Stacy Connelly – Darcy and the Single Dad (страница 3)
But her move to the small town of Clearville, California, was supposed to be about making a new start and living in the moment. So when a stray dog wandered into her backyard after she’d left open the gate, she decided that maybe it was time to put her fear of dogs in the past, as well. Not that she planned to
And, she had to admit, the dog was … interesting. A mix of silver and black from its alert ears down to its tail with brown and white spots on its face and legs. And its eyes—one brown and one blue—fascinated Darcy with their watchful intelligence. Of course, she’d only noticed thanks to the zoom feature on her digital camera. She hadn’t actually gotten near enough to see the dog’s two-toned eyes up close.
But she printed the pictures she’d taken, placing “Found Dog” posters around town. She’d also bought a bag of dog food and some toys at the grocery store and folded up an old comforter for a bed in the sheltered corner of the porch. None of which nominated her for Pet Parent of the Year, but just knowing the dog was in her backyard pushed Darcy out of her comfort zone.
Still, she’d been certain, in a town the size of Clearville, the owner would come forward in no time. Or that someone would recognize such a unique dog and know who it belonged to. She’d even imagined the scene—reuniting the poor lost dog with its grateful, tearful owners. Darcy would wave off their praise and offer of a reward, content to see owner and pet back together again.
But after a week, no one had called, and Darcy had started to wonder what she would do if the dog’s owner never showed.
But then her mother had always been brave.
The ache wasn’t as sharp as it had been following her mother’s death a year ago, but time had done little to lessen Darcy’s sense of loss. She blinked back tears. Her voice was rough around the lump in her throat as she whispered, “You always did say we should get a dog.”
Alanna had raised Darcy to be confident, strong, proud. Lessons Darcy tried to live by, but ones she’d failed recently. She’d been devastated by her mother’s death. Feeling so alone, she’d reached out blindly to grab hold of the first lifeline she could find. But Aaron Utley hadn’t helped her out of her misery as much as he’d taken advantage of it.
It was the only explanation Darcy had for falling so hard and so fast.
He’d seemed so charming and caring, Darcy somehow missed when that care transformed into control as he tried to mold her into the perfect accessory for an up-and-coming lawyer.
And she’d foolishly gone along. Hoping to ease the ache of sorrow and emptiness, she had convinced herself she was in love. For months, she poured her heart and soul into trying to be the perfect girlfriend and then the perfect fiancée. Only after gaining distance from Aaron had Darcy realized how fully he’d manipulated her. How he’d used her as his emotional punching bag, constantly setting her up simply to knock her down.
Thank God she’d gotten out before trying to be the perfect wife! She didn’t need anyone to tell her what a failure she would have been as Mrs. Aaron Utley.
But the anger following their breakup had been the kick in the butt Darcy needed to put aside her sorrow and recall the wonderful times she’d had with her mother. It had always been just the two of them, and they’d shared everything. Including her mother’s dream of moving back to the tiny Northern California town where she’d been raised and opening a small beauty boutique on Main Street.
Alanna wanted to take the knowledge she’d gained from her years managing a dozen different locations of a major department store chain and focus it on her own business. Moving then opening the shop had always been planned for a distant “someday,” but her death had taught Darcy to take advantage of today, and she was determined to make her mother’s dream a reality.
She refused to consider what she would do if she failed, so she’d handled it all—moving to a town where she didn’t know a soul, renting a century-old house in need of serious updating and planning a grand opening for a new business at a time when many shops were closing. If she had any doubts, any worries, she’d keep them hidden behind a confident facade where no one would see.
The wind shifted again, sending rain pelting against her back and running in icy rivulets down the collar of her coat. Another spark of lightning briefly illuminated the sky, but it was long enough for Darcy to see the dog lying on its side, its watchful gaze still focused on her.
“And we are going to make it,” she said as another clap of thunder rattled the house. “The vet’s coming, and he’ll make everything okay.”
After the agonizing days she’d spent in the hospital at her mother’s side, Darcy was painfully aware sometimes even the best doctors couldn’t help. But what she knew in her head didn’t change what she felt in her heart. She may have only met Nick Pirelli in passing, but the vet exuded confidence and control Darcy envied. He wouldn’t be stuck in the rain at a loss, not knowing what to do or what to say. He was the type to push those kinds of people aside and take over and do what needed to be done.
A low rumble sounded from the front of the house. At first, Darcy thought it was another distant roll of thunder until she heard a vehicle door slam. “He’s here,” she whispered to the dog. “He’ll make everything all right.”
Pushing up from the muddy ground, Darcy felt her heart pound in her chest as she lowered her head against the rain and ducked beneath the shelter of the wide eaves on her Craftsman-style house. She was worried about the dog, afraid Nick Pirelli might confirm her fears that the animal was sick. It was enough to make any compassionate person’s pulse quicken, knees weaken, breath catch.
Who was she trying to kid? She’d felt that same quickening, weakening, catching sensation when she had first laid eyes on Nick Pirelli in the town’s grocery.
He was tall, over six feet, with intense, solemn brown eyes and dark, thick hair. Darcy could tell in that first glance that Nick Pirelli wasn’t a man given to spending much time on his appearance, and why should he when he was as close to masculine perfection as she’d seen? But she could also tell that what time he did spend in front of the mirror was used to try to tame the hint of natural wave in his mahogany hair into some kind of order.
Darcy didn’t know why that had struck her as so endearing, but coupled with the collection of pink and purple head bands he’d been holding, she’d been utterly charmed.
Not that he’d felt the same if his sudden one-eighty and quick disappearance from the aisle where she’d been shopping was anything to go by.
Skirting beneath the dripping eaves as she rounded the front of the house, Darcy ignored the sharp prick of hurt now just as she had then. It didn’t matter if Nick Pirelli had listened to all the rumors around town about her or what the too-serious vet thought. He was here to help, to do his job. The only opinion she cared about was a professional one.
But seeing Nick standing on her porch in a beat-up pair of jeans topped by a red and black checked flannel shirt—looking so strong, so sure, so hands-on—Darcy couldn’t deny the rush of attraction. One she was determined to ignore. If Nick Pirelli was the type of man to judge her based on a bunch of lies, then she could only imagine what he’d think of her if he knew the truth.
Chapter Two
As Nick lifted his hand to ring Darcy’s doorbell, he heard footsteps on the porch behind him. He turned in time to see her rush up the steps toward him. Her dark red hair was caught up in a damp ponytail, and her jacket and jeans were wet. She stopped short, mere inches away, and her feet nearly slipped out from beneath her. Pure reflex had him reaching out to catch her.
And it was reflex that had his hands bracketing her narrow waist, reflex that had him ducking his head to inhale her summery scent, mixed with rain from the storm. Reflex that had him hungering to kiss her, to slide his palms down to her hips, to …
That had been his goal when he’d driven up to her small Craftsman-style cottage at the end of the street. He would be professional and polite—or as polite as he could manage —do his job and get out of there before—before any of
Jerking away his hands before he could get burned, he stiffly asked, “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Fine. Thanks.” The short, choppy response wasn’t what he expected. It was almost as if Darcy had been just as affected by the unexpected contact as he had been.
Straightening, she stepped back and wiped her face. Her hair and cheeks were wet from the storm, and her efforts left a streak of mascara beneath one eye. He couldn’t imagine why the sight made her seem somehow vulnerable or why it tugged at something inside him, something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.