Following Love (2 page)

With both gloved hands securely fastened on the handle, he swung again. The heaviness of the metal head, the long swinging range of motion and the surging anger increased the momentum's impact. The more he thought about it, the higher the hammer arched, requiring added control on his part.

Next there was Jessie Bennett, his ex-fiancée of only seven months, whom he hadn't seen in a year until the day she'd stood before a judge and swore through a stream of crocodile tears that the child she carried in her arms was his. She'd wanted palimony and child support. Thank God for whoever invented the DNA paternity test. Last he heard, three tests later and she was still trying to figure out who the father was.
Slam.

And finally his ex-girlfriend, Kellie Howard. Beautiful, bright and befuddled, she'd carried enough baggage to fill a super oil tanker. Her split and splintered personality issues had him completely confused. On any given day he had no idea who was going to walk through the door: a sweet, adoring woman or a satanic shrew. Either way, enough was enough.

He needed to listen to his older brother, Darius; he had the right idea. He always said that women were trouble and beautiful women were trouble times two. And beautiful women with children were completely off the radar. All they wanted was a father for another man's child and one was as good as any other.

Disciplined and self-controlled, Julian nodded to focus harder. Every muscle in his body screamed but he didn't care, he'd worry about that later. Right now all he needed to do was to release this pent-up energy. And knowing only two ways to do it, he chose the one least likely to land him before a family court judge.
Slam.

The release of tension and anxiety was working. He stepped back, preparing for another swing just as his phone rang. He knew exactly who it was even without looking. She'd been calling him all morning and all morning he'd been ignoring her.
Slam.
“What is with these crazy women?”

With a stretched, swinging arch, he drew the hammer back once more. A split second later he heard a shriek and instantly stopped. The hammer, weighing just over ten pounds, suddenly lurched downward in midair, wrenching and twisting his arm as gravity took over. Plummeting to the ground, it seemed to weigh a ton. The last thing he'd expected was a scream in answer to his rhetorical rant. He turned, looked down. His jaw dropped open at seeing a woman lying at his boots.

Breathless, Julian dropped the hammer and hurriedly bent down over her. His long legs straddled her body, giving him full view to assess any injuries. “Don't move,” he ordered, resting his hand on her shoulder as she began struggling to get up. “Are you okay?” he asked with ardent concern, fearful of a mass concussion or head trauma.

Dena lay on the ground covered from head to toe in ice cubes, lemons and sweet lemonade. Unable to speak, she just lay there completely drenched and completely humiliated.

“No, yes, I'm fine,” she said, not only winded by the sudden jolt to the ground but also chilled by the frozen ice cubes in her shirt. She quickly unfastened the top buttons and removed several ice cubes from inside her shirt. In doing so she inadvertently revealed a very lacy, very lavender bra and the moistened swell of her bosom. “Are you crazy, swinging that thing around like that?”

“Me, crazy? Are you kidding? Any sane person would have enough sense not to sneak up behind a man swinging a sledgehammer.” She attempted to get up. “No, lie still, you might have injured yourself in the fall.” He took off his glove and tipped her chin up to see into her face and look into her eyes. “Look at me.”

“What?” she asked, batting his hand and jerking away from him.

“Look at me,” he repeated more persistently.

“What are you, a doctor or something?” she asked.

“Yes, in another life,” he said as his years of medical experience clicked in and he looked deep into her big brown eyes. Clear and steady, he quickly concluded no sign of concussion. But signs of another kind took form.

“I'm fine, really. You didn't make contact.”

“I know, but you fell back. Did you hit your head?”

“No, I fell on my…” She paused and looked away. “Uh, you don't need to tend to that.”

“Are you sure?” Julian asked. She looked up at him, obviously questioning his bedside manner. “That's not what I meant. Are you sure you didn't bump your head?” he clarified, then swallowed hard just as a wave of desire hit him like a swing from the sledgehammer. This obviously wasn't going to be easy.

