by Nora Roberts
“You’ll be amazed how it pays you back. I’ve got to get to Zane, and I have one more stop to make. Party planning in full swing. We’ll see you on the Fourth.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
She glanced across the street before she got in her truck. Even knowing there would be no brutal man in a Mercedes, she couldn’t break the habit.
Yet.
She swung by the Marsh job to check on Roy and Ralph, then spent an hour working with them to finish the new stone steps.
In their boat, the Marshes tacked over. “They’re beautiful!” Patsy called out. “Absolutely beautiful!”
“And safe!” Darby called back.
“How about a ride around the lake?”
She shook her head at Bill’s offer. “Wish I could, but I’ve got to get on. I’m late already. See you on the Fourth.”
She turned, saw that Roy had walked down the dock, sat with his legs dangling over.
“What’s that about?” she asked Ralph.
Ralph gave his usual grunt and shrug. “Probably sulking ’cause he’s working on Saturday.”
“Well, you can clean up and knock off now. We’ll work on the terraces on Monday.”
Though she rolled her eyes, Darby walked down the dock, sat by Roy.
“Workday’s done. It’s a dumbass time to sulk about it.”
“Not sulking. I like looking at the water. Don’t go on it because I get seasick, which blows.”
“That does blow.”
“But I like looking at it. And I like looking back from here and seeing those steps I had a part in building. They look damn good.”
Darby looked back herself. “Yeah, they do.”
“I’m sitting here, looking at the water, looking back at those steps, and damn if I don’t see in my head just what you’re going to have us do on that slope. I can see it. You ask me to see it last year, even a few months back, I’d’ve said, What, I see a damn steep slope mostly weeded up. But I see it just like we’re going to do it.”
He knocked a fist on her thigh. “And I know how to go about it, too, or a lot of it. So I’m sitting here, taking in the water and the pretty nice breeze off it, and it hits me. I’ve done got myself a trade. Ain’t that a hell of a thing?”
“You’ve got a strong back, Roy. You’ve also got smart hands and a good eye. The hands and the eye are better than they were, and they weren’t bad to start. If you think about going off and starting your own business, I’m going to punch your lights out.”
He ducked his head, grinned. “Believe you could do it, too. No, I’m thinking I’ve got a good job. I’ve got a trade. I’m making a regular, decent living. And I’m thinking, well, hell, I might just ask Adele to marry me.”
“Holy shit, Roy!” She punched his shoulder, then grabbed him, kissed him, making him duck his head again and laugh. “She’s terrific!”
“You know what’s most terrific? She’s never tried changing me. She loves me like I am. And I guess I changed me some, and you did, and she still loves me like I am.”
“You better grab on to that, my man.”
“I think I’m gonna.”
“Clean up, knock off, go get the girl. I’ll see you Monday.”
She gave him another punch, scrambled up. “I’m so late!”
She took the new steps, pleased at how the stone felt—sturdy, level—under her boots. And grinned all the way to Zane’s.
She found Emily and Britt with him on the patio. “Sorry, sorry. Stuff. I am totally in party mode now. What do you need me to do?”
“They want me to string lights,” Zane complained. “And they say I need at least two more tables for food, with canopies over them.”
“Sure, we can do that.”
He just closed his eyes. “And to think I actually believed you’d be on my side of this.”
“We’ve hired a local band for music,” Emily said definitely.
“Live music? This is so cool.”
“I’ve got outdoor speakers,” Zane reminded them. “I’ve got an endless playlist.”
“Not live.” Britt patted his hand. “We’re going to set up a few games for the kids. With little prizes.”
“I’m loving it. I’ve got some old plywood at my place. We cut a hole in the middle, paint it up, and you’ve got a beanbag toss. We could do a water balloon toss, a little scavenger hunt. There’s tons of stuff.”
“And here I figured I’d throw a bunch of food on the grill, buy a truckload of drinks, and pick up sides.”
The three women just stared at him with a combination of derision and pity.
“So,” Darby continued, “I can make a big green salad, but if you let me out of the actual cooking, which everyone will thank you for, I’ll take care of the kids’ games and prizes.”
“Deal, but I’ll give you a hand with that,” Britt added. “It’ll be fun. And we’ll probably need you on board for the lights.”
“I’ll pay for the band.”
“Emily, you’re not paying—”
She cut Zane off with a look. “It may be your house, Zane, but this is a Walker-Keller-Norten-McCray operation. Now, as I was saying before, people will bring food because that’s what they do, but we’ll finish up our menu, our supply list, then hand out assignments.”
Outnumbered, definitely outgunned, Zane retired from the field of battle.
After the women in his life rolled over him, Zane sat with Darby on the patio. He contemplated his beer.
“What was I thinking in the first place?”
“Kick-ass party,” Darby reminded him.
He gave her a long look. “My definition of ‘party’ doesn’t seem to be in the same universe as the rest of y’all’s.”
“It’s going to be great. You can’t have a house, grounds, a view like this and not throw an awesome party.” She smiled as he brooded. “How about I make mac and cheese?”
He gave her another long look, this one considerably less broody. “From scratch, like before?”
“You look like you need a little comfort.”
