“Dad, I—oops!”
The small voice jerked him out of a haze of lust. Still clinging to Darcy, he looked over his shoulder. Taylor stood in the doorway, one hand to her mouth, not quite covering her grin.
“Sorry, Taylor. We didn’t mean to embarrass you.” Darcy’s voice was shaky as she extricated herself from Mike’s grasp. He stepped back and shoved his hands in his pockets, his face burning. He stared at the floor, at the washing machine—anywhere but at his daughter or Darcy.
“It’s not like I’ve never seen people kissing before.” She giggled. “But not Dad. At least not since I was little, and then just Mom and he never kissed her that way—”
“We’d better go now.” Mike gripped Taylor’s shoulder and turned her toward the kitchen, and the exit.
“See you soon,” Darcy said.
He risked a glance at her. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair mussed, and her lips were slightly swollen. She looked like a woman who’d just had sex, and the thought made him hard all over again.
One thing she didn’t look was the least bit ashamed or embarrassed at being caught by his ten-year-old daughter. Not that they’d been doing anything wrong, exactly, but it certainly wasn’t like him to act so impulsively.
In the car on the way home, he chose his words carefully. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about Darcy and me.”
“I’m glad you like her,” Taylor said. “I like her too. I think she’d make a cool stepmom.”
“Stepmom?” His heart pounded. “Taylor, Darcy and I hardly know each other.” Not that he wanted his daughter to think it was okay to go around kissing virtual strangers. “We’re friends. That’s all.”
“You weren’t kissing her like a friend.”
“What would you know about that?”
“Dad—I watch TV.”
Obviously, he needed to pay more attention to what she was watching.
“I think it’s cool if you have a girlfriend,” Taylor said. “Sometimes I feel guilty that you don’t, like maybe it’s my fault.”
“The fact that I don’t have a girlfriend has nothing to do with you,” he said. That wasn’t entirely true. Without Taylor in his life, he might be with someone. Or he might not. He wasn’t the swinging-bachelor type. His medical practice claimed a lot of his time and what was left he devoted to Taylor.
He glanced in the rearview mirror. Taylor was watching him, a serious look on her face. “Do you want a stepmother, is that it?” he asked. At ten, on the brink of so many changes in her body and in her life, Taylor probably felt the absence of a woman more keenly than at any time since he and Melissa had divorced.
She shrugged. “I don’t need a stepmom, I just wanted you to know I’m okay with it if you want to marry again. As long as it’s someone nice.”
“And you think Darcy is nice.”
“Yeah. And you must think she’s nice, too, or you wouldn’t have kissed her that way.” She giggled again.
That way.
Like a randy teenager who couldn’t control his emotions.
Or a man who’d been alone too long. “I have no plans to marry Darcy, or anyone else right now,” he said. “When I do, you’ll be the first to know.”
“You should probably tell the woman first.”
He shook his head and tried to focus on his driving. But all he could think of was Darcy—the way she tasted and felt. The way she smelled. The look in her eyes when they’d parted. It was full of mischief and passion and delight, as if she knew exactly how much he wanted her and was very pleased with the idea.
It was an idea that ought to please him, too.
Yes, he wanted Darcy, in the physical sense. Darcy was alive and passionate, glowing with an inner light he envied. She had been through more than any one person should have to bear, yet she hadn’t lost herself to suffering. His own losses seemed trivial in comparison, and yet he felt as if he’d been permanently affected by them.
Whatever his feelings for Darcy, he couldn’t call any of them love. Love was something that grew over time. It didn’t ambush a man the way his desire for Darcy had taken him in her laundry room just now. He had dated Melissa for two full years before he’d told her he loved her.
He’d been drawn to Melissa in part because she was so unlike him. At the time he’d told himself they filled in the gaps in each other’s personality. Yet the marriage had been a disaster.
Now he was on the verge of making the same kind of mistake with Darcy, letting desire blind him to the differences between them. Had he learned nothing from the past?
“Dad, do you think one day I can have plastic surgery?”
“Plastic sur— Taylor, what are you talking about?” He slammed on the brakes at a stop sign and turned to stare at his daughter.
She stuck out her lower lip, glowering in a way that was so much like Melissa he didn’t know whether to laugh or despair. “Darcy’s making me a costume that covers up my scars, but I’ll still look different from all the other girls. It would be so much better if I could just have plastic surgery to make them go away.”
The guy in the car behind them honked and Mike resisted the urge to make an obscene gesture. He faced forward and started driving again, trying to gather his thoughts. “We’ve talked about this before,” he said. “The scars will fade over time. They’re al ready much less noticeable to other people than they are to you.” Every one of those scars was precious to him, a reminder of the miracle that had saved her.
“Darcy says there’s special makeup made to cover scars like mine. She said maybe we could go shopping for some.”
