Page 41 of Christmas in Whitehorn
“Sorry.” He took the ball out of bounds, then tossed it back into play.
He kept his concentration on the game for a few minutes. Then his thoughts once against drifted to Darcy. Had she realized that he hadn’t been to the café? Did she wonder what had happened to their supposed friendship?
“I know what the problem is with Kincaid,” one of the guys said. “Chick trouble. Darcy’s not here. So you guys had a fight, right? What’d you do wrong?”
Josh grabbed the basketball. “What makes you think it’s his fault?”
Nearly everyone laughed. “It’s always the guy’s fault.”
Mark raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “It was me and I don’t want to talk about it.”
He was joking but also telling the truth. Walking out on her without saying anything had been the coward’s way out. He should have confronted her about the money. The thing was, he didn’t want to know that she was involved. He’d spent most of the week investigating her, and he still couldn’t link her to anything illegal. Which didn’t mean a thing.
He stopped in the middle of the court and swore under his breath. He knew the next step. He would have to take his suspicions to Rafe and together they would get a search warrant for her place. As he couldn’t explain the cash, there wasn’t any other choice.
“Mark!”
Mark turned toward the sound of his name. As he moved, he felt his foot slip on a damp spot in the court. He scrambled to regain his balance, but it was too late. His ankle twisted painfully. His still-healing leg couldn’t support his weight and he felt himself crashing to the ground. His last thought before his head connected with the wooden floor was that this was gonna hurt like hell.
* * *
Darcy carefully placed the template on the baked sheet of gingerbread. She’d already cut out the walls of the house. Once the roof was done, the pieces would need to cool a little more, then she would start assembling the two houses. She had all the candies she would need, but she was going to be a little short on the icing. After this was done, she would make a quick trip to the store to—
The phone rang.
She glanced up at the instrument, hating the sudden fluttering in her chest. There was no way Mark was phoning her. She hadn’t seen the man in nearly a week. He’d disappeared from her life with no explanation and no warning. She was working through the stages of mourning just fine, thank you very much, although today she seemed to be stuck in anger.
The phone rang again. Reluctantly she put down her knife and picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Darcy.”
All the blood rushed from her head, forcing her to sink into a kitchen chair. She briefly closed her eyes and wished she didn’t care that he had finally called her. How was she supposed to act? Happy? Angry? Hurt?
She settled on casual. “Mark. Nice to hear from you. How’s it going?”
“Things have just gotten real interesting.” He hesitated. “Are you mad that I haven’t called?”
She sucked in a breath as annoyance filled her. “Not at all,” she said through slightly clenched teeth. “I’ve been so busy getting ready for the holidays that I barely noticed. How’s work?”
“I’ve been busy, too.” There was a pause, then something that sounded oddly like a moan. “Darcy, the reason I’m calling is that I need a ride home.”
Annoyance turned to fury. How dare he expect her to be at his beck and call after first running out on her with no explanation and then ignoring her?
“Mark, I’m in the middle of making a gingerbread house. This is a very delicate time in the process. I’m not sure I can get away.”
“Okay. I understand. Josh is driving my car back to the duplex. I guess I’ll page him to come get me here when he’s done. I didn’t mean to bother you.”
She sighed, hating that she was wavering. “It’s not a bother. Not exactly. Where are you?”
“The hospital. I wrenched my ankle. I slipped while I was playing basketball. The thing is, I can’t drive for two days. Not until the swelling goes down.”
He’d hurt himself. Nurturing instinct battled with righteous indignation. It wasn’t much of a contest. “I’ll be right there,” she said, and hung up the phone.
Twenty minutes later she walked into the emergency room of Whitehorn Memorial Hospital. The woman at the reception desk directed her to treatment room number three. Darcy stepped inside and saw Mark sitting on a hospital bed. His ankle was taped and elevated. There was also a huge bruise on the side of his face.
Her heart did a little fox-trot, her temper flared. It was an interesting combination, but then she’d always been torn where he was concerned.
