by Cindi Myers
Taylor lifted one shoulder in half a shrug.
“You were fine when you got here,” Darcy persisted. “Did one of your meds make you not feel well?”
“I’m worried about my costume,” Taylor admitted.
“Your costume? Honey, you’ve got six weeks. I’m sure you can come up with a very nice one by then. I’ll help you.”
Taylor shook her head. “I’m not worried about finding one, I’m worried about wearing one.”
Darcy knelt so that she was eye level with the girl. “I don’t understand.”
Taylor pulled at the blue turtleneck sweater she wore. “I have a scar from my surgery,” she said. “A big one.”
Darcy swallowed hard. “Can I see?”
Taylor nodded and pulled up the hem of her sweater. Darcy struggled not to reveal the shock she felt at seeing the pink, puckered scar that bisected the child’s torso from neck to navel. She stared at the spot near the center of Taylor’s chest. Riley’s heart was in there. Taylor’s heart, she corrected herself.
“That is a big scar,” she said, tugging the sweater back into place. “But as you get older, it will fade—and you’ll get bigger, so it will seem smaller. In the meantime, I’ll help you come up with something to wear that will hide that scar.”
“But belly dancers have to show their bellies.”
“Says who?” Darcy stood. “Did you know that in Egypt—where belly dancing started—it’s actually illegal for dancers to show their stomachs?”
“It is? That’s silly.”
“Sometimes rules are silly, but it also shows that you can dance real belly dance and not show much of your body at all.”
“I just don’t want to look different,” she said.
“You’ll be beautiful, I promise.” Darcy was determined that Taylor would leave here today feeling better about her body and about dancing. After all, that was one of her aims in teaching this girls’ class. “The important thing to remember when dancing is to not think about the people watching you or what they think or feel,” she said. “It’s all about how dancing makes you feel.”
“How do you feel when you dance?” Taylor asked.
“I feel I have a healthy body and can move and am alive. I listen to the music and try to forget about everything else except losing myself in the beauty of this one moment.” It was dance’s power to help her forget that had saved her in the agonizing days and months after Riley’s and Pete’s deaths.
“How can I forget other people if I’m performing for them?” Taylor asked.
“They only think you’re performing for them,” Darcy said. “The secret is, you’re really dancing for yourself. You’re doing this for you.”
“That’s what I wanted to tell my dad when he was worried about me coming here,” Taylor said. “But I don’t think he’d understand.”
“Dads don’t always understand. But that’s okay. He let you come to class after all,” she said. “So he must be getting better about not being so overprotective.”
“Maybe.” She sighed. “It would be easier if he had a girlfriend or something. You know, if he had someone else to worry about besides me.”
So Mike didn’t have a girlfriend? A single, good-looking doctor? Darcy ignored the flutter in her chest at the thought. What was so unusual about that, anyway? She didn’t have a man in her life. She didn’t want one. She liked making her own decisions and not having to rely on or be responsible for anyone else. “I don’t think a girlfriend would keep your father from being concerned about you,” she said. “And tell the truth—you’d miss it if he didn’t fuss over you some.”
“Some. I just wish…I wish sometimes he didn’t fuss so much.”
The door opened and there was the man himself, looking harried. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I got behind at the office.”
“That’s all right.” Darcy rested her hand on Taylor’s shoulder. “It gave Taylor and me more time to talk. She’s concerned about what costume she’ll wear in our show. I promised to help her put something together. If that’s all right.” She didn’t want Mike to think she was overstepping her role. “Or maybe her mother would like to make something…”
He shook his head. “Melissa isn’t the domestic type. And her schedule is so hectic she might not have time to shop before the show.”
“Darcy can come to dinner Saturday,” Taylor said.
“I hope it wasn’t too short notice,” Mike said. “Melissa just let me know she’s going to be in town.”
“No, that’s fine.” She’d never known a woman who had willingly given up custody of her child. If she and Pete had divorced, she would never have surrendered custody of Riley to him.