Darcy again. She claimed to be teaching the girls to accept their bodies, so what was she doing discussing makeup with a ten-year-old? “I don’t think you need to be wearing makeup.”
“But Darcy said—”
“I’m your father and I say no.” He cringed, waiting for Taylor’s face to crumple into tears, but she only continued to glower, her silence like a cold knife slicing him.
He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles throbbed. This was partly his fault. He’d let a woman’s attractive figure and a passionate kiss distract him from his responsibilities to his daughter.
Yes, Darcy had made the generous decision to donate her son’s heart so that Taylor could live. Yes, Taylor liked her, but what girl wouldn’t? She was pretty and fun and she didn’t have a clue how fragile Taylor really was.
Now she’d gone too far, upsetting Taylor with all this talk about her scar, when Mike was sure they’d been past all that.
Maybe Darcy was even the one who’d brought up the stepmom idea. Maybe she looked at his house and his medical practice and saw an opportunity to move up in the world.
He felt sick to his stomach. Darcy wasn’t like that.
But how did he really know? They’d shared a couple of meals, a cup of coffee and two intense kisses. He couldn’t claim to have been thinking clearly through any of that, distracted as he was by lust.
He glanced in the mirror at Taylor again. Her head was turned and she was looking out the side window. His first job was to protect her. He couldn’t let one woman, no matter how seemingly well-meaning, take over their lives.
All the passion in the world wasn’t worth upsetting his daughter.
She tried to call Dave. Talking to her brother about his problems would distract her from her own. But Dave didn’t answer his phone. Maybe he and Carrie were kissing and making up, as Taylor had suggested.
But when he didn’t answer again when she phoned the next morning, she drove to his condo, trying not to imagine the worst. She rang the bell, then knocked, and was debating calling the police when the door finally opened. His shirt was untucked and he needed a shave…he looked perfectly normal.
“What took you so long?” she asked, pushing past him into the living room. “I was starting to worry.”
“I was in the basement.”
“I tried calling this morning. And last night. You never answered.”
“I didn’t feel like talking.” He headed down the stairs. She followed at his heels, surprised by the thinning patch of hair at the back of his head. When had Dave begun losing his hair?
“Where’s Carrie?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“She left.”
Darcy’s spirits sank. “Oh, Dave. Why? Is this about the house?”
“Mind your own business, sis.”
Most of the basement had been converted into a woodworking shop. A workbench filled one end of the room, with bins of lumber and projects in various stages of completion crowded between the water heater and the washing machine. The air smelled of wood shavings and varnish.
Dave headed for the workbench and picked up a length of wood—a chair spindle, she guessed.
“What did you say to Carrie in the restaurant the other night?” she asked.
“Stay out of it.” He shoved a pair of safety glasses over his eyes, then switched on a lathe.
Darcy watched him work, not put off for a minute by his gruff manner. Dave hadn’t listened to her when she’d tried to get him to leave her alone after Riley and Pete had died. He’d stayed right with her, making her soup and handing her tissues and refusing to let her wallow in her despair.
Maybe this thing between him and Carrie wasn’t her business, but she wouldn’t leave him to suffer alone. He might think he didn’t want to talk about it, but she’d be here if he did.
He shut off the lathe and picked up a piece of sandpaper and began rubbing down the wood. “What are you making?” Darcy asked.
“A rocking chair.” He inspected the piece and resumed sanding. “It’s a commission.”
“That’s terrific!” His ambition was to open a shop making custom furniture. Construction work was what he did to fill in the gaps while he built his business. “Who’s it for?”
“That new birthing center at the women’s hospital. If they like this one, they’ll order more.” His eyes met hers, excitement shining in them.
“That’s wonderful. Congratulations.” Carrie must be so proud. So why wasn’t she here?
He returned to his sanding. “I told Car this wasn’t a good time to buy a house, that I was saving for a shop.”
“Why not buy a house with a garage you could use as a shop?”
“That’s not what I want.”
And of course it was all about what
he
wanted. Poor Carrie. Now that she’d pushed him, Dave was never going to back down.
“What’s with you and that doctor?” Dave asked.
“Mike?” She trailed one hand along the edge of the bench, deliberately casual. “I told you, his daughter is in one of my classes.”
“So where’s the girl’s mother?”
“They’re divorced.”
“You two dating?”
“Not exactly.” They’d only spent a few hours together without Taylor around. He’d punched a guy on her behalf. They’d enjoyed two incredible kisses. But what did all that add up to?
“What are you doing with a guy like that? I thought you’d have had your fill of doctors after all they put you through.”
He meant after Pete and Riley died. She’d battled with doctors and the hospital and the insurance company for a full year after the funerals, every new bill or statement ripping the wounds open again. “Mike’s a nice guy,” she said.
