A Different Kind of Beautiful

By Bonnie Gardner

Lainie Hartselle was a former southern beauty queen who never believed she was good at much compared to her smarter, more accomplished older sisters. When she reconnected with her ex-husband, she thought maybe things had finally changed. Then she was diagnosed with breast cancer and she wasn't sure she'd have a future, much less find true love.
Denny Weber was a former NASCAR driver who lost his marriage, his career, and very nearly his life in a fiery crash on the track. He fought hard to recover and to remake himself as a successful businessman. When he found Lainie again, he had to do everything he could to convince her that she was still beautiful and well worth the wait.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bonnie Gardner
• Release date: Oct 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311036117

Bonnie Gardner

After spending most of her life as either an army brat or a military wife, the last people that Bonnie Gardner expected to find herself writing about were military men. After all, she'd looked forward to the day she could put that spit and polish and moving around behind her. Then she sold her first book. Her hero was ex-military. Then she sold her second book. Her hero was retired military. You get the picture. When her editor suggested that she use her military knowledge and background, she resisted. She really did. But common sense won out. After all, they say to write about what you know, and that's what she knew. Bonnie grew up on army bases around the world. According to her parents, one of the first homes she lived in was a converted World War II army barracks. She lived in Hawaii before it was a state, and has either visited or lived in almost every state of the Union. During six years in Germany in her formative years, Bonnie developed her love for reading and movies. (In those days, there was no American television to watch overseas, so books and movies were her entertainment.) Even at the tender age of 12, she was a critic. If she didn't like the ending of a book or a movie, she'd spend half the night rewriting it in her mind. Though she didn't actually write any of these ideas down, she honed her skills by writing long letters to friends she'd left behind. Finally, when she was almost 16, her father retired to his home state of Alabama, and there, Bonnie met her husband. Wayne was the cutup sitting next to her in geometry class at Marbury High School, the last of 11 schools she'd attended while growing up. She tried to ignore him, but his clowning won out. They married at 19 and have been together for over 30 years. They have two grown sons, one of whom is now serving in the air force - the third generation in their family. Though Bonnie swore she would never marry a military man, Vietnam intruded and Wayne was drafted. He joined the air force because his father had retired from the air force. It was only supposed to be one enlistment, but...he stayed for 25 years, and Bonnie followed him whenever she could. And Bonnie wouldn't have missed a moment of it. She learned how to do things she never thought she could do - like repair a toilet - when her husband was away for weeks or months at a time. She learned how to be alone. And she learned she could handle anything if she set her mind to it, even Casualty Duty when she and her husband had the unpleasant task of notifying a friend that her husband had died in the line of duty. All those things made Bonnie what she is today, and all of that experience shows in her books. When she writes about her men in uniform, she knows them. She knows the joy and the pain of loving a man in uniform. She knows their wives, their girlfriends, and their mothers. She's been all of them.

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A DIFFERENT KIND OF BEAUTIFUL

Bonnie Gardner

Chapter One

"That was a nice thing you did."

I looked up, startled, from the folding metal chair in the automobile service department to see my ex-husband, Denny Weber, smiling down at me. What had I done that he felt he had to comment about?

"Gave your comfortable chair to that elderly woman."

"So?" Had I been so shallow in the old days that he’d actually noticed an incidence of normal politeness?

"What are you doing here?"

"I work here."

He looked a little over-dressed to be a mechanic, but Denny had always loved cars, so I imagined that he must work somewhere in the service department of this car dealership. I always thought you’d want to stay with cars, even if you can’t drive anymore."

Denny had been an up-and-coming driver with NASCAR aspirations when we’d first met. I’d been attracted by his flash and dash, and he’d been attractive by title as the local racetrack’s beauty queen, Miss Raceway.

"I don’t just work with cars, he said. I’m a partner in the dealership." He said it with such matter-of-factness that I almost missed that little nugget of information.

"Let’s get a cup of coffee and catch up."

I looked down at the plastic cup of muddy, waiting-room coffee. Not more of this, I joked.

He took the cup out of my hand. I think I can fix you up with something better, I have a single cup brewer in my office.

Curiosity getting the better of me, I gathered up my purse and paperwork and followed him out.

