Christmas In Whitehorn Part 12

"I don't know.Maybe.Probably." She s.h.i.+fted uneasily. "Maybe I'm fooling myself, but I don't think he's lost the love of his life, yet there's something going on. It's hard to explain."

"Suicide is difficult for those left behind," Andrew said. "Your friend is probably feeling a lot of conflicted emotions. Being in a new relations.h.i.+p is only going to add to his confusion and guilt. Try not to take it personally." He shook his head. "Unless all this is too much work and you'd rather pa.s.s. You don't have to get involved with this guy, Darcy."

"It's not that." She didn't think Mark was too much trouble. "I guess so much has happened so fast that I'm having trouble keeping my equilibrium." She tried to smile and had a feeling she didn't do a good job. "I'm so used to guys taking off the second they find out about Dirk. All this stuff with Mark isn't about that."

"It's tough to find out we're not the center of the universe," he teased, then sobered. "Are you okay, Darcy? You're dealing with a lot right now."

"I'm fine." At least she was trying to maintain some semblance of normal. Mark didn't make it easy.

Andrew leaned toward her. "Do you want to talk about Dirk's impact on your social life?"

"I'm not sure there's anything to say. It's not a new story. I love my brother and I would do anything for him. One of the realities of the situation is that people men especially don't want to get involved if it's not going to be easy. Dirk isn't easy. There are emotional and financial commitments that will last a lifetime. At least if a woman has kids, the a.s.sumption is that the kids are going to grow up and be on their own eventually. That may not happen with Dirk."

"I think it's a very good possibility with your brother," Andrew told her, "but it's not a sure thing. As for the men you've met, I'm sorry they've all been so shallow. There are a few good ones out there and I suggest you keep on looking."

"Oh, I haven't given up. I just have gotten more cautious."

And foolish, she thought, as she remembered Mark. When he'd agreed to her request to be friends, she'd allowed herself to hope things might be different with him. Ironic that she couldn't blame hisdisap -pearance on Dirk.

"Keep looking, Darcy," Andrew said. "You're a wonderful woman. Any man would be lucky to have you in his life."

"Right.When you meet this paragon of virtue, be sure to give him my number, okay?"

"I promise."

Darcy rose and left Andrew's office. As she entered the hallway, she tried to take comfort in his words that Mark's problems might not be about her at all and that eventually she would meet someone who would see Dirk for the amazing young man he was. But the cheerful thoughts didn't brighten her mood. Part of her didn't believe she was ever going to meet someone that farsighted. Part of her didn't want to meet anyone else.

She leaned against the wall and sighed. There was a truth she could have gone another few years without knowing. That she didn't want to meet Mr. Perfect Instead she wanted Mark to be the man of her dreams. She wanted him to stop acting strange and fall in love with her. She wanted him to meet her brother and be okay with Dirk and what his special circ.u.mstances meant.

Darcy told herself to get real. Wis.h.i.+ng for the moon was only a waste of time. She would be better off convincing herself that Mark was a jerk and that she should be happy he was out of her life. Unfortunately, she didn't believe that one, either.

"Hey Mark, where's the pretty lady with the cinnamon rolls?" Josh Anderson asked as Mark walked into the gym on Sunday morning.

"Busy."

"Too bad.She's a great cook." Josh eyed him speculatively. "Not bad looking, either."

Instead of answering, Mark grunted. If he were any kind of decent human being he would tell Josh that Darcy was indeed a great cook and very pretty. She was also smart, funny and incredible in bed. He grimaced. Okay, so he should probably keep that last bit to himself. But he could tell Josh the rest of it. After all, the thirty-something contractor was single.If Mark didn't want Darcy for himself...

He shrugged out of his jacket,then pulled off his sweatpants and sweats.h.i.+rt until he was down to shorts and a T-s.h.i.+rt. No way was he going to encourage Josh in the Darcy department. He tried telling himself it was because she was a suspect in a police investigation, but he knew that wasn't it at all. He might not want Darcy for himself, but he sure as h.e.l.l didn't want any other guy sniffing around her.

The rest of the guys showed up and the game began. Mark found it difficult to keep his concentration on the ball and his teammates. Conversation flowed around him. He tried to partic.i.p.ate, but a large part of his brain was too busy reminding him how long it had been since he'd last seen Darcy.

Nearly a week, he thought as Josh pa.s.sed him the basketball. Mark headed for the far end of the court and tipped the ball into the net. He barely heard the calls of congratulations from his side andthe boos from their opponents.

Whatwas she thinking, he wondered. Had she noticed he hadn't been around? He shook his head as he realized that wasn't a fair question. Of course, she would have noticed. She wasn't Sylvia. Darcy didn't have an agenda. Although if she was laundering money, then the last thing she would want was to get involved with a detective. Unless she thought she could fool him.Which brought back too many uncomfortable memories.

