Christmas in Whitehorn Read Online Free PDF Page A

nothing unnatural about our meal this evening."
    "I was afraid of that."
    "Why?"
    "You're into health foods. I'm nervous about your choice of ingredients."
    She laughed. "Tofu surprise in the stuffing?"
    "Exactly."
    She planted her hands on her hips. "What is it about men and tofu. You're all deathly afraid women are plotting to get you to eat it."
    "Aren't you?"
    "Maybe," she admitted.
    Mark found himself chuckling. The action felt awkward and unfamiliar. He'd worried about spending time with Darcy, but she was surprisingly easy to be with. And easy on the eye. When she returned her attention to the stove, he found his gaze lingering on the curve of her rear. He reminded himself that attraction was dangerous. Life was better when he didn't feel anything. How many times did he have to get shot before he learned his lesson?
    "Is it snowing?" she asked.
    "Not yet, but it was pretty gray this afternoon. It's supposed to snow tonight."
    "Good. I like holidays with snow. Oh. Isn't there a football game on this afternoon. Do you want to go watch it?"
    "Contrary to popular opinion, I am ca- pable of going an entire day without viewing a sporting event."
    She looked at him in mock amazement. "Really? How do you do it? Deep breathing exercises?"
    "Tremendous willpower."
    "I'm very impressed." She carried a pot over to the sink and drained it. "While you're not watching football, would you mind taking our little friend out of the oven. He should be done."
    Mark set down his wine, then carried the turkey over to the table. Darcy wrapped the bird in foil, explaining that it had to rest before carving. He didn't think it had been especially active before now, but what did he know about turkey cooking?
    She had him mash the potatoes while she made the gravy – since when did gravy not come out of a can – then she expertly carved several slices from the impressive bird and quickly put all the dishes on the table.
    They sat across from each other. Mark had a moment of awkwardness – the situation was too intimate for his liking. Instinctively he went into detective mode, finding safety in asking questions.
    "How long have you lived in Whitehorn ?" he asked as she passed him the platter of turkey.
    "Since early June," she said. "Before that I lived in
Arizona
for a few years and before that, Chicago ."
    "Is that where you're from?"
    "Yes. I grew up in a wealthy suburb you've probably never heard of, where my most complex decision was which invitation to accept to the prom. The boy's coolness was, of course, the deciding factor."
    She was teasing but also telling the truth, he thought. Funny, she didn't look like the idle princess type. "You were one of the popular girls?"
    "Even a cheerleader. I wince at the memory of my shallow existence." She passed him a green bean casserole, followed by a dish of yams. "I went off to college without a clue as to what I wanted to be when I grew up. Of course, I don't think I actually wanted to be an adult. I kept switching majors and playing rather than studying. I nearly accepted a marriage proposal rather than choose a direction for my studies."
    Her blue eyes darkened with the memories. "Not my finest hour."
    He had a hard time reconciling her story with the woman in front of him. "What happened?"
    She took a bite of turkey and chewed. When she'd swallowed, she said, "My parents died in a car crash. I was unprepared, to say the least." She hesitated, as if there was more she was going to say.
    Mark waited. The detective in him wanted to push for information, but he reminded himself that he was a guest in her home and it was a holiday.
    "This is really good," he said when he'd tasted the turkey.
    "Thanks."
    "How old were you when your parents died?"
    "Twenty, but ignorant, if you know what I mean. In addition to dealing with the shock of losing them at once, I had the horror of getting calls from their attorney, who wan- ted to explain things to me."
    She sighed softly at the memory. "My parents left