Christmas in Whitehorn Read Free Page A

Although I've used carob before, if that counts."
    He couldn't begin to imagine what carob was. "I need to be getting back."
    She followed him to the door. "Thanks for helping me, Mark. I'm sure I could have wrestled Mr. Turkey inside myself but it was nice not have to mess with him."
    The top of her head didn't even clear his shoulders. She looked innocent and wholesome. He had no business being here.
    "Look, Darcy…"
    He paused, not sure how to tell her he wouldn't make it for Thanksgiving dinner. He wasn't very social these days and he couldn't imagine anything more torturous than eating with five people he didn't know and didn't want to know.
    Her blue eyes stared at him, while the corners of her full mouth turned up slightly. She had perfect skin. Clear, pale and nearly luminous. But the worst of it was the complete trust in her eyes. He had a bad feeling that she'd never told a white lie, let alone a really soul-threatening one. He felt as if he was about to kick a puppy.
    His shoulders slumped. "Do you want me to bring anything for Thursday? Like wine?"
    "Wine would be nice. I know absolutely nothing about it."
    He nodded and left without looking at her. He didn't want to see her smiling at him as though he'd just done something amazing.
    After he entered his own apartment, he stretched his cooling muscles, then headed down the tiny hall. Once in his bathroom, he tugged off his T-shirt and the thermal shirt underneath. Bare-chested, he stared into the mirror.
    The scar from the bullet wound in his side was still red and thick. He probed at it, remembering how the doctors had told him he'd been lucky. A few millimeters toward the center and he would have lost a major organ or two. Sylvia had been aiming for his heart. As it was, he'd nearly bled to death. He bent down to massage his leg. That bullet wound didn't give him nearly as much trouble as it had even a month ago.
    When he'd been in the hospital, a lot of the guys from the precinct had come by to visit, most of them teasing him that bullet scars were a chick magnet. Somehow he couldn't see a woman like Darcy cooing over his injuries. She'd probably take one look and pass out. Not that he planned on showing her anything.
    He straightened and turned on the water, then pulled off the rest of his clothes. As he stepped into the steaming shower, he reminded himself that, however much he found Darcy attractive, he wasn't about to go there. As he'd already learned the hard way, getting involved with a woman could be fatal.

Chapter Two
     
    T he great room at the
Madison
School
was nearly forty feet square, with a huge rock fireplace in one wall. Half a dozen sofas formed conversation groups, while card tables set up around the perimeter of the room offered places to play different games. The high-beamed ceiling added to the open feel of the space. The smell of wood smoke mingled with the lingering scent of popcorn from last night's snack.
    Darcy sat on a sofa in the corner, her feet tucked under her, listening intently as her brother, Dirk, described everything he'd packed in his suitcase.
    "I even remembered my brush and comb," he said proudly.
    Darcy's heart swelled with love for him as she studied his familiar face. They both had blue eyes and blond hair, but Dirk's features were more masculine. And as much as it tweaked her ego, she had to admit he was the better looking of the siblings. At fourteen, he should have been suffering from skin troubles and a cracking voice. Instead he appeared to be making the transition into adolescence and manhood with little pain. He was growing steadily, which kept him lean, his skin was clear and she noticed the faint hint of a beard on his chin. Her baby brother was growing up.
    "I'm impressed with your packing skills," she said sincerely. "I have never taken a trip without forgetting something. Remember, when I went off to college and left all my registration stuff at home?"
    Dirk laughed. "Mom had to bring it to you and she