But theirs had been a different situation. Pete wasn’t responsible like Mike. He couldn’t be trusted to put his son’s welfare ahead of every other consideration.
He’d proved that when he’d taken the boy out on the night of their deaths. When Darcy had left them that evening, Pete had intended to stay home. He’d been drinking, as he did every evening he didn’t work, but he hadn’t been drunk. Darcy had trusted him to look after their son.
After Darcy had left, a friend had called and invited Pete out. Pete, always ready for a party, had set out in a snowstorm, Riley in the backseat of the car. He’d lost control on the icy road, plunging them over a cliff to their deaths.
If only Darcy had stayed home that evening. If only she’d insisted Pete stay home. If only she’d been harder on him about his drinking… She closed her eyes against the familiar guilty litany. Pete’s drinking and driving had killed their son, but Darcy’s irresponsibility in leaving her son in the care of a man she knew was an alcoholic made her just as responsible. She’d been given the greatest gift a person could have, the gift of a child, and she’d screwed up. She could never forget, and she could never atone for that mistake.
The prospect of dinner with Taylor and her parents was both a welcome change and a concern. Darcy looked forward to good conversation and a meal that wasn’t microwaved, but she hoped she could get through the evening without too many sad memories intruding. She was curious to observe the relationship between Mike and his ex. Was the handsome doctor still single because he was carrying a torch for his ex, or had marriage to her turned him off the idea altogether?
Saturday afternoon, she took her time getting ready for the outing, and was putting the finishing touches on her makeup when someone pounded on her door, startling her.
“Hey, sis.” Dave greeted her with a bear hug when she opened the door. “Don’t you look nice.” He sniffed. “You smell nice, too. You dancing somewhere tonight?”
“That’s not a dancing outfit.” A woman with shoulder-length auburn hair peered around Dave’s broad back.
“Carrie!” Darcy hugged the woman. “It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you, too. And Dave’s right, you look fantastic.” Carrie stepped back, surveying Darcy’s jeans and sweater combo. The sweater was a bright ruby-red scoop neck with three-quarter sleeves. She wore simple hoop earrings and a ruby heart pendant on a gold chain. “Do you have a date?” Carrie asked.
“A date? No!” Darcy felt her face heat. “One of my dance students invited me to dinner.”
“Since when does a dance student make you blush like that?” Dave asked.
“Maybe this student has a handsome single brother,” Carrie said.
“The student is ten years old,” Darcy explained. “She’s in a new class I’m teaching for girls.”
“How sweet,” Carrie said. “I bet they’re just adorable. Will they dance at your student recital in the spring?”
“Absolutely,” Darcy said, relieved the subject had turned away from her plans for the evening. “They really are a great group of girls.”
“We won’t keep you,” Dave said. “I just stopped by to return your snowblower.”
“It’s fixed?” Darcy asked.
“No, I’m returning it broken.” He punched her arm, thou
gh not too hard. “Of course it’s fixed. You want me to leave it in front of the garage?”
“That’ll be fine. Just make sure there’s room for my students to get around it.”
Carrie and Darcy moved into the living room after Dave went back outside. “A kids’ class is such a good idea,” Carrie said. “If you ever need any help with it, let me know.”
“I might take you up on that offer,” Darcy said. “You could help with costumes, maybe.”
Carrie glanced out the window, toward where Dave was unloading the snowblower from his truck. “I really love children, but I’m not sure how Dave feels about them. What do you think?”
Darcy’s stomach tightened at the not-so-casual question. She loved Carrie, and her brother’s refusal to commit to her after five years was frustrating, but her loyalty was to Dave. “I don’t know, Carrie,” she said. “I’m not the one you should be asking. Talk to him.”
Carrie turned from the window. “But it’s a touchy subject. If I bring up children, he’ll think I’m pressuring him to get married. That’s why we split up the last time.”