“Positive,” she muttered.

“Good,” he said, still looking down at her.

“Yeah,” she muttered.

“Then are you insane or something?” he asked huskily, averting his eyes from her exposed cleavage.

“Excuse me?”

“Didn't you see me with the sledgehammer?”

“Of course I saw you.”
All morning I saw you.
“And no, I'm not insane. You would have heard me coming over if you hadn't been talking to yourself.”

“So what exactly were you doing behind me like that?”

She didn't reply.
Watching you.

“Didn't you see me with the hammer?”

Are you kidding, I couldn't take my eyes off of you.

“Do you have a death wish?”

No, not anymore.
To her surprise the answer came quick and clear and suddenly the thoughts she'd once considered seemed ludicrous.

“You could have been killed.”

Dena smiled wide at the obvious realization.

“You're smiling?” His rant didn't faze her until she realized he was finished and was staring at her, waiting for an answer.

“I was, uh, distracted, by…” She paused, seeing the full beauty of his glorious brown chest hovering over her. “The sun.” It was a lie, of course. She'd been distracted by his body. Each time he'd drawn the hammer back, the muscles in his back tensed and rolled, and she'd moved in closer.

It had been a long time since she'd seen a man's chest over her. And even then, nothing remotely similar to his. Forester had been thin and wiry. Something she had grown to treasure.

“The sun?” He looked, seeing the now-overcast sky. “You must have hit your head harder than you thought,” he said.

Still holding the lemon slices, he saw that her nipples had perked up through her open wet shirt. Still feeling the pull from his body, he closed his eyes and scrambled back, then stood and reached out his hand to help her up. She took his offered help and was pulled to her feet. In a split second she was slammed up against his body.

They stood there a few seconds until he stepped back and walked away. “You need to be more careful, I could have killed you.”

Seeing that he was physically shaken by the incident, she softened. “You didn't, and I'm fine. I guess I should be delighted that you have so much control over your hammer.”

He looked at her and tilted his head, feeling his body's urge. Everything she said and did seemed to send one message straight to his wanton body. The awkward moment lasted only a few seconds but seemed to go on forever.

He nodded then swallowed hard. “Sorry, I overreacted. I've been a little stressed lately.”

“There's a lot of that going around.” She muttered her affirmation. “I'm Dena, Ellen Peyton is my aunt.”

“Julian.” He removed his other work glove and held his hand out to shake. Hers sticky, his dusty, they shook, holding on slightly longer than necessary.

“Are you the handyman who reconnected her gas stove after my great-aunt moved it to the other side of the room a few months ago?”

“Yeah,” he said, remembering the fire marshal's outrage when he'd found out what she'd done and ordered her never to attempt another remodeling job like that again.

“And I guess you helped her with the fireplace, too?”

“Yeah, that, too.”

“Thank you.”

“For what,” he asked, “nearly taking your head off?”

“No, actually, that wasn't such a good idea. Thank you for looking out for my aunt, she means well.”

“You're not from around here, are you?” he asked.

“No. I grew up in California but I lived here with my aunt for about a year and a half after my folks died.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Thanks, it was awhile ago, I was sixteen. Anyway I haven't been back to live here in years.” She looked around, taking her eyes off him for the first time since she'd walked outside.

“Well, I'd better go change and get another pitcher of something for you to drink.”

He cleared his suddenly dry throat, nodded and smiled. He bent down, picked up the glass pitcher and handed it to her. “Thanks. I'd appreciate that, thanks.”

She nodded politely, half smiled in return, then turned and left. Without thinking she rubbed her thigh and rear, knowing she'd have a nice black-and-blue bruise in a few days. When she entered the back door of the Peyton house she turned, sensing that he'd been watching her.

 

Julian lowered and shook his head to steel his wayward body. He'd watched as her heart-shaped rear clad in perfectly taut shorts hurried away, but for him it was like slow motion. The sway of her hips accentuated the sweet taunt of her body. He'd watched as she'd reached down and rubbed her rear. That was his undoing. There was no way he could continue watching her. Of its own accord, his body went into overdrive as thoughts of her beneath him continued to test his resolve.

