“That sounds like you’re not very good in the kitchen.”
Her smile was back.
“Maybe not as skilled as the both of you, but I don’t burn water.”
In that moment, a bolt of attraction came out of nowhere, arched and sizzled between them. Dylan knew Darcy had felt it too. Her gaze had dropped to his lips and her nostrils had flared just enough to be noticed. His mouth went dry. This was beyond bad.
She stuffed her gloves into her coat pocket. “Well, I think I’ll have that coffee. Can I refill your mug?”
Passing by him, he drew in her floral scent. “Ah, no.” He had to get out of there. The more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to spend time with her. “I’ve got to get home to the girls.”
“Oh.” Her reach to the shelf over the back counter stopped, her hand poised over a coffee mug. A second passed before she picked up the cup and poured coffee. “Okay.”
Had he seen, via the mirror over the bar, disappointment in her eyes before she lowered them?
Darcy turned, lifting her chin and wearing the smile that made his pulse race. “It was nice meeting you, Dylan. I hope I’ll see you again before I go back to Charleston.”
She kept her fingers wrapped around the mug.
“Black Moose isn’t all that big, so no doubt we’ll run into each other.”
Not if he could help it. Every moment he spent staring into her almond-shaped eyes, his willpower weakened. Thank goodness a solid oak bar stood as a barrier between them now.
“Right. It is small.” She sipped her coffee, still holding his gaze.
“Yes. Small.” Dylan fought the force pulling him toward her and grabbed his parka. “I’ve got to go. Goodnight.” He nodded, turned, yanked on his coat and stalked out of the restaurant, feeling lower than he had when he arrived.
Darcy hoped she hadn’t offended Dylan with her comment insinuating he wasn’t very good in the kitchen. Lifting the warm ceramic mug to her lips again, she admired the span of the mountain man’s shoulders and his nice tush as he walked out of the bar. She bet he had talent elsewhere.
Searing want flooded through her veins and she hooked the collar of her sweater and pulled it away from her neck. She sat the hot drink down, not needing it any longer. In Charleston, she was a known workaholic, putting in eighteen-plus hour days at least six days a week and only twelve hours on the seventh. Not many men caught her attention, unless they were in the business. A talented pastry chef always got her attention, but not for the same reasons that Dylan Kincaid had piqued her interest.
However, she was on forced downtime because of the fire. In a matter of a few minutes, Dylan Kincaid had not only snagged her interest, with his raven hair that feathered back over his ears and kissed his shirt’s collar, he’d stolen her breath with his dazzling coal-colored eyes and easy smile. His rough palms against her soft skin forged sizzling daydreams of him running his hands over her body.
She grabbed the Irish whiskey and filled her mug. Damn. The fates were still against her and luck’s name was still sucky. She tossed the used swirl stick into the trash. Her boot heels echoed off the wood flooring as she rounded the bar and meandered into the foyer. The high-hat lights above were now set to a medium setting, probably by the cleaning person who had left moments after she had arrived. Seeing the handsome hunk cross the lot with long strides, his head held proudly, she felt the urge to run after him and ask Dylan to stay and keep her company while Tom dealt with his kitchen staff. But, that would be pathetic.
He climbed into a truck and a shroud of despair fell around her. Why did she feel sad over Dylan’s sudden departure? She knew nothing about the guy. He could be the town’s bum, for all she knew. The truck he drove certainly wasn’t shiny new. But knowing he was Tom’s friend, she doubted being a bum was the case. He was probably a very nice guy. Responsible. A town leader. A freakin’ gorgeous, nice, responsible town leader.
Darcy sighed. What the hell was she thinking? She hadn’t come to Vermont looking for a fling—although a serious steamy lay might do a world of good for her blood pressure. She had made the trip on Tom’s advice to put serious distance between her well-being and her problems. The guy was right. She needed a clear mind while devising a plan to get additional funds to cover her ten-thousand dollar insurance deductible and set the wheels in motion to reconstruct her restaurant. She was going to miss the holiday season and the chance to end her fourth quarter in the black. Now, she’d be lucky to stay above water at year’s end.
