CHRISTMAS IN WHITEHORN Read online

  She rose to her feet, then paced to the window and stared out. Snow had started to fall. "I picked Arizona because there was a really good day school there for him. I managed to support us working two or three jobs. Dirk grew, but as he became a teenager things changed. He needed more."

  "The Madison School," Mark muttered. "That's why you moved here."

  "Exactly. They have an amazing residential program. My brother is going to have wonderful opportunities to learn to function in the world. They expect him to be fairly self-sufficient in time. I just want him to be happy. One of the counselors there told me that we're in line for some financial aid, which is really good, because I'm hanging on by a thread. Every penny I make goes to my brother. I live as cheaply as I can. My car's old, my clothes are pathetic, I don't have a social life. And you know what? I don't give a damn, because I love my brother and I would do anything for him."

  She turned to face him. The rage had returned. "I work a fifty-hour week on my feet and I have a side business that just may turn out to be successful. So you have no right to judge me or accuse me of anything. I've done all this without one scrap of help and frankly I think I've done a hell of a job."

  She took a step toward him and planted her hands on her hips. "I thought you were pretty special. I actually liked you. Now I think you're scum and I'm sorry I ever slept with you. Go to hell, Mark Kincaid."

  She headed for the door and jerked it open. Then she aimed her parting shot. "By the way, I'm not pregnant. Not that you bothered to ask."

  She disappeared into the afternoon, slamming the door behind her.

  Mark stared at the place where she'd stood and wished he could have a do-over. He'd blown this one from the beginning. The pain inside of him had nothing to do with his ankle or the bruise on his face. It came from having hurt someone who didn't deserve anything but the best that life had to offer.

  When had he gotten so stupid?

  Knowing it wasn't going to help but unable to stop himself, be reached for the album and put it on his lap. He turned the pages slowly and watched as Darcy's life unfolded before his eyes.

  She'd been a chubby-cheeked little girl with blond curls and a perfect smile that made him ache. He saw pictures of her on a pony at a birthday party and in fancy dresses at the holidays. The background of the photos showed a large, elegant house with expensive furnishings. He saw her with friends, becoming school-age.

  She was an awkward preadolescent when her brother arrived. There was a picture with her and a smiling baby. He flipped through photos of the two of them. Her parents' smiles became more strained, but Darcy's affection for Dirk was evident. He turned more pages and saw dance pictures, then prom photos. A beautiful Darcy with a handsome teenage boy. High school graduation followed, then pictures of just Dirk. He noticed there were far fewer of them than there had been of Darcy.

  The last few pages showed a growing Dirk in a small apartment. The elegant furnishings were gone, as was the big house. Snapshots of Darcy showed her looking tired and thin. But the love between the siblings still shone out from every frame. He closed the book and set it back on the coffee table.

  Darcy wasn't anything like Sylvia. He couldn't have been more wrong about her.

  And now she was gone.

  He tried to tell himself that this was better. He didn't want her in his life – he didn't want anyone. Her whole idea of being friends had been doomed from the start. He owed her an apology, of course, but after that it would be best if they simply returned to being neighbors who nodded when they saw each other. She wouldn't take too long to get over him. Being angry would help. As for him, he didn't have to recover – he'd never been involved.

  It was odd, though, how the ache in his ankle was nothing when compared to the dull throbbing in his heart.

  *

  Darcy ignored the pieces of gingerbread still waiting to be assembled in her kitchen. She walked through the living room, down the short hall and entered her bedroom, where she threw herself on the bed. She hugged a pillow to her chest and waited for the tears burning at the back of her eyes to spill over.

  Anger and confusion wrestled in her chest, and so far there was no clear winner. She was so mad at Mark that she could spit. She wanted to scream at him, demanding that he tell her where he got the right to judge her for something she hadn't even done. How dare he think she'd done something illegal? She hurt so much inside. He was gone from her life and somehow his leaving had left behind a really big hole.

