Worth The Effort (The Worth Series Book 4: A Copper Country Romance) (29 page)

“Sounds like you went on a bender or something.”

“You know, that’s kind of what it feels like. Like one big, fuzzy hangover. Except I didn’t get the party beforehand.”

“We’ll have our party. It’ll just be after the hangover.”

“Thanks, Sawyer. And sorry about tonight. I really wanted to see the house you’re working on.”

“Don’t worry about that. But what I can do? Shall I bring you some soup? Or would something more solid be better?” He looked at his watch. “I’ll be about a half-hour and—”

“No, don’t come tonight, Sawyer. Really.”

Again a chill ran through him. “But I’d like to help, Deni.”

“I know, but there’s… You know what? Why don’t you come tomorrow? Not early morning, but sometime tomorrow morning. I’m sure I’ll be feeling much better and we can go grab an early lunch or something. I’d like that.”

“Really? Not until then?”

“Really. Tomorrow. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

“Okay. Well…get some rest, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Thanks for understanding. And, oh, probably just use the key from the garage and let yourself in tomorrow.”

“Okay, will do.”

“Okay, good night,” she said.

“Deni?”

“Yes?”

“This is just a small wall, right? You’d tell me if it was something larger?” he said with some hesitation.

“Yes, Sawyer, I’d tell you. Good night,” she said softly, and disconnected.

Sawyer put the phone down on what was left of the kitchen counters and then found his way to the one comfortable chair he’d moved into the house when he’d bought it.

He sat down, and Lucy made her way over to him, sensing his need for company. Leaning over to pet his dog, he buried his face in Lucy’s neck, trying to gain some sense of control in a situation he couldn’t control at all.

“It’s not happening again, is it, Luce?” he whispered.
 

He knew on an intellectual level that what Deni was going through was different than what Molly went through. But on an emotional level? On a punched-in-the-gut level?

It hurt. And scared the living shit out of him.

He leaned back in the chair. Lucy lay down right on top of his feet, as if protecting him.

But could she?
 

Could anything protect him from going through this all over again?

Deni heard the door opening the next morning and pulled herself out of her haze.

Crap, it was Sawyer. And she’d planned on being showered and dressed and ready to go out for some lunch.

And she was still in bed; still in the sweats and sweatshirt she’d donned yesterday morning.
Was that only yesterday?

“Deni? You home? You awake?” Sawyer called from downstairs. Except it wasn’t exactly his voice.

“It’s Twain,” came the voice. “Are you here?”

“Twain?” she called.

“Yeah. Are you upstairs? Is it okay to come up?”

Why was Twain here? Had something happened to Sawyer? “Yes, come up,” she shouted, then started unwinding herself from her cocoon of covers. “Is Sawyer okay?” she called out, but Twain was already in her doorway. Taking up the whole doorway.

“He’s fine. How are you doing?” he asked gently, then slowly moved into the room. She saw his eyes wander the room…the much-slept-in, messy bed, the pile of laundry in the corner, even the ever-present bowl of crusty potatoes on the bedside table.
Or was it mac and cheese last time?

She should feel shame, but she didn’t have the energy.

“I don’t understand,” she said, while shaking her head as if she could knock the fog loose. “Sawyer’s okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Twain said, taking another step in the room. “A total dickhead, but fine” she thought she heard him say under his breath.

And then she got it.

“He’s not coming, is he?” At Twain’s sheepish look, she knew she’d nailed it. “And he sent you in his place.”

A short nod from Twain.

Emotions whirled through her. Yes, she’d bailed on Sawyer the last two nights, but this was different. At least, it felt different to her. She was terribly hurt, and that hurt would normally make her sad. But maybe she was pulling out of her funk, because instead of sadness, the hurt quickly turned to anger. “What a douche,” she spat out.

Twain snorted. “You’ll get no argument from me.” He was to the bed now, and he gestured to the spot beside her. She nodded, and he sat down next to her.

“So, what? He called you and asked you to come over here? To check up on me?”

“Something like that.”

“Told you where I kept the spare key?”

The big man nodded. “Hide it somewhere else now…just so you feel better.”

She waved that suggestion away. She really didn’t care that Twain Beck knew where she hid her spare key. She cared more that her “boyfriend” had bailed on her and sent his brother instead.

“I can’t believe this,” she said, burying her face in her knees.

“Yeah, I know. But, hey, Deni…” He waited until she looked up at him, which she reluctantly did. “Forget about that for a minute. How are
you
doing?”

“I’m okay,” she answered.

“Yeah? ’Cause you don’t look okay.”

“No, I am. I just needed to rest for a bit.”

“Going on two days from what I understand.”

“Whatever.”

“Listen, why don’t you hop in the shower and then we’ll go get something to eat.”

“I was supposed to do that with Sawyer,” she said. Even she could hear the pout in her tone.

“Well, his loss is my gain.” He started to pull the covers from her and something in her—almost a panic—started to rise. She held on to the comforter.

“Come on, Deni, let’s get you to the shower.”

“No, I’m okay. I think I’d just like to take a nap now. Thanks for stopping by, Twain. You can tell Sawyer you saw me and I was fine.”
Then tell him to go fuck himself.

“I’d feel better about telling him that if you’d take a shower and put some fresh clothes on.”

“No, I’m good, but thanks.” She pulled the covers away from him and started to tuck herself back in.

The bedding was ripped from her hands and torn off of her, leaving her naked. Well, okay. She had sweats and a sweatshirt, socks and underwear…but she
felt
naked without the heavy bedding.