Thinking about the whole ridiculous situation of having to wait until an official arson investigation was completed and filed constricted her back muscles and her shoulders bowed under the weight worry created. Her fry man had simply forgotten to turn the fryer the off. He sort of had admitted to doing so. At least his body language had stated so when he’d been questioned.
The holidays were going to delay the report an additional three weeks for sure.
She blew out another sigh, this one filled with frustration. “There’s no use fretting over something you have no control over.” She smiled at mimicking her grandmother’s gutsy tone while stating one of the old woman’s mottos.
The beam from Dylan’s headlights cut across the dining room windows, lifting the decision to run after him from her mind. She walked further into the dining room, between tables set with linen tablecloths and upscale utensils, while watching the red glow of the handsome local’s taillights until they disappeared into the night.
A fling would certainly be a distraction. However, Dylan wasn’t an option. He was taken and that’s why Lady Luck’s name was Sucky with a capital S.
Putting Dylan out of her mind, she walked around the spacious dining room. It really was quite lovely in a rugged way. A huge stone fireplace anchored the wall opposite the entrance, situated between two sets of picture windows. Outside a frozen pond sat in the distance, set back from the highway and concealed from the road by sturdy pines, which were the reasons she hadn’t noticed the area while driving toward the Lone Grist Mill. She could just imagine the cozy setting the view created for patrons who were seated next to the window, feeling the fire’s warmth, listening to logs crackle and watching skaters glide across the ice. Lovely.
She turned around and noted that on the north wall, between the windows, hung four beautiful oil paintings. She stepped closer, meandering between tables. The colors used by the artist were magnificent. Each four by three canvas showcased the gristmill in its prime during the peak of a season. The spring landscape before her had maple trees scattered across the property, daubed with vibrant shades of green, showing their new growth. A bucket hung from a tap drilled into the wide trunks. The two men carrying pails, seemingly walking away from the maples and toward a larger canister, looked to be close in age and features—like brothers.
She heard voices. The staff was saying goodnight. She turned back to the painting.
“Do you like them?” Tom asked as he entered the dining room.
“Yes.” She flashed him a smile over her shoulder and nodded. “Very much. Are they antiques?” She leaned in closer, inspecting the brush work. She was no expert. “The frames and canvas look old, but the oil paints look newer.”
Tom had removed his chef whites and was dressed in a comfortable shirt and jeans and carried a coat. He aimed a hand toward the parking lot and pushed a button on his key chain. Outside in the lot, the lights on a black SUV blinked. In the quiet, Darcy heard the vehicle’s engine kick over.
“You have a good eye. I commissioned them. I wanted old and lucked out. The artist’s grandfather had also been a painter and never used the canvases. The frames, I found at several antique sales.”
“They’re amazing. It seems like the artist sat outside and painted them while looking down on the place.”
“He’s a local. Born and raised. Pretty much knows the whole mountain like the back of his hand.”
“Really?” She raised a brow. She shouldn’t be surprised someone of
this artist’s talent was hidden away on the Green Mountains. Vermont had a reputation of being an artistic state. Squinting, she searched the lower corners. “I don’t see a signature. Who is he and does he have more for sale?”
“You’ve met him, and yes.”
She pointed toward the exit. “Dylan?” She pointed back to the painting. “He painted these?”
“Yup,” Tom clipped.
Her eyes widened, surprised that the farmer had so much creativity, evoking an overwhelming longing of home and peace. “I thought he was a maple farmer. And ski-patrol guy.”
“He is, and an artist. Painting isn’t his only talent. I’ll have to take you out to his place sometime this week. You’ll be amazed by all of his projects. He builds works of art out of nothing. Junk really. It is amazing.”
She studied the spring scene. So creating was his hobby. Hard-working, humble, sensitive and so freakin’ handsome. “Really, really, sucky.”
“What?” Tom tilted his head to the side, like he hadn’t heard her correctly.
