Montana Mavericks Christmas

by Susan Mallery

  She parked next to Mark’s truck, trying not to think that they could have easily gone together. But he hadn’t offered and she hadn’t wanted to ask. He’d accepted her request that they be friends instead of lovers, although she’d sensed that wasn’t his first choice. She didn’t want to push things. Telling herself she’d done fine all this time without Mark in her life was interesting but not convincing. Darn the man for starting to get under her skin.

  She carried her pink box of goodies, along with a couple of carafes of coffee and several disposable cups, into the main entrance, then headed for the gym. She followed the sound of male voices and laughter into one of the practice areas. Once inside the warm room, she came to a stop—overwhelmed by so much masculinity in a single room.

  She recognized Mark right away. In fact her gaze sought him out first, as if he contained a homing beacon she’d been especially programmed to find. She barely noticed the other guys milling around. They all looked good enough in their loose gym shorts and baggy T-shirts, but only Mark made her heart beat the tiniest bit faster.

  He looked up and saw her. In that split second, she held her breath, hoping for a flash of desire to harden his expression. Unfortunately, he kept whatever he was feeling to himself, although he did grin at her and wave her over.

  “Hey, Darcy, what’s in the box?”

  She glared at him. “What’s in the box? Not ‘Hi’ or ‘Nice to see you’?”

  Josh Anderson, the owner of Anderson, Inc., strolled over. “Morning, Darcy. Nice to see you. What’s in the box?”

  She turned her back on Mark. “Some people have manners. Some people take the time to be appreciative. Good morning, Josh. I made cinnamon rolls and brought coffee.”

  “The woman’s a goddess,” he said, reaching to take the box from her and opening the top. Instantly the sweet scent surrounded them.

  Mark moved close. “Josh only thinks you’re a goddess. I happen to know that it’s true.”

  “Oh, please.” Darcy wrinkled her nose to show she wasn’t the least bit impressed, this despite the quivering in her stomach and thighs.

  The guys ate nearly all the cinnamon rolls and gulped most of the coffee. Then Mark grabbed a basketball from the rack and the game began.

  Darcy settled herself on the side bleachers to watch. The men were aggressive, pushing and shoving, cheering their scores and booing their opponents. When the ball bounced in her direction, she tossed it back, earning a quick wink from one of the players. A couple of loud swearwords earned a “ladies present” comment from Josh. Even Mark teased her about doing a cheer or two for his team.

  Darcy sipped her coffee and enjoyed the feeling of belonging. She knew it was temporary, but for the moment, it was very nice. She hadn’t had all that much belonging in the past five years. She’d been so busy working to keep herself and Dirk afloat that she hadn’t had time for a regular life. All the strays in the world weren’t going to make up for that.

  Listening to the male laughter made her think of her brother. She hoped he was having a good time in Chicago. She would go see him next week and hear all about his trip.

  According to Andrew, the counselor at the school, Dirk was doing a good job of making friends. He’d found his place in the world, at least for the next few years. Darcy could finally draw a breath and relax about Dirk. All she had to worry about now was making sure there was enough money to pay for the school, and that was the easy part. Over the past few years she’d learned that she had a capacity for hard work.

  She’d also learned that she was a pretty caring person. She liked giving to others, whether it was helping at the hospital or having people with nowhere else to go over to her house for a holiday meal. She liked—

  Darcy blinked as Mark made a basket. In the middle of her self-congratulation party she had the sudden thought that, while she was very willing to open her life to people in need, she rarely opened her heart. Except for Dirk, everyone else she’d known or had made friends with had been someone moving on. Just by calling people “her strays,” she invited distance in the relationship. She didn’t have any close friends here in Whitehorn. She wanted to blame that on her time in town—it had only been six months. But it wasn’t that. Who had she been close to in Arizona?

  So why had she stayed so solitary, she wondered. What had made her pull back? The humiliation of what had happened after her parents died? The need to stay in control? Was she punishing herself for being so self-absorbed while she was growing up?

