Worth The Effort (The Worth Series Book 4: A Copper Country Romance) (24 page)

“I guess I’d wag my tail for Shorty, too,” she said, and they both laughed. Sawyer swung an arm around her shoulder, and they walked into the bar together.
 

Lucy, however, had bypassed her bartender friend, who had shouted a greeting to the lab and beelined for a man at the end of the bar who could only be Sawyer’s brother.

“Oh, shit,” Sawyer said, not quite under his breath.

“Twain or Huck?” she asked.

Sawyer chuckled, sliding his arm from around her. She felt a moment’s disappointment until he took her hand in his and started leading them to the far end of the long, narrow bar. He said a few hellos to some of the people drinking at the bar but didn’t stop.

“Twain. Do we really look that much alike?”

As they neared the man who had squatted down to scratch Lucy’s neck, Deni realized that up close there were not as many similarities as she’d first thought.
 

Twain was much larger than Sawyer, for one thing. Like, Petey Ryan larger. And his hair was a few shades darker than Sawyer’s, more of a light black than deep brown.

Twain looked up from Lucy as they approached. Deni saw his eyes dart from Sawyer to Deni to their clasped hands and then back to Deni with an assessing look.

Same shrewd, green eyes as Sawyer. And same sexy-as-hell, but troubling, look of world-weariness on his face and around those beautiful green eyes.

“I thought you had Matt this weekend?” Sawyer asked as they reached his brother.

“He’s not feeling good. Flu, Liv thinks. So she kept him at home with her.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Sawyer said. He dislodged his hand from hers and placed it at the small of her back. “Twain Beck, Deni Casparich.”

She stuck out her hand, which Twain shook. His hand was huge and rough and swallowed hers up.

“Great to meet you, Deni. What are you drinking?”

“You too. Um…how about a Sam Adams?”

“Make it two,” Sawyer added, pulling a stool down to join the empty one next to Twain, which he waved her to sit on. Twain pulled the stool he’d vacated out a little from the bar so he could see Sawyer on the other side of Deni, then sat back down.

“Shorty, two Sam Adams,” Twain called out, then turned his attention to them. The beers were in front of them before Twain finished saying, “So, Deni Casparich, tell me everything about yourself.”
 

Lucy left them then to visit her buddy Shorty, who had come out from the end of the bar with some kind of treat for the dog.

“Um…not much to tell, really.”

“Is that because you’re
soooo
young?”

“Ha ha,” Sawyer said on her left. Twain gave his brother a grin that Deni recognized from Sawyer. It seemed more natural on Twain, as if he smiled, and grinned, with more ease.

“Born and raised in the Detroit area, went to Tech, fell in love with the area, work at Summers and Beck,” she said.

Twain gave her a wink and said, “You’re right. Not much to tell.”

She laughed as Sawyer gave his brother a stern look. “So, you’re the charmer in the family, I take it? I thought the middle child was supposed to be the quiet, shy one?”

“Well, we Bad Luck Beck Brothers never really did things in the right order,” Twain said, and she saw Sawyer cringe out of the corner of her eye.

“Bad Luck Beck Brothers? People call you that? Seriously?”

“Oh, yeah,” Twain said, almost with some pride. Sawyer’s large sigh confirmed it.

“Well, not to our face,” Sawyer said.
 

“Well, not
sober
to our face,” Twain clarified. “And not if they want to keep their teeth.”

Deni laughed again and took a drink from her beer.

“So, from the scent of Irish Spring wafting from the both of you and your still-wet hair, Deni, I’d guess you’re both freshly sauna-ed?”

She nodded, feeling a flush crawl up her face. “Is that a verb? Sauna-ed?”

He shrugged. “If it isn’t, it should be.” He took a swing from his beer bottle and then set it on the bar. “So, this sauna…was at…” He looked at Sawyer pointedly.

“The ice cube,” Sawyer said, causing Twain to grin again.

“Really? So a female has breeched the glass walls? Interesting.”

“Can it, Twain,” Sawyer said in what was obviously his big-brother voice.

Twain gave a taunting laugh and wiggled his eyebrows in what was obviously a little-brother move.

Deni had the brothers to know all the moves.

Twain regaled her with stories of the Beck brothers as kids, told her about his own son, Matt, and just generally endeared himself to Deni in a very brotherly way.

“You didn’t feel it necessary to carry on the Mark Twain obsession with your son?”

“Hell no. And even if I had, Liv would have had the good sense to shut that down.”

She took another sip and looked around. She was having a beer with her boyfriend and his brother in a neighborhood bar on a late Sunday afternoon…and all was right with the world.

Twain left first, saying he wanted to go check on his son. He gave Deni a kiss on the cheek and whispered in her ear, “Stay with it. He’s worth all the bullshit.” She could only nod at him, her chest suddenly tight.

He hugged his brother and said in a fake whisper, “Don’t fuck it up, bro. She’s a keeper.”

Deni and Sawyer stayed for another drink, though Sawyer switched to Coke at that point.

He also moved his stool closer to Deni, threaded his legs between hers, and cupped under her knee with one of his hands, just like he had last Monday when they’d been here.

Only one short week ago when she’d laid it on the line and told him she’d wanted more than a snack.

And here they were after a weekend feast.
 

Yes, all was right with the world.

“So, what does Twain do?”

“He’s a logger.”

“Ah, that explains the rough hands.”

Sawyer nodded and absently looked at his own hands. “He played hockey. Was pretty good.”

“Better than you?”

Sawyer chuckled. “Oh, yeah. A fact he never lets me forget.”