Oh, my God. She had spoken out loud. She coughed and cleared her throat before connecting with his eyes. “It’s sucky I don’t have a bigger car. These are amazing works. I’d love to take a few home. Maybe find a place for them in Sweet Grass…”
There was no Sweet Grass. The happiness she’d felt during the last thirty minutes seemed to slip away like a mist that couldn’t be held onto. She had spent the last week of her life emotional and weepy and didn’t mean to get all choked up again. Pressing her hand to her throat, she hoped to stop the emotion welling up inside of her and looked to Tom because he would give her courage.
“Hey, babe, it’s okay.” His large hand massaged her shoulder. “Things are going to work out.”
“I don’t know how.” She drew in a quick breath and exhaled, pushing back stinging tears. It was a wonder she didn’t resemble a red-eyed devil.
“Believe me. I know all too well what you’re handling.”
She knitted her brows together, while her mind tumbled over everything she knew about Tom. He’d never suffered a tragedy that she knew of. If he had, he hadn’t shared that bit of information with her. “What do you mean?”
“It’s a long story and we have a lot of catching up to do.” He slipped into his coat. “Why don’t we head back to my place and we’ll get comfortable. Maybe have a hot chocolate or some of my special hot cider. That will help you unwind, and forget.”
“You have my curiosity aroused, Tom Angleman. You never told me you had a fire.” Carrying her cup, she followed him out of the dining room.
“I didn’t. I lost something else. I’ll explain later.” He reached along the wall and switched off the lights to the dining room.
Rarely did Tom frown, but before he turned off the high-hat lights above them she’d caught a glimpse of much more than a bit of sorrow darkening his expression.
Twinkle lights lining the rafters of the foyer were the only remaining lights, besides the red glow of the exit sign.
“So where does Dylan live?” She sensed Tom wanted to change the subject and Dylan was the first to jump to mind. Not because she was interested in the man or anything. He was a topic they had mutual interest in. Damn.
Tom spun on his heel and faced her. “I knew it.”
She pulled up short, swallowing. Tom sensed interest as well as a hound could sense a nearby raccoon. “Knew what?”
“That twinkle in your eyes.” He waved a finger in front of her face. “I’ve seen it before, when you found the building that became Sweet Grass, but, this time, it’s brighter. You like Dylan.”
Her hair fell forward as she darted her gaze at the floor and blinked before looking at her friend. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I like him? I mean, I really don’t know him, but he’s your friend and I like you.” She brushed by him, concealing the flush rising to her face. If Tom bought that line of BS, she’d sell him interest in something ridiculous, like a vacation home on Mars. The truth of the matter was she wouldn’t mind running into Dylan again. She placed the ceramic mug in an empty dish cart, then flung her scarf around her neck. “So did you find your pork loins?”
“Don’t change the subject, Darcy,” he said, shaking the same finger in her direction.
“I’m not.”
“You are. I saw you check him out.”
She chortled and gave him a look of confusion. Tom was a matchmaker. That she knew. He had worked his magic on Mark and Tony. The pair openly credited Tom as the reason their relationship started. But damn—Tom knew she was not looking for a man. She was content with her life. “Okay. I checked him out. He’s a good-looking guy and yes, he seems like a nice guy. What else do you want me to say about him?”
Tom crossed his arms over his barrel chest and stared down at her. “Don’t you want to know if he’s married or seeing someone?”
“I thought he was.”
Now Tom’s caterpillar brows pulled together. “Why would you think that?”
“He said he had to get home to the girls. I assumed that meant he had someone waiting for him.” She lifted on her toes slightly. Maybe “girls” meant two beautiful Irish Setters. “Doesn’t he?”
“Yeah. His two nieces.”
Her heart stopped, dreading an imminent tragic story. “He’s raising his nieces?”
Tom nodded. “Don’t look so sad. Their parents are okay. It’s a long story. Let’s get going, and I’ll tell you all you want to know about Dylan on the way. Then you can make up your mind.”
She shook head, wondering what the heck Tom was taking about. “About what?”
“Whether or not you’re going to give the guy a chance.”
“Whoa. I’m not in the market for a holiday affair,” she exclaimed, even though the notion to get friendly with Dylan had entered her mind only minutes ago.
