to eat. Anything to quell that empty feeling in her belly, not to mention her heart.
BILL WATCHED Darcy from over the rim of his cup. Now that he could see her in the bright light of the restaurant, he could see that she was old enough to have graduated from nursing school. She carried a certain degree of confidence that the girls he’d known in Mattison didn’t.
He could see, however, how he could have mistaken her for a teenaged runaway in the dark. She was small and slight and wore a short-cropped do that seemed more pixie-like than sophisticated. He’d thought she was blond when he’d first seen her, but in the brightness inside, he could see that her hair was light brown.
Though she wore the uniform common to teenagers and college students—one that he favored, too—the figure that lay beneath the worn T-shirt appeared mature and well-developed. Darcy was tiny, but she wasn’t skinny. She must be closer to his age than he’d originally thought.
Not that it mattered that much. He would never see her again after tonight.
In spite of his fatigue, he felt a stirring in his lower regions, but shrugged it away. He’d just met the woman, it was late, and he had promised that she had nothing to fear from him. He raised his cup to his mouth.
He wondered, though, if he should be careful of her. She seemed safe enough on the outside, but it was what you couldn’t see that was the problem.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Bill looked up, startled by the intrusion into his mental meanderings. “What?”
Darcy grinned, the expression making her look as young as he’d judged her to be. “Just wondering what you were thinking about.” She nodded toward his drink. “You emptied your cup and didn’t even seem to notice.”
He put the cup down. Well, he damn sure couldn’t tell her what he’d really been thinking about. “Nothing, I guess. And everything.”
“Everything?” She arched an eyebrow. “That’s heavy. Have you solved the problems of the world?”
Bill shrugged. “Hell. I don’t even have a solution for my own,” he said, grimacing. “I’d settle for that.”
Darcy leaned against the red plastic booth back and gave him an assessing look that made Bill want to squirm. “You don’t look like you could possibly have a care in the world,” she said finally. “You look healthy, you’ve recently bought a new car—judging from the smell—and you’re just back from Florida.”
“It damned sure wasn’t a vacation,” Bill chuckled dryly. “I’m stationed there and just back from two glorious weeks playing war in the sand in Nevada on a field exercise with my air force combat control team. Now I’m on my way home to visit my dying mother.”
Maybe the statement seemed harsh, but he’d had to say it that way at least a thousand times before he could do it without breaking down. It might seem hardhearted, but he had forced himself to face the reality. He was going to have to deal with it sooner or later. Might as well get a head start on it.
Darcy gasped, started to say something, but snapped her mouth shut. Bill wondered what had stopped her. Was it the cold way he had spoken about his mother’s illness, or was it that he wasn’t the kind of man she’d wanted him to be? Who had she expected him to be?
Darcy looked down and selected a cold, limp French fry, dragged it through a puddle of ketchup on the paper from her burger, then put it slowly into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully as if she were using the exercise as a stalling tactic. Was she trying to decide what to say, or was she trying to avoid putting her foot in her mouth again?
Or was he just reading too damned much into the whole thing?
The silence between them grew awkwardly long.
It was hard not having anyone to talk to about it. It sure wasn’t anything he could discuss with any of the guys on the team. Not even his roommate, Ski Warsinski, knew how he felt. He’d tried talking with the chaplain, but he’d only mouthed the standard platitudes. Bill didn’t want comfort. He wanted to yell, to shout, to curse God. He couldn’t do that with the chaplain. Maybe he could unload on Darcy, because after tonight, he’d never see her again.
He reached across the table and snagged one of Darcy’s French fries. He wanted to talk about it, but he didn’t know what to say.
“I’m sorry about your mother,” she said softly. “Are you in Florida to be closer to home?”
Bill swallowed, then swallowed again. This time it was a lump of emotion he forced down his throat, not a morsel of potato. “Yeah,” he said, his voice thick and husky. “We don’t know how much time she has.”
Darcy reached across the table and placed her hand over his and squeezed. It was such a simple gesture, but so warm, so giving that it touched something deep inside him. “I’m sorry,” she said simply. “Cancer?”
Bill shook his head. “Congestive heart failure. Every time I see her, she’s weaker.”
Nodding, Darcy spoke. “I understand. Sometimes, heart patients seem so healthy, it’s hard to believe that they’re sick. Other times, they can appear so fragile that you wonder how they’ve held on as long as they have. It must be quite a burden for your dad.”
Bill drew a deep breath and let it slowly out. “Dad died when I was five. Momma worked hard to keep my older brothers and sisters and me fed and clothed, and now I want to make her last days easier,” he said, his voice hoarse. He paused and swallowed, then moistened his dry lips.
“She used to be such a loving, giving person,” Bill went on. “It so hard to see her this way.” He looked down at Darcy’s hand, still covering his. Her skin was so soft, the fingers so delicate, he should hardly have noticed that it was there. But the comfort she provided was enormous.
Darcy didn’t respond. Maybe she knew that words weren’t necessary. There was nothing to say, but her silence seemed to tell more than a Sunday sermon.
Bill glanced at the clock over the pickup counter. Almost ten. At the rate he was going, he wouldn’t get home until midnight. He cleared his throat. “I reckon we’d best get on, then,” he finally said, his voice strained, thick.
“Yeah. I guess so.” Darcy lifted her hand, and in spite of the negligible weight she’d removed, his hand felt cold without it there resting on his.
DARCY GAZED OUT the window and tried to stay awake and on the lookout for a motel. So far, all she’d seen were local places that looked none too reputable. She might be eager to get away from Dick, but she wasn’t that desperate. And Bill had agreed to let her ride along as far as Montgomery where there were more to choose from and the choices were likely cleaner.
In the meantime, she had to keep her eyes open. That had been easy when they were driving through the countryside on the small, back roads. She’d been riding shotgun, helping Bill to guide them through the dense fog, and the constant motion and the stops and turns had kept her alert. Now that Bill had pulled onto I-65 and the fog was gone, the never-changing scenery, unbroken by bright lights or towns, and the comfortable seat seemed to hypnotize her.
Bill turned up the radio and opened a window, to keep from going to sleep himself, she supposed. As it was, her long, sleepless pre-wedding night and even longer day, began to catch
