“Even a cheerleader. I wince at the memory of my shallow existence.” She passed him a green bean casserole, followed by a dish of yams. “I went off to college without a clue as to what I wanted to be when I grew up. Of course, I don’t think I actually wanted to be an adult. I kept switching majors and playing rather than studying. I nearly accepted a marriage proposal rather than choose a direction for my studies.”
Her blue eyes darkened with the memories. “Not my finest hour.”
He had a hard time reconciling her story with the woman in front of him. “What happened?”
She took a bite of turkey and chewed. When she’d swallowed, she said, “My parents died in a car crash. I was unprepared, to say the least.” She hesitated, as if there was more she was going to say.
Mark waited. The detective in him wanted to push for information, but he reminded himself that he was a guest in her home and it was a holiday.
“This is really good,” he said when he’d tasted the turkey.
“Thanks.”
“How old were you when your parents died?”
“Twenty, but ignorant, if you know what I mean. In addition to dealing with the shock of losing them at once, I had the horror of getting calls from their attorney, who wanted to explain things to me.”
She sighed softly at the memory. “My parents left a pile of bills. Apparently they’d been separated for a couple of years but hadn’t wanted me to know. My dad had a penthouse in the city, we all had new cars. By the time everything was paid off, there wasn’t much left. I had to drop out of school.” She stabbed at her mashed potatoes.
“The sad part is, I could have handled the news of their pending divorce if they’d bothered to tell me. At least we could have had an honest conversation before they died. Plus it turned out most of my friends were more interested in my lack of social standing and financial resources than in staying loyal. I grew up fast. By the time the dust settled, I was ready to take care of myself.”
She had an open face, he thought, watching her. Every emotion flashed across her eyes. She would be a lousy poker player.
“You seem to have done a good job,” he said.
“Thanks. I tried.”
He touched the dining room table. “This looks old. Is it a family antique you managed to salvage?”
She laughed. “I’m sure it’s someone’s but not mine. I bought it a couple of years ago at a garage sale. The hutch came with it.” She grinned. “These days, I live for a good bargain. You should see me at the half-yearly sales. I’m formidable.”
“Sounds like it. Do you miss being rich?”
“Who wouldn’t?” She scooped up a forkful of stuffing. “But I like who I am now a whole lot more than I liked who I was before. I consider that a plus.”
She was a pint-size bundle of trouble, he thought grimly. Pretty, sexy, single and appealing. Why had he ever accepted her invitation?
“What brings you to Whitehorn?” he asked. “It’s a long way from Arizona.”
For the first time that evening, she avoided his gaze. “I wanted to experience ‘big sky country,”’ she said breezily. “You know—the myth of the Old West. I just sort of found my way here.”
Mark’s chest tightened. She was lying. He would bet his life on it. Which meant there was something she didn’t want him to know. Like Sylvia, she was a woman with secrets—and off-limits to him.
CHAPTER THREE
After dinner, they cleared the table, then Darcy led the way into the small living room. Mark followed, sitting at the opposite end of the sofa.
“That was great,” he said. “I’m impressed.”
“Thank you.” She patted her stomach. “I’m full but don’t feel as if I’m about to explode. I consider that a positive statement after a Thanksgiving dinner.”
“I didn’t get through my half of the turkey.”
She laughed. “That’s right. You were supposed to eat your whole twelve pounds’ worth. Maybe I should pack it up and you can take it home. I have a great recipe for turkey enchiladas. I could write it down for you.”
“I don’t cook much.”
She pretended surprise. “I thought all New York City detectives were incredibly domestic.”
