Читать книгу A Husband For The Holidays - Ami Weaver - Страница 8

Chapter Two

“Well,” Marla said as she stood up and began to stack dishes. “I’m going to take care of these and then I’ll join you in the barn. Darcy, if you’d rather not go out there tonight, we’d understand.”

“No. I’ll be fine.” She hoped like crazy it was true. She couldn’t let her aunt and uncle know how rattled she was.

Marla wouldn’t hear of Darcy helping her clean up, which was probably a good thing, as her hands hadn’t stopped shaking since they’d told her about Mack, so she got into her down jacket and boots and followed her uncle down the snowy path to the barn. Any other time, she would have found the quiet and the falling snow peaceful. Right now, she found herself too keyed up to enjoy it.

“Finances are a little tight around here, as I’m sure you noticed when you drove up,” her uncle said finally. “Mack offered to help out. He won’t accept any pay. Likes the work, he says.”

Her heart tugged. That sounded like the Mack she’d known and loved.

“It’s okay, Uncle Joe.”

He took her hand for the rest of the brief walk and she was grateful for the simple touch. In the workshop, he introduced her to his employees, then said, “We’ll be in and out. You remember how to make a wreath?”

In spite of her nerves, she smiled. “I can do it in my sleep, Uncle Joe.”

He gave her a quick hug. “Stay strong, honey.” He headed outside with his crew and left her alone.

She took a moment to inhale the sharp scent of pine. Some things never changed, and this room was one of them, thankfully. Long scarred tables, open shelves with wire, twine, cutters, pinecones and different colors and styles of ribbon along with boxes of assorted decorations. She admired a finished wreath. It was beautiful—spruce and juniper, with berries, pinecones and a big gold ribbon.

Forcing herself not to watch the clock and failing—just how much longer till six thirty anyway?—she kept busy by gathering supplies for and starting a wreath. Her aunt walked in five minutes before Mack was due to arrive.

“I thought maybe it’d be best if I were here,” she said, and Darcy gave her a tremulous smile. “I see you haven’t lost your bow-tying skills.”

Her aunt kept up a steady chatter, not seeming to expect Darcy to reply, which was good because she had one ear tuned for an approaching engine. When she finally heard it, she took a deep breath.

Marla gave her a sympathetic look. “Relax, honey. It’ll be okay.”

But Darcy barely heard her as the barn door rolled open and Mack’s familiar, long-legged form stepped through. Her breath caught.

He hadn’t changed. If anything, he’d gotten even better looking, even in old jeans, boots and a down vest, with a Michigan State ball cap. His brown hair was a little longer, curling slightly at the nape of his neck. He’d always hated the curl, worn it short. Somehow the new style was a sign of how much she’d missed.

His gaze landed on her and he gave her a cool nod. “Darcy. Nice to see you.”

It’d been seven years since she heard her name on his lips in that delicious deep voice of his. Longer still since he’d said it with affection, love or passion. Pain and regret hit her like a tidal wave. She’d botched things so badly. She swallowed hard. “Mack.” Her voice wasn’t much more than a whisper.

Before she could say more he shifted his attention to her aunt. What they talked about, Darcy couldn’t say. She turned back to the table to busy herself by tying bows. Her hands shook so hard she kept fumbling the ribbon.

Watching Mack now—because her gaze kept pinging over there on its own—it was clear to her that he wasn’t having the same issues she was. He’d gotten over her.

That was good, right? That was why she’d left. Mission accomplished.

Too bad she didn’t feel accomplished. She felt torn up inside. Raw.

She started to reach for the scissors when her neck tingled. When she looked up, her gaze locked on Mack’s. Even across the barn and over her aunt’s head, she felt the heat of it to her toes.

Oh, no.

She looked down at the bow she’d botched and untied it with trembling fingers. Oh, this was bad.

True, in the years since the divorce she’d barely dated. The few times she’d gone out? Her friends had talked her into it and there’d never been a second date.

She’d never reacted to anyone the way she did to Mack.

“We need to talk.”

Darcy jumped at the sound of his voice right behind her. She turned and looked up at him, at the hard set of his jaw, the iciness of his blue eyes. Oh, how she’d hurt this man she’d loved with all her heart. If only she could go back and undo the past.

But she couldn’t.

“About what?” Panic fluttered in her throat. He couldn’t want to get into their failed marriage already, could he?

“Why we’re here.”

Darcy put down the scissors she could barely hold anyway and crossed her arms over her chest, needing the barrier it signaled to both of them. “I know why I’m here. My aunt and uncle asked me to be.”

His eyes flashed. “You could have come home at any time.”

She inhaled sharply. “No. I couldn’t. You of all people know why.”

“I don’t even know why you left in the first place.” The words were simple but stark and sliced through her as cleanly as a sharp blade.

She lifted her chin, fought the threat of tears back. “Of course you do. But it doesn’t matter now. I’m going to help my aunt and uncle out, then I’ll be out of your life.”

He looked at her, his intense blue gaze unreadable. “You’ll never be out of my life,” he said, his voice low.

