way.
“Don’t you give me that look,” she snapped.
“What are you up to?”
“I’m making sure you don’t die of blood poisoning.”
He decided not to argue with her. . .even though the crazy woman stopped at three different places. Later, up to his ankles in a pan of Epsom salts, he ate a plate of her lasagna as she put everything back in place at the shop.
“There.” She tucked away the last cummerbund and turned to him. “How are you doing?”
“Never been better. This lasagna is outrageous.”
She knelt and carefully dried his feet. Brandon couldn’t believe it. He didn’t like anyone fussing over him; but here Della was, her classy silk dress pooling on the floor around her in wild disarray, showing him a tenderness that stole deep into his heart. He’d already mentally claimed her as his own, but the way she tended him tattled about how profoundly she cared for him, cared about him. In her own way, she was making him hers.
He wanted to grab her, hug her, and confess his love, but it was all wrong. Backward. He should be kneeling at her feet when he made that declaration. Tugging the towel from her hands, he said, “That’s enough. I’m too ornery for this to bother me.”
Love Worth Finding Page 6