  She didn’t have any answers, which was depressing. After all, she was twenty-five. Shouldn’t she have her life together by now?

  No answer came to her so she focused her attention on the game. It finished with a mad attack by Mark’s team. Three baskets in succession gave them the victory.

  He grabbed a towel from his gym bag and collapsed next to her on the bench. “Pretty impressive, huh?” he said, draping the towel around his neck and wiping his face.

  “I was immobilized by awe,” she teased. “Your physical prowess puts lesser men to shame.”

  “I know.”

  She laughed and he grinned at her. The connection between them flared again. The one that made her nervous.

  A couple of the guys stopped by to thank her again for the cinnamon rolls. “My pleasure,” she told them.

  Mark grabbed the last one from the box and took a bite. “What are you doing with the rest of your day?”

  “Baking. I have to be prepared for the week. I want to get everything ready for the Hip Hop.”

  “That’s right. You’re hoping to be their new supplier.” He sipped some cold coffee. “When are you going to find the time to fill their order if you get the contract? Will you quit your waitressing job?”

  “No way.” She needed the money too much. “If I have to, I’ll give up sleep.”

  He leaned toward her and kissed her on the cheek. “Not bad for some rich girl from the burbs.”

  “Thanks.”

  His green-eyed gaze was steady. “I mean it, Darcy. You’re impressive.”

  His compliment made her feel all fluttery inside.

  “Well, I do what has to be done.” She wondered what he would say if he knew about Dirk. No doubt he would admire her more and want to be with her less.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  She started to shrug into her jacket. Mark came up behind her to help. It was a polite gesture that meant little, yet she found herself wanting to believe that it was significant. Like the brief kiss on her cheek. She wanted to think he cared. Which meant she had to watch herself. Obviously she was vulnerable in a very dangerous way—and the last thing she wanted was to fall for a guy who was bound to leave her once he learned the truth about her life.

  Mark headed into the office shortly before noon. On Sunday afternoons the place was empty, except for someone stuck on duty answering the phone. He made his way to his messy desk and began sorting through files. One of these days he was going to get his paperwork under control. The problem was he hated it, so he wasn’t motivated. Sheriff Rafe Rawlings frequently threatened to set his desk on fire, but Mark wasn’t impressed.

  Now he leaned back in his chair and surveyed the piles. Maybe he should shove everything into a box and start over with a clean surface. Or maybe—

  The phone rang. He pounced on it, delighted with the thought of a reprieve.

  “Kincaid.”

  “Hey, Mark, it’s Ralph Wayne. What’s going on in Hicksville?”

  “Ralph!” Mark rested his elbows on the desk and grinned. “Still hanging out in vice, hoping to get lucky?”

  “You should talk. You’re out in Montana. What’s the big crime of the day? The cows didn’t come home?”

  “Yeah, but I caught ’em, and they’re doing their time.” Both men laughed.

  “How’s Sal?” Mark asked, picturing his large friend’s petite wife. “Or has she left you yet?”

  “You wish. She’s great, and so are
the kids. Ralph Junior is nearly ten.”

  “No way.”

  “It’s true. Last week a girl called the house and wanted to talk to him. I nearly had a heart attack.”

  Ralph was a devoted husband and father. Mark had always admired his friend’s ability to keep the job away from his family. When Ralph left the police station every evening, he was a hundred percent with his wife and kids. Mark had spent many happy evenings with the Wayne family.

  “So what’s new at the department?” Mark asked.

  Ralph hesitated. “Actually, that’s why I called. I’ve got some news.”

  Mark stiffened. “Sylvia?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did she change her plea again? Wasn’t the last one innocent by reason of insanity? Or is it time for me to come back?”

  Mark didn’t want it to be the latter. He knew that Sylvia would do whatever she could to avoid trial for as long as possible, but eventually she would run out of options. He wasn’t looking forward to returning to New York to testify against her or having their private life played out in such a public forum.