  She told herself she shouldn't care anymore. Mark had proved to be nothing more than a case of bad judgment. She wanted to justify what he'd thought of her by telling herself it was because he was a detective; thinking the worst of people was his job. But somehow she didn't buy into the explanation. He hadn't thought the worst of anyone else – just her.

  She rolled onto her side, pulling the pillow with her. Despite how horrible she felt, there weren't any tears. They would probably come later, when she was ready to heal. But for now there was just the emptiness and the knowledge that she'd been foolish enough to allow herself to dream.

  Darcy stood up. She tossed the pillow onto the bed and drew in a deep breath. If there was one thing the past five years had taught her, it was to keep moving forward, regardless of how daunting the circumstances. She had orders to fill and a life to live. If Mark Kincaid wanted to be an ass, that was his business, not hers.

  Four hours later she'd finished assembling the two gingerbread houses. The three she'd already completed had been loaded into boxes that she'd carefully carried to her car, along with seven dozen cookies. She began her deliveries around four, grateful that the snow had stopped.

  Promptly at five she pulled into the parking lot of the Hip Hop Café. Melissa North, the owner of the café, was back from her vacation and had wanted to sample Darcy's goods for the following week.

  Darcy grabbed the cookies first, and headed for the front of the café. She knocked on the closed and locked door.

  From where she stood she could see two people inside. Melissa stood talking to a man. Darcy squinted, then recognized Josh Anderson. They walked to the front door and Melissa turned the key in the lock.

  "You're right on time," Melissa said. The store owner was of medium height, with beautiful black hair and intense blue eyes. She smiled, then sniffed. "Something smells heavenly."

  "Cookies," Darcy admitted. "I have the gingerbread house in the car."

  "I'll go get it," Josh said.

  "Thanks."

  Darcy moved aside to let him out. Melissa returned her attention to the diner. "Josh and I were discussing remodeling the café. I have this idea about making it a little more upscale. Maybe get in a dinner crowd rather than just the burger set."

  "Upscale means higher prices," Darcy said with a laugh. "My tips go up with the prices, so I'm in favor of expansion."

  Melissa grinned. "I'll put you down in the yes column, then."

  "What about a health food menu to supplement the regular entrées?"

  Josh returned with the box. "I heard that," he said. "Don't let her talk you into it, Melissa. Montana isn't tofu country."

  He walked over to the long counter and set the box down by the cash register. Darcy knew he was just teasing. There was no way he could know that the mention of tofu made her think of Mark, which made her shoulders slump.

  "There are other healthy choices," Darcy insisted. "Maybe something meatless."

  Melissa smiled. "I'll think about it. In the meantime, I'd love to see what you've brought."

  Darcy set her box of cookies on a table, then opened the box containing the house. She unfastened the sides, peeling them back to expose her Christmas treat. Candies decorated the sides and roof of the house. Icing "snow" edged the windows. She'd used chocolate cookie fingers to make a fence and chocolate-covered graham crackers for a pathway.

  Melissa clapped her hands together. "It's fabulous. Did you really make it yourself?"

  Her obvious pleasure eased some
of Darcy's hollowness. She nodded. "Once the main structure is together, it's not that difficult to do. Just lots of candy, icing and patience."

  Josh reached for a gumdrop. Darcy pushed his arm away. "Don't make me hurt you. If you want something to eat, try a cookie."

  "What's in them?" he asked suspiciously.

  "Plenty of butter and sugar. It's the holidays and I try not to think about calories in December."

  Still looking doubtful, Josh opened the second box and pulled out an iced cookie. He took a bite, then nodded. "This works," he mumbled.

  Melissa reached for one, as well. After she tasted the cookie, she sighed. "It's delicious enough to cause me to make noises that shouldn't be heard outside of the bedroom. Janie was right. Your baked goods are terrific. Let's talk tomorrow after your shift. If you're still interested, we can work out a deal to have you supply the café."