Still holding the lemon slices that he'd plucked from her neck and shirt, he popped them into his mouth and bit down hard, letting the sharp bitter-tart fruit pucker his mouth as a distraction. Then he replaced his work gloves, picked up the hammer and took another swing, nearly leveling the crumbling wall in a single blow.

“No,” he said out loud, answering his body's needful yearn. He refused to go there. She was attractive, sure, but that was no reason to go back on his word. He'd vowed to focus on work and that's just what he intended to do. Like it or not, celibacy was his new calling.

E
llen innocently looked up as soon as Dena walked through the door. “My goodness, was Julian that thirsty?” she asked, after seeing the empty pitcher in Dena's hand.

“No,” Dena said as she looked down at her sticky, soggy shirt and shorts. “I spilled it.” She placed the pitcher in the sink, rinsed and dried her hands then walked over to the refrigerator and began pulling out more lemons.

Ellen brought over the cutting board and, seeing Dena's shirt up close, shook her head. “What in the world? Looks like you spilled the whole pitcher down the front of you.”

“I did,” Dena said, pulling the sticky shirt away from her body.

“There are easier ways of getting a man's attention.”

“I wasn't trying to get his attention,” she insisted with a deep blush and hesitant stammer. “I walked up just as he was swinging that big thing…hammer thing of his. He didn't hear me until I screamed. He nearly took my head off with that thing.” She looked at her smiling aunt, knowing exactly what she was thinking. “You're smiling and the grim reaper almost tapped me on the shoulder with his sickle.” Ellen continued smiling. “What?”

“Nothing,” Ellen said innocently.

“What?” Dena repeated as Ellen shook her head silently. “If you have something to say, Aunt Ellen, go ahead, say it.”

“Me?” Ellen feigned innocence. “I didn't say a single word.” Dena looked at her aunt, knowing better. Ellen had a way of looking that spoke loud and clear. A horrible poker player, she couldn't keep exactly what she was thinking from spreading all over her face. “Now go get yourself washed up and changed, and rinse those sticky things out before you get attacked by every ant in the county. I'll make another pitcher and take it out.”

Dena saw the suggestion as her exit, so she took it. She hurried up the back stairs, stopped and peeked into the bedroom next to hers. Dillon was still asleep. He'd had a long, exciting day and passed out right after getting home.

She tiptoed over to his bed, smiled as she pulled the sheet up, removed his hard hat and tucked his teddy bear beside him. Then quietly she turned and continued to her own bedroom.

As soon as she entered she heard the sound of the sledgehammer slam against solid wall, and casually strolled to the window. Knowing that she'd have a perfect vantage point to the backyard from her large window seat, she carefully pulled the curtain back expecting to have an even better view.

Unfortunately she'd forgotten about the fullness of the giant oak tree outside her window. Her view was completely obscured by branches and leaves. Squinting and peeking through and around didn't do any good. As the hammer slammed again, she closed the curtains and headed to the next window and then to the next one.

Not getting any better view, she tiptoed back into Dillon's bedroom and looked out his window. Unobstructed, she looked down as Julian hammered away at the solid wall. The guilty pleasure of watching him made her warm. The power of his motions excited her. Then the thought of making love to him drifted through her mind again. She closed her eyes and smiled, feeling the pounding against the wall as against her body.

The hammering stopped. She opened her eyes, seeing that he had taken a break and was now looking up at the house. She quickly closed the curtains and stepped away from the window, then went to her bathroom to wash and change.

Standing at the sink she sighed wearily as she looked at herself in the large mirror. She was a mess. Her ponytail and bangs had frayed and her face was shiny and sticky. Suddenly the thought of Julian seeing her like this mattered.

