Christmas in Whitehorn (9 page)

She sounded sincere. He even almost be-
lieved
her.
Friends.
It wasn't anything he'd considered. There were complications. He didn't want to get involved, and ironically a sex-only relationship had seemed far less trouble. Friends implied more than he was willing to give.

He knew he should tell her he wasn't interested, but for some reason he couldn't speak the words. Maybe it was because he'd been on his own since he'd returned to
Whitehorn
. He'd been meaning to look up old buddies, but somehow he never found the time. Besides, what was he supposed to say to them?

"Why not romance?" he asked. "Not with me, but with someone?"

She gave a rueful smile. "I don't have really good luck with men."

Her statement made him want to ask
a half
-dozen questions, but he didn't. If they were just going to be friends, why did her past matter?

"We can give it a try," he said at last.

"Really?"
She smiled, her full mouth curving up, her eyes brightening with pleasure. "Great."

"I do have a question."

"What?"

"How do you plan to avoid temptation?"

Her smile faded slightly. "Yes, well, that is a concern, isn't it? I suppose I won't think about it."

"What if I start to seduce you?"

Her steady gaze met his. "I don't think I'd be able to stop you. I guess I'm going to have to risk it. Do you plan to seduce me?"

He shook his head and it was only half a lie. Strangely, it was enough for her to admit that he could easily tempt her into his bed.

"I'm depending on you to be a gentleman," she murmured.

He groaned. "That hardly seems fair."

"Imagine how I feel. I've just admitted you have all that power."

They faced each other – still standing in the living room. Mark didn't know about her, but he felt damned awkward.

"Now what?" he asked.

"It's up to you. I have all the fixings for a great turkey stir-fry. We could have dinner and talk about our first friendship project."

"We're going to have projects?"

"Sure. Don't guys like to get together to do things, while women like to sit around and talk? I thought we could start with something that would make you feel more comfortable."

"Like what?"

"There's a decorating party at the children's wing of the hospital. I thought we'd go there."

Damn do-gooder, he grumbled to himself.
Typical.

"No way, no how," he announced.

Darcy only smiled.

Chapter Six

M
ark still couldn't believe he was here, in the hospital, about to decorate a tree. It was humiliating.

"Don't you know I'm a tough cop?" he muttered in Darcy's ear. "I'm supposed to be out subduing criminals, not participating in a decorating seminar."

Darcy didn't look the least bit impressed by his protests. "You agreed to this last night.
It's
fun, it's for a good cause, so quit complaining."

They were in the main waiting area of the children's wing. Several other people gathered around, listening to the director's instructions. Mark recognized Janie from the Hip Hop Café, along with one of the younger deputies.

"You'll break into groups of two or three," the woman was saying. "The trees are on various floors. We've distributed the decorations as well, and the children who are mobile have been told they're welcome to help."

Mark felt trapped by circumstances. He hadn't been thinking when he'd agreed to this. He wasn't the tree-decorating type. He'd been avoiding polite society since he'd arrived back in
Whitehorn
and now he felt out of place.

By contrast, Darcy practically quivered with anticipation. "Isn't this great?" she asked as they made their way to the elevator to take them to the fourth floor. Their tree was close to the playroom.

As they stepped onto the floor, familiar smells assaulted Mark. He'd spent too long in a hospital, not to mention rehab, after he'd been shot. He remembered bad meals, no sleep and plenty of pain. They weren't good memories. As they passed open doors leading to patients' rooms, he saw small children hooked up to IVs and lying still in bed when they should have been home running and jumping and laughing.

All those years as a
New York City
detective and a bunch of sick kids still got to him. Damn. He'd gone soft.

"Okay, so let's see what ornaments we have," Darcy said when they reached the bare Christmas tree in the corner by the entrance to the playroom. It was tall and the scent of pine helped overcome the smell of illness.

"We'll sort them by type and color,
then
come up with a plan."

He stared at her as she crouched next to the boxes of ornaments. "We need a plan?"

"Absolutely.
We can't just hang things wherever we want."

"Why not?"

She didn't even bother answering. Instead she rolled her eyes, as if he were being too dumb for words.

"I never realized you were such a control freak," he said.

"I'm not. Well, sometimes. If I can't always control the big things in my life, I tend to micromanage the little things. Decorating for Christmas is one of them. Maybe it's because I've been responsible for doing it on my own since my folks died."

Darcy emptied the contents of all the boxes. When Mark squatted next to her, she handed him containers of wooden ornaments with instructions for him to sort them by size. She examined their strings of lights, even going so far as to lay them out in the empty playroom to calculate the exact length of each.

"You go to all this trouble at home?" he asked when she'd returned with
the an
-
nouncement
that there were probably enough lights, but they were going to have to be careful to make sure every branch had a decoration.

"Absolutely.
Decorating my tree is an entire weekend affair."

He started to tease her that he would like to be out of town during that time, but the words got stuck in his throat. He had a feeling that he would enjoy spending that weekend with Darcy. She might even be able to exorcise some of his demons.

"
Whatcha
doin'?"

The soft voice came from behind him. Mark turned to see a small girl standing by the edge of the hall. She wore a worn pink bathrobe and cat slippers. One hand clutched a tattered teddy while the other held on to a kid-size IV stand. Two plastic bags dripped into lines that disappeared up her sleeve.