“I didn’t know that.” She tried hard not to pry, and Dave had kept silent, either to avoid burdening her further in her grief or to protect himself.
“He says the men and women in your family aren’t cut out for marriage,” Carrie said. “He can list every divorce or failed relationship for every one of his relatives going back three generations. I can see how those kind of statistics could make a person wary, but it didn’t stop you.”
“No, it didn’t,” Darcy agreed. She’d been determined to break their family curse, but she hadn’t succeeded.
“I sometimes wonder if it isn’t really marriage,” Carrie said. “If it’s just me. Maybe I’m not the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with.”
“Dave loves you,” Darcy said. “He was miserable while you were apart.”
“I was miserable, too. But I want children. And I’m not getting any younger. I don’t know what to do.”
Darcy squeezed Carrie’s arm in a gesture of comfort. “Talk to him. Tell him how you feel.”
“You’re right. I just have to find the right time.”
The door opened and the sound of Dave stamping snow from his feet echoed through the house. Such a masculine sound, Darcy thought. She had a flashback to a snowy afternoon a few years before, Pete coming in from work, knocking the snow off his boots, enveloping her in a hug, his cheek cold against hers, his arms squeezing her so tight…
She shook away the memory, the vividness of it making her chest hurt. How long before emotions would stop ambushing her this way?
“You’re all set,” Dave said when the women returned to the kitchen. “Call me if it gives you any more trouble.”
“Thanks for fixing the snowblower,” she said.
“No problem.” He took Carrie’s coat from the peg by the door and offered it to her. “We won’t keep you. Have a good time on your date.”
“It’s not a date,” she protested.
He laughed. “Whatever you say.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek.
“You know I will.” She wouldn’t have gotten through the past two years without Dave’s help. His physical help with things like the snowblower and moving heavy furniture, and his calm, steadying presence in her life, reassuring her that she could go on.
But there were some things a brother couldn’t do.
He couldn’t teach her how to create a new life that looked so different from the one she’d lost.
CHAPTER FOUR
WHILE MIKE MARINATED STEAKS, Taylor set the table for four. All day she’d bounced like a pinball from one activity to another, excited over the prospect of Darcy coming for dinner. Her mood was contagious, and Mike found himself glancing at the clock every three minutes, listening for a knock on the door. Darcy would arrive first. Melissa was only ever on time for work. When they’d been married, it used to drive him nuts that she never missed a flight when she was almost always late for everything else but work.
“Dad, we should have bought flowers for the table.” Taylor rushed from the dining room to the kitchen.
“I didn’t think of it, sweetheart, but it will be all right.”
“Flowers would make the table look more special,” she said.
Did she want things special for Darcy, or for her mother? Or special because her parents were dining together, something they didn’t ordinarily do? Mike had heard of children who clung to the belief their divorced parents would reunite, though Taylor had never expressed any such desire. Still, it would be natural for her to want that, wouldn’t it?
If Mike had had his wish, he and Melissa would never have divorced. Not because he still believed she was the love of his life—that belief had died in the bitter fights near the end. But he came from a family where marriage was for life. Even imperfect partners stayed together, because they’d promised to do so. Part of being an adult was accepting that life wasn’t all hearts and roses.
But Melissa had felt differently. Maybe she thought she could find the romance she was missing with someone else. Mike certainly hadn’t made her happy, and she’d half convinced him he didn’t have what it took to be a good partner to any woman. “Darcy and your mother are both coming to see you,” he said. “I’m sure they won’t even notice if there aren’t any flowers.”
“Do you think I look okay?” Taylor asked.
Mike set down the fork he’d been using to turn the steaks. He didn’t know whether it was her age or a consequence of her surgery, but lately Taylor had been more concerned with her appearance, a trend that troubled him. “You’re beautiful,” he said. “And that purple sweater looks great on you.” The cowl neck framed her face and effectively covered her scar. She wore it over dark jeans and purple suede booties her mother had given her for Christmas.
