Christmas in Whitehorn Read Free

the opposite direction. He turned toward the dining room, passed through it and found himself in the middle of her kitchen. She opened the refrigerator door and motioned to a shelf containing nothing but an empty roasting pan.
    He deposited the bird into the pan, then glanced down at the wet spot on the front of his sweats. She followed his gaze and groaned.
    "Sorry. I didn't realize he was leaking." She reached for a dish towel, made to approach him, then stopped and handed him the cloth.
    Mark found himself wishing she'd offered to clean him up herself. He pushed the thought away as soon as it formed. No way was he going to get involved with another woman. Certainly not a neighbor. Hadn't he learned his lesson?
    He rubbed at the damp spot, then tossed the towel back to her. "How many are you planning to feed with that?"
    She unzipped her jacket and hung it on the back of a light oak chair. Her kitchen table was white tile edged in oak, surrounded by four matching wood chairs. He noticed that while her kitchen was physically the mirror image of his, nothing about it looked the same. His battered cabinets were a shade of green somewhere between mold and avocado, while hers were white and looked freshly painted. A blue border print circled the walls just below the ceiling. Plants hung at the sides of the big window where lace curtains had been pulled back to let in the light. As their landlord was a hands-off kind of guy, Mark knew that Darcy had made the improvements herself.
    Neither apartment had anything so modern as a dishwasher, which meant he mostly used paper and plastic, when he bothered to eat at home. Darcy had a metal dish drainer placed neatly by the sink. Several pots were stacked together, drying in the late afternoon.
    He returned his attention to her only to realize she was avoiding his gaze. She shifted uncomfortably.
    "There were supposed to be ten of us, including you," she muttered, studying the toes of her boots. "It's actually good news for Millie that she can't make it. Her husband – soon to be ex-husband – ran off with some young girl. Millie's been struggling ever since. Her folks invited her home for Thanksgiving. She's hoping they can reconcile and that her parents will ask her to move home. She's got three kids and desperately wants to finish her college degree so she can get a decent job. So it's all for the best."
    He digested the information, wondering if he should ask who Millie was, then decided it didn't matter. "So how many will there be now?"
    She glanced at him. "Six. Millie has three kids." She offered a bright smile. "I like having a lot of people around for the holidays. I try to find people like you – with nowhere to go, no family around. As I said before, it's a tough time to be alone."
    Great. A table full of strays.
    She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The movement drew his attention to her soft-looking blond curls and the way her sweater outlined a sweet pair of full breasts. He might have spent the past few months recovering from a couple of bullet wounds, but parts of him had never been injured. They chose that moment to remind him that a man had needs.
    Blood flowed south with a speed and intensity that made him grit his teeth. Damn. Why did he have to notice Darcy was attractive? He'd managed to avoid that particular truth for the past couple of months they'd been neighbors.
    "Where's your family?" he asked, determined to ignore the pressure from his body. He willed away his desire.
    "My folks died five years ago."
    He didn't say anything. His parents had died, as well, but he wasn't about to bond with her over the fact. He didn't want anything in common with her. Was it just him, or was it hot in here?
    "Can I get you something?" Darcy asked. "Tea? Cookies?"
    "Made with whole-wheat flour and tofu? No thanks."
    She laughed. "While I do make the cookies myself, I promise I use very normal ingredients."
    "You probably consider tofu normal."
    "Not when I bake.