"We're decorating the tree," Darcy said with a smile. "I was thinking about putting her on top. What do you think?"

As Darcy spoke, she held up a white- and-gold angel. The little girl had a scarf over her head. Her eyebrows were gone, as were her eyelashes. But judging from the freckles marching across her pert nose, Mark guessed that she was a redhead.

The child tilted her head as she studied the angel. "She's pretty," she said.

"I agree." Darcy nodded. "Okay. We'll put her on top and tomorrow you can tell everyone it was your idea."

The girl smiled shyly.

"What's your name?" Darcy asked.

"
Brittany
."

"Do you want to help?"

Brittany
hesitated,
then
shook her head. "I'm gonna get a second chemo and it makes me throw up. But I'll come see the tree tomorrow."

Darcy nodded without speaking. Mark saw tears in her eyes.

Brittany
waved, then turned and headed back toward her room.

Mark watched her go. "Now I see why you do this."

Darcy sniffed,
then
cleared her throat. "I want to help. I don't have a lot of money, so I can't give very much."

"Time can be more precious."

She returned to sorting the ornaments. "No one should be in the hospital at Christmas. If they have to be, we owe it to them to make it special. The holidays are a time for connecting."

He wondered who she would be spending the holidays with. After all, her parents were gone and she hadn't had any family at Thanksgiving diner.

But he didn't ask. There were things about her he didn't want to know. They implied a closeness that made him uncomfortable. He was still adjusting to the fact that he'd agreed to be her friend. Growing up in
Whitehorn
, he'd never been much of a joiner. Since returning the only thing he'd gotten involved with was a weekly Sunday morning basketball game.

"What has you looking so serious?" Darcy asked.

"I was just thinking that I never fit in around here. I didn't get the whole cowboy thing."

"That's really interesting. I mean, considering your sister tours with the rodeo."

He stared at her. "How did you know about my sister?"

"I, ah, well…" Darcy stood and studied the tree. "We should really do the lights now."

"Not so fast." He grabbed her arm and turned her to face him. "Who told you about Maddie?"

"It wasn't anything." She stared at the center of his chest. "There was some talk about you when you returned to town and I might have recently mentioned you to Janie. I had issued a rather impulsive invitation to my house for Thanksgiving and I wanted to make sure you weren't dangerous.
At least not in the criminal sense."

He leaned close. "You didn't realize I'd be so irresistible in bed."

She raised her gaze to his. "You have an
overinflated
ego."

"You were the one screaming my name."

She blinked first.
"The lights."

"Lead the way."

They started at the top of the tree. Mark positioned the strands while Darcy gave instructions. He enjoyed the sound of her voice and the fact that she'd been curious enough to ask around about him.

When the lights were arranged to her picky satisfaction, they switched to ornaments. Despite her diminutive stature, Darcy insisted on hanging decorations near the top of the tree. She had to stand on tiptoe to reach, which meant her sweater crept up, exposing a strip of bare back and belly. Mark stood back and enjoyed the view. As he wasn't likely to get any from her anytime soon, he would take what crumbs he could find.

They argued over where to place painted gingerbread men, and he deliberately moved several paper cranes to a different branch. Outraged, Darcy planted her hands on her hips.

"I cannot work under these conditions," she exclaimed, raising her voice slightly when she caught sight of a boy on crutches. He was about nine or ten, and thin.

Dramatically Darcy tossed her head,
then
stared at the heavens. "I am an artist. You must not disrupt my flow."

"I'm going to get out of the way before I step in it," Mark muttered under his breath.

The boy laughed.

Mark inched toward him,
then
dropped into a crouch. "Women," he said. "Do they drive you crazy, too?"

The boy nodded.

Mark pulled two more wooden ornaments out of his shirt pocket. "I'll distract her and you hang these, okay?"

Big brown eyes brightened at the thought of a conspiracy. Mark sensed Darcy's attention and knew that she'd heard him, but that wasn't a problem. He didn't doubt she would play along with the game.

"Oh, Darcy," he said, his voice loud enough to carry. "We're missing a box of ornaments."

She turned toward him, careful to keep her back to the boy who was moving slowly toward the tree.

"Did you lose them again? I thought I could trust you. Where did you last see the box?"

Mark rose and shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe you lost them."

"Me?" She pressed a hand to her chest. "I'm crushed you would say such a thing about me.
Simply crushed.
Mortified.
Broken."

She sagged into a nearby chair and buried her head in her hands. The child finished hanging the two ornaments and made his way to Mark's side.

"Good job," Mark said, touching the boy's shoulder. "I'm impressed."

Darcy looked at the tree and sprang to her feet.
"My tree.
It's perfect.
And yet.
No! Someone has touched it. Someone has … made it better. Was it you?"

She turned to the boy. He grinned in delight. She returned to her chair.

"Done in by a child."

Still smiling, the boy gave a little wave then started back to his room. One of the nurses stepped into the hall.

"Jon-Anthony, you get back here, young man. You just got your crutches today and already you're running marathons. I told the doctor you'd be trouble, but did she listen?"

"Nice job," Darcy said, rising and surveying their tree. "You're really good with kids."