She rubbed her hand on his knee and kept it there. After last night’s gut-wrenching story about Molly’s death, it felt good to be just a normal couple enjoying the day together.

“He actually played at Tech with Petey Ryan. They’re about the same age.”

“Oh, did he get his degree in forestry, then?” Besides engineering, Tech’s forestry department was top-notch.

“No. He dropped out after his second year. That’s when he and Liv got married. Matty was born a few months after the wedding.”

“Ah. But they’re not still together?” she said with sadness in her voice.

“Nah, Twain fucked up. Well, I mean, they were both young and stupid, with a lot of pressure on them. They made it eight years but just couldn’t make it work.”

“That’s sad.”

“Yeah, it is. But Matt’s great. Turning sixteen this year,” he said with obvious pride.

“Do you see him much?” There was skepticism in her voice, which he picked up on.

“What? Hermits aren’t allowed to visit their nephew?”

She giggled. “Well, it does kind of defeat the purpose of being a hermit.”

“I wasn’t totally cut off the last ten years. I saw family. I built the ice cube with my brothers. I’d have dinner at Liv and Twain’s once a month or so when they were still together. I just didn’t want to deal with the business—which I’d spent too much time on and not been available for Molly—”

She started to interrupt him on that, but he held up his hand. “Or that’s how it felt at the time.”

She nodded at that—you couldn’t change the way someone felt ten years ago.

“You said you and Molly had a house in Houghton?” He nodded. “But not anymore?”

“No. I sold that place after she died.”

“And you obviously don’t live in the ice cube full-time.”

“Don’t think I could rough it like we’ve been doing on a full-time basis?”

“Yeah, you probably could, but there was too much fresh snow on the tracks for that to be the case.”

He leaned over and kissed her quickly. “My little logical engineer.”

She pushed on his chest a little, but secretly preened. “So,
where
do you live?”

A last-ditch effort of her Rumplestiltskin image played through her mind.

“Laurium.”

So, no small man prancing around a hidden cottage after all.

“Laurium? Like across the highway from here?”

“Yep. Good ol’ Laurium. Neighbor to Calumet. Home of George Gipp.”

“Who?”

“George Gipp. The Gipper.”

She shook her head, still not getting it.

“You know…‘Win one for the Gipper.’”

“I’ve heard of that…I think.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh. “Good God, how young
are
you? Never mind, don’t answer that. I’m feeling creaky enough today after our workout this weekend.”

She took a drink of her beer and grinned at him.

“We’ll have to rent
Knute Rockne, All American
so you can see who George Gipp was.”

“Now you’re showing your age, old man. You don’t rent anymore. You stream.”

“Whatever. Ronald Reagan played the Gipper.”

“Who’s Ronald Reagan?” she teased.

“Ha ha, you’re so funny.

“So, since you live so close, are you going to take me to see your house before you bring me back to Hancock?”

“No way. It’s a disaster zone right now. Basically just a mattress in one room and all my shit piled in another.”

“Why?”

“I haven’t been in this one very long, and I don’t really unpack much more than my tools and some clothes, anyway.

“When I sold the house Molly and I lived in, I gave all the furniture to Liv for her and Matt’s new house—she and Twain had been renting an apartment before that. The good stuff that I didn’t want to sell or give away, like photos and some wedding gifts, is in storage.”

“Again, why? I mean, I get selling the home you and Molly were going to have a family in, but why all the moving?”

“I kind of buy places cheap and fix them up. Then I want to find a new one.”

“You flip houses?”

He chuckled and took a drink of his pop, a look of chagrin on his face. “Well, not exactly. Flippers usually
make
money. And they’re certainly quick about their renovations.”

“Well…yeah. That’s kind of the whole point.”

“But it’s not
my
point. I live in a place for a while, take my time, move from one project to another, and then change my mind. I use materials and finishes that price houses out of the market, so I end up underpricing them just so I can get rid of it when I’m done. I get to a point where I need to move on to a new one. So, yes, technically I’m a flipper—I’m just not very good at it.”

“I’d love to see one of the houses you’ve finished sometime.”

“There are a couple that are now owned by people who’d be cool with me bringing you by, if I gave them a little notice.”

“But I don’t get to see the one you’re in now?”

“I’m not holding out on you. There’s literally nothing to see. It’s gutted right now with just a bare bones kitchen and bath.”

She sat back on the stool and took the last drink of her beer.
 

He paid the tab and they rose to leave. Before she could move away from the stool, he leaned into her space. Leaned into her. “Besides,” he whispered in her ear as he gently kissed her neck, “I’ve already taken you to the place where I
really
live.”

She wrapped her arms around her and kissed him right there at the end of Tootie’s bar with the stained-glass canopy behind them and the catcalls of the other patrons in her ears.

Chapter Twenty Two

I quit therapy because my analyst was trying to help me behind my back.

~ Richard Lewis

S
he invited him in when he dropped her off, but he told her he needed to be at his house early the next morning because flooring was going to be delivered.

So instead, they made out like teenagers in his truck before she finally pulled away, patted Lucy goodbye, and went into her home. Leaving him horny as hell for the drive back to Laurium.

The flooring was delivered and unloaded Monday morning. Typically Sawyer would dive right in on a large, mindless project like laying hardwood flooring.

But instead, he found himself showering up, putting on khakis and a work shirt, and loading Lucy in the truck.

“Wanna go for a ride, girl?” Lucy barked, wagged her tail once, and then began to curl up in her designated area in the backseat. “Wanna go see Deni?” Lucy sat up, putting her snout on the back of Sawyer’s seat, barking madly with her tail wagging wildly.