Christmas in Whitehorn (3 page)

Darcy nodded.

"We're going to sleep on the train. Andrew says the hotel will have a
Turkey
dinner for us when we get there."

"I want to hear all about it," Darcy said. "Will you write in your journal so you can remember everything?"

He nodded. "I have the camera you gave me for my birthday. I'm going to take lots of pictures."

"Oh. That reminds me." Darcy bent down and fished through her purse. She pulled out a three-pack of film for his camera. "This is for you."

Dirk looked at the gift, then at her. "Darcy?" She knew what he was asking – what worry drew his brows together and made him study her so carefully. Her brother might have the slow, studied air of someone out of step with the mainstream world, but he wasn't an idiot. He knew that money had been tight for them for a long time. While he didn't know what the school cost her or how many nights she stared into the darkness and prayed she would be able to hold it all together, he guessed that life still wasn't easy for her.

She gave him a quick hug. "It's just film, Dirk. I can afford it."

He still looked worried when she released him. "I have my allowance. I can pay you back."

"No. That's
your
money. Spend it on something for you. Oh, but if you want to bring me back a postcard from
Chicago
, I wouldn't say no."

He nodded. "I'll bring you two."

"That would be great."

He took the film she offered and turned the boxes over in his hands. In his chambray shirt and worn jeans, he looked like any other fourteen-year-old. But he wasn't. His difficulties had become apparent within the first year of his life. Darcy's parents had despaired, but Dirk's uniqueness had only made her love him more.

"I'm going to miss you tomorrow," she said, changing the subject. "I'll be thinking about you."

It was the first Thanksgiving they'd been apart. She tried not to mind.

Happiness poured back into his eyes. "We're going on the train. I've never been on the train." His smile faded. "I'll miss you, too, Darcy."

"Hey, no long faces. Only happy people get to go to
Chicago
."

Both Darcy and Dirk glanced up as Andrew, one of the counselors at the school, joined them. He settled on the wing chair next to the sofa.

"How are you doing, Darcy? Keeping busy?"

She thought of her shift at the Hip Hop, followed by hours of baking every afternoon and evening. She had to shop for supplies for her home business and find time to make deliveries. Then there was the small matter of preparing a Thanksgiving dinner on a rare day off.

"I manage to keep myself occupied," she said ruefully.

"I know you do." He turned toward Dirk and nodded at the film still in his hands. "You're going to see a lot of really great things in the city. Darcy's going to be excited about your pictures."

Dirk grinned. "I'll put them in my photo album and write down what they were."

"I look forward to that," Darcy said honestly. She wanted to hear every detail of her brother's first trip without her.

"He's been getting really good with his photography," Andrew said. "He's got several of the other students interested as well. After the first of the year, a local photographer is going to be teaching a class a couple of times a week."

"That sounds fabulous."

"We do whatever works," he said.

Darcy leaned back against the sofa and let the warmth of contentment flow over her. Whenever she questioned her decision to uproot Dirk and herself and move to
Montana
of all places, she reminded herself that this school was one of the best in the country. Where else would her brother get full-time attention from an excellent staff? Andrew, a Ph.D. in his mid-thirties, lived in the facility with his wife, who was expecting their first child. Most of the staff lived on the extensive grounds in private homes. Experts in various fields were brought in to teach the students. Activities were kept interesting and practical.

The trip to
Chicago
was one example. The students would have the experience of riding on a train, staying in a hotel and exploring a large city all under the careful supervision of the staff. The school offered two or three such trips each year. By the time Dirk was ready to be on his own, he would know what it was like to travel by train or plane, rent a room, order in a restaurant, go to a museum, ask for directions and find his way home. These were experiences she couldn't begin to give him.

"Dirk's doing well," Andrew said, giving the boy a thumbs-up. "He's made a lot of friends."

Yet another thing she couldn't give him, she thought happily. The opportunity to interact with peers.

"I'm glad," she said.

Andrew rose. "Stop by my office on your way out. I'll show you Dirk's progress report."

"I'll do that."

 
He winked at them and left.

Darcy patted her brother's arm. "I'm so glad you're happy here. This is a good school."

"I'm learning a lot," he said. "I try real hard, Darcy. When we go to the grocery store, I can give the lady the right amount and sometimes I even know the change." He wrinkled his nose. "But I don't understand fractions. They're really hard."

She laughed. "You know what? I don't get them, either, so it's not just you."

He took her hand. "What will you do tomorrow on Thanksgiving?"

"I'll miss you." She squeezed his fingers. "And I'll cook a turkey."

"Is it big?"

"Twenty-four pounds.
Maybe next week I'll make up a dish of enchiladas and bring them when I visit you."

"I'd like that." He leaned close. "Who will be at dinner tomorrow?"

Oh, there was a subject she wasn't excited about. "The party is shrinking," she complained, trying to ignore the sense of panic inside. "My friend Millie and her children won't be there. They're going home to spend the holiday with her family. And another couple has decided they would rather be alone." Now it was just two other people, plus Mark. She'd been hoping for more of a crowd. "My next-door neighbor is coming. His name is Mark and he works for the sheriff's office."

Dirk looked impressed. "Is he nice?"

"He's quiet," she said, not sure she would ever use the word "nice" to describe Mark Kincaid. "He used to live in
New York City
. He was a detective."

Dirk frowned. "He must know a lot of bad people. I wouldn't like that."

"Me, either."