“Hey!”

Twain scooped her up in his arms and carried her out of the bedroom and down the hall. Finding the bathroom, he set her on her feet in the middle of the small room. Then he reached over and turned the shower on. He left for a moment, taking the clothes that were still on the floor from Thursday night. Deni stood in place, not daring to move. She heard him rummaging around in the hall linen closet and then he deposited two clean towels and a washcloth on the vanity.

He turned to her and took her shoulders in his big hands.
 

“Deni, you stink. Literally.” She flinched and started to pull back, but he hung tight. “Now, I’m going to step out of the room. If those clothes you’re wearing aren’t thrown out into the hallway for me in twenty seconds, and you in the shower, I’m coming back in to put you there myself.”
 

She stared at him, stunned, her mouth open, but nothing coming out.

“I know you’ve sauna-ed with one Beck brother, but if you don’t get your cute fanny in gear, you’re about to shower with a different one.” He let her go and left the bathroom, shutting the door softly behind him.

Slowly, she started peeling off the sweatshirt. Twain was right, she did stink.

“I’m waiting,” came his voice through the door. “And I know how to use a loofa.”

She started yanking off clothes much more quickly.

Chapter Twenty Seven

Engineering is the art of organizing and directing men and controlling the forces and materials of nature for the benefit of the human race.

~ Henry G. Stott

S
he hadn’t thought she’d been in the shower that long—though it had felt good and she’d let the hot water pound on her shoulders for what could have been a good, long while. When she went back to her bedroom, wrapped in a towel and hoping Twain was downstairs—or better yet, gone completely—she realized she must have been in the bathroom longer than she’d realized.

The overflowing laundry basket was gone, as was her bedding. It had been replaced with crisp, clean sheets that Twain must have taken from the linen closet.
 

The effort—the gesture—touched her deeply. She moved to the edge of the bed and sat down, becoming emotional.

God, what if she started crying over how sweet Twain was being to her and never stopped?

The thought that it was her boyfriend’s brother who had done this for her, and not her boyfriend, changed the oncoming tears to irritation.

“Deni?” Twain called from downstairs. “Need any help?”

“No,” she answered, rising from the bed, her pissiness at Sawyer driving her to the dresser to pull out some clean undergarments. “I’ll be right down.”

He took her to lunch at the Sisu café. Just as they settled in and started looking at the menu, Twain got a text. He read it and quickly put the phone back in his pocket.

“Was that Sawyer?” she asked, then wished she hadn’t.

“Hmmm,” he said, not committing. He studied the menu. “How about a steak? Or a burger?”

“A steak? For lunch?” She shook her head. “They do breakfast all day. I’m thinking pancakes.”

“Really? Doesn’t a burger sound good?” he asked.

“So have a burger.”

He put his menu down and placed a hand on hers, gently taking her menu and placing it with his. “You should have some protein. Probably not so many carbs right now.”

“What do… Wait. Was that what that text said? That I should eat protein? Are you kidding me? He won’t show his face, but he’s going to tell me what to eat?”

Well, the fog was gone, which was nice. But it was replaced by irritability like she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Or maybe she was just good old-fashioned pissed.

“Sort of. But the protein thing isn’t coming from him.”

“That wasn’t him who texted you just now?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“Twain, what the hell is going on?”

“Sawyer called Alison Jukuri to see if there was anything that he could do to help. She suggested that some protein might help. Especially if you’d been carb loading.”
 

She ducked her head, embarrassed. Of course Twain had seen the bowl of potatoes. It had been gone from her bedroom. And her kitchen had been straightened when she’d gone downstairs—so he’d disposed of the empty containers.

Their waitress came and Deni almost ordered the pancakes, but then the thought of cutting off her nose to spite her SAD face got the best of her, and she ordered steak and eggs. “Hold the hash browns. Hold the toast,” she added. Twain ordered the same and then sat back in the booth, putting his long arms across the back. It was as if he was preparing for the barrage Deni was going to throw at him.

Which she dearly wanted to, but she knew she had the wrong Beck brother in front of her.

“Listen,” she said after taking a long drink of coffee. It was strong and hot and seemed to give her a tiny bit of clarity. “I’m still kind of muddled emotionally right now.”

“Sure, okay.”

“Which is hard for me, because I’m not typically very emotional. I’m an engineer. I think in terms of logic, equations…right angles, for God’s sake,” she said, her voice full of emotion.

“Totally unemotional. Got it,” he answered, a grin creeping across his face.

“And while I realize what Sawyer has gone through—and I sympathize, I really do—it was still pretty shitty of him to send you in his place.”

Twain leaned forward and held one of her hands in his. They were rough and warm and brought her comfort. But again…wrong Beck brother.

“It was, you’re right. And honestly, I’m not going to defend his actions. But I do know he was pretty freaked when he called me, Deni.”

“When was this exactly? I talked to him last night and he seemed okay.”

“This morning. I don’t think he slept, which isn’t unusual. He called pretty early, and I know he’d already talked to Alison, so I’m not sure when he called her.”

Deni took her hand from Twain’s and put her head in her hands. “Jesus, how am I going to face her?"

“You have no problem with Alison…it’s Sawyer who will have to face her.”

That was true.

“Besides, Alison’s pretty cool. She’ll be glad he called her.”

Also true.

“You said you weren’t going to defend him…but you kind of are.”

Their food arrived then, and Deni admitted that the steak and eggs did look good.