  When he’d first come back to Whitehorn, he hadn’t wanted to see her again because he couldn’t believe how wrong he’d been about her. Now he didn’t want to see her because she no longer mattered. He’d done his best to put her and her actions behind him. He wanted to move on.

  “It’s not about the plea,” Ralph said. “It’s…oh, hell, Mark. I don’t know a good way to say this. She’s dead. She killed herself.”

  Seven

  Mark heard the words but didn’t believe them.

  “Mark?” Ralph asked. “Are you there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Mark didn’t know what he was. Shocked, maybe. Stunned. His chest hurt, as if he couldn’t catch his breath.

  Dead. Sylvia was dead. She’d finally found a way to avoid being punished for what she’d done. He’d known she would go to extremes, but this? Was it possible? Had she simply given up or had this been part of a plan?

  “I don’t know what to say,” Ralph admitted. “I didn’t want to tell you this over the phone, but—”

  “Don’t sweat it,” Mark told him, finding it difficult to speak. ”I’m glad you were the one who called. I gotta go. Give my love to Sal.”

  “You gonna be okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Mark didn’t know if he was lying or not as he hung up the phone. Dead. Sylvia was dead. He tried to figure out what, if anything, he was feeling.

  His body felt entirely empty. As if everything that had already gone on before had drained him of all emotion. Unfortunately, the space quickly filled. He closed his eyes to block out what had happened before, but the action didn’t help. Memories swamped him until he was drowning in the past.

  He’d met Sylvia about three months after he’d moved into a new apartment. She’d been his next-door neighbor. He still recalled rounding the corner and finding her balancing too many packages while she dug in her purse for her keys that hadn’t been there. She’d been a pure New York woman cliché—tall, thin, dark hair, dressed in black and beautiful. She’d charmed him with a smile and before he knew what had hit him, he’d been ushering her into his place, pouring wine and spilling his guts about his background while they waited for the locksmith.

  She’d been smart—she’d made him laugh. He’d adored her big brown eyes, her full mouth, the way she absently touched him when she’d been reading the paper. He’d been so damn sure she was the one.

  While he might have recovered from the relationship, the pain of her betrayal still cut through him like fire. Why hadn’t he been able to see through her facade? He’d always thought he was so clever about people—at the department he’d had a reputation for cutting to the heart of someone’s motive. But he hadn’t sensed anything amiss with Sylvia. Not even for a second.

  He’d felt so angry, so betrayed. He’d refused her requests that they talk one more time. Before Mark had left New York, her attorney had tried to give Mark a letter from Sylvia. Mark had torn it into pieces and handed it back to the attorney with instructions that Sylvia never contact him again.

  She hadn’t. There had been silence, and now she was gone.

  Mark leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Guilt hovered, but he shoved it away. He hadn’t done anything wrong. So why did he feel as if he’d been emotionally skinned alive?

  He rose to his feet and headed for the parking lot. The need to keep moving nearly pushed him to a run. One day Sylvia had been his whole world and the next he’d been in the hospital, fighting for his life. He’d walked away from her without looking back, but always with the expectation he would have to face her again. Now that wouldn’t happen.

  When he reached his truck, he unlocked the door and slipped inside. He’d told himself he’d done a good job of letting her go. It had been a whole lot easier than he would have thought, which made him question whether or not he’d ever loved her. If he had, he was an idiot. If he hadn’t, he’d never loved anyone. He didn’t like either option. Maybe the truth was something else entirely. Maybe he’d simply allowed himself to forget because it was easier than remembering.

  He drove without thinking and found himself at home. An acid rawness burned at his soul. He didn’t want to be alone. Not with the pain or the ghosts. He stared at the apartment building. Two halves of a whole, he thought numbly. Solitude or solace. It wasn’t a difficult choice.