His praise eased the frown lines on the girl’s forehead, but they soon returned as she studied him. “You’re not very dressed up,” she said.
He supposed this was the ten-year-old version of the adult female’s You’re not going to wear that, are you? He glanced down at his khaki trousers and pale blue button-down shirt. “What’s wrong with this outfit?”
“You look like you’re going to the office. You should wear your new shirt.”
The new shirt was another attempt by Taylor to update his wardrobe. It featured maroon, blue and gold stripes with thin metallic threads woven through. “Nick Jonas has one almost just like it,” Taylor had solemnly informed him when he’d unwrapped it. He’d worn it one night, at home, to placate her, and then had hidden it at the back of his closet. “Honey, don’t you think that shirt’s a bit too…flashy for a simple dinner at home?”
Her expression clearly conveyed that Dad was clueless. “Darcy likes flashy,” she said. “Her dance costumes are colorful and glittery. Wear the shirt. Please!”
Mike decided that giving in to Taylor was easier than trying to convince her otherwise. And if she could focus on his appearance maybe she wouldn’t worry so much about her own looks.
Changing shirts also meant changing pants. He decided on dark blue jeans, since all his dress pants looked ridiculous with the stripes. He was buttoning the sleeves and frowning at his reflection in the bath room mirror when the doorbell rang. “She’s here!” Taylor shouted, and thundered across the room.
Mike arrived at the front door in time to help Darcy out of her coat. “I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding the place,” he said.
“Not at all.”
“You look great,” Taylor said of Darcy’s jeans and red sweater.
“So do you,” she said. “I love that turtleneck, and those boots are to die for.”
Taylor grinned and tugged up the legs of her jeans to show them off. “Thanks. My mom gave them to me for Christmas.”
“She obviously has good taste.” Darcy turned to Mike. “Nice shirt,” she said. He was alert for any hint of mockery in her voice, or some sign of sarcasm
in her eyes but found none. Did that mean she really liked the shirt—on him?
“I brought wine,” she said, and offered a wrapped bottle, which turned out to contain a very nice merlot. “The clerk at the liquor store recommended it.”
“It’ll go great with the steaks,” he said. “Thank you.”
She looked around expectantly. “Melissa isn’t here yet,” Mike said.
“Mom’s always late,” Taylor added.
Mike hung Darcy’s coat in the closet and trailed her and Taylor into the living room. “Let me show you the house,” Taylor said. “My room is down here.”
As they proceeded down the hallway, Mike detoured to the kitchen to start the stove-top grill for the steaks. He opened the wine and poured two glasses and waited.
And waited. The house wasn’t that large—where could Taylor have taken Darcy? Was she stuck in Taylor’s room, playing Barbies and too polite to extricate herself?
He started down the hallway and soon heard voices. They weren’t coming from Taylor’s room, but from his.
“This is my dad’s bathroom,” Taylor was saying. “It’s usually really messy in here. This is the cologne I gave him for his birthday…”
Darcy turned from the doorway of the bathroom when he entered the bedroom. “Taylor wanted to show me everything,” she said. “I told her we shouldn’t invade your privacy, but she insisted.”
Her smile added to his embarrassment. He picked up the clothes he’d discarded earlier and tossed them on the bed, which at least he’d taken the trouble to make up that morning. “I guess it’s not like you haven’t seen a man’s bedroom before.” He wanted to take the words back as soon as he’d said them. Did she think he was implying something risqué—that she’d seen a lot of men’s bedrooms?
Had she?
“Hmm.” She looked around the room, at the cherry bed and dresser Melissa had picked out, and the book case full of paperback thrillers and suspense novels that served as a nightstand. “It’s been a while.”
It had been a while since a woman who wasn’t his housekeeper had been in this room, too. He felt the same way he had when he’d watched Darcy dance, that awareness of himself as a man without a woman in his life, and of her as a desirable, sexy woman. “Come on, Taylor, let’s go back into the living room,” he said. “Supper’s almost ready.”