Hot to the Touch Page 18

  “Whose name?” Troy knew exactly whose, but he’d gotten locked into the sulky tough-guy act and didn’t know how to break out.

  “The woman who’s got you so scared.”

  Troy dribbled the ball again. He had two choices: deny the obvious truth and dig himself deeper into being a bitter jerk, or come clean.

  “Darcy Clark.” There. He still felt like a jerk, but a more noble one.

  “Darcy.” Nathan let out a silent whistle. “No wonder. You’re juggling torches, chainsaws and open gas cans.”

  “This still the same woman?” Chad looked disgusted. “Another manipulator bitch?”

  Troy stayed silent. He didn’t want to go into the problem, didn’t want to hear told-you-so from Chad, or you-should-date-Bev’s-boring-friend.

  Nathan put his hand on his hip. “I don’t know Darcy well, but she doesn’t strike me as the type you want long-term, if you know what I mean.”

  Troy laughed bitterly, which was probably as good as saying “yes.” He wanted to shout, “She’s not like that,” but he wasn’t even sure of that much.

  Chad shook his dark head in despair. “Here we go again.”

  Kent walked back toward Troy, held out his hands for his basketball. “I have time for a beer.”

  Troy tossed him the ball, feeling even more like a jerk in the face of his friend’s graciousness. “You don’t have to if you’re busy.”

  “I have time. Lucy will just have to deal with my hairy legs.” He rolled his eyes, smacking Troy’s shoulder. “Come on.”

  Troy followed him off the court toward Nathan and Chad and gave them a quick nod. “Sorry for the crap.”

  “No problem, man.”

  “Forget it.”

  Fist-bumps and back slaps cemented the apology, then Nathan and Chad went off to their cars, while Troy and Kent drove in Troy’s Camry to Wolski’s, where they ordered beers and settled into a booth. After a few uncomfortable comments about Milwaukee’s sports teams and the unusually cool weather, they sat in awkward silence. Not drinking.

  Finally, Kent pushed aside his beer. “Look, I suck at talking about this feelings stuff. I hung out with people like Steve for so long I bought into their macho bull about women. Then I met Lucy, and it was like…I dunno, a goddamn thunderbolt.”

  Troy didn’t know whether to laugh or groan. “Let me guess. She lit you up the second you laid eyes on her? It was as if your nerve endings were coming alive for the first time ever? Like a life heat?”

  Kent looked astonished. “Yeah. How did you— Oh, Darcy?”

  Troy nodded grimly. “Yup.”

  “Man, it’s like some chick flick. I hate chick flicks. But she changed my life. This feeling changed my life. I can’t deny that. Everything I thought I knew about women and about me…” He shook his head in awe. “Steve didn’t have a clue. Making Lucy happy isn’t about weakening me, because what makes her happy makes me happy.”

  Troy could not believe he was sitting here listening to Kent wax poetic about love. “Okay.”

  “And she feels the same way.” He gulped beer, looking uncomfortable. “I sound like Dr. Phil, huh?”

  “I promise I will tell no one.”

  “Thanks.” He grinned wryly. “But you know what Steve was most wrong about? I don’t feel less of a man enjoying her and the things she enjoys. I feel more. Like my dick is bigger.”

  “Oh, oh.” Troy cringed, waving Kent away like a bad smell. “I could really do without that image.”

  “Figuratively, anyway, but it is.” Kent dragged his beer closer. “Point is, if it’s good, you don’t feel like you have to do that stuff, the flowers and the gardening. You want to.”

  “Even leaving an extra innings game after the ninth?”

  “Ooh.” Kent screwed up his face in pain. “There are limits. But Debby was serious poison—don’t judge anything by her. We’ve all dated Debbys, women who trample men. A good woman will lift you up to something higher and better.”

  Troy cracked up. “Thank you, Preacher Kent. How are things at the Church of Feelings?”

  Kent joined in the laughter. “I’m born again, brother Troy! Halle-freaking-lujah.”

  “Amen to that.” Troy lifted his beer. They toasted and drank.

  “I take it you and this Darcy woman fought.”

