CHRISTMAS IN WHITEHORN Read online

  Her chest tightened at the thought. Not friends. Funny how in just a few weeks Mark had become an important part of her life. Initially she'd had a crush on him but, as she'd gotten to know him, she'd found herself liking him for the man he was, not just who she imagined him to be.

  "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "For thinking badly of you. When I knew you had a secret in your life, I assumed the worst."

  She glared at him over her mug. "You could have asked."

  "Agreed." He took a sip of the hot chocolate. "Thank you for telling me about your brother. I wish it had happened under other circumstances."

  She shifted her gaze to stare at the wall behind him. "I stopped telling people a long time ago. I got tired of being disappointed by people I liked."

  "I don't think I would have disappointed you about that."

  She wanted to believe that was true but had her doubts. "Maybe not, but you disappointed me about other things."

  "I know. Looking back, I don't understand how I could have thought those things about you. You're a good person, one of the best people I know."

  She returned her attention to him, trying not to notice how green his eyes looked in the lamplight or how the shape of his mouth made her remember how good it had been between them.

  "You're stalling," she said. "Do you actually have something to tell me, or was this all a smoke screen?"

  He drew in a deep breath. "You're right. I don't want to tell you this, because it's going to change the way you think about me."

  "It's not going to get worse than how it is now."

  "I hope you're right."

  For the first time since inviting him inside, Darcy felt a shiver of apprehension. While she didn't doubt Mark thought he had a great reason for thinking so badly of her, she didn't expect to be impressed. But now, looking at the haunted expression in his eyes, she began to wonder.

  "After college I left here for New York," he said. "I was accepted into the New York police department. My goal had always been to make detective. When I was sixteen and still in high school, I worked part-time for old Scott Riley who ran a sleazy little detective agency here in town. The work was mostly finding out if a spouse was having an affair, but occasionally there was a great case."

  "And this is interesting how?" Darcy asked with more temper than she felt. She didn't want to get sucked into Mark's past. What did it have to do with her?

  "I'm getting to the point," he said. "But it's going to take me a minute."

  She rose and crossed to the sofa, where she grabbed two cookies before returning to her chair. She nibbled on the first one. Maybe the sugar would take the edge off, she thought.

  "My career skyrocketed right away," he continued. "I worked long hours, but I loved it. I got involved in a couple of high-profile crimes and worked with some great detectives. I learned a lot and when the time came, they put in a good word for me. So there I was, in New York, living my dream. The only down side was my personal life."

  Darcy forced herself to swallow her mouthful of cookies, but she suddenly felt sick inside. "I don't think I want to hear this."

  "Sorry, but it's the only story I know." He shifted on the sofa. "I dated a lot, but I never felt anything. I mean I liked some of them fine, but there wasn't any spark."

  Darcy suddenly found it difficult to look at the sofa where she and Mark had about set each other on fire.

  "I wanted to get married," he said. "I wanted kids, a family, but it wasn't happening. By the time I'd been a detective for two years, I was starting to have second thoughts about my career choice. I saw a side to people I didn't like. Once I got transferred to homicide, I figured there wasn't any humanity left in the world. I know it sounds stupid, but I thought I could feel my soul drying up. One day it was going to shrivel up and blow away. And then I met Sylvia."

  Darcy froze. She shouldn't have been surprised, she told herself. She'd known from the minute Mark had mentioned the woman's death that she'd been important to him. She put down the remaining cookie and her hot chocolate. Her stomach felt queasy.

  "We lived next door to each other," he said, not looking at her, as he proceeded to tell her about meeting the woman he'd wanted to marry.

  Darcy listened, though every word was torture. Her face burned and her mouth went dry. She'd been right before – she didn't want to hear this story. But she also couldn't bring herself to stop him. Maybe it was like driving by an accident. She didn't want to look but she couldn't help herself.

  "Did you marry her?" she asked without thinking. Had Mark been married before? She'd never considered that a possibility.

  "No. I never even proposed, although I did buy a ring. I never gave it to her."

  "Why?" She spoke past the pain, which wasn't very easy.

  He shrugged. "I wanted to get to know her better. I wanted to be sure. Intellectually I knew I was running on hormones." He took a drink of his hot chocolate. "About two months into the relationship, I got a frantic call from her. I was at work. It was late. I think I was doing paperwork, I don't re- member. She sounded hysterical as she begged me to come home. When I got there, I found a dead man in her kitchen."

  Darcy blinked. She'd braced herself for several different possibilities, but that wasn't one of them. "Someone had tried to kill her?"

  "No. It took me a while to get any information out of her. At first she said the guy was an intruder but it turns out he was her husband."

  Darcy couldn't believe it. "She was married?"

  He nodded. "It took me by surprise, too. She said that she'd been separated for a long time and that she'd wanted to tell me but was afraid it would change things be- tween us. I was too shocked to know what to think. She said they hadn't spoken in weeks. She'd been out shopping and had returned to find him dead in her kitchen. She didn't know what to do."

  "I can't blame her." Darcy knew a dead body in her house would leave her pretty hysterical, too.

  "I should have known," he continued quietly. "The fact that she hadn't told me about being married was a big red flag, but I thought I loved her so I ignored it."

