Stealing His Heart: A Sweet Contemporary Romance (Finding Love Book 2)

by Delaney Cameron

  * * * * *

  Darcy’s glance lingered on the dark hair and broad shoulders before dropping to the shiny, black prosthesis extending from just above his knee into his running shoe. Dismay mixed with the shock radiating through her. The last time she’d seen him, he hadn’t been missing part of his leg.

  He hadn’t recognized her. But then again, why would he? Their one and only meeting wouldn’t have meant much to him. It shouldn’t have meant anything to her, either. But it had. She’d never forgotten the young man with kind eyes who told her she was a girl worth waiting for. What had been just words to him had stolen her heart. For years, she dreamed of the day he’d come back to find her grown up and so beautiful that he’d fall instantly in love with her.

  As she got older, the image she carried in her mind blurred, but it never completely disappeared. It was always there in the shadows of her consciousness. The boys in her classes didn’t stand a chance when compared to a hero whose likeness and persona had been rendered perfect by the passage of time. Who could compete with a guy who possessed no flaws?

  By the time she reached high school, her practical side had convinced her romantic side to stop living in the past. She couldn’t keep waiting on something that was never going to happen. It was time to grow up. The silly infatuation she’d been nursing for so long had to end.

  Until a few minutes ago, she would have said she’d been successful in putting that incident behind her. But does the heart truly forget? Or does it lock away those memories until the person comes along who has the key? A wistful smile touched Darcy’s lips. It didn’t matter what the answer was because it was too late. Three years too late.

  The accident that sent her careening over an embankment changed everything. Although she walked out of the hospital a week later, the head trauma she suffered left her with recurrent seizures. The official diagnosis was epilepsy; a word that on its own strikes fear and distaste in most people. There were few aspects of her life that weren’t impacted. Everyone - even her family - began to treat her differently.

  It didn’t take long for word to get out at the small college she attended in north Georgia. When she walked into class, every eye in the room watched her as if she might suddenly morph into an alien. Her social life came to a screeching halt. Guys didn’t want to be bothered with a girl who could be fine one minute and unresponsive the next. Darcy slowly accepted the truth: she wasn’t dating material anymore. Worse than that, she wasn’t sure she was marriage material either. No matter how she looked at it, she was a liability.

  Her mother’s words broke into her thoughts.

  “Darcy, I can’t find my phone. It’s not in my pocket or my purse. Your dad is going to be so upset if I lose another phone.”

  “You didn’t lose it. I remember seeing it in the cup holder in the van. I’ll go get it.”

  “Oh, did you? That’s a relief.”

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  After retrieving her mother’s phone, she noticed Thad - the little boy to whom she’d given the cookies and lemonade - sitting cross-legged next to his bike on the far side of the parking lot. His attention was fixed on the metal chain dangling loosely below the pedal.

  “Need some help?” she asked.

  His head turned in her direction, streaks of tears making a path down his grimy face. “Can you fix it?”

  Darcy crouched down beside him. “I can try. Let me see if I remember how this works.”

  As she slid the chain back on the smaller ring attached to the rear wheel, her fingers collected a coating of tacky grease. Hoping she could get it off before she rejoined her mother, she tried to loop the chain over the larger ring. There wasn’t enough slack to go completely around. What was she doing wrong? Blowing out a frustrated breath, she absently wiped her fingers across her forehead. Great! Now there was grease on her face, too.

  “You make pickles and repair bicycles. I’m impressed.”

  The deep voice caused her to jerk slightly. Why did it have to be him? She was a sweaty, greasy mess. Darcy slowly turned around. “Don’t be. I obviously don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “I’ll be glad to take a look for you.”

  Thinking of his leg, she said, “That’s okay. I can figure it out.”

  She might as well have stayed silent. He lowered his six-foot-plus self to the ground. Darcy belatedly scooted over, but not before his shoulder brushed hers. A pleasant tingle slid down her arm. Get a grip, Darcy. You’re twenty-one, not sixteen.