  “She got upset about something and I didn’t see the point. Reminded me of Debby and I freaked.”

  “Hmm.” Kent stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Is she like Debby when things are good?”

  Troy didn’t even have to think about that one. “Not at all. Night and day.”

  “Remember Steve’s theory that falling for a woman meant handing her your balls?”

  “Yup.” Troy moved uncomfortably. “Exactly the phenomenon I’m trying to avoid repeating.”

  Kent shook his head. “I have a new theory. This one is a hell of a lot better.”

  “Okay.” Troy lifted an eyebrow. This would be good. “I’m ready, let’s hear it.”

  “My theory is that when you fall for a woman, you don’t hand her your balls, you offer them.”

  Troy made a face. “And this is different how?”

  “Because if she’s a real woman, a good woman, a woman worth keeping—” Kent leaned back smugly in the booth “—she isn’t going to want them.”

  TROY KNOCKED ON THE BACK DOOR to Gladiolas. Darcy wouldn’t be there, which he was counting on, but he remembered her talking about a special event they were holding that night, which the restaurant, usually closed on Mondays, would be open for. He wanted to talk to Ace. Marie had called him the night before and dropped the bomb about Sean’s betrayal and the proof that Raoul stole her recipes. Troy had been trying to figure out how to help Darcy before Marie even finished the story. Though whether or not Raoul had turned out to be criminal as well as an asshole was beside the point. The point was that Darcy had strong feelings, and he’d rejected them out of selfish fear and baggage courtesy of a completely different woman. That much at least he could fix. The rest…he’d try.

  “Yeah?” Ace met him with a challenging stare out of eyes that appeared clear and in touch with reality. Good for him. And good for Troy, who didn’t want to deal with a clouded mind. “Darcy’s not here.”

  “I know. I want to talk to you.”

  Ace’s reddish brows lowered; he hesitated, obviously struggling between loyalty and curiosity. “About what?”

  “Can I come in?”

  Another once-over. Good that he was so protective of Darcy, but Troy needed him on his side today. “Do you need to?”

  “I owe you an apology. If I have to humble myself, I’d like to do it somewhere other than a cold alley that smells like kitchen castoffs.”

  The corners of Ace’s mouth twitched. “I don’t know, dude. I’m thinking you can’t get much more humble than that.”

  “True.” He waited, staring Ace down.

  “Okay.” Ace stepped aside, gestured him in. “C’mon. Not too busy at the moment, but it won’t stay that way.”

  Troy stepped into the kitchen, feeling an intense pang of missing Darcy from being on her beloved turf, and of guilt that last time he’d been here he’d failed to appreciate it or her.

  “So?” Ace took up a chef’s knife, started rapid-fire chopping onions. “What’s up?”

  “I was an ass the other night.”

  “No argument here.” Ace gathered the minced onions onto the knife and deposited them smoothly into a bowl.

  “I didn’t listen, thought she was overreacting. And you.”

  “Yeah, I got that loud and clear. You hear what happened?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was right. I told you. Bad intent. I picked up on it like radar.”

  Troy gritted his teeth, telling himself to be patient. “I want to help Darcy.”

  Ace smirked, took another onion, whacked it in half with more force than necessary and started slicing. “How can you help her?”

  Troy couldn’t hold bac
k a noise of exasperation at his attitude. “You know anyone in Raoul’s kitchen?”

  “Yeah.” The answer came out grudgingly.

  “How well?”

  Ace’s eyes narrowed. “How well do you need me to know them?”

  Troy sighed, leaning forward, hands on the edge of the gleaming counter. “Well enough to let us in for a few hours when there’s no one else there. Soon. Like, tonight.”

  Ace considered him for a long minute. “This sounds illegal.”

  “Yeah, and you never break the law.” He put his fingers together at his lips, mimicking someone smoking a joint.

  Ace shoveled more perfectly diced onion into the bowl. “I’m trying to quit.”

  “Good for you.”

  “I already have, actually. For the most part. I want to be a chef someday. Darcy talked to me, said I can’t do it stoned. She was right. She’s awesome.”