  Darcy tried not to mind that Mark had been so willing to believe the best of Sylvia but think the worst of her.

  "I called the precinct," he said. "I knew the guys working the murder. I couldn't get involved because I knew Sylvia, but I was kept advised of what was going on. At first they weren't sure, but then one day the detectives on the case brought me in for a private conversation. It seems that the evidence pointed to the fact that Sylvia had killed her husband herself."

  On the one hand, Darcy wasn't surprised by the revelation. On the other hand, she couldn't believe it. "Why?"

  "I don't know. She never said."

  "You talked to her about it?"

  "Oh, yeah. I went to her place and confronted her with the facts. At first she tried to deny everything. She cried and said that she loved me. If I loved her, too, I would believe her."

  "But you didn't?"

  "I was starting to have my doubts. Finally she admitted she'd done it and she expected me to help her get away with it. When I refused, she threatened me. When I still wouldn't go along with her plan, she pulled a gun and shot me. Twice."

  Darcy nearly fainted. She felt all the blood rush from her head to her feet and the room began to sway. She gasped for breath. Gradually the room stilled and she was able to see Mark. He sat across from her, watching her. Probably trying to judge her reaction.

  "She's the reason you were injured? I thought some criminal did it."

  "She was a murderer."

  She brushed aside his comment with a flick of her wrist. "You know what I mean. I thought it had happened during a chase or something."

  "I guess we all have our secrets."

  He was acting flip, but she doubted he felt as calm on the inside. Questions filled her mind, even as puzzle pieces clicked into place. No wonder he'd assumed the worst about her.

  "What happened after she shot you?"

  "She was arr
ested for the murder of her husband and for attempting to kill me. I spent a lot of time in the hospital and then in rehabilitation."

  She thought about the still-healing scars on his body. "You could have died."

  "That's what the doctors said."

  "You must have been in shock for a long time," she said more to herself than to him. "You'd been planning to marry this woman."

  "The irony of the situation doesn't escape me," he admitted. "While I was recovering, I had plenty of time to think. What I still can't get over is how wrong I was about her. I was a cop – a detective. I'm supposed to know people, but she fooled me completely. So much for being a good judge of character."

  She was torn between wanting to point out that he'd blown it about her, too, and the need to walk over to the sofa, sit next to him and pull him close. Instead she stayed where she was.

  "I keep asking myself how she could have tricked me," he admitted. "At the same time I was recovering from being shot and mentally ending the relationship. Knowing how she'd used me violated everything I thought I knew about myself, her … everyone. It changed my view of the world. I used to think that whole stages of mourning was a lot of crap, but I went through them all. Although I think I stalled in anger for a while."

  "That's understandable. What happened to Sylvia after the arrest?"

  He shrugged. "She entered a plea. They refused bail. The charges against her in- cluded lying in wait, which judges frown upon. So she changed her plea. It was a mess. There was a bunch of media attention. When I was well enough, I left it all behind and moved back here."

  She tried to absorb what he'd told her. "If she'd lived, would you have had to go back to New York to testify?"

  "Yeah, and I wasn't looking forward to it. Once I got back to Whitehorn, I just wanted to stay put." He stared at her. "The point of this isn't to make you feel sorry for me, but to help you understand why I have a problem trusting women."

  "I do. In a way." She sighed. "The thing is, I'm not Sylvia."

  "I know. I should have seen that right away. But there were too many similarities. You lived next door. You're attractive, we got along well."

  Sex. He was talking about sex. "You do seem to have a thing for spontaneous combustion," she said with a lightness she didn't feel.

  "Actually that's a new experience for me," he said. "I've never had what we've had."

  Darcy didn't dare analyze the relief she felt at his words. She also had a couple of questions. How would he define what they had? What were they to each other?

  His story had done what he'd claimed – she was no longer so angry with him and she could almost forgive him for what he'd done. But she hated that all of this had been because of another woman. A woman he'd wanted to marry. Have children with. Someone he'd wanted for more than just sex.

  "No wonder you were devastated when she killed herself," Darcy said.

  "I was surprised," he told her. "Not devastated."

  "I'm not sure I believe you."

  "You don't have to. I'm working on closure. Sometimes I think I should forgive her, or maybe just myself. At times I can almost feel sorry for her. When I look back on our relationship, what I think about is how stupid I'd been and how could I have let that happen." He shifted slightly, then grimaced as his ankle turned. "I have a lot of questions and no answers. The one thing I do know is that I never loved her."

  "If you wanted to marry her, then you did a good job of faking it."

  "I think it was more of a matter of being in the right place at the right time. I had the career I'd always wanted, things were going well. Looking back, I wonder if I was so enamored with her because I was ready to have a family. I wanted to get married and she was there."

  Darcy wished it was that simple, but she knew the truth was far more complex. "You said you'd been out with a lot of different women and none of them clicked with you. Obviously there was something special about Sylvia."

  He looked at her. "The woman killed her husband in cold blood and then expected me to help her cover up the crime. I don't think 'special' quite describes it."

  "You know what I mean. You had strong feelings for her."

