Free The Harder They Fall by Trish Jensen Page B

my father.
    “They got married, and a few months later, I was born. It was really rough for a while. My mother begged her father to give her husband a job in his company, but he wanted nothing to do with her, with her husband or her child. He disowned her completely.”
    Darcy shook her head, her eyes bewildered. Knowing Ed Welham, he could understand her confusion. The idea of a father turning his back on his child would be inconceivable to her.
    “A few years later, my sister Annie was born.”
    “You have a sister?”
    Michael grinned at the thought of his daffy sibling. “Yeah. Anne Elizabeth. She’s a couple of years older than you. She lives with us, too.”
    Darcy smiled, but then her smile faded. “What happened to your father?”
    Michael’s grin vanished, much as his father had. “One day he just couldn’t take it anymore, I guess. He went to the store for milk and never came home.”
    “Oh, Michael! I’m so sorry.”
    “Don’t be. We were better off without the son of a—him.”
    “But . . . supporting two kids. All on her own?”
    “Sometimes she worked two and three jobs at a time. Not only did she support us, she managed to send us to private school.”
    “She must be some woman.”
    “She is. She sacrificed so much for Annie and me.”
    Darcy’s smile was wistful. “I’m sure she doesn’t consider it a sacrifice, seeing how you turned out.”
    Darcy couldn’t possibly know how much those words meant to him. His biggest fear in life was not returning big dividends on his mother’s emotional investment, her lifelong sacrifice. “Thank you,” he said, his voice grainy.
    She lowered her lashes. “So, what does your sister do?”
    “She’s an aspiring author.”
    Darcy looked up. “How wonderful! What does she write?”
    “Romance and romantic suspense,” Michael boasted. “She’s really good, too.”
    Suddenly it occurred to Michael that he’d spilled his guts to this woman. He hadn’t ever discussed his family background with an outsider before and, for the life of him, he didn’t know why he’d done it now. Embarrassed, he searched for a way to change the subject.
    “Do you remember your mother?” he asked, then silently debated biting off his tongue. His curiosity about Darcy had grown by leaps and bounds in the last few days, and he’d stupidly brought up a subject that had interested him. To his thinking, what Darcy Welham desperately needed was the guidance of a mother.
    She looked at him, startled. After a pause, she swallowed and nodded.
    “How old were you when she died, if you don’t mind my asking?”
    Darcy sipped her wine. “I was eleven.”
    “I’m sorry,” he said softly.
    Her eyes grew just a bit bright. “Yes, so am I.” She set her glass down . . . on the edge of the table. Michael reached over and set it on firmer ground.
    Darcy didn’t notice. Her expression said she was years away from this moment. “It was wintertime. My parents were getting ready to open their fourth or fifth restaurant. This one in Chicago.”
    “The Chicago restaurant was their fifth,” Michael said, without thinking.
    “How—” Her mouth snapped shut. “Of course you’d know. You probably know more about the restaurants than I do.”
    Her look turned so glum, Michael covered her hand with his. “I’m sorry. Finish telling me about your mother.”
    “She was afraid of flying. So, instead of taking a plane she drove from Spokane to Chicago in a snowstorm. She made it all the way just fine. Then a block from the new restaurant site, she was broadsided by a semi.”
    Michael swore softly. No wonder Ed Welham had lost sentimental interest in his restaurants. But why hadn’t Darcy?
    He turned her hand over and made little circling motions in her palm with his thumb. “I think your mother would be very proud of you if she were still alive.”
    “You do?” Her free hand wobbled a little as she grabbed for her wine.
    His hand shot out and picked the goblet up