Mark stared at the place where she’d stood and wished he could have a do-over. He’d blown this one from the beginning. The pain inside of him had nothing to do with his ankle or the bruise on his face. It came from having hurt someone who didn’t deserve anything but the best that life had to offer.
When had he gotten so stupid?
Knowing it wasn’t going to help but unable to stop himself, he reached for the album and put it on his lap. He turned the pages slowly and watched as Darcy’s life unfolded before his eyes.
She’d been a chubby-cheeked little girl with blond curls and a perfect smile that made him ache. He saw pictures of her on a pony at a birthday party and in fancy dresses at the holidays. The background of the photos showed a large, elegant house with expensive furnishings. He saw her with friends, becoming school-age.
She was an awkward preadolescent when her brother arrived. There was a picture with her and a smiling baby. He flipped through photos of the two of them. Her parents’ smiles became more strained, but Darcy’s affection for Dirk was evident. He turned more pages and saw dance pictures, then prom photos. A beautiful Darcy with a handsome teenage boy. High school graduation followed, then pictures of just Dirk. He noticed there were far fewer of them than there had been of Darcy.
The last few pages showed a growing Dirk in a small apartment. The elegant furnishings were gone, as was the big house. Snapshots of Darcy showed her looking tired and thin. But the love between the siblings still shone out from every frame. He closed the book and set it back on the coffee table.
Darcy wasn’t anything like Sylvia. He couldn’t have been more wrong about her.
And now she was gone.
He tried to tell himself that this was better. He didn’t want her in his life—he didn’t want anyone. Her whole idea of being friends had been doomed from the start. He owed her an apology, of course, but after that it would be best if they simply returned to being neighbors who nodded when they saw each other. She wouldn’t take too long to get over him. Being angry would help. As for him, he didn’t have to recover—he’d never been involved.
It was odd, though, how the ache in his ankle was nothing when compared to the dull throbbing in his heart.
* * *
Darcy ignored the pieces of gingerbread still waiting to be assembled in her kitchen. She walked through the living room, down the short hall and entered her bedroom, where she threw herself on the bed. She hugged a pillow to her chest and waited for the tears burning at the back of her eyes to spill over.
Anger and confusion wrestled in her chest, and so far there was no clear winner. She was so mad at Mark that she could spit. She wanted to scream at him, demanding that he tell her where he got the right to judge her for something she hadn’t even done. How dare he think she’d done something illegal? She hurt so much inside. He was gone from her life and somehow his leaving had left behind a really big hole.
She told herself she shouldn’t care anymore. Mark had proved to be nothing more than a case of bad judgment. She wanted to justify what he’d thought of her by telling herself it was because he was a detective; thinking the worst of people was his job. But somehow she didn’t buy into the explanation. He hadn’t thought the worst of anyone else—just her.
She rolled onto her side, pulling the pillow with her. Despite how horrible she felt, there weren’t any tears. They would probably come later, when she was ready to heal. But for now there was just the emptiness and the knowledge that she’d been foolish enough to allow herself to dream.
Darcy stood up. She tossed the pillow onto the bed and drew in a deep breath. If there was one thing the past five years had taught her, it was to keep moving forward, regardless of how daunting the circumstances. She had orders to fill and a life to live. If Mark Kincaid wanted to be an ass, that was his business, not hers.
Four hours later she’d finished assembling the two gingerbread houses. The three she’d already completed had been loaded into boxes that she’d carefully carried to her car, along with seven dozen cookies. She began her deliveries around four, grateful that the snow had stopped.
Promptly at five she pulled into the parking lot of the Hip Hop Café. Melissa North, the owner of the café, was back from her vacation and had wanted to sample Darcy’s goods for the following week.
Darcy grabbed the cookies first, and headed for the front of the café. She knocked on the closed and locked door.
From where she stood she could see two people inside. Melissa stood talking to a man. Darcy squinted, then recognized Josh Anderson. They walked to the front door and Melissa turned the key in the lock.
“You’re right on time,” Melissa said. The store owner was of medium height, with beautiful black hair and intense blue eyes. She smiled, then sniffed. “Something smells heavenly.”
“Cookies,” Darcy admitted. “I have the gingerbread house in the car.”
“I’ll go get it,” Josh said.
“Thanks.”
Darcy moved aside to let him out. Melissa returned her attention to the diner. “Josh and I were discussing remodeling the café. I have this idea about making it a little more upscale. Maybe get in a dinner crowd rather than just the burger set.”
“Upscale means higher prices,” Darcy said with a laugh. “My tips go up with the prices, so I’m in favor of expansion.”
Melissa grinned. “I’ll put you down in the yes column, then.”
“What about a health food menu to supplement the regular entrées?”
Josh returned with the box. “I heard that,” he said. “Don’t let her talk you into it, Melissa. Montana isn’t tofu country.”
He walked over to the long counter and set the box down by the cash register. Darcy knew he was just teasing. There was no way he could know that the mention of tofu made her think of Mark, which made her shoulders slump.