“I do. In fact…” He tapped his list of assignments. “I need more than a little. It calls for an appetizer.”
“My two no-fail appetizers are opening a jar of olives or spraying Cheez Whiz on a Ritz. If I go all out, I put an olive on the Cheez Whiz on the Ritz.”
“We can do better.” He rose, tugged her to her feet.
As he backed her into the house, her smile turned sly. “My Spidey sense tells me you’re not thinking about food.”
“I don’t know. You’re pretty tasty.”
“That’s true. I am.” Willing to prove it, she shifted, began backing him toward the great room sofa. “And it’s a good thing I am, because dinner’s going to be late.”
He started to mention the patio doors were wide open, but then he was on his back on the sofa with Darby straddling him.
He decided a man’s home was his castle.
“We’re going to find out if sex whets your appetite or sates it.” With that, she pulled off her work tank.
Before she curled down to him, he trailed his fingers over the fading bruises on her shoulder. “Still sore?”
“Not enough to worry about.” But since the look in his eyes clearly said worry, she cupped his face. “Don’t go there,” she murmured. “Come here instead.”
She laid her lips on his, taking the kiss deeper, still deeper, degree by degree.
Just us, she thought as his hand slid over her. Just you, just me while the late evening breeze slipped over the skin, with the light a gilded sparkle.
What she’d intended as a quick bout of fun turned slow, turned tender as they comforted each other.
Even as pulses quickened, they took time to give, to let the moments spin out as they touched, as they tasted.
She unbuttoned his shirt, spread it open to glide her hands over his chest. Then to press her lips to his heart.
A good heart, she thought, generous and open despite all
he’d been through. Or maybe because of it. She wanted to tend that heart, to help the deep, underlying scars heal.
He rose up to meet her, to watch her eyes as he slowly, carefully peeled her bra away. He skimmed his lips over the bruises. He, too, wanted to heal.
She was strong and fierce, but he understood the hurts buried inside her. He needed to show her, above all, he’d always protect her, always defend her.
And now, in this moment, he’d give her peace in pleasure.
He cupped her breasts, thumbs whispering over her until those depthless eyes closed. Her body moved against his, slow, sinuous, as sensations layered and built with the stroke of hands, with the brush of lips.
She shifted, moaning, as he slipped her clothes away, as he paused to take her mouth. Her breath caught as she took him in, as their eyes met, then again their lips.
He filled her, body and heart, so beautifully she wondered how either of them could bear it. They moved together, riding slow, undulating waves. Giving and taking in equal measure while the light sparkled and the air spilled over them warm and sweet.
And holding fast to each other, caught in each other’s eyes, they crested.
Tears stung the back of her eyes. She couldn’t say why so she lowered her head to his shoulder until she’d fought them off. She tried to think of something fun and flippant to say, but couldn’t, and stayed curled to him while his hands stroked up and down her back.
“It’s different.” He spoke quietly. “It’s different between us.” When she didn’t respond, he traced a finger over her infinity symbol, thought of her reasoning for it. “Does that scare you?”
“Maybe. Some. Yes. I made such an incredible mistake before.”
He drew her back enough for her to see the quick flash of anger in his eyes. It mirrored in his voice. “This isn’t a mistake. I’m not Trent.”
“Zane, you’re nothing like Trent. You’re pretty much his opposite. And that, stupid as it sounds, is part of what scares me a little.” To soothe them both, she rubbed her cheek to his. “How could I have believed I loved him, how could I have married him and now feel what I feel for you? But I did, and I do.”
“I want to say it does sound stupid, but it doesn’t, at least not entirely. But this is you now. This is me. I wasn’t looking for you, for this. But here we are, Darby.”
“I like where we are.”
“So do I. That’s one of the reasons I want to ask you to move in here, with me.”
“Oh.” She wrapped hard around him, squeezed her eyes shut. “Don’t ask me yet. I know it’s more stupid. I can hear how stupid especially since I’m here more than I’m there. But I need my own place for now. I went from my mother’s house to Trent’s—because that place was never mine—then back to my mom’s. I just need my own for now.”
“I can swallow that for now. You know, when for-now’s over, it’s still your place. Just like I’m going to be in love with you whether you’re ready for it or not.”
He filled her up again so her heart swelled, thudded. “So much stupid coming out,” she murmured. “Can you give me a little time? I need to feel like I’m solid, steady on my own.”
“Are you kidding me?” Sincerely baffled, he drew back again. “Not about the time—we’ve got time—about the rest. You’re about as solid and steady as they come.”
“Not much more than a year ago, I was barely able to go through the motions. We’re both rebuilding our lives, and we’re doing a pretty good job of it. Let’s just get a little farther along.”
“I can work with that.” Lightly, he trailed his fingers down her back. “Especially since you’ll cave.”
“Will I?”
“Guaranteed. You’re crazy about me.”
She laughed, nudged away. “Listen to you.”
“Crazy about me,” he repeated as she reached for her clothes. “Then I have the winning ticket with this house. You’ll cave.”
She stood holding her clothes, dressed only in the boots he hadn’t been able to get off—and the necklace he’d given her. And made him want all over again.