A week.He hated that he missed her. Nearly as bad, he didn't feel comfortable going to the Hip Hop, so he'd been forced to actually cook a couple of meals. That had been a disaster.

"Heads up, Kincaid," someone called. A second later, the basketball slammed into his back.

Mark turned. Josh glared at him. "Are you playing or what?"

"Sorry." He took the ball out of bounds,then tossed it back into play.

He kept his concentration on the game for a few minutes. Then his thoughts once again drifted to Darcy. Had she realized that he hadn't been to the cafe? Did she wonder what had happened to their supposed friends.h.i.+p?

"I know what the problem is with Kincaid," one of the guys said."Chick trouble. Darcy's not here. So you guys had a fight, right? What'd you do wrong?"

Josh grabbed the basketball. "What makes you think it's his fault?"

Nearly everyone laughed. "It's always the guy's fault."

Mark raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "It was me and I don't want to talk about it."

He was joking but also telling the truth. Walking out on her without saying anything had been the coward's way out. He should have confronted her about the money. The thing was,he didn't want to know that she was involved. He'd spent most of the week investigating her, and he still couldn't link her to anything illegal.Which didn't mean a thing.

He stopped in the middle of the court and swore under his breath. He knew the next step. He would have to take his suspicions to Rafe and together they would get a search warrant for her place. As he couldn't explain the cash, there wasn't any other choice.

"Mark!"

Mark turned toward the sound of his name. As he moved, he felt his foot slip on a damp spot in the court. He scrambled to regain his balance, but it was too late. His ankle twisted painfully. His still-healing leg couldn't support his weight and he felt himself cras.h.i.+ng to the ground. His last thought before his head connected with the wooden floor was that this was gonna hurt like h.e.l.l.

Darcy carefully placed the template on the baked sheet of gingerbread. She'd already cut out the walls of the house. Once the roof was done, the pieces would need to cool a little more,then she would start a.s.sembling the two houses. She had all the candies she would need, but she was going to be a little short on the icing. After this was done, she would make a quick trip to the store to- The phone rang.

She glanced up at the instrument, hating the sudden fluttering in her chest. There was no way Mark was phoning her. She hadn't seen the man in nearly a week. He'd disappeared from her life with no explanation and no warning. She was working through the stages of mourning just fine, thank you very much, although today she seemed to be stuck in anger.

The phone rang again. Reluctantly she put down her knife and picked up the receiver.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Hi, Darcy."

All the blood rushed from her head, forcing her to sink into a kitchen chair. She briefly closed her eyes and wished she didn't care that he had finally called her. How was she supposed to act?Happy?Angry? Hurt?

She settled on casual. "Mark.Nice to hear from you. How's it going?"

"Things have just gotten real interesting." He hesitated. "Are you mad that I haven't called?"

She sucked in a breath as annoyance filled her. "Not at all," she said through slightly clenched teeth. "I've been so busy getting ready for the holidays that I barely noticed. How's work?"

"I've been busy, too." There was a pause, then something that sounded oddly like a moan. "Darcy, the reason I'm calling is that I need a ride home."

Annoyance turned to fury. How dare he expect her to be at his beck and call after first running out on her with no explanation and then ignoring her?

"Mark, I'm in the middle of making a gingerbread house. This is a very delicate time in the process. I'm not sure I can get away."

"Okay. I understand. Josh is driving my car back to the duplex. I guess I'll page him to come get me here when he's done. I didn't mean to bother you."

She sighed, hating that she was wavering. "It's not a bother.Not exactly. Where are you?"

"The hospital.I wrenched my ankle. I slipped while I was playing basketball. The thing is,I can't drive for two days. Not until the swelling goes down."

He'd hurt himself. Nurturing instinct battled with righteous indignation. It wasn't much of a contest. "I'll be right there," she said, and hung up the phone. Twenty minutes later she walked into the emergency room ofWhitehornMemorialHospital. The woman at the reception desk directed her to treatment room number three. Darcy stepped inside and saw Mark sitting on a hospital bed. His ankle was taped and elevated. There was also a huge bruise on the side of his face.

Her heart did a little fox-trot, her temper flared. It was an interesting combination, but then she'd always been torn where he was concerned.

Mark looked up and saw her. "Hi," he said, sounding sheepish. "I'm sorry to bother you."

"We're neighbors. I didn't mind helping." She moved closer to the bed and pointed at the swelling on his face. "You hit your head?"

"On the way down.I didn't lose consciousness and I don't have a concussion. It looks a lot worse than it is."