  “Now, let’s see what the problem is.”

  When he reached for the chain, she noticed the tan lines on his sculpted arms. He obviously spent time outside. What kind of work could he do?

  While she was speculating on his possible career, he slid the chain over the top of the larger ring and pushed forward on the pedal. To her amazement, the links clicked into place, allowing him to align the rest of it around the ring. That had been too easy.

  “You’re all set,” he said, looking at Thad.

  “Thanks, mister.”

  “You’re welcome.” After Thad pedaled away, Matt surveyed his hands and then looked at hers. “It seems we have the same problem.”

  Darcy laughed. “I hope there’s soap in the bathrooms. I don’t think water alone is going to get this off.”

  “I’ve got some hand soap and paper towels in my truck. It might not get it all off, but it’s a start. Come with me.” He led the way to a white truck with Gibson Landscape Company written in bright green letters on its doors and tailgate.

  She’d been right about him working outside.

  Reaching into the passenger side, he grabbed a bottle, and held it poised in the air. “Hold out your hand.” She did so, and he pumped a few squirts of gel into her palm and then his own. “Since we’ve reached the sharing soap stage, we should probably introduce ourselves. I’m Matt Gibson.”

  “Darcy Withers.” She braved another glance at his face. It was the same and yet different. His features had matured, acquiring character where they’d only been boyishly handsome before. “Are you related to Eric Gibson?”

  Matt nodded as he handed her some paper towels. “I’m his much less famous younger brother. Are you a baseball fan?”

  “Not really. My dad is, though. I’ve heard him talk about Eric. Does your brother still live here?”

  “Sure does. I saw him this morning. He became a father a few hours ago.”

  “Oh, how nice! And you became an uncle.”

  “Yep. Having a baby around is going to take getting used to.”

  That sounded like he didn’t have children of his own. What about a wife? “I remember when my sister had my niece. Everything revolved around the baby’s schedule.”

  “They also require a houseful of special furniture and gadgets not to mention the inevitable baby-proofing. I lost count of how many electrical outlets Eric and I covered with those plastic caps.” He tossed the towels back into the truck. “So, Darcy Withers, what do you do when you’re not selling pickles and helping little boys with their bicycles?”

  “Until recently, I was a student at Brownley College majoring in economics. Unfortunately, the powers-that-be decided they don’t want to offer that degree any longer. So, I came home. I’m going to take a semester off while I decide what I want to do.”

  He gestured toward the park. “How much longer do you have to stay?”

  “Until we run out of stuff to sell or five-thirty whichever comes first.”

  “That reminds me. I left my pickles with Mrs. Higgleston. She’s going to think I bailed on her. I came out here to make a call because I couldn’t hear myself think in there.”

  “And I’ve been keeping you from doing that. If you want, I’ll tell Mrs. Higgleston what you’re doing.”

  “That would be great,” he said, reaching for his phone. “Thanks, Darcy.”

  As she turned away, she resisted the urge to look back at him. In a way, she wished she hadn’t seen Matt again. It hadn
’t been easy, but she’d come to terms with the way her life was now. She didn’t need or want a reminder of how much she lost when she veered off the road to avoid an oncoming car.

  * * * * *

  Matt watched Darcy until she disappeared into the crowd. Something strange was going on. He liked to think he was a rational person - as rational as someone who’d fought in a war and survived a catastrophic injury could be - but maybe he was losing grip on reality. Maybe losing Sarah had been his tipping point.

  Those talk show psychologists would have a field day with him. He could just hear their analysis. Mr. Gibson’s traumatic experiences in the military combined with his recent breakup have resulted in his present search for familiarity. This is why he persists in thinking that he and a woman he just met are already acquainted.

  Whatever the explanation for this strange phenomenon, it wasn’t going away. If anything, this feeling that Darcy wasn’t a stranger was getting stronger. If he didn’t figure it out soon, he was going to go crazy. And if he didn’t call Eric, he was never going to get home.