  Instead of leaving his truck and walking toward his front door, he headed to Darcy’s side of the building and knocked. He didn’t bother to analyze why he was here, because he already knew. She was his neighbor and a woman with secrets—could there be a worse combination? Yet there wasn’t anyone else he wanted to speak with at that moment. No one else he wanted to see. She was the kind of woman who rescued by instinct and right now he was in some serious need of saving.

  She opened the door. Instantly the scent of gingerbread drifted out to greet him. Darcy smiled. There was flour on her cheek and sweater. Her sleeves were pulled up to her elbows, her hair tucked back behind her ears.

  “Hi, Mark, what’s up?” Her smile faded as she studied him. “I mean this in the nicest possible way, but you look awful. What’s wrong?”

  She stepped back and he entered her house.

  “Someone I know is dead,” he said abruptly. “A suicide.”

  Darcy sucked in her breath at the news. ”I’m so sorry.”

  He stared into her eyes. Compassion overruled shock. He shouldn’t have come, he realized. She didn’t need this particular brand of hell screwing up her life.

  But he couldn’t force himself to leave.

  “I don’t know what I feel,” he admitted. “Anger. Relief. Maybe guilt. I don’t know. How am I supposed to get closure? How will this ever be okay?” He shook his head. “It won’t be. I guess that’s the point.”

  “You’re in shock,” she said softly. “The mourning will come later and, with it, clarity. As for closure, time is a great healer.”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t think it’s going to be that easy.”

  “Oh, it’s not easy. Letting go and forgiving are the hardest things in the world.”

  “I don’t want to forgive. Maybe there’s something wrong with me. I can’t feel hurt or anger or even compassion. Maybe I’m incapable of feeling anything significant. Maybe—”

  She stepped close and put her arms around him. “Can you feel that?” she asked.

  He held himself completely still. The warmth of her body chased away a chill he hadn’t known was there. Her breasts flattened against his chest, while her legs brushed against his. Her hair smelled like vanilla.

  Desire slammed into him. He might not be able to mourn Sylvia’s passing, but he sure could want Darcy. His arousal was instant and nearly painful. Hunger heated his blood until the need to be with her was as compelling and instinctive as drawing in a breath.

  Gathering all his stren
gth, he gently untangled her arms from around him and moved away.

  “I shouldn’t have come here,” he told her. “You don’t need the complication and I can’t be what you want me to be. I’m sorry.” He headed for the door.

  “Mark? I don’t understand.”

  He turned back to her, glaring. ”I’m not feeling especially friendly right now. I want more. Specifically you.” He ran his fingers through his hair and swore. “I shouldn’t have come here,” he repeated. “I don’t know why I did. I’m sorry.”

  He reached for the door handle.

  “Wait,” she called before he could leave. “Just wait.”

  He froze in place. The sensible part of him, the part that knew he was more than capable of hurting Darcy, told him to keep on walking. If he cared at all about her, he wouldn’t be with her now—like this. But the rawness inside of him was stronger. It kept him in place as she turned off the oven and returned to his side. When she took his hand he didn’t protest. When she led him into her bedroom, he reached for her.

  Mark’s intense kiss made her burn down to her toes. Darcy clung to him, her own passion flaring in the face of his obvious need. If he’d tried to seduce her, she thought she might have been able to be strong, although maybe not. But his pain, the lost look in his eyes, the way he’d come to her first, had all conspired to make her unable to resist him.

  His mouth brushed frantically against hers. She parted for him and he plunged into her, tasting her, tempting her to do the same to him. His hands moved restlessly, rubbing up and down her back, drawing her closer until she pressed against him so tightly she thought she might merge with him and become one.

  His need made her want him more. She clung to him as their world began to spin slowly. She touched his face, his shoulders, felt the cool, silky strands of his hair. His chest rose and fell with each labored breath. She felt herself surrendering without a single thought to what this all could mean to her heart.