Elaine Hartselle Weber Jenrette Hartselle! I was talking to you. My sister Cassie looked at me with one of her signature schoolteacher looks.

Did you say something? Maybe it was bad form to be woolgathering at my other sister Ginny’s baby shower, but ever since Denny Weber had come sauntering back into my life, I had been having a hard time thinking about anything else. I shook my head then tossed my carefully-styled, blond hair away from my face.

We were talking about whether Ginny should keep working after the baby comes, Cassie, the older of my two sisters, explained, giving me a probing look which made me feel like a school kid caught daydreaming in class.

It took me a moment to shift my mind to the subject at hand, but Denny Weber was a lot more interesting than babies and what Cassie had mentioned. Like, what did I know about the subject? I’d never had a baby and hadn’t really thought that much about it until it had become the single and constant topic of conversation from both of my sisters since Ginny became pregnant. And...?

What do you think? Should Ginny become a stay-at-home mom?

I tossed my hair out of my eyes in a brief, too brief, stalling tactic. I think I’m the last person you should ask about career-oriented things. After all, I’ve never had to make that decision, and I certainly don’t have a regular job, much less a career. I shrugged. How should I know?

Ginny, plump and pregnant and glowing even at 42, laughed. "Stop putting yourself down, Lainie. I think you did all right in the occupation category. Not everyone I know could have made a business out of shopping, especially in Huntsville, Alabama. Even with a few gray hairs showing at the temples of her short, dark bob, she looked beautiful and happy.

My business barely kept me in the designer clothes I loved. "And I could never have made a business of investing in mutual funds. Sheesh. Numbers and math?"

You don’t think you use math in what you do?

I suppose, but comparison shopping and figuring out commissions are not the same as investing people’s futures. The question is, do you want to quit work and stay at home?

Ginny sighed. I don’t know. I’m thrilled at finally becoming a mother, but I’m not sure I want to... She held up her hands and etched quotation marks in the air. ...have it all. I’m not twenty anymore. What if I can’t juggle everything? I am a good bit older than the average first-time mom.

So what? You have a great husband who has a good income. Why couldn’t you take some time off, then work part time? Cassie, the practical sister, suggested. After all, nowadays, a lot of people work out of their home offices.

But they don’t have two active stepsons and a live-in grandfather underfoot.

I would think the grandfather would be a plus, Stephanie, Ginny’s office manager, interjected. He could help.

Ginny snorted. Yeah, right. Henry’s great, but he’s more like another kid than a responsible adult sometimes. I guess I’ll have to play it by ear.

Sounds like a plan, I said, tossing my hair again, and my mind already returning to thoughts of Denny.

How do you do that? Stephanie asked suddenly.

Who does what? I was bored by talking about babies. I hated the way women always gushed about how beautiful they were. They just looked like little old wrinkled men to me.

Flip your hair away around like that and have it fall into place every time.

I’ll never tell. I leaned toward her and lowered my voice. It’s the hair spray. I’ll tell you where to get it later.

Ginny pursed her lips and sighed. By the way, Madam Personal Shopper, how about helping me find some bargains in baby furniture next week?

Sure, I said. Not that I knew anything at all about babies’ needs. Most of the time I shop by myself for strangers, so with you, it will be like a girls’ day out. We can do lunch, too. Just not on Thursday. I made a face. I have my annual under-the-hood checkup.

That, I was not looking forward to. I’d been putting off the exam for two years, but now that things seemed to be heating up with Denny, it seemed like a good time to get the equipment checked out and discuss birth control options.

Ginny might be looking forward to motherhood at 42, but after finally finding myself single and reasonably comfortable thanks to the settlement from my second husband, at the advanced age of 37, I wasn’t about to do anything to mess that up. This was not the time for an unexpected pregnancy, even if my biological clock might soon start ticking.

I didn’t expect that it would. I’d never been mushy and goo-goo eyed over babies. I wasn’t sure I wanted parenthood at all, much less have it thrust on me by accident.

There were only so many things a big-haired, big-boobed former beauty queen and junior college dropout – because I’d been more concerned with beauty contests than assignment deadlines – could do with her life: shopping was one of them.

