Free Christmas in Whitehorn by Susan Mallery Page B

cleared her throat. "I want to help. I don't have a lot of money, so I can't give very much."
    "Time can be more precious."
    She returned to sorting the ornaments. "No one should be in the hospital at Christmas. If they have to be, we owe it to them to make it special. The holidays are a time for connecting."
    He wondered who she would be spending the holidays with. After all, her parents were gone and she hadn't had any family at Thanksgiving diner.
    But he didn't ask. There were things about her he didn't want to know. They implied a closeness that made him uncomfortable. He was still adjusting to the fact that he'd agreed to be her friend. Growing up in Whitehorn , he'd never been much of a joiner. Since returning the only thing he'd gotten involved with was a weekly Sunday morning basketball game.
    "What has you looking so serious?" Darcy asked.
    "I was just thinking that I never fit in around here. I didn't get the whole cowboy thing."
    "That's really interesting. I mean, considering your sister tours with the rodeo."
    He stared at her. "How did you know about my sister?"
    "I, ah, well…" Darcy stood and studied the tree. "We should really do the lights now."
    "Not so fast." He grabbed her arm and turned her to face him. "Who told you about Maddie?"
    "It wasn't anything." She stared at the center of his chest. "There was some talk about you when you returned to town and I might have recently mentioned you to Janie. I had issued a rather impulsive invitation to my house for Thanksgiving and I wanted to make sure you weren't dangerous. At least not in the criminal sense."
    He leaned close. "You didn't realize I'd be so irresistible in bed."
    She raised her gaze to his. "You have an overinflated ego."
    "You were the one screaming my name."
    She blinked first. "The lights."
    "Lead the way."
    They started at the top of the tree. Mark positioned the strands while Darcy gave instructions. He enjoyed the sound of her voice and the fact that she'd been curious enough to ask around about him.
    When the lights were arranged to her picky satisfaction, they switched to ornaments. Despite her diminutive stature, Darcy insisted on hanging decorations near the top of the tree. She had to stand on tiptoe to reach, which meant her sweater crept up, exposing a strip of bare back and belly. Mark stood back and enjoyed the view. As he wasn't likely to get any from her anytime soon, he would take what crumbs he could find.
    They argued over where to place painted gingerbread men, and he deliberately moved several paper cranes to a different branch. Outraged, Darcy planted her hands on her hips.
    "I cannot work under these conditions," she exclaimed, raising her voice slightly when she caught sight of a boy on crutches. He was about nine or ten, and thin.
    Dramatically Darcy tossed her head, then stared at the heavens. "I am an artist. You must not disrupt my flow."
    "I'm going to get out of the way before I step in it," Mark muttered under his breath.
    The boy laughed.
    Mark inched toward him, then dropped into a crouch. "Women," he said. "Do they drive you crazy, too?"
    The boy nodded.
    Mark pulled two more wooden ornaments out of his shirt pocket. "I'll distract her and you hang these, okay?"
    Big brown eyes brightened at the thought of a conspiracy. Mark sensed Darcy's attention and knew that she'd heard him, but that wasn't a problem. He didn't doubt she would play along with the game.
    "Oh, Darcy," he said, his voice loud enough to carry. "We're missing a box of ornaments."
    She turned toward him, careful to keep her back to the boy who was moving slowly toward the tree.
    "Did you lose them again? I thought I could trust you. Where did you last see the box?"
    Mark rose and shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe you lost them."
    "Me?" She pressed a hand to her chest. "I'm crushed you would say such a thing about me. Simply crushed. Mortified. Broken."
    She sagged into a nearby chair and buried her head in her hands. The child finished hanging the