“The house is a draw, I give you that one. Maybe that’s the reason I have sex with you.”
He just smiled. “Crazy about me.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m going to grab a shower.”
“Good idea.”
The look in his eyes as he got up had her backing away.
“Just to clean up. Do you want to eat tonight?”
That look stayed in his eyes. She found herself laughing as she dashed away. He scooped her up halfway up the stairs.
Dinner was very late.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Darby got in most of a day’s work before afternoon storms banged and boomed over the mountains. Rain meant switching from outdoor, client work, to indoor, personal work.
After a trip to the hardware store for paint.
She’d gone bright and cheery in her kitchen with canary yellow walls, bold blue shelves and cabinets. Because she accepted she wasn’t quite that handy, she’d hired a local to replace the ugly countertops, opting for pure white to pop her colors.
Eventually, she promised herself, she’d replace the hideous flooring. But when she let herself into the kitchen, out of the rain, she could look around with considerable pleasure.
She’d found a cute little bistro set at the flea market just outside of town, had painted it the same blue as the cabinets with some yellow trim. All that color after the gray rain said happy.
She stripped off her wet hoodie, her work cap, hung both on one of the three sunflower hooks she’d screwed into the wall, then took off her boots. Her herbs—mostly for looks and scent rather than cooking—sat in their little white pots on the windowsill over the sink. After testing the soil, she gave them all a drink.
She started to grab a Coke out of the fridge, stopped, frowned. She’d have sworn she’d had four bottles, but only three stood next to her quart of milk. With a shrug, she took out her phone, added Cokes to her shopping list.
After sticking her bottle in the cargo pocket of her pants, she carried the paint and primer to the living room. Or what would be the living room one day.
At the moment it served as storage for paint and painting supplies, household tools, some planters and other garden accessories she’d picked up on sale, all organized by category.
She grabbed her painter’s tape, a tarp, then stood baffled.
Why in the world would she have put the fairy statue—one she intended for a fairy garden she’d plant the following spring—over with paint supplies? And what was the wind chime, still in its box, doing in tools?
More annoyed with herself than disturbed, she put things where they belonged, then hauled the tarp, the tape upstairs.
She still had to deal with the short hallway, but her bedroom, like the kitchen, hit the more-than-acceptable level.
She’d chosen a soft, misty blue there with a creamy trim. No actual bed yet, she thought, but the white duvet and lots of colorful pillows made it all homey and inviting. Sooner or later she’d paint the flea market dresser, but she’d scored with the big mirror over it with its iron frame of twining vines.
Probably needed a rug, and she’d get to that, but she loved the trio of watercolors—the lake, the mountains, a fanciful garden—she’d hung on the wall.
She stepped into the tiny bathroom. When she’d killed and stripped off all the fish, she’d found dingy white walls. She intended to use the palest of pale greens, walls and ceiling, with the same trim color as the bedroom.
Once she’d taped off the trim, she tarped the room. With the rain drumming, the occasional strobe flash of lightning and rocking boom of thunder, she dug out what she’d designated as paint clothes. As she changed, she considered her painting playlist. Maybe classic rock, a good, hard beat.
She opened the top drawer of the dresser to get a bandanna to protect her hair from paint splatter.
And froze.
“That’s not right,�
�� she murmured, took a couple careful breaths. “No, that’s not right.”
Carefully, she backed away from the dresser, and heart hammering, body braced, yanked open the closet door.
Nothing but clothes, she noted as the blood roared in her brain like the thunder outside.
But not right. Not quite right.
She dug her keys out of her pocket, slipped one, point out, between her clenched knuckles, and did a search of the house.
When she’d finished, assured she was alone, she pulled out her phone.
“Lee, it’s Darby. I think someone’s been in my house. Yes, I’m here now. No, I’ve been through it. No one’s here, but—Thanks. Yeah, thanks.”
She slid the phone back in her pocket, and while she waited for the police, began a more thorough search.
Lee arrived in minutes, but she already had a list going in her head. She let him in the front with the rain drumming at his back.
“Thanks for coming, and so fast.”
“That’s what we’re here for. Are there signs of a break-in?”
“I didn’t find any.”
“I’ll take a look.” Standing on the inside mat, his black slicker dripping a bit, he scanned her living room. “What makes you think someone’s been inside?”
“Some of this is going to sound silly, but … Well, we can start right in here. I’m using this for storage right now. I’ve got things together by category.”
“I can see that right off. You’re a tidy soul, aren’t you, Darby?”
“Yeah, plus, time management. If things are in their place, you don’t waste time looking for them. But some of the things in here weren’t in their place. I came home to paint the bathroom upstairs, so I was getting the tarp and tape before I came back to get the pan, the roller. And some of the garden stuff was mixed in with the paint stuff. I don’t do that. I know it seems like anybody could do that and forget, and I initially brushed it off, but…”
She could hear herself, the nerves in her voice, so worked to steady it. “When I came down to look again, I realized a couple of tools were in the garden section. And that box? I know I didn’t open it yet—it’s the shower curtain and all that for when I finish the bath. I hadn’t opened it, but it’s been opened.”