I liked the job I’d invented for myself, and I loved being my own boss. Short of marrying for money, which I’d already tried and failed at, there wasn’t much else I could do.

***

It was bad enough wearing that awful paper gown, but the indignity of lying on the hard exam table, poor excuse for a pad notwithstanding, bare feet in the cold, metal stirrups, as my gynecologist completed my pelvic exam was worse.

I cleared my throat, screwing up the courage to ask a question, the question, and the main reason I was there. I was wondering if I might need a prescription for birth control at my age. Or am I fairly safe? That was a dumb question, especially considering my older sister Ginny had become pregnant for the first time just after her forty-second birthday, but for some odd reason I was reluctant to come right out and ask.

It was irresponsible not to use protection, birth control, married or not, but in recent years I’d been celibate by choice and circumstance, so it hadn’t been an issue. I shouldn’t have been embarrassed to inquire about it, but I was.

Everything seems fine, the gynecologist said after taking her small tissue sample and placing it on a slide. We’ll discuss your options after I finish with your breast check. She helped me scoot up then started the routine, manual exam.

Ouch. I winced as she pressed against the lower right quadrant of my right breast. That hurts. I knew it had been a while since I’d last had a checkup, but I didn’t remember this part of the exam being painful. She probed again, and again the area was inexplicably tender. Ow!

How long has that area been bothering you?

I don’t know. It’s been sore right before my period. I hadn’t noticed that it was tender in between. But then I’d been more casual about my monthly exams than I should have been, considering Cassie had suffered from the breast cancer seven years ago. I couldn’t remember exactly when I’d last done a self-exam. If I had, maybe I would have noticed the soreness before now.

Didn’t one of your sisters have breast cancer?

Yes. At this point, what had been a routine check-up suddenly developed ominous overtones. Where was Dr. Mancuso going with this? But she was older than I am. A measly three years older when she’d had her cancer. I played dumb. I’d always been good at that. Why do you ask?

As if the sore spot hadn’t already told me why.

Feel this, Dr. Mancuso directed, lightly placing my hand on the tender area. Not only was it sore but there was a soft, but obviously swollen globe I shouldn’t have missed.

Yeah. It hurt a little, but so what? That’s normal before my period, isn’t it? Even as I tried to deny the implications, I was ready to rationalize...

Please, I prayed silently, do not let this be serious. But just the fact that Dr. Mancuso seemed to think it was important enough to ask me about it, assured me it was.

It can be, the doctor said carefully. In most cases, if a mass is tender, it’s probably benign. She continued, choosing her words carefully. You have a first degree relative who’s had the disease, so we don’t want to take any chances.

I knew that, intellectually, anyway. I gulped and nodded numbly.

The doctor continued, At this point, I don’t want you to be alarmed, but it pays to be cautious. Let’s do some more tests.

I can’t believe this is happening. It can’t be, I protested silently, but aloud I had to ask, What about my birth control?

Let’s take care of this first, Dr. Mancuso said. If everything checks out all right, we’ll discuss it. She directed me to get dressed then left me alone.

No, not now. Not when I might finally be finding my happily ever after, I whispered to myself as I ripped off the paper gown and reached for my clothes. My breasts had always been an asset I could count on. After all, big boobs did a great deal to compensate for...

What? A small brain?

I’d been seeing Denny for a few weeks now, but we’d yet to get physical. We hadn’t discussed it outwardly, and apparently we both wanted to take it slow.

We’d married too young and too soon and had split up, not so much because of passion or anger, but cowardice on my part. Now it seemed as if things might work out. I hadn’t ever stopped loving Denny, and I hoped he felt the same about me. Though we both had married and divorced others later, fate had brought us back together at what had finally seemed the right time.

Or would there ever be a right time for me?

I should have known. Shaking, I fumbled with the zipper of my slacks. Finally it gave and pulled up. It was easier to pull on my sweater and slide into my shoes.

I took a moment to check my shoulder-length hair, artfully highlighted and styled to make the most of another of my assets, my big hazel eyes. Then I drew in a deep, calming breath. Well, it was supposed to be calming.

Time to face the music. I exhaled and pushed open the door to the doctor’s office.