  Troy hid a smile. Good. He had the kid talking. “She’s a smart lady.”

  “She’s also really talented, and she works incredibly hard. She’s worked incredibly hard to get all this.” He waved his knife around the kitchen. “Nothing was handed to her. Not like some people.”

  Someone besides Troy had a pretty big crush on Darcy Clark. “You mean Raoul.”

  Ace made a scornful noise. “He’s not a chef. He’s a con man. Takes orders, but can’t cook for shit. Sean was like that, too. I hope they go down together.”

  “I think we can make sure they do.”

  “Yeah?” Ace’s suspicion melted into eagerness. “What are you planning?”

  “Nothing much. I need access to his computer for a couple of hours when no one else is around. And I could use someone with me who has cooking smarts.”

  Ace’s smile started out small, then grew into a full-blown grin that bubbled over into a chuckle. “Dude.”

  “You with me?” Troy held up his hand.

  Ace high-fived him enthusiastically. “I can get you exactly what you need.”

  14

  DARCY OPENED HER FRONT DOOR, reached down to collect her paper and stopped halfway. Wow! It was warm! It was gorgeous. It was as if the hellish spring they’d been suffering through, all the rain and clouds and cold, had finally been vanquished overnight, the result of some spectacular final battle with summer emerging victorious. Nine o’clock in the morning and it must be seventy already. Sunny. Dry. A cool breeze bringing scents of growing and green.

  Oh, what a blissful rebirth, and just in time. Because if a whole lot more kept going wrong, Darcy was going to quit this world and start her own planet.

  She picked up the paper, brought it inside and went through the house, throwing open windows, inhaling huge lungfuls of the wonderful, sweet air pouring in. Mid-June for crying out loud. This was more like it.

  If only the rest of her world would come around so perfectly and completely. The last week or so had been an exercise in pain and frustration. Sean was gone, she’d bumped Ben up to sous chef and Ace, bless his heart, to Ben’s position as assistant cook. She could see that kid going places soon. Already, his skills were developing as well as his confidence, and all with a clear head. She’d found a new dishwasher fairly easily to replace him. Gladiolas would be okay.

  What still hurt was Sean’s betrayal. That he’d taken a job with Raoul wasn’t so terrible. Each man for himself, and poaching employees went on in the restaurant business all the time.

  But did he have to take her recipes with him?

  Apparently. Raoul undoubtedly offered a nice bonus if Sean came to work with menu in hand. Saved Raoul having to provide anything like talent or originality. Which he wouldn’t get from Sean, either, her only satisfaction. Once they went through her files, they’d have to change strategies.

  But okay, enough brooding. It was a beautiful day, and as Troy had pointed out, there was nothing she could do about the situation but forge on with her own work as best as she could.

  On her way to open the last window in her bedroom, the phone rang.

  “Darcy, it’s Brit.”

  Darcy closed her eyes. She hadn’t called her mother. Brit would be annoyed. “Hi, there.”

  “Mom hasn’t heard from you.”

  “No.”

  Her sister made a sound of exasperation. “The situation is becoming ridiculous.”

  “The situation has always been ridiculous.”

  “You need to talk to her. Dad won’t drop the charges until she at least apologizes.”

  Darcy walked over to her bed and sat down. Something was really bugging her about this situation, and she needed time to examine it. “Really.”

  “They’re in a total stand-off. Acting like children.”

  Darcy frowned up at the picture she had framed on her dresser. Mom and Dad, smiling, arms around each other and around Darcy and Brit. They’d used the picture as a Christmas card probably twelve or thirteen years ago. A photographer’s pose, with show-our-family’s-love smiles. Fake love. How long did her parents hold out before they gave up on loving each other?

  “Don’t you think it’s time they acted like adults?”

  “Yeah? Hey, good idea, Darcy.” Brit’s voice dripped sarcasm. “Why don’t you suggest that?”

  “I’m not going to suggest anything.” She rose from the bed, breathing in the earthy, rich scents of summer, feeling powerful and free. Troy had been right. This issue had nothing to do with her. “They own the problem. They need to fix it. We’re not helping them if we keep stepping in. Let them deal with it.”