Darcy stared after him as he strode out of the barn, his words vibrating in her soul.

Marla hurried over to her. “You okay, dear?”

Darcy forced her lips into what she hoped passed for a smile. “Of course.” At her aunt’s skeptical look she added, “A little shaken, but I’ll be fine, Aunt Marla. It’s been a while.”

The phone rang and her aunt glared at it, then went to answer, clearly reluctant to leave Darcy alone.

She picked her scissors back up and decided right then not to show how much the encounter had affected her. As she started a new bow, determination set in. It might be too much to hope she could get Mack to understand now what he’d been unable to back then. But she absolutely had to try so she could finally move on.

Wasn’t Christmas a season for miracles?

She’d need one.

* * *

Mack strode out into the cold, thoughts whirling. He thought he’d been prepared for the shock, but he’d been wrong. Way wrong. Seeing her wasn’t easier after all these years.

Especially when she looked so damn appealing.

But it’d been the look in her big brown eyes that killed him—wary, hopeful, sad all mixed together. Regretful.

Regrets. He had a few of those himself.

The still falling snow swirled around him as he approached Joe, who was readying to bale and load cut trees into a truck for delivery at a local store. Joe looked distinctly guilty as he approached.

“You saw Darcy?”

Mack gave a curt nod. “Yeah.”

Joe’s look was assessing and it made Mack uncomfortable. He didn’t want the older man to see how rattled he was. “I’m sorry we didn’t talk to you about Darcy. We were afraid you’d quit or that she wouldn’t come. We didn’t want either to happen.”

Mack shook his head. He wouldn’t have quit. And he wouldn’t have discussed Darcy with her uncle anyway—it would be disloyal and he’d never ask Joe to do that. “It’s all right. So where are these going?” He pulled a fresh-cut spruce off the trailer.

“Tom’s. Said delivery would be first thing tomorrow.” With that, Joe turned the equipment on.

It suited him.

It didn’t take nearly long enough to load the truck with the trees and wreaths the grocery store owner had ordered. By the time he’d completed several other tasks and he ducked back into the barn, he didn’t see Darcy.

The stab he felt wasn’t disappointment. It couldn’t be. He’d been there, done that.

He wasn’t able to fool himself.

With a sigh, he trudged toward his truck through a good four inches of snow. Joe’s voice stopped him.

“Are you going to talk to Darcy?”

Mack turned around. “About what?”

“About what happened.”

Anger surged through him, but he forced it down. “There’s nothing left to say. It’s been a long time, Joe. A long time,” he repeated, even though seeing her made it all feel like yesterday. He wanted to forget, to keep it buried. She hadn’t wanted them, their family. What good was it to rehash the whole thing now?

“Maybe so. But you two have unfinished business. Talk to her.” When Mack opened his mouth, Joe held up a hand. “I’m not going to say any more on this. You’re adults. Thanks for the help tonight. We’ll be back at it after dinner tomorrow.”

Mack said good-night and swiped the fluffy snow off his windshield. He stood there for a second and watched Joe walk up the lane that led to the house. With a sigh he climbed in and started the engine. As he drove back out to the road, exhaustion washed over him. No doubt there’d be no sleep for him tonight. Or he’d dream of Darcy all night. Frankly, he’d prefer no sleep.

He turned in the driveway of his little house, the one he’d bought and restored after Darcy left. He’d needed an outlet for his grief, and this house had provided it. He came in through the front door, and was greeted by enthusiastic barking. Sadie and Lilly came barreling out of the living room and threw themselves at him, barking as if they’d thought he wouldn’t be back. He rubbed ears as he waded through them and headed for the kitchen.

“You guys want out?” They zipped to the door and he let them out in the snow in the fenced-in backyard. His phone rang before he even got his coat off. A glance at the caller ID had him bracing himself.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Mack. How are you?” There was concern in his mother’s voice.

“Fine.” And because he was feeling a little contrary with how his family assumed he wasn’t, he added, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

His mother sighed. “I don’t know. Because Darcy is home. And you help out at the tree farm. Did you see her?”

Mack shrugged out of his jacket. “I did.” There wasn’t anything else to say—at least not to his mom.

“How did it go?” Her voice was gentle.

“I don’t know. Fine.” He raked a hand though his hair, remembering Darcy’s huge, stricken eyes. “Mom. What do you think I’m going to do?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. I know how torn up you were when she left. How we thought we’d lose you, too. I know you’re an adult, but you’re still my boy. And I don’t want to see you go through that again.”

Mack turned as he heard a noise at the back door. The dogs were ready to come in. He opened it and they tumbled through in a flurry of wet paws and snow and cold air. “It’s all in the past, Mom.”

She made a little noise that could have been disbelief. “Okay, then. I won’t keep you. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Thanksgiving. He’d spent one of those with a pregnant Darcy as his wife. Just before—well, before. It was how he divided everything. Before. And After. He shut the images down. “Sounds good.”

She talked a few more minutes and Mack made all the appropriate noises before hanging up with a promise to be on time.