Darcy had the sudden desire to make it worse. Just as a payback. But she'd never been the violent type and wouldn't have a clue as to where to start.

He waved a piece of paper. "I have my instructions.Rest for twenty-four hours. Keep the ankle elevated, use ice. So I'm ready to go."

"All right.I'll go pull my car up to the entrance."

He pushed the call b.u.t.ton for a nurse. "We'll meet you there."

Maneuvering Mark into her small car wasn't easy. His injured ankle banged against the door once and she was almost sorry for him. As they drove back to the duplex, she had a silent but heated conversation with herself during which she told him exactly what she thought of him. She was acerbic, pithy and completely cool. Unfortunately, she wasn't likely to be any of those things if she started talking out loud.

When they reached his place, he opened the door but waited before getting out.

"Thanks for taking the time to come get me," he said.

She nodded.

"I know you're busy with your holiday baking."

She nodded again.

He glared at her. "Aren't you going to talk to me?"

She turned to face him. "What do you want me to say? I came to get you because we're supposed to be friends and that's what friends do for each other. Although some people seem to define friends.h.i.+p by acting weird and then disappearing off the face of the planet."

He gave her a tentative smile. "Would you feel any better if I had actually been off the planet?"

She didn't respond to the twinkle of amus.e.m.e.nt in his gaze. "Were you off the planet? Did you involve yourself with s.p.a.ce travel this week?"

His smile faded. "No."

"I thought not."

She got out of the car and came around to the pa.s.senger side. He swung himself around until he was facing the open car door,then pulled himself to his feet without putting any weight on the injured ankle. She had to reach around him to grab the crutches he'd been given.

As she did so, her arm brushed against his side. Heat jumped between them, making her nervous as well as crabby. She hated that he could get to her without doing anything but standing in the snow, looking pathetic.

She pulled out the crutches. "I'll need your key to open the door."

He dug it out of his sweatpants and handed it to her. She was careful to make sure they didn't touch again.

His progress to his front door was slow, hampered by five or six inches of fresh snow on the ground. More was promised midweek. Darcy tried to admire the beauty of the white world around them, the way the snow clung to the trees and decorated the duplex like so much icing, rather than feeling badly for Mark as he made slow and awkward progress.

Finally they were inside. Darcy got him settled on the sofa, which apart from a television sitting on a nightstand, was the only piece of furniture in the room. She set the crutches on the floor,then asked him where he kept his spare blankets.

"I don't have any. There's one on the bed."

"Figures."

She headed for the small hallway. His apartment was the mirror image of hers. At least the layout was. Nothing about the interior was the same. The walls looked as if they hadn't been painted in years. There weren't any pictures on the walls, and when she reached the bedroom, she saw he filled the room with a king-size bed, one nightstand and a tall dresser.Nothing else.Nothing personal.

Some of her anger began to fade in the face of his empty life. Why did Mark choose to live like this? Her apartment had been old when she'd moved in, but she'd painted the walls and dressed things up with inexpensive prints and knickknacks she'd brought fromArizona. She'd wanted to make a home for herself. Mark's place had all the charm of a prison. Did he expect to be moving on soon?

She collected the down comforter from the unmade bed, along with two pillows. Back in the living room, she slipped the pillows under his injured leg.

"Should you ice it?" she asked.

"Not for a couple more hours." He took the comforter from her. "Darcy, you don't have to do this. I can take care of myself."

"Sure." She avoided his gaze. "Have you eaten?"

"I'll be fine."

She forced herself to look at him. The bruise on his face looked really painful. "That wasn't the question."

"No. I haven't."

She turned on her heel and headed for the kitchen. It was a dreadful shade of green. There weren't any dishes in sight. On a hunch, she opened a cupboard. Inside were stacks of paper plates and cups. A tug on a drawer below yielded a view of plastic utensils.

"Only the best," she muttered under her breath, then bracedherself for the contents of the refrigerator.

Surprisingly, there weren't any packages of decaying meat or moldy takeout. There was, in fact, almost nothing.A few bottles of soda, a bottle of beer, an apple and a small take-out container of coffee creamer.

"So like a man," she said aloud, returning to the living room. "Is this some new kind of diet?"

"I've been busy."

Her anger turned to pain. "Why?" she asked softly. "What did I do that was so horrible that you're not even comfortable coming to the Hip Hop for your meals? Do you think I'm going to punish you for not wanting to be friends anymore? Do you think I'm going to make a scene or talk about you behind your back?"

He lightly touched the bruise on his face. "It's not any of that, Darcy. I've been busy with work."

She glared at him. "Don't lie to me, Mark. I'm not stupid. This isn't about work. So what is it? What is going on between us? If you're tired of me, just say so. I can handle it."