“I missed that class.” He studied her. “So you know I lived in New York. Am I a regular topic for gossip or is it just a sometime thing?”
Darcy refused to give in to the embarrassment she could feel growing inside her. “Everyone has his or her fifteen minutes of fame at the Hip Hop Café,” she said casually. “You were a hot topic when you moved back, but things have calmed down some since then.”
“Good to know.”
Darcy sipped her wine and regarded her guest over the rim of her glass. He was a good-looking man. Too good-looking for her long-celibate state. Tall, strong, with compelling green eyes. She liked that his dark brown hair was a tad too long and that his tailored slacks showed off his perfect butt nearly as much as his jeans did.
She took another quick sip to keep herself from grinning. She couldn’t believe she was sitting here thinking about Mark’s butt. She had no right—nor was it her style. Even back in the dark ages when she’d actually dated, she’d never been overly interested in sex. She’d given in because it had been expected, but most of the time, she’d been faintly bored by the experience. In the past five years she’d missed the emotional closeness of male-female relationships more than the physical intimacy…right up until she’d laid eyes on Mark.
Something about the man set her body to humming. She sort of enjoyed the sensation of being faintly aroused without him actually doing anything. At least it was a change from her usual worry and exhaustion.
He’d surprised her by being a pleasant guest. She’d thought he might not talk at all, which had made the thought of just the two of them at the table fairly horrifying. For a few minutes he’d seemed to withdraw into himself, but he’d recovered and had continued with his questions. Speaking of which…
“I think it’s my turn to play detective,” she said teasingly. “You learned everything about me at dinner, so now I should learn about you.”
“Ask away.”
She shifted so that she was facing him. “How did a man born and bred in Montana end up in New York? As a detective, no less?”
“It’s something I wanted from the time I was a kid. I never got the rodeo bug, so I wasn’t interested in steer wrestling or bronc riding. I spent my time reading police procedurals. When I graduated from college, I headed for New York where I got a job on the police force. I worked my way up from there.”
His expression didn’t change as he spoke and Darcy had a difficult time figuring out if the memories made him sad.
“What brought you back?” she asked.
“I was shot.”
She nearly spilled her wine. “In the line of duty?”
“A murder suspect didn’t like the way the investigation was going. She took out her temper on me.”
Darcy stared at him in shock. “She? A woman shot you?”
“Women can be killers, too.”
“I suppose.” She studied him, looking for healing scars or hints that he’d been hurt. There weren’t any—nothing was visible and he didn’t walk with a limp. She’d seen him out jogging so he must be doing better. She thought about asking where he’d been wounded, but the question felt too intimate. “I don’t think of the average woman as being a violent person.”
“She isn’t. But there are always exceptions.”
“Do you miss the work?”
He shifted uncomfortably, as if he didn’t want to answer the question. “Some.”
“Do you miss the city?”
“It sure ain’t Whitehorn.”
She laughed. “You have that right. I remember growing up in Chicago. We were always going into the city on weekends to different restaurants and plays. Or to the museums.”
“There’s a great western museum not too far from here.”
“Gee, thanks. Next you’ll be telling me that the Hip Hop Café serves international cuisine.”
“They do offer an Oriental chicken salad on the menu.”
She took another sip of wine. “I actually knew that.”
He picked up his glass from the coffee table. “Okay, so Whitehorn doesn’t exactly have the same amenities. I’ll admit I do miss New York. The ethnic foods were great, as was the idea that I could get anything I wanted at any time of the day or night. Detective work isn’t nine-to-five, so we appreciated the late hours the restaurants were open.” He drank from his glass. “I was never much of a museum guy, but I did enjoy theater.” He frowned slightly. “I don’t think I ever saw the end of a play. I nearly always got called to a crime scene.”