He tossed the phone on the counter and sank down at one of the bar stools lining it. He covered his face with his hands and braced his elbows on the counter. Darcy. All those things he’d worked so hard to avoid were staring him in the face.

He slammed his palms on the surface, and both dogs looked up from their bowls.

“Sorry, guys,” he said, and they looked at him as if they saw more than he wanted them to. Wanted anyone to, for that matter.

After a shower, he lay on his bed and turned the TV on, more for distraction than anything else. He flipped through the channels until he found a hockey game he wasn’t going to watch anyway.

She’d looked shocked when he said he didn’t know why she’d left. How could that be? She’d never told him, she’d just said she wanted a divorce. She’d left in a hurry after that, without so much as a glance back.

He’d been looking for her ever since.

* * *

Thanksgiving passed in a blur of fantastic food and frantic preparations for the season opening of Kramer Tree Farm the next morning. Darcy knew Mack was around, but there were so many other people and so much to be done she had no time to dwell on it.

But she was always aware he was in the vicinity. Somehow she was very tuned in to him. That wasn’t a good thing.

She hadn’t slept so well the previous night, dreaming of Mack. Now, fired up on caffeine and nerves, she figured tonight would be a repeat of the last.

She thought of her quiet condo in Chicago, her refuge from all this emotion and pain. She missed it and the safety it offered—even if it was apparently safety from herself and her memories.

The chatter of the employees, the Christmas music, all combined to make a festive atmosphere. The fresh six inches of snow added to it. Her aunt and uncle were thrilled. She tied the last sprig of bittersweet to the wreath she’d made as Marla came over.

“Looks lovely,” she said with a smile. “You haven’t lost your touch.”

Darcy laughed. “I think I can make these in my sleep. Everything going okay?”

“Yes, thankfully. We’re pretty much set. Can I get you to take the ATV out to the warming stations and make sure they are ready to go in the morning? Hot chocolate and coffee out there, and both that and mulled cider up here.”

“Sure.” Darcy left the completed wreath where it was and stripped off her pitch-sticky work gloves. It only took a couple minutes to gather the supplies she needed and put them in a bag. Outside, she fired up the ATV and drove down the plowed paths to the first—and largest—warming shed. Someone had left the lights on. She parked outside and went in.

Mack turned around, surprise on his face. Darcy squeaked.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted, and realized as his expression closed up how rude she sounded. “I mean—I didn’t mean—”

“I know what you meant.” He nodded toward the heating unit. “Wasn’t running right, so I told your uncle I’d take a look at it.”

“Oh. Well. I’ll be just a minute.” She held up the bag as she edged inside. “I’ve got cocoa mix for tomorrow. Got to stock up.”

She had every right to be here. She couldn’t let him intimidate her, not that he was trying. She had nothing to hide or defend to this man. Their marriage was over.

So why were her hands shaking?

When she stood back up, she bumped a can of coffee, which fell off the table and crashed on the floor, leaving a fragrant trail of grounds as it rolled around. Her face burning, she practically dived for it the same moment Mack reached for it.

“I got it,” she muttered, then inhaled sharply as Mack’s hand closed over hers. His palm was warm, and while she knew she should yank hers back, her gaze flew to his and locked on.

He was only inches from her. His blue eyes were serious and heat sparked in them—and an answering heat spread through her. She wanted to lean forward, just a little and close the gap, see if he tasted like she remembered—

She couldn’t afford to remember. She’d spent far too long trying to forget.

“Darcy.” His voice was low, a little rough. She swallowed hard and pulled away, gathering the errant coffee can in her arms like a shield. His gaze was shuttered as he sat back on his heels. “Need a broom?”

She blinked at the coffee mess on the floor. “Looks like it.” Hopefully, there was a backup coffee can somewhere, or else everyone would have to make do with cocoa. “There’s one in the closet. I’ll just clean this up and get out of your hair.”

She couldn’t even tell the heater wasn’t working. It was awfully hot in here right now.

She suspected it had everything to do with how Mack managed to kick up her internal temperature.

“You’re not in my way,” he murmured and retreated to the heater when she came back with the broom. It was as if they were performing some kind of awkward dance. She managed to clean up her mess and stock up the packets with no further incidents, even though she kept sneaking looks at his broad back as he worked on the heater. She put the broom away and turned toward the door, wanting only to escape the oppressiveness of the room.

“Okay, well, bye,” she said in an overly bright tone. “Sorry for the interruption.” She made a beeline for the door, unable to resist a last look at him.

He looked up and caught her. “No apologies necessary,” he replied quietly.

Darcy escaped outside and took a deep lungful of the cold, crisp air in hope it’d settle the crazy butterflies in her belly.

She didn’t care so much about making a mess in front of Mack—though she really hoped Aunt Marla had an extra can of coffee on hand—but her response to him scared her. She’d worked long and hard to move on past the guilt and grief, to build a new and successful life in Chicago. It’d been a long road, and hard won. But seeing Mack threatened all those carefully constructed walls. She couldn’t afford that. If she hadn’t promised her dad all those years ago she’d be here for this, she’d pack up and leave on Monday.

It wasn’t running away when your sanity was on the line. Right?