  A few seconds later, his brother’s voice sounded in his ear. “Having fun?”

  “Yes and no. Is your wife available? I need to ask her a question.”

  “She’s feeding Nerina. Tell me what you need to know, and I’ll ask her.”

  “The man sold out of acorn birdhouses before I got here. He can make more, but they won’t be ready for two weeks. Is that okay or should I look for something else?” Matt heard the murmur of voices and then Eric was back.

  “She said to order the acorns.”

  “Will do. Anything else you need me to do other than picking up your mail and taking care of Delilah?”

  “I can’t think of anything.”

  “In that case, I’ll see you later.”

  When Matt walked by Darcy’s table, she was busy with a customer. After he ordered Julie’s birdhouses and retrieved his pickles, he looked in that direction again on his way to the truck. She wasn’t there. Maybe that was for the best. He’d spent too much time thinking about someone he’d probably never see again. Never mind the fact that he couldn’t explain why he was so drawn to her in the first place.

  After getting the much-needed haircut, he stopped by the grocery store. All he had at home was a few protein bars, a package of Oreo cookies and a gallon of milk. A reminiscent smile crossed his face. Well, that wasn’t exactly right; he’d just acquired two jars of pickles. Grabbing a shopping cart, he headed to the produce section.

  The first person he saw was Sarah. She must have come from work because she was still in scrubs, her long hair loosely arranged in a bun. Memories sliced through his tired brain of burying his face in its silky softness. A familiar ache burned in the region of his chest.

  She hadn’t seen him yet. If he moved now, he could avoid this confrontation. Unfortunately, the rest of his body refused to obey. The few months he’d gone without so much as a glimpse of the woman who haunted his dreams and most of his waking moments had been miserably long. Any pleasure he derived from seeing her was dimmed by the knowledge that she didn’t love him.

  Her last words returned to him with painful clarity. We can still be friends. If she’d suddenly jumped up from the couch and slapped him, he couldn’t have been more shocked. Did she have any idea what she was asking? He shouldn’t have to explain why such a thing was impossible. She should know that they’d shared too much to revert to the impersonal nature of friendship.

  He was on the point of turning away when someone else stepped into the scene. Holding his breath, Matt waited to see if the man was merely another customer looking for watermelon or someone who would render this nightmare complete. When the man’s arm snaked around Sarah’s waist and his head bent to kiss her, Matt actually swayed as if someone had punched him in the stomach. Part of him wanted to leave before they saw him, and the other wanted to rip the guy’s arm out of its socket. He knew neither of those wants had a chance of happening.

  Through a haze of pain and anger, he saw Sarah’s head turn in his direction. The happiness in her face faded, telling him that she was as dismayed by this unexpected meeting as he. He nodded, hoping she would understand his wish to avoid conversation, or worse, an introduction to the man who’d taken his place.

  A man with two good legs.

  The thought was out before he could stop it. Had he really sunk this low? Such sentiments were beneath him and unfair to Sarah. At no time in their relationship had she ever had a problem with his injury. It was okay to be upset about seeing her kiss someone else; it wasn’t okay to indulge in ridiculous conjecture and self-pity.

  A long, ragged breath forced its way out of his lungs when she dipped her head slightly and walked away.

  The emptiness of his pantry was a minor concern. Matt had lost any desire for food. It was ironic that a man who’d spent time in a warzone where every day carried the potential to be his last could get so upset about something that in the scheme of things was trivial. Even so, he wasn’t going to risk running into them again as he made his way through the store.

  As he replaced the empty cart and returned to the truck, he forced himself to face the unpalatable truth. Sarah had moved on. She wasn’t coming back to him. Was this the impetus he needed to finally put her behind him?