  “Darcy! Mom could go to jail. You want her to go on trial?”

  “She and Dad divorced years ago. Why should you and I keep being punished for this?”

  “I can’t believe you’re not going to help.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because it’s what people who love each other do.”

  Tears rose in Darcy’s eyes. No. Not always. “Sometimes you have to let them help themselves. This is one of those cases. They loved each other deeply enough to get married all those years ago. Just because that love didn’t last—”

  “Huh?” Her sister sounded taken aback. “They never loved each other deeply.”

  Darcy blinked. “What are you talking about?”

  “You didn’t know? Mom married Dad to get away from home. You know about Grandpa’s drinking. She didn’t take long to figure out she’d gotten out of the fireplace into the fire. She said she stood at the altar and recited her vows feeling panicky and sick to her stomach.”

  Darcy sat back down on the bed, stunned. “Did Dad love her?”

  “They barely knew each other, Darcy. I can’t believe no one told you this.” Brit’s voice gentled. “I assumed you knew. Mom was pregnant, so they had to get married fast. She lost the baby a month later.”

  Darcy put a hand to her head. “Why did she tell you this and not me?”

  “She told me when I got married. She wanted me to be absolutely sure about Jason.”

  “Were you?” Darcy held her breath. Her sister’s answer mattered hugely.

  “Absolutely. I had no doubts at all.” Brit spoke with total confidence. “Everything about being with Jason felt different from any boyfriend I’d had before, and not just because I was sober. I was a better, stronger person around him. I could tell him anything, and trust me, there was a lot of bad stuff to tell. He took it all in stride. Even though we fought, and still do, I know he has me at the top of his list all the time.”

  Everything felt different. She could tell him everything. He took it all in stride. But was Darcy at the top of Troy’s list? He’d been at the top of hers.

  She closed her eyes. Maybe she could be more confused, but she didn’t think so.

  “I’ll call Mom.”

  “Oh, Darcy. Thanks, honey. Thank you so much.” Brit’s words came out in a breathless rush. “I love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  She punched off the call. Stared at the phone for a few seconds, then dialed. She wasn
’t going to deliver the message Brit wanted, but she was going to speak to her mother.

  Half an hour later, she finished the call. Everything Brit said was true. Her parents’ love hadn’t turned to crap, it had been crap to begin with. All her adult life, until the divorce, Darcy’s mother had been miserable, because she’d listened to her head instead of her heart and went through with the marriage, doomed from the start.

  Darcy roused herself and opened the window in her bedroom, leaned on the window and breathed in and out steadily, rapturously. What did her heart say?

  “Oh.” She jumped and bumped her head painfully on the sash. Troy’s car coming up the street.

  Was it his Camry? It had to be. Tall single male occupant, gray car, slowing, then parking outside her house.

  She ducked, then peered up over the edge of the sill, unable to keep from looking.

  Troy. Getting out of the car. Striding up her front walk carrying a grocery bag, wearing shorts and a T-shirt.

  Oh, my.

  She was toast. Why was it that she could have had every possible legitimate and sound reason to stay away, to resist him, to keep herself from entertaining even the possibility of resuming their relationship, but one look made her entire body convulse with longing?

  Or maybe just her heart.

  She ran to the front door, slowed two steps from it and waited for the bell, which took several long seconds. Was he nervous? He couldn’t be any more nervous than she was.

  Ding-dong. Finally. She waited several seconds herself, then opened, not bothering to look surprised.

  “Hi.” She met his eyes and the impact was as strong as it had been that first night at Esmee. Aw, hell.

  “Hi.” He was smiling at her, and she could do nothing but smile back. In one second it seemed everything they’d fought over was ridiculous, that nothing mattered but the depth of this feeling. The depth of quiet certainty that he was someone she desperately wanted to be close to in all ways for all time. Was this what Brit meant?

  “What are you doing here?”

  He held up the grocery bag. “Potato chips and Diet Coke. You said it was your favorite meal, eaten on the beach. It’s beach weather, so I thought you might like to go.”