***

I don’t remember much about what happened after that. It all seemed so unreal. I do know that I stumbled out of the medical arts building, drained and nearly numb from all the tests and the news I’d just been given. The sonogram and mammogram had confirmed that there was, indeed, a suspicious mass in my breast, too solid to be a cyst. According to Dr. Mancuso, from the size and shape of it, it was impossible to tell what it was.

That should have been reassuring.

Being sent to a surgeon for a needle biopsy, an awkward, painful experience, that I hope never to have to repeat, seemed to hint at bad news.

Everything was happening so fast, I couldn’t be sure what I understood and what I didn’t. Doctor Brannigan tried to be reassuring, but unlike the mammogram and sonogram, the results weren’t immediate. We had to wait for slides to be sent to a lab for testing. Since it was Thursday, the results would not be available until Monday.

Worrying was not the way I had planned to spend my weekend.

I have to pull myself together, I told myself firmly. Though I had lost control briefly in Dr. Brannigan’s office, I had managed to swallow my tears then had forced myself to listen and absorb the information.

There was so much to process. Now that I was out into the hall, I had so many questions I had been too stunned to ask.

In the meantime, I had a client to see. I sucked in another breath. I had to get my head together so I’d be safe to operate a moving vehicle, I thought as I located my car in the downtown parking garage.

It’s probably benign, I reminded myself, not really believing it. She said if it was tender, it was most likely benign, I repeated, hoping that if I said it often enough it would be true.

It has to be.

I probably looked like some sort of nutcase to the elderly couple who passed in through the automatic doors as I headed out. They stared, and I looked quickly away.

I didn’t blame them for gawking at the crazy woman talking to herself. I wondered vaguely if there was a psychiatrist’s office in the medical building, not that it mattered. Right then all I could do was place one foot in front of the other on the way to the car.

It’s benign, and it’s all a false alarm! I repeated the silent mantra I repeated again and again.

I had to think positive. After all, Cassie had told me way back when she was going through her ordeal that those who had good attitudes fared better than those who thought of nothing but doom and gloom. I had to convince myself I probably didn’t have anything serious. It is going to prove benign. Maybe it was a bruise, I considered hopefully.

I remembered that I had dragged an old pair of shoes off the top shelf in the hall closet a week or so ago. Several other shoe boxes had toppled out on top me, the sharp corner of one hitting me squarely in the chest.

Yeah, that was it. Just a deep bruise. It would go away in a few days and the joke would be on everyone who’d made such a big deal of it.

Spotting my yellow Jag in the dimly lit parking garage, I pushed the button on the remote door lock, and the lights winked at me. I hurried to it and slid behind the wheel.

I found some tissues in the glove compartment, dabbed at my eyes and tried to mend my makeup, finishing with an extra swipe of blush.

I drew in another breath, and started the car. I didn’t look my best, but I’d do. I glanced at my watch to check the time, and gasped. I had a meeting to deliver a purchase to a client in about twenty minutes. I had to push any negative thoughts out of my mind and pull myself together.

After all, I still had to do my job, such as it was.

Yeah, as if that mattered. If I did have cancer and lost my breast, I wouldn’t have the assets to attract a rich Sugar Daddy to pay my bills this time. Or Denny.

***

You seem a little quiet today, Lainie. Is anything wrong? Ginny, always the big sister, sat across from me at lunch the next day at Ivey’s, one of our favorite, down-home cooking restaurants.

I glanced at Ginny’s full plate. You have your plate loaded down like that, and you can ask me if there’s something wrong? Changing the subject had always been one of my best strategies for avoiding any given topic. It’s a skill an undereducated beauty queen learned early.

Well, I am eating for two, Ginny said, defensively. She scooped up another forkful of mashed potatoes and gravy.

You sure it isn’t three?

Heaven forbid! The shocked expression on Ginny’s face was priceless. I’m terrified about how to take care of one baby along with a husband, two stepsons and a grandfather. I don’t dare contemplate the prospect of two babies.

You’ll handle it. You have always been able to do anything you set out to do. I couldn’t even finish junior college, but you have two degrees. I had always been awed at my two sisters’ multiple degrees. While they had excelled at everything academic, my forte had been shopping and doing hair. A master’s degree in finance!