She peeled out her damp socks, slipped out of her sticky clothes and turned on the shower. Knowing what would come next, she stepped into the tiled stall and ducked beneath the stream of water. The cool refreshing blast poured over her. She tilted her head up, taking the full intensity of the flow with her eyes closed and her mouth slightly open.

This is when they usually came, the onslaught of tears, the sadness of being alone and the emptiness of possibility.

 

Ellen knew what had happened, of course, she'd been watching from the kitchen window. She'd gasped out loud, seeing the near miss, then smiled, encouraged as Dena lay on the ground and allowed Julian to crouch above her, straddling her body with his long legs.

Maybe this was what Louise meant when she'd said that love would come only when she was ready. Maybe, just maybe, Dena was finally ready to live again. At any rate, it was a good sign and she was more than encouraged.

She finished the second pitcher of lemonade and placed it on a tray to take outside. Just as she added a glass and her homemade cookies, the telephone rang. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mrs. Peyton, this is Willamina Parker at the Hamilton Development Corporation. Is Julian there, by any chance? He must have turned his cell phone off again.”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, he's right out back.”

“Great, I've been calling his cell phone for the last fifteen minutes. Would you please ask him to call me here at the office? I need him to stop by before he goes home this evening.”

“Sure, anything wrong?”

“No, not at all, he just needs to pick up some employment applications and look them over before tomorrow morning. We're interviewing for an administrative assistant since I'll be on maternity leave for the next few months and Mattie Carmichael is still out with her broken ankle.”

“Of course. I'm headed outside right now.”

“Thanks. 'Bye, Mrs. Peyton.”

“Wait a minute, Willamina,” Ellen said quickly, “you said that you're looking for a replacement for a few months?”

“Yes, I have all intentions of returning to work and so does Mattie. It's just that the timing is crazy right now. We're so busy and with Mattie out another two months and me going out in a week and a half, we really need someone competent to fill in. The last few applicants just didn't work out. They were more interested in getting a Hamilton husband than working for the company.”

“Interesting. My niece, Dena Graham, is looking for a job. Something temporary until she gets herself together and decides what she wants to do next. She's an attorney on personal hiatus.”

“Does she have any administrative office experience?”

“Tons,” Ellen answered, having no idea at all.

“Great. Why don't you have her stop by tomorrow around five-thirty? I'll make her my last appointment before the weekend. The position isn't anything glamorous but it's busy work and definitely challenging.”

“Thanks, sweetie, I'll let her know, and I'll give Julian your message right now.” Ellen hung the phone back on the wall, smiled and chuckled, then picked up the tray of lemonade and oatmeal-raisin cookies and headed outside, completely amazed by how quickly things turned around.

 

The front part of the barbecue pit, once a mass of hardened cement and cinder blocks, lay as rubble at his feet. Breathless, Julian looked down at the crumbled mess, feeling particularly pleased with his effort. His body ached and his muscles screamed for relief, but he had focused and gotten most of the job done.

As he leaned the hammer against the back wall of the grill he noticed a lemon slice on the ground and instantly thought about Dena. Remembering her lying there beneath him as he straddled her urged his body again. The memory of the sweet lemonade poured over her made him close his eyes and imagine what she might taste like. Tart and sweet, juicy and succulent; he unconsciously licked his lips. His body stirred so he quickly picked up the lemon slice and tossed it in the trash.

Then he rolled the wheelbarrow closer to the rubble and began picking up and tossing large chunks of cinder block and cement into the large metal container. Single-focused, he finished in no time and was using the broom, gathering the last remnants and the smaller chunks when Ellen called out to him.

He stopped and turned to her, quickly removing his gloves and going over to help her with the heavy tray. “Perfect timing,” he said as he looked at the refreshing pitcher of lemonade. He placed the tray on the side picnic table and Ellen poured him a tall glass as he walked over to the outside faucet and doused his head under the water and washed his hands.

Drying his face, he walked back over and took the offered glass. Drinking it down in just a few gulps, he let the cold refreshing beverage chill down his throat. After the third glass he picked up a cookie and began munching.

