According to Andrew, the counselor at the school, Dirk was doing a good job of making friends. He’d found his place in the world, at least for the next few years. Darcy could finally draw a breath and relax about Dirk. All she had to worry about now was making sure there was enough money to pay for the school, and that was the easy part. Over the past few years she’d learned that she had a capacity for hard work.
She’d also learned that she was a pretty caring person. She liked giving to others, whether it was helping at the hospital or having people with nowhere else to go over to her house for a holiday meal. She liked—
Darcy blinked as Mark made a basket. In the middle of her self-congratulation party she had the sudden thought that, while she was very willing to open her life to people in need, she rarely opened her heart. Except for Dirk, everyone else she’d known or had made friends with had been someone moving on. Just by calling people “her strays,” she invited distance in the relationship. She didn’t have any close friends here in Whitehorn. She wanted to blame that on her time in town—it had only been six months. But it wasn’t that. Who had she been close to in Arizona?
So why had she stayed so solitary, she wondered. What had made her pull back? The humiliation of what had happened after her parents died? The need to stay in control? Was she punishing herself for being so self-absorbed while she was growing up?
She didn’t have any answers, which was depressing. After all, she was twenty-five. Shouldn’t she have her life together by now?
No answer came to her so she focused her attention on the game. It finished with a mad attack by Mark’s team. Three baskets in succession gave them the victory.
He grabbed a towel from his gym bag and collapsed next to her on the bench. “Pretty impressive, huh?” he said, draping the towel around his neck and wiping his face.
“I was immobilized by awe,” she teased. “Your physical prowess puts lesser men to shame.”
“I know.”
She laughed and he grinned at her. The connection between them flared again. The one that made her nervous.
A couple of the guys stopped by to thank her again for the cinnamon rolls. “My pleasure,” she told them.
Mark grabbed the last one from the box and took a bite. “What are you doing with the rest of your day?”
“Baking. I have to be prepared for the week. I want to get everything ready for the Hip Hop.”
“That’s right. You’re hoping to be their new supplier.” He sipped some cold coffee. “When are you going to find the time to fill their order if you get the contract? Will you quit your waitressing job?”
“No way.” She needed the money too much. “If I have to, I’ll give up sleep.”
He leaned toward her and kissed her on the cheek. “Not bad for some rich girl from the burbs.”
“Thanks.”
His green-eyed gaze was steady. “I mean it, Darcy. You’re impressive.”
His compliment made her feel all fluttery inside.
“Well, I do what has to be done.” She wondered what he would say if he knew about Dirk. No doubt he would admire her more and want to be with her less.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
She started to shrug into her jacket. Mark came up behind her to help. It was a polite gesture that meant little, yet she found herself wanting to believe that it was significant. Like the brief kiss on her cheek. She wanted to think he cared. Which meant she had to watch herself. Obviously she was vulnerable in a very dangerous way—and the last thing she wanted was to fall for a guy who was bound to leave her once he learned the truth about her life.
* * *
Mark headed into the office shortly before noon. On Sunday afternoons the place was empty, except for someone stuck on duty answering the phone. He made his way to his messy desk and began sorting through files. One of these days he was going to get his paperwork under control. The problem was he hated it, so he wasn’t motivated. Sheriff Rafe Rawlings frequently threatened to set his desk on fire, but Mark wasn’t impressed.
Now he leaned back in his chair and surveyed the piles. Maybe he should shove everything into a box and start over with a clean surface. Or maybe—
The phone rang. He pounced on it, delighted with the thought of a reprieve.
“Kincaid.”
“Hey, Mark, it’s Ralph Wayne. What’s going on in Hicksville?”
“Ralph!” Mark rested his elbows on the desk and grinned. “Still hanging out in vice, hoping to get lucky?”
“You should talk. You’re out in Montana. What’s the big crime of the day? The cows didn’t come home?”
