The Harder They Fall (27 page)

He started out, then turned back to her. “Falling in love with you wasn’t on the list, either. Unfortunately for me, that happened too. Goodbye, Darcy.”

Spokane was Darcy’s hometown. She should have found comfort returning to it, wrapping the arid, mountainous beauty around her and letting it soothe her. She should have marveled at the majestic ponderosa pines, enjoyed the perfumed scent of the lilac bushes that were in full bloom in mid-May.

She should have laughed at the squirrels in Coeur d’Alene Park, who had welcomed her back happily at the first sign of peanuts. She should have settled into her Browne’s Addition apartment—actually the entire third floor of a refurbished old mansion—easily, content to be near her father again. Content to be back where she belonged.

All she felt was a bottomless emptiness.

She’d been home just over a month. In that time, a dizzying number of things had happened to her. Thanks to Tom Murphy, she was now an independent Menu Consultant for Dining Incorporated.

Tom had given the word to the higher-ups at D.I. that Darcy possessed some kind of gift with food. After he’d served them her pasta recipe as proof, he’d convinced them that Darcy could work wonders at a variety of their restaurant chains. They’d contacted her the day after her phone had been connected and, after consulting with her father, Darcy had given them her terms. Amazingly, they’d eagerly agreed.

So now she had a career. One she loved, so she had no complaints there. Still, she found it infinitely ironic that she now charged an outrageous fee to the company who had given her, then taken away, Michael Davidson.

If he knew about her new relationship with D.I. he wasn’t saying. She hadn’t heard from him since the day—almost two months ago—he’d walked out of her apartment and out of her life.

She’d almost gone after him that day. But she hadn’t. For a week she’d agonized over whether she’d made a horrible mistake by not fighting for him. But when two weeks had passed and he hadn’t tried to see her again, she’d come to the conclusion that what she’d actually done was given Michael his out. That’s when she made plans to move home.

His declaration of love had been alms to the poor. He’d had enough of a conscience to feel guilty, and he’d wanted to offer that crumb. But he obviously hadn’t wanted to fight for their relationship.

Relationship? What relationship? They had sex a few times. That didn’t constitute a relationship. In fact, she had to give Michael credit for at least that much honesty. He’d told her up front that if she was looking for long-term, she should look somewhere else.

But the scum didn’t have to profess a love he didn’t feel. She hadn’t asked him to. Now she wished she’d laughed in his face. But she hadn’t. She’d just stared at him as he’d turned and walked away. Then had held out false, stupid hopes that he’d come back and try to change her mind.

Darcy shook her head as the squirrel she’d named Foxy put his front paws on her knee and chattered noisily.

She smiled weakly. “Okay, big boy, the last one’s for you.” She gave him the peanut and laughed softly as he tore the shell apart to get to the meaty nut. He instantly came back for more, but she held out her hands. “That’s it for today.”

Foxy chattered his disgust, then hopped away.

“Typical fickle man,” she whispered, her throat closing.

She stood up, brushing debris from the seat of her shorts. Strolling to the trash can to toss the empty bag, she looked out over the sun-dappled loveliness of the park and sighed.

She had work to do. Her current project was revamping the menu for a chain of Italian restaurants owned by D.I. Amazingly enough, she’d actually learned to cook. She could now test the recipes first. Her office was her state-of-the-art kitchen, and nothing soothed her melancholy more than getting lost in the logistics of making a dish, then experimenting with the ingredients to make it delicious when cooked in large quantities.

At least she had that, she thought, as she crossed Coeur d’Alene Street. She looked to the left. And stopped dead in the middle of the street. A man half a block away reminded her so much of Michael, it took her breath away. He was the right height, with the same slightly unruly, pitch-black hair. The shoulders were the same sexy breadth, and the man even had the nerve to be wearing a tailored suit. He had sunglasses on, so she couldn’t see his eyes, but somehow she knew the man’s eyes would be blue.

A honking horn made her jump, and she hurried the rest of the way across the street. At the sidewalk she looked back. The man was gone.

Why that left her bereft was a mystery. Obviously, the man hadn’t been Michael. He was a full continent away, happily getting on with his yuppie life. For all she knew, the man she’d seen was a mirage, or in actuality had blond hair and was a midget. She’d just projected Michael’s image onto him.

As she reached the front entrance to her home, Darcy clucked in self-disgust. She had to stop dwelling on Michael. She just had to. If she didn’t, she’d end up a patient in Eastern State Hospital.

An hour later, Darcy shoved an experimental recipe for baked caper and cheese ravioli into the oven and set the timer for an hour. She washed the flour from her hands, grabbed a soda from the refrigerator, then sat down at her small wood block table to read the
Spokesman-Review.

She read through the national and international news, then started to flip through the business section. She turned the page, then froze. Slowly, several heartbeats later, she flipped it