Ellen walked over and looked down at his handiwork, shaking her head. “Well,” she said, “it looked just fine to me. I don't see why I have to get anyone's permission to build a barbecue grill in my own backyard on land that I've lived on for over forty-five years.”

“It's the law. You have to abide by the city codes, get permits and check zoning regulations, Ms. Ellen. You can't get around it.”

She shook her head sadly. “Doesn't make any sense to me whatsoever.”

Julian smiled as he took another bite of the oatmeal-raisin cookie.

“Oh, before I forget, Willamina called. She needs you to stop by the office before you go home this evening. You need to pick up some applications.”

“Oh, right,” he said, realizing that he'd forgotten to get them on his way out earlier.

“So how's Mattie doing?” Ellen asked casually.

“She's getting better, still has to take it easy and stay off her feet for a couple more months. I still can't believe she broke her ankle teaching her grandchildren how to jump rope. She's usually so careful.”

“Accidents happen to the best of us. So she's out and now Willamina's going on maternity leave soon,” she offered rather than asked. Julian nodded as he crunched into another cookie. “How long will she be away?”

“She said possibly a few months, although I can see her coming back sooner. She loves the job. I think it has something to do with the power of ordering us around that gives her a secret thrill.”

Ellen laughed. “I can imagine,” she said, knowing, of course, that the three Hamilton brothers were a handful when they were younger. Now the three, all grown up, were on testosterone overdrive, and every single and almost-single woman in a four-country radius wanted a chance to try to tame one.

Impossible of course, although Julian had been married and engaged, so the possibility of his ability to commit was there. But the other two, Darius, the oldest, and Jordan, the youngest, were adamant about staying single, and made sure everyone knew it. Ellen wondered what her friend Louise would say.

“Have you decided yet?” Julian asked, getting her attention again.

“About what?” Ellen asked, distracted and completely forgetting the now-open space where her homemade makeshift barbecue grill had been.

Julian pointed to the open area. “For this space, the back wall is too solid for the sledgehammer so I'll get a backhoe over Saturday morning and take it down. Have you decided what you'd like to do once it's down?” Julian asked.

“Oh, well, I need another one, obviously. I can't go the whole summer without a grill in the backyard. And besides, I have a huge birthday party to throw at the end of the summer. I'm gonna need it done quickly so I'll take care of it myself. I have a few ideas.” She turned to the open space. “This time I think I'll build one with…”

“Maybe it would be a good idea to get a professional to come and build it this time. That way it would be up to code and Reggie Marshall won't have any complaints.”

“Oh, that man is absolutely ridiculous. For a fire chief he's just too picky. He complains about everything I do. The stove, the fireplace, the supporting wall, the electrical system, he's always got something to say.”

“What supporting wall and what electrical system?” Julian asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“I had a short in my living room lamp, so I fixed it.”

“You fixed it?” Julian asked, knowing of course that when Mrs. Ellen said she fixed something, a disaster was in the making.

“It was easy. I saw them do it on television.”

“Mrs. Ellen, some things are better left to professionals, in this case a qualified electrician. I know it looks easy on the half-hour do-it-yourself and fix-up shows, but every job is different. The solutions they show on television are often the simplest fixes and even then they're professionals. Having someone who knows what they're doing is a good idea, especially when it comes to something as dangerous as your electrical system.”

“Nonsense, and I still say that the two-block blackout wasn't my fault.”

“The two-block blackout, no. Of course not,” Julian said, remembering the minor blackout a few weeks back. He should have figured that it was Mrs. Ellen and another one of her little fix-it projects. “Did you get someone in to fix it?”

“I told you, I fixed it,” she insisted.

“Right, but I'll be happy to check it only to make sure that Reggie won't have anything to complain about.”

“Your brother already came by. Reggie suggested that he stop by. I insisted that it wasn't necessary but he called him anyway.”