Page 12 of Crazy Little Thing Called Love

“An STD? Seriously, Del? That’s the best you could come up with?”

“Hey,” he held up his hand. “You told me to make it his idea. What makes a person run faster than the threat of syphilis?”

“You’re an asshole, Delta Jackson. And I’m not paying for this drink.” She tipped back her martini, enjoying a very healthy gulp.

“On the house,” he replied, taking a seat in the recently vacated chair across from her. “If you tell me why you’ve been Dana-Dates-A-Lot lately. Do you really need a husband that bad?”

She knew if she explained her situation to Del he wouldn’t understand. She barely did. But still, the two martinis and four failed dates short-wired her brain and she found herself opening her mouth and spewing out explanations.

“Yes, I do. My grandmother put a stupid stipulation in her will that I needed to be married to gain ownership of the house or it goes to my deadbeat cousin who’s already married to an equally useless pile of crap, and I only have six months to do it. So yes, Del. I need a fricking husband.”

He leaned back in his chair, the picture of relaxation. “You got money. Why don’t you just buy a new house?”

True. She had a sizable inheritance from both her parents’ passing. In truth, she didn’t need to work, but lazing about all day had never been her thing.

“That’s not the point. Of course, I could go out and buy any house I wanted, but it wouldn’t be Gran’s house. It wouldn’t be my house.”

He eyed her like she was losing it. “It’s just a house, Cassie.”

He would think that.

“It’s my home.” She waved a hand in the air. “Nevermind. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Understand what?”

“The sentimentality.”

An image rose of her and her parents at Christmas time. They were all in Gran’s living room. The tree sparkled, lights and ornaments glowing against the green needles. Soft, white flakes as big as quarters falling just outside the window. She’d been five and it had been their first—and one of the few—Christmases they’d all been together. A magical memory she held in her heart that, to this day, she couldn’t remember if it was real or the fantastical yearnings of a young girl.

“The house means something to me, Del. It’s more than four walls and a roof. It’s family, love, a sense of…purpose.” She shook her head. “You don’t get it.”

Darkness flashed in his eyes, a harsh clench set his jaw. “You don’t know me as well as you think, Cassandra.” With that he stood, the chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Then he turned and left.

A cold, sinking rumble churned in her gut. If she didn’t know better she’d think she upset Del. But that was ridiculous. Del never got upset. He was the fun-time guy, the party man. He didn’t have feelings. Stupid, everyone had feelings. Had she hurt his somehow?

Guilt-ridden, but not entirely sure why, she ate the olive from her drink, tossing enough cash to cover the tab—the last martini included—because she felt bad for some unknown reason.

Four dates and not a single possibility. This was going to be harder than she thought.

CHAPTER 4

Del checked his proposal one more time. He wanted everything to be perfect, not a single number or detail out of place.

I can do this.

Last Sunday, at the distillery, something Cassie said hit a deep truth within. She accused him of not holding value in anything. Total bull. He held a shit-ton of value in this business. The distillery had been his dad’s dream, one Lawrence Jackson shared with his children from a young age. Some might question the parenting skills of a father who told grand tales of their moonshining great-granddaddy as bedtime stories. Those people could suck it. Del loved the adventures of Pappy Mel.

His great-grandfather had been a rum-running, bathtub-gin-making badass. Through the humor and excitement of Pappy’s adventures, their dad always reminded the Jackson siblings that breaking the law wasn’t right. But fighting against an unjust system was about as American as one could get. His dad had been a fair man with a unique sense of humor and completely devoted to his wife and kids.

Del’s mother, Dorothy Jackson, was the sweetest, kindest, fairest woman anyone would ever meet. High school sweethearts, the two married a month after graduation. The twins came within the first year, followed by Charlie three years later—because their mother claimed she needed a break after Ace and BJ—and Del another two. They stayed in Colorado while their father went back and forth on overseas assignments. Every moment he was gone they missed him, and every time he returned, life was a little bit grander. Until the fateful day when he returned in a coffin. Killed in action, serving a country he loved and believed in.

Del had been eleven and it shattered his world.

The family broke that day, but over the years they managed to pull together and heal their wounds. The twins had joined the military right out of school, following in the old man’s footsteps and saving for his dream. Charlie had gone off to college to get an accounting degree, also thinking of their father’s dream and how she could contribute. Del…he got lost for a while.

But he wasn’t lost anymore.

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