“Who said anything about a fling? I was thinking something a little longer.”
Wait. Was Tom plotting something more permanent, which involved a ready-made family? She grabbed his arm and looked up him, flashing heat in her eyes. “Is he the reason you asked me to come visit for the holidays?”
“No.” He peeled her fingers from his arm, took her by the shoulders, and steered her toward the door. “But you two are perfect for each other. Put your gloves on. It’s cold as hell outside.”
Like a small child she listened to him while pulling her gloves from her coat pocket and sliding her hands into the soft leather.
“Perfect?” She looked up and over her shoulder and nearly tripped over her own feet. Tom caught her before she stumbled to her knees and sat her straight on the path toward the exit. “How can you say that? We don’t know each other. Besides, I live in South Carolina and he lives here in the frozen north.”
“Logistics.” Tom opened the door.
“Long-distance relationships never work.” The cold air smacked her in the face and immediately she gathered her arms closer to her body.
Tom locked the door into place and then looked down at her. “Does that mean you’re thinking about having one?”
“Hell no! It doesn’t mean that.” She stamped her feet more in frustration than trying to keep Jack Frost from snapping at her toes. “I’m just stating a fact I heard or read somewhere. I’m not interested in dating anyone. Not in Charleston and certainly not here. I have enough problems and a ton of work to do getting Sweet Grass up and running again. I don’t have time for a relationship.” She opened her car door and slid inside. That was the first time she had said Sweet Grass out loud since before the fire and hadn’t felt like blubbering.
Tom leaned over her door. “Everyone has time for love, sweetheart. They might not think so, but when love finds them, everything else becomes secondary. You’ll see.”
He pushed the door closed, sealing her inside the frigid space, and walked toward his car, which because of the heater the windows were snow free.
Snow crystals laced her windshield’s edge. Her breaths coiled in the air in fros
ty puffs. She rubbed a circle on the window and watched as the warm vehicle dipped under her friend’s weight. “What in the creation do you have planned for me, Tom?”
Chapter Three
With his windshield wipers swooshing, Dylan navigated the two-lane highway that wound its way around Green Lake and up the mountain. He nearly missed the turn off into his brother’s driveway because, once again, he was thinking about Darcy Witherspoon’s full, rose-colored lips. At the last moment, he shook out of his reverie, yanked the steering wheel to the left, (a very dangerous thing to do on a snow packed highway) and fishtailed onto the pine-tree-lined lane.
“Mother f--” His curse cut short as he focused on keeping his truck on the road and avoided, by inches, ramming into a century-old tree. “I’m not going to have to worry about anything if I don’t get my head screwed back on straight,” he mumbled between clenched teeth, knowing he had been damn lucky. He adjusted his position on his leather seat having slid a bit off-angle with his off road maneuvering tactics and then slapped the heater knob, shutting it down completely. He was hot enough for multiple reasons.
Because of Darcy. And because of his desire for Darcy. And because Darcy was off-limits with a capital O-F-F.
“No more thinking about her, Dylan boy,” he ordered himself. “She’s Tom’s girl and you are not going to jeopardize your relationship with Tom over a fling.” But damn, it was hard not to think of the redhead. He’d never felt such a pull toward a woman. The attraction had been mutual too, that was the kicker. She had felt the spark as their hands connected. He’d seen it in her very expressive eyes. He gripped the wheel harder and shifted on the bucket seat, trying to relieve the discomfort of pressure against his jean’s zipper. “Damn it, Dylan,” he warned himself. “Mutual or not, you will not go down that path.”
He swept the back of his hand across his forehead as if that’s all it would take to erase her from his thoughts and concentrated on the here and now and not on the what-if’s. Both his driveway and this one would need to be plowed in the morning. Clearing the lanes and the three others he did for elderly neighbors would take him a couple of hours. Afterwards he would make his deliveries of maple products, and then while he was in Black Moose, he’d stop by the general store and pick up Buzzy’s rabbit pellets, the dollhouse furniture he’d ordered as Christmas gifts for the girls, and maybe those dolls that drank from fake bottles and pissed.
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