now. One less thing to do later.
With the canvas carefully swaddled in enough bubble wrap to protect an empty robin’s egg, Darcy took the shortcut, pushing through the arbor vitae that Dad had planted ten years earlier at the back of the yard for privacy, now a thick tall row of sentry trees. The painting she lifted over the back fence then dropped gently to the ground, and followed with a quick climb over. A jump and she was in the Houstons’ yard, then on their driveway, remembering other climbs here to retrieve over enthusiastically tossed balls or Frisbees.
Marjory Houston had been wonderful when Dad was in bad shape before Darcy moved him to the hospice. She’d baked cookies to tempt his appetite when he started losing so much weight, offered to stay with him now and then so Darcy could get some relief. Darcy felt guilty that during the past year spent in Madison to be closer to Greg, she hadn’t visited or called to see if Marjory needed anything.
The last twelve months had been a strange combination of selfless and selfish. Selfless because she’d stayed to help Greg through the long painful struggle back to his old self, physically and mentally, even though she’d wanted out of the relationship. And selfish because she’d spent too much time in self-pity and resentment, and stopped nurturing friends and therefore herself.
She stepped up the brick steps of Marjory’s walkway, grinning at the stone lions pompously posed atop waist-high brick columns on either side, as if Marjory lived in Versailles and not a typical Midwestern bungalow. It would be good to see her. A slice of Darcy’s childhood, precious for still being around.
The doorbell echoed through the house. Was she home?
She was. Footsteps, then the door swung open and—
So did Darcy’s mouth.
“Hi.” He was obviously very surprised to see her, but not nearly as very surprised as she was to see him. “Good morning.”
“What are you doing here?”
He looked taken aback. “I live here.”
“You live here?”
“I think that’s what I just said.” His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. Somehow she’d forgotten that or hadn’t noticed and now she was even more flustered because it was extremely sexy.
“Where is Marjory?”
“Ah. Marjory.” His smile dimmed. “She had a stroke. We had to put her in an assisted-living facility.”
“Oh, no.” She hugged the painting to her, feeling even more guilty now for not keeping up with her neighbor and friend, staring at the last person she’d expected to see. Then something he said penetrated.
“You put her in an assisted-living facility?”
“I’m her great-nephew.” Then he stuck out his hand as if they hadn’t spent the previous night sweating and straining toward gigantic climaxes together, but were meeting for the first time.
“Tyler Houston.”
Oh, my Lord. Tyler Houston. Big brother of Katie, her erstwhile track teammate, and awkward little brother of Cameron Houston. Cam was every schoolgirl’s bad-boy dream come true; true to form, he’d met a wasteful and tragic end in early adulthood. No wonder Tyler had looked familiar. Trust Darcy to think that sense of déjà vu was some sign from the universe rather than the simple fact that she actually did know him. Vaguely anyway.
“I’m…” She took one hand away from the bubble-wrapped painting to shake his, and her perspiring skin made an embarrassing sucking-tearing sound as it separated from the plastic.
“Darcy Wolf.”
“Wow. Darcy Wolf.” He shook her hand, staring at her as if she were the big bad one. Then he dropped his arm and chuckled, but not as if something were funny in a good way.
She was pretty sure she knew what he was thinking. Both of them had gone into last night as a fantasy, the chance to leave behind their real identities and follow a powerful attraction to its passionate conclusion without baggage or expectations.
Now it turned out they had a shared past, more parallel than intertwined, but related certainly. There were many people Darcy didn’t want to find out that she’d stripped to seduce a workman at her house, and he would know a lot of them. In fact, Molly’s husband, Bruce, was a distant cousin of his.
She’d bet Tyler was about as happy to discover who she was as she was to discover who he was. Namely: not.
“Well.” She could feel herself blushing and stupidly clutched the painting harder as if she could cool her face that way. At least she’d told no-longer-Garrett that he was her first seduction, so he couldn’t tell anyone she probably made getting naked for strangers a habit. On the other hand, he might be enough of a gentleman not to tell anyone at all. That would be nice. “Tyler Houston. Imagine that. Ha.”
Her intense discomfort amused him apparently. Or something did. “Come on in. I don’t have to leave for your house for another fifteen minutes. The coffee’s still hot and I have a blueberry cake that should be finished.”
“Oh, you know…I just wanted to drop this off for Marjory.” She held out her ludicrously padded package, feeling a panicked need to run from this complete reconfiguration of her last twelve hours so she could think the new version through.
“It’s a painting. By Mr. Hous…uh, your great-uncle. I wanted Marjory to have it back.”
“Thanks.” He took the painting. “You don’t want to keep it? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”
“Oh. Well.” She moved her hair back behind her shoulders, where it never wanted to stay, desperately trying to think of some reason not to keep the artwork other than loathing. “I’m just…I…Well, she should have it.”
He winked and she felt a little fizzy in response. “I didn’t like his work, either. But Aunt Marjory was proud of him. She’ll appreciate this, thank you.”
“My dad loved the painting. He hung it in his study, over his desk.”
“That’s nice to know.” His eyes warmed with sympathy and her fizz got fizzier. “I heard about your dad last year. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. I miss him, but I’m glad he’s at peace now.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t figure out who you were. I assumed the house had been sold by now and that you were the new owner.”
“No. The old one.” She took a step back, frantic to escape. This was horrible. How did you have a polite catching-up conversation with someone as if you hadn’t seen him in years, when last night…
“Sure you won’t have coffee?”
“No. No. No, thanks.” She grimaced. Think she could say no a few more times?
“Okay.” His eyes cooled. “See you later.”
“Uh. I’m probably going to be out most of the day.”
“Right.” His lips scrunched into a line; he turned back into his house, lifting his hand. “Bye.”