Juggling numbers is not quite the same thing as juggling midnight feedings and sleep. Ginny speared a couple of green beans and raised them to her mouth. You’re not eating your salad. Aren’t you hungry?

I scattered my greens around on my plate. Yeah, I’m hungry. I just wish I’d gotten something like you did. There are days when it just doesn’t seem worth the effort to keep this girlish figure, and it seems to take more and more sit ups to keep my stomach flat these days.

I’ll say, Ginny said, looking down at her basketball stomach. Someday you’ll have a baby of your own, and things like a flat stomach and perky breasts won’t seem so important, don’t you think?

Of course, I’d need to get a husband first. And who’d want a slightly-used, twice-divorced woman? With only one boob, I didn’t say aloud.

With Ginny pregnant, there was no way I was going to worry her or anyone else with my problems until I was sure. No sense ruining Ginny’s day with what had to be a false alarm.

Stop selling yourself short, Ginny said, her mouth full. You have talents that other people don’t have. If it weren’t for my little MBA suits, I wouldn’t have a clue what to wear.

Somehow, I don’t think those things are quite the same, I murmured, then changed the subject. Would you like to trade some of my salad for a couple of bites of your meatloaf?

Sure. Ginny pushed her plate toward me. I still think you’re putting yourself down. You could finish college if you put your mind to it. I hear that Denny Weber went back to school and got a business degree.

How d-? I stopped. I wasn’t about to mention Denny until I was certain we would last...this time around. I didn’t dare expect anything permanent, but I could hope.

I swallowed then pushed my salad towards my sister. Where did you hear that? I pushed my salad toward Ginny, and she speared up a black olive.

Didn’t you see the article in the business section of the paper the other day?

Really, Ginny. Me? Read the business section? That’s about as likely as me doing calculus problems for fun. I forked up a bite of Ginny’s meatloaf.

Oh, come on. There was a huge article about him: ‘Former race car driver makes it big in imports,’ or something like that. There was a great head shot there. You couldn’t miss that.

I usually go straight for the ads, I confessed. That’s where my bread and butter is. Of course, I’d read the article, since Denny had told me about it. Otherwise, I probably wouldn’t have seen it.

Maybe you should take your car in there. It must be hard to find mechanics to keep it going. Ginny had cleaned up the rest of my salad and was eying her former plate that remained, largely untouched, in front of me.

I pushed it towards her. Here. I don’t need it. Maybe I will.

Will what? Ginny said, her mouth full of potatoes.

Take my car there the next time it needs work. Right now it’s running pretty good. Thanks to Denny’s service department, I didn’t add.

Ginny nodded approvingly. I read he’s eligible again. She gave me a knowing look.

And so’s Antonio Banderas. So, what?

Maybe this time... Ginny arched an eyebrow but left the sentence unfinished. What are you doing this weekend?

Nothing much. I have a date Saturday night to a Theater League presentation of Aida.

The theater? He must be some big wheel to have theater tickets. Is it serious?

Why is it that everybody thinks they have to marry me off? Cassie’s still single, and you’re not fixing her up.

Cassie was married for twenty-some years and had children before Dave died.

Well, I’ve got time.

That’s what I kept saying till I hit forty.

I have two and a half years before I make it to forty.

Jeff, one of the owners of the restaurant, came up with the check, and Ginny grabbed it. My treat. I’ve wasted your morning dragging you around looking at baby furniture.

I wouldn’t call it wasted.... I tried to take the check back. I could use the bill as a business deduction, you know.

Humph. I think my feelings are hurt. Here I thought it was a sister outing, and you’re treating it as a business expense. You really know how to hurt a girl.

Come on. You could use the money to buy more baby things.

Oh please. I make way more money than you do. And I intend to pay you the same ten per cent you charge your clients.

Ginny, Ginny, Ginny. If I had needed the time, I would have told you. Now, go pay, if you insist, then go back to work and continue making those IRAs and college accounts grow.

I followed Ginny to the cashier and waited while she paid. Will Mr. Fisk be okay to accept the furniture delivery when it comes? I asked, referring to Ginny’s stepsons’ grandfather. I could take time off on Monday if you need me to be there. It wasn’t as if I was going to be doing anything more challenging than waiting to hear from the doctor. Any distraction would be much appreciated.