  "I'd like that," Darcy said, hoping she sounded excited.

  She should be happy. She was happy. She'd worked hard for this opportunity. If she got a baking contract with the Hip Hop Café, she wouldn't have to sweat her monthly bills – especially for Dirk's school – so much. And if he received some financial aid, she might be able to draw a breath and actually slow down.

  "Then I'll see you here tomorrow," Melissa said, pulling a datebook out of her oversize purse. "I'd like you to bring me a list of what baked goods you'll provide, and a schedule. We'll have to play with quantities for a while until we figure out how much we can sell."

  "Not a problem."

  Darcy already had all that information in a notebook at home. She would make a copy during her break tomorrow and have it ready for Melissa by the time of their meeting.

  She excused herself so Josh and Melissa could finish their conversation on remodeling, and made her way to her car.

  She was excited, she told herself. Darned excited. This was a great opportunity. Yes, there would be extra work, but she'd held as many as three jobs at a time before, so she was used to long hours and little sleep. If nothing else, keeping busy would help her get over Mark quicker. She wasn't going to have much time to think about him.

  She started her car, then waited for the engine to warm up. The thing was, she thought, resting her forehead on the steering wheel, she couldn't start getting over him until the horrible empty feeling inside of her went away. She couldn't remember ever being so sad about the loss of a relationship. Which didn't make sense. After her parents died and all her friends had faded away, she'd felt completely abandoned. But somehow this was different. Worse.

  Something about knowing Mark was forever out of her life made it very difficult to even breathe.

  *

  Mark sat alone in his living room and watched the light fade as afternoon turned to evening. He told himself he should get some ice for his ankle and maybe take another pain pill. He should do a lot of things. But instead of getting up, he simply closed his eyes and wished he could turn back the clock.

  Why had he thought Darcy was the one involved with the money laundering? Now, with hindsight, he could see that he'd been completely wrong about her. There was nothing in her background or her life that even hinted at anything illegal. Yet he'd thought of her first. Finding the money had only confirmed his suspicions.

  Because he'd wanted it to be her.

  The thought struck him like a sucker punch. He lightly touched the throbbing bump on his face, then shook his head. Damn. Why hadn't he seen it before? He'd wanted Darcy to be the bad guy because then he could dismiss her from his life. He wouldn't have to worry about liking her or not liking her. He wouldn't have to reconcile what he'd been through with Sylvia with his present situation. He could stay comfortably angry with the world for being such a rotten place and with himself for being so stupid and blind.

  The memory of the hurt and shock in her eyes made him squirm. He'd done her wrong in the most fundamental way possible. He'd damaged her character.

  She was a woman who had given up everything she'd ever known to take care of her brother. With no experience, she'd survived in a hostile world. Then he'd come along and had accused her of being a criminal because that was a whole lot easier than thinking she might be a pretty terrific person that he was in danger of falling for.

  He wanted to take his accusations back. He wanted a second chance. Not because he had any expectations, but because someone like Darcy didn't show up in a guy's life very often. She'd wanted to be his friend. He'd never considered that much of an honor, but he'd been wrong.

  He swore under his breath. He couldn't make it right, but he could explain. He owed her that. He knew she would still walk away – she might be softhearted, but she wasn't stupid. She wouldn't trust him with a second chance.

  *

  After dropping off the rest of her baked goods, Darcy pulled in front of her apartment. Something large and dark sat on her front steps. As her headlights swept across the duplex, she saw the large, dark something move. Mark?

  She set the parking brake, then turned off the engine. No. He couldn't be here. It was cold and the snow was due to start up any second.

  "Are you crazy?" she asked as she climbed out of her car. "What are you doing? You're supposed to be keeping your leg elevated."

  "Would you believe I ran out of ice? I thought maybe if I stuck my foot in snow it would do the same thing."

  She pulled her coat closer around her body. The cold burned her skin and her eyes. As she approached the porch, she saw Mark was huddled on the top step. He had his bad foot buried in snow. She didn't want to think about how much it would have hurt him to pull on a boot, even though he hadn't fastened it. She refused to feel sorry for him.

  "Why are you here?" she asked, stopping in front of him.

  Instead of answering, he held out several thin boxes. "A peace offering," he said. "Christmas lights. I can't put them up right now, but maybe by midweek." He hesitated. "I know you're a sucker for Christmas."

  "Apparently I'm a sucker for a lot of things."

  He nodded. "At the risk of you leaving me out here in the snow to freeze to death, I'm going to ask you to invite me in."

  His boldness stunned her. "Why would I do that? So you can say more terrible things about me? What do you want to accuse me of now? Has there been a murder in town? Am I the prime suspect?"

  He gazed at her. "I want to apologize and explain."

  "No explanation is necessary. Besides, you couldn't possibly come up with a story good enough."

  Something flickered in his eyes. Something dark and painful. Something that made her heartache ease slightly and her resolve waver.

  "Actually, I could," he told her. "Let me try. Darcy. I know what I did was awful. I'm really sorry. You didn't deserve my accusations, but they're made and now I would like to explain them."

  She didn't want to hear what he had to say. Yet she couldn't bring herself to deny him.

  "Once a sucker, always a sucker," she muttered as she bent low to help him to his feet. "This had better be good."

  Chapter Eleven

  Darcy helped Mark to her sofa, then eased him out of his coat. She ignored the feel of his body so close to hers. No way was she still attracted to the man.

  She also ignored the three boxes of outdoor lights he'd brought her, along with the fact that he couldn't have just gone out and bought them today. Which meant he'd had them for some time. As she doubted that he'd planned on putting them up at his place – the man didn't even own dishes, let alone Christmas decorations – he must have bought them for her. Which meant he'd been thinking of her in a positive way. Which did not begin to make up for all he'd accused her of today.

  "How's your ankle?" she asked grudgingly as she took off her coat.

  "Sore," he admitted.

  She hung up both their coats, then returned to the sofa. After sitting on the coffee table, she reached for his boot and eased it off his injured foot. She could feel the heat from the swelling.

  "You shouldn't have come over," she
told him. "You didn't even use your crutches."

  "I thought they might slip in the snow."

  The man was impossible. "You could have phoned in your explanation."

  "You would have hung up on me."

  That much was true, she thought, almost wishing he wasn't here now. Part of her didn't want to hear his explanation. For one thing, she doubted it would be enough to convince her that he was anything but the bad guy in this. For another, she didn't want to give him a chance to trick her into starting to like him again.

  She eased his sock-clad foot onto a small throw pillow. "Don't think I'm going to let you off the hook easily," she told him. "I'm angry and hurt and I have no intention of forgiving you."

  "I know. That's not why I'm here. I want you to know why it happened, but I don't expect anything else to change."

  She glared at him, but he didn't try to justify his position more. She rose. "I hate that I feel compelled to offer you something to eat. Did you finish the spaghetti?"

  "Most of it."

  She sighed, then headed for the kitchen. After the loss of her parents, she'd been surprised to find out that she was something of a caretaker. She enjoyed giving to people. If money and space weren't an issue, not to mention her long workdays, she would fill her place with homeless dogs and cats. Even now, when she should want to rip out Mark's heart, she couldn't help fixing hot chocolate and piling cookies on a plate.

  She returned to the living room and set the tray on the sofa next to him, then grabbed a mug for herself and retreated to a chair across the room.

  "Start talking," she said, hoping she sounded furious. Unfortunately, her rage and indignation seemed to have faded some, leaving her feeling only empty and sad.

  Twenty-four hours ago, she would have been dying to tell him about her new contract at the Hip Hop. Of course, then he hadn't known about Dirk, so he wouldn't have understood why it was so important for her to earn money. Now he knew about Dirk, but they weren't friends anymore.