  Chapter Two

  Darcy closed the front door of Cason’s house with a guilty feeling of relief. She’d much rather take Stella to the park than watch her sister obsess over how to arrange furniture in the living room. Glancing at her mother, she said, “Let’s get out of here before she changes her mind.”

  “Tim has the patience of a saint.”

  “I know. I would have locked her in the attic already.”

  Stella giggled and took the hand Darcy held out to her. “Did you bring the bubbles, Aunt Darcy?”

  “Got them right here in my backpack.”

  “Can we get on the swings first?”

  Darcy waited until the threesome had safely crossed the street before she answered. “Of course. You’re going to like living so close to the park. I remember coming to Lakeside to watch my cousins play softball. It didn’t have the huge playground back then.”

  “Mommy said you and Grammy are coming over to stay with me this week while Stacy’s on vacation.”

  Here was yet another complication of epilepsy. Darcy couldn’t babysit Stella without another person there. It was a good thing she’d shelved any dreams of having children. A mother who required her own sitter was a handicap no matter how one looked at it. “That’s right. I’ve got some fun things planned for us to do.”

  “What kinds of things?”

  “Oh, like visiting the zoo, going to story time at the library, and spending an afternoon on the beach.”

  Stella jumped up and down. “Can we get ice cream?”

  “I think we can fit that into our schedule.” Darcy guided her group across the parking lot, through the gate and up the hill to where the playground sat overlooking several baseball fields. “Okay, first things first. Sunscreen.” Going over to one of the benches, she delved into the front pouch of the backpack and retrieved a slim, pink can. Once she’d sprayed Stella and herself, she offered it to her mother.

  “No, thanks, dear. I’m not planning to get in the sun. I’m going to sit in the shade and finish this chapter.”

  “Sounds good. We’re off to the swings.”

  Over the next hour, adults and kids trickled in from the parking lot. The sound of childish voices and playful giggles brought a smile to Darcy’s face as she obeyed Stella’s pleas to be pushed higher. If only she could go back to a time when all she had to worry about was what to wear to school the next day.

  “Can we blow bubbles now, Aunt Darcy?”

  The question jerked her back to the present. “Sure. We need to find somewhere less crowded. Let’s go to that grassy area behind the baseball field.”

  When told about the next activity, her mother again demurred, hardly removing he
r eyes from the book in her hand. “You two go ahead. Just stay where I can see you.”

  Darcy followed Stella’s erratic progress down the sloping hill. The lyrics to “Apples and Bananas” floated back to her on the breeze. She and Cason had driven their parents crazy singing that silly song on car trips.

  Once she deemed they were far enough away from everyone else, she uncapped two neon orange bottles and handed one to Stella. “Let’s see who can blow the most bubbles in five minutes.”

  Stella dunked the wand into the bottle, raised it to her lips and blew so hard she sprayed Darcy’s face and t-shirt with the clear, sticky liquid. “Sorry, Aunt Darcy.”

  Darcy laughed as she wiped her cheeks. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Try again, and pretend you’re blowing out candles on your birthday cake.”

  The little girl nodded and then shifted to the side to look at something beyond Darcy. “Look! There’s that silly man again.”

  “What man?” Darcy asked as she swung around quickly. About fifteen feet away, Matt was strolling in their direction, a disturbing smile on his handsome face, and a small dog trotting behind him. Her heart did a queer jump when their eyes met. Flustered by her reaction, she said the first thing that came into her head. “You got a haircut.”

  “You don’t have to sound so regretful. It’ll grow back.” He turned to Stella. “I told you to call me Matt.”

  She stepped closer and bent down to examine his prosthesis. “What happened to your leg?”

  Darcy glanced at him anxiously. Would he be offended by the question?

  “You mean this?” He indicated the bandage adorning the muscular calf of his good leg. “I cut myself shaving this morning.”

  Stella screeched with laughter. “Not that leg. The other one.”

  “Oh, the other one. Why didn’t you say so? I was in an accident, and the doctor decided it would be better if he just gave me a new leg.”