Henry should be fine for that. Ginny pushed through the door and looked for her car parked in a corner of the lot before they set off to shop. Thank you for helping.

Any time. After all, you’ve spent a lot of time helping me get my act together over the last few, so we’re starting to get even.

Ginny opened her arms and squeezed me in a hug. With her watermelon stomach between us, it felt awkward and strange. Thanks again.

Whoa! Was that a thump? Did Junior just...

Kick us? Ginny finished. Yup, sure did. See what you’ve got to look forward to? She released the embrace, but I couldn’t drag my hand away from Ginny’s belly.

That is soooo cool. The baby kicked again.

Ginny stepped back. I’ve got to get to work. I have a two o’clock. With a wave she stepped aside.

I waved back, glad that Ginny was in her car and too far away to see the tears in my eyes. If only Ginny knew how much I had needed that hug. I drew in a deep breath, and steeled myself to get through another long afternoon of not knowing.

Chapter Two

Damn, if you don’t look good enough to make me want to stay home, Denny drawled in that whiskey sour voice that had always made me weak in the knees. Even at twenty he’d had that husky voice, and it was one of the things that had initially attracted me to him. He gave me a flirtatious wink of one deep blue eye as he stepped inside.

You like? I pirouetted so that the skirt of my dress flared out around me, giving Denny a good look at my legs. Of course, he’d seen them all the way up, but still...I might as well go with what worked. I loved that surplice-styled dress. The neckline plunged deep between my breasts and showed off my assets to the max. To tell the truth, I wasn’t really sure whether I had dressed for Denny or for myself.

Considering I wasn’t sure I’d be able to wear it after...

No, I told myself firmly. I would not let morose thoughts ruin my evening. I flashed a merry smile as I halted the twirl and pressed the dress down to my sides in a Marilyn-Monroe-like maneuver.

Tonight I was going to forget.

I like, Denny replied with obvious appreciation.

Denny Weber was nothing if not more handsome than ever in a charcoal sports jacket over a white turtleneck. And the black dress slacks hugged his tight rear to perfection. He pecked me on the cheek.

Funny, I thought, we’d shared a passionate history, starting out hotter than a Fourth of July firecracker, and we’d never really had a proper end.

Closure, I supposed. I’d run out on him out of cowardice at the worst time of his life because I hadn’t been able to deal.

This time we hadn’t moved past chaste kisses, and regardless of that fiery history, I liked it that way.

In spite of the faded burn scars, vestiges of the crash that had ended Denny’s racing career, and our marriage, he’d matured into an attractive and compelling man. Not only did he look gorgeous in the casual jacket, but the slight graying of the dark hair at his temples and his stylish cut gave him dignity. He was much more handsome than the boy I’d married. And who knew someone like Denny Weber would actually have season tickets to the theater?

I have reservations at Cotton Row for six, Denny said, crooking his arm. Are you ready?

Absolutely, but why so early? The show won’t start till eight.

All the restaurants around the Playhouse are packed on play nights, so even with reservations, there could be a wait to be seated. They frown on latecomers at live performances. It throws the actors off.

I knew that. I flashed another smile as Denny helped me into my wrap. That was a bald-faced lie, but I wasn’t about to tell him I’d never been to live theater before. Rock-a-Billy acts at the raceway didn’t count.

Denny fitted his hand at the curve of my waist, sending a shiver of delight sizzling through me as he steered me towards his car.

I had to chuckle. I might drive a vintage sports car, but Denny drove an energy-efficient hybrid, another of the makes of cars sold at his dealership. He seemed so different from the young man I had married...

There had been a time when his need for speed meant that he had to have the meanest, fastest machine around, but tonight he was driving a hybrid! Still, I liked the new Denny as much as I’d loved the old.

Would this date lead to another? Should I dare to dream?

What is the matter with me? I thought as Denny opened the car door. I had no business thinking about a future with Denny when I might be facing an ordeal that required all my attention.

And to think I had only gone to see the gynecologist because I had wanted a prescription for birth control pills. Man, that had been premature!

"Why