Someone at a nearby table called for her and Dirk to join them to play a game. Darcy stayed long enough to eat dinner with her brother and to admire his tidy packing job. She left shortly before eight, promising to come back after his trip so she could hear about everything.

On the drive home to
Whitehorn
, she played the radio and tried not to think about the following day. She was foolishly nervous at the thought of spending a couple of hours in the presence of Mark Kincaid. If only Dirk was going to be there. Not only would she enjoy spending the time with her brother, he would be a perfect buffer between
herself
and Mark. Of course, if Mark came to Thanksgiving while her brother was in residence, she wouldn't have a Mark Kincaid problem. In the past five years she hadn't met a single man who hadn't turned tail and run when he'd found out that she was Dirk's only relative, and therefore physically and financially responsible for him.

So there was no point in getting all hot and bothered about her new neighbor. They didn't have a relationship and they weren't going to have one.
This, despite her attraction to the man.
Besides, it wasn't as if she even remembered how to do the whole man-woman thing.

The dark highway stretched out in front of her. Past the light of her headlights, she saw nothing but a few stars glittering in the sky. Tonight the emptiness made her feel sad and lonely. Most of the time she was able to keep busy enough not to notice that she didn't have any close friends, let alone romantic entanglements.

It would be nice to have an understanding with someone who cared about her romantically.
Or even sexually.
Sometimes her body ached with longing. She hadn't been on a real date in five years. Not that tomorrow was a date. She'd invited her neighbor over for Thanksgiving dinner. The event didn't have any emotional significance. If she thought it did, she was only fooling herself.

*

Unable to think of an excuse not to come, Mark rang Darcy's doorbell promptly at four. He'd checked his pager three times that day to make sure it was working. Unfortunately, no crime spree had occurred in the sleepy town of
Whitehorn
and he hadn't been called in to work. So here he was, carrying a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers. He felt like an idiot.

Darcy opened the door. Her hair was its usual disarray of curls. Color stained her cheeks and she started babbling the second she saw him.

"I'm so sorry, Mark. I didn't plan this, but I don't know that you're going to believe me. It's just one of those things. Who could have guessed that the
Wilsons
would rather spend the day alone?
Like she can even cook.
Oh, but I don't mean that in a bad way. I mean I like her and all, it's just they're not here. And I already told you about Millie and her kids. Then Margaret ended up getting called in to work. I mean she's a nurse, so what could she say but yes, and Betty got a cold and feels awful. Plus she didn't want to spread around her germs. So I couldn't exactly force any of them, could I?"

She looked both chagrined and cautiously hopeful. Mark shivered. He'd crossed the distance between the two apartments without bothering to pull on a coat. He wore slacks and a long sleeved shirt and the temperature outside couldn't be above twenty.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, "but could we straighten it out inside?"

"What?" She stared at him. "Oh! You must be freezing. Come on in."

She held the door open wide,
then
took the wine and flowers he offered. She gazed at the yellow roses and orange Gerber daises as if she'd never seen them before.

"You brought me flowers," she murmured, inhaling the scent of the blooms. "Wow. That's so nice." She stared at him as if he'd just created fire. "I mean really nice."

He bit back a statement that he wasn't the least bit nice. "I thought maybe for the table."

"Of course.
They're perfect."

She led the way into the dining room. He noticed the large table had only two place settings. Her incoherent conversation re- played in his brain.

"No one else will be here for dinner?" he asked.

She shook her head as she reached for a vase in the hutch against the far wall. "No. Sorry. I didn't plan this. I hope you believe me."

She glanced over her shoulder as if expecting him to explode with rage. Mark thought about the alternative to eating dinner with just Darcy and that was eating dinner with her and half a dozen people he didn't know. People who would want to ask questions.

"I'm not a real social guy. It doesn't matter."

She set the wine on the table,
then
clutched the flowers and the vase to her chest.
"Really?
I didn't want you to think I'd set this up on purpose."

Her meaning was slow to sink in. Set up as in … synapses fired in his brain.
As in a date.

His gaze settled on her as he took in her appearance. Instead of her usual waitress uniform, she wore a bright blue sweater and black slacks. Both emphasized her curves. She might not be tall, but she had all the right parts in the perfect proportions. He avoided staring at her breasts because they'd gotten him into trouble the last time he'd been in her house. Of course, admiring her legs wasn't much safer. Maybe he should keep his attention on her face.

"I promise not to think the worst of you without more evidence," he said seriously.

She grinned. "Good. Then would you mind opening the wine? Oh, and I hope you're hungry, because I expect you to eat your half of the turkey."

"You first."

He grabbed the wine and followed her into the kitchen. The scent of cooking turkey mingled with other smells. There were three pots bubbling on the stove and the microwave beeped impatiently.

"Glasses are in there," she said, pointing to a cupboard by the tile and oak table.

She turned her attention to the stove, lifting covers and stirring, all the while muttering under her breath. He didn't know if she was talking to herself or the food, then decided it didn't matter. Women in the kitchen were a mystery he'd never solved. They moved with an easy grace he could never imagine duplicating. Perhaps because he hadn't seen it a great deal while growing up. His mother had never been much for cooking, and his sister was too busy being queen of the rodeo to bother with meal preparation.

"It all smells good," he said as he poured the wine.

She took the glass he offered and leaned against the counter. "I'm not expecting a crisis." Laughter brightened her eyes. "That's not to say I haven't had them in the past, before I knew what I was doing. However I've learned from my mistakes."