“Cute kid.” He set aside the spindle and picked up another one and began sanding it.
“Taylor’s great.” She hesitated, then said, “We met because of her.”
“You already said that. She’s in your class.”
“Yes, but there’s more to it than that. She…she has Riley’s heart.”
He froze, gripping the spindle. A piece of sand paper fluttered to the floor. “I didn’t think you were supposed to meet donor recipients.”
“We found out by accident. One of life’s weird coincidences.”
“I don’t know. Do you really think getting friendly with these people is a good idea?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I’m just saying, are you really interested in this guy, or just trying to replace what you lost?”
She gasped, and struggled to find her voice. “That’s not what’s going on. Just because I’m friends with Taylor and with her father doesn’t mean I’m trying to replace Riley or Pete.”
“Yeah, but this kid, you don’t think to some degree you’re looking for Riley in her?”
She wanted to deny him, to tell him he was crazy. The heart was just an organ. A body part that no more carried any trace of Riley’s personality than his little finger would have.
But there was no sense lying to Dave, or to herself. “Of course I’m happy that a piece of him lives on in Taylor. But she’s not my son. She’s her own, distinct person.”
His expression grew gentler. “I’d just hate to see you hurt. And I really don’t want to have to go to the trouble of kicking the guy’s ass if he hurts you.”
That surprised a laugh from her.
“What’s so funny?” Dave asked.
She shook her head. “Nothing. It’s just—” She laughed again. “You might be the one to come out on the losing end of that fight. A couple of weeks ago, Mike came to the restaurant where I was dancing. One of the customers had had too much to drink and Mike laid him out on the floor with one punch.”
“No kidding? Good for him.”
“Dave! I could have lost the job.”
“Yeah, but if you marry the doctor, you won’t need to work.”
“Who said anything about marriage?”
“Are you sleeping with him?”
“No! We haven’t even had dinner without his daughter there.”
“If he’s punching out guys in restaurants, he wants to sleep with you, whether he’s done anything about it or not.”
“Dave!” She felt her face flame, but she couldn’t keep back a smile, either.
“We both know sleeping with someone doesn’t mean marriage and happily ever after,” she said. “You’ve been sleeping with Carrie for five years yet you won’t ask her to marry you.”
Dave scowled. “She pushes too hard. I don’t like to be pushed.”
“So you’d rather lose the woman who loves you than give in an inch?”
“If she loves me so much, why is she trying to change things between us? Why can’t we go on the way we have been?”
“Because sometimes,” she said, “we settle for the status quo because it’s easy, not because it’s right.”
He resumed sanding the piece. “Don’t quote self-help books to me. I like my life the way it is. If Carrie can’t accept that, I won’t make her stay.”
Darcy swallowed her disappointment. Dave certainly didn’t look heartbroken. Maybe she’d been wrong and he didn’t love Carrie after all. If he loved her, he’d do anything to keep her, wouldn’t he?
What did she know about love, anyway? She had loved Pete, but in the way some people love cigarettes or drugs or other things that bring them momentary pleasure but aren’t really good for them. And Pete had loved to drink more than he loved her. It wasn’t a conscious choice; it was just how he was wired. Knowing this hurt so much she hadn’t been able to acknowledge it until long after he died.
Along with the loss of her husband and child, she mourned the death of their chance to ever have a healthy relationship, to ever love each other fully, as a man and a woman should.
Or at least as she thought they should. Maybe it was all fairy-tale thinking. She put her hand on Dave’s shoulder. “I just want you to be happy,” she said. “If Carrie isn’t the woman you want to be with, then I hope you’ll find the right person.”
“I never said I didn’t want to be with her. I just don’t want her to try to shove me into some mold where I don’t fit.”
“So you want her, but only on your terms.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, except relationships require compromise—on both sides.” When one person made all the sacrifices, as she had with Pete, the only thing that grew between them was resentment.
“There you go, talking like a self-help book again.” He tossed the used sandpaper toward a trashcan. He missed, and it bounced across the floor and came to rest beside a pile of similar wadded papers.
“You’re a lousy shot,” she said.
“Go home, Darcy. Worry about your own life for a change.”
Change was exactly what she needed. “Maybe I’ll call Mike and ask if he wants to sleep with me.”
“If that’s what makes you happy. Maybe if you get laid you’ll be too busy to stick your nose in my life.”
“I’m never too busy for that.” She started across the room, but paused to pick up one of the discarded wads of sandpaper and fire it at him.
It hit him in the back, and he waved at her without looking up. “Go.”
“I’m going.” Going to take his advice and live her life. She probably wouldn’t call Mike and openly proposition him, but she’d find a way to let him know she was interested—in sex or love or whatever he was offering.
She was tired of being afraid of the future, and ready to take a little risk, if Mike was willing to take the risk with her.