  He nodded absently, as if he was thinking about something else. Darcy tried to search her own heart to figure out what was going on inside. Once again Mark had confused her to the point of practically gasping for air. Every time she thought she had him figured out, he stumped her.

  Despite what he'd done to her, she couldn't hate him. Worse, she felt herself softening toward him, as if she were about to start liking him again. What was that old saying? Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. Was she about to be a fool for this man again?

  Mark moved a little, so there was more room next to him on the sofa. He patted the seat cushion. She folded her arms over her chest but otherwise didn't move.

  "We can talk fine with me sitting over here," she said primly, not daring to move closer. Her heart might not know what was going on, but that didn't mean her body wasn't ready to go up in flames at the slightest provocation.

  "I agree that we can have a conversation, but I won't know that we're okay," he said. "I want to know that we can still be friends."

  Friends. It was what she'd wanted, so why did his declaration disappoint her?

  "We're friends."

  "You still look pissed off."

  "I'm not."

  "You're all scrunchy. Your arms are crossed and your eyes look all disapproving. You're not even smiling. So you still hate me."

  "I don't hate you."

  "There must be a reason you're still crabby."

  She sucked in a breath. "I'm not crabby," she said, her voice practically a growl.

  "You really sound crabby," he murmured, then picked up a cookie and took a bite.

  She raised her arms, palms up. "What do you want from me?"

  "Nothing. I'm fine."

  He sounded hurt. She ignored his heavy sigh and the dispirited way he ate the cookie. She would not be sucked into feeling guilty when all of this was his fault.

  "Do you think you'll ever forgive me?" he asked.

  "I forgive you now."

  "You're just saying that."

  Her patience snapped. "Fine. You win." She rose and stalked over to the sofa, then plopped down next to him. "There. Are you happy?"

  He grinned. "Yes."

  "Figures. You are so annoying. You make me want to kick you in the ankle."

  He winced. "That would be mean. Where did this mean streak come from?"

  Darcy leaned back against the sofa and closed her eyes. "I only have myself to blame," she muttered under her breath. "I could have left him outside to freeze, but no. I had to be all neighborly and caring. I had to let him inside."

  "Darcy?"

  "What?" she snapped without looking at him.

  "I'm really sorry. I treated you badly. My past with Sylvia explains my actions, but it doesn't excuse them. If I had suspicions, I should have come to you right away. I went behind your back and I punished you for things you hadn't done. That was wrong."

  His heartfelt apology accomplished what all the teasing hadn't. She melted inside. "It's okay," she said.

  "No, it's not. But I hope we can recover from this."

  She nodded. "We can."

  He offered her a cookie. She took one, but before she could bite into it, he spoke again.

  "Thanks for telling me about not being pregnant."

  Darcy carefully put the cookie back on the plate. "Yes, well, I would have told you before, but you weren't around. I found out last week."

  "Are you okay with that?"

  "Not being pregnant? Of course. Why would you ask?" A baby? Now? A baby was about the last thing she needed in her life.

  "I wanted to be sure. Sometimes a close call gets people thinking."

  "Are you speaking from personal experience?"

  "No, but it happened to my partner when I was in New York. His wife thought she was pregnant. They alread
y had a couple of kids, and weren't sure they wanted more. They agonized over it, then when they'd finally decided they were thrilled with the idea of another child, she found out she wasn't pregnant. They were both devastated."

  "Not my situation at all," she assured him.

  "Just checking."

  She started to ask him if he was okay when she felt a slight clenching around her heart. A faint stab of … what? Longing, she thought. Longing for a child of her own.

  She'd never really allowed herself to dream about something like that. After all, she had plenty of responsibilities and no one to share them with. A child would make her situation impossible. And yet, now that Mark had asked the question, she couldn't help wondering what it would be like to have a baby with him.

  Instantly she pictured a pretty green-eyed, dark-haired little girl holding hands with her blond, blue-eyed brother. She and Mark would have made amazing babies together, she thought sadly.

  She jerked herself out of her daydream with a stern warning not to go there. Wanting a baby with a man was a slick road to disaster. Next up she'd be thinking about a permanent relationship. Or falling in love.

  "Darcy? Are you all right?"

  "I'm fine."

  Love? No. Not in this lifetime. Not with any man and especially not with Mark.

  "What were you thinking?" he asked.

  She avoided his gaze. "Just that I'm glad we've been responsible since that first time. You've been really good about wearing a condom."

  "I'm happy to do it."

  If sex was going to be a part of her life, she needed to take precautions. This time she'd gotten off lightly, but what if she had been pregnant? The odds of her getting involved with anyone seemed slim, but it obviously could happen.

  "Maybe I should go on the Pill," she said, more to herself than him.

  "An interesting idea."

  Heat flared in her cheeks as she realized what she'd just said aloud. "Oh! I didn't mean to say that. I, ah, just…" She drew in a breath. "I was thinking out loud. I wasn't hinting."

  He lightly touched her arm. "I've missed you."

  She knew what he meant. He'd missed her in bed. She wanted to say she hadn't missed him. That she didn't want a physical relationship with him. Not anymore. Unfortunately she'd never been much of a liar.