didn’t look at her. Instead she drew her knees to her chin and peered into space.
“Why so serious?” Susannah laid a hand on the shiny dark head. “What are you thinking about, honey?”
“When my mom died, it was like today,” Darla whispered. “There were leaves falling off the trees.”
And you wore a black dress.
“Black isn’t only for funerals, you know, Darla,” she soothed. “Evening wear is often black because it looks so dressy. And a lot of women wear black to look slimmer.”
“Am I fat?” Darla asked, eyes widening.
“No! Of course you’re not. I didn’t mean that.” Susannah couldn’t tell what was going on in the girl’s mind, so she waited.
“Black clothes don’t show marks when you spill stuff,” the whisper came a minute later.
“Oh?” Something told Susannah to proceed very carefully.
“Davy and me went out for pizza last night. It was good, but I spilled.”
“I’m sure the pizza people didn’t care. Restaurants are used to spills,” Susannah encouraged. “Besides, everyone gets messy eating pizza.”
“Davy didn’t. He had on a white shirt.” Darla wouldn’t look at her. “I wore my soccer shirt. It got stains. I looked like a baby.”
Darla was worried about her appearance?
“Davy was embarr—” She frowned, unable to find the word.
“Embarrassed? I don’t think David gets embarrassed.” Susannah wasn’t sure she completely understood what was behind these comments. But it was time to find out why her clothes bothered Darla. She held out a hand. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” Darla asked, taking Susannah’s hand to help her rise.
“To look at your closet.”
“Okay.” Darla picked up the scissors.
“Without those,” she added hastily.
“Oh.” Darla put them back, then led the way to her room.
As they poked through the contents of the closet for the rest of the afternoon, Susannah watched Darla’s reaction to each item. Mostly negative. Susannah had no idea how much time had passed when a sardonic voice in the doorway asked, “Did you lose something?”
“Oh. Hi.” Darla had a point, Susannah decided. David looked as neat and pristine as he’d probably looked when he left the house this morning. She felt rumpled and dingy even being in the same room. “We’re taking inventory.”
“Ah.” He blinked. “I’m going to change. You won’t—er, leave the room like that, will you?”
“I think so.” Susannah winked at Darla. “Has a certain carefree look, don’t you think?”
But Darla didn’t laugh. Instead she rose and began scooping up handfuls of hangers and placing them on the rod in her closet.
“I’ll make it good, Davy,” she said as she scurried back and forth.
“What happened to your dress?” he asked, staring at the ragged, sawed-off hem.
“Oh, that,” Susannah said, noting Darla’s flush of embarrassment. “I’m afraid that’s a fashion plan gone wrong.”
“You did it deliberately?” Pure shock robbed all expression from his face.
“It was unplanned,” she hedged. “But the dress didn’t work in its original state anyway.”
“It worked for—never mind.” His mouth drooped before he quickly closed it. He turned to leave, then stopped and turned back, dark eyes suspicious. “Did anything else happen today?”
“We did a little work in the back flower bed. Darla’s really good at planting and we both like mums, so we planted a few pots.”
“Then I owe you some money.” He nodded. “If you’ll meet me downstairs in a few minutes, I’ll pay you.”
“Good idea. I want to talk to you anyway.” Susannah frowned. Was that fear flickering through his tawny eyes? Of her? “Five minutes?”
He nodded and left.
“Davy paid for my clothes. He likes them. So do I,” Darla insisted loudly. She hurried to get the clothes hung, and in her haste the hangers dangled helter-skelter.
“Hey, slow down,” Susannah chuckled. “I helped create this mess. I’m going to help you clean it up.” By showing Darla how to group clothes, they reorganized the closet and rearranged the drawers. She paused when she pulled out an old pair of almost-white jeans tucked at the back of the closet. “How come you never wear these, Darla?”
“Davy doesn’t like them. And I’m too big.” Darla took them from her and relegated them to their hiding place. She took off the dress she’d cut and drew on another exactly the same except it was navy instead of black.
Clearly Darla didn’t want to irritate the brother who had done so much for her. A lump of pity swelled in Susannah’s throat. Darla was willing to be unhappy rather than tell her brother she hated her clothes.
They walked downstairs together. Mrs. Peters, David’s housekeeper, asked Darla to set the table just as he came loping down the stairs.
“Now how much do I owe you for the flowers?”
Susannah glanced down the hall, grabbed his elbow and drew him into his study. She closed the door.
“We have to make this quick before she finishes the table.”
“Make what quick?” he asked, one eyebrow elegantly arched.
“Listen, I want to take Darla shopping,” she explained.
“Shopping?” He nodded. “More flowers?”
“New clothes.” She held up a hand. “You’re going to say her clothes are almost new. I’m sure someone at the goodwill center will appreciate that.”
“You cut her dress because you don’t like her clothes,” he guessed, a frown line marring the smooth perfection of his forehead. “Um—”
“Darla cut it. Because she hates it. And the rest of her clothes.” Susannah flopped onto a couch and crossed her feet under her. “I can’t say I blame her.”
His chest puffed out. His face got that indignant look and his caramel eyes turned brittle. Susannah gulped. Okay, that could have been worded differently.
“What I mean is—”
“You mean her clothes aren’t trendy. No holes in her jeans, no skintight shirts,” he snapped. “Ms. Wells, my sister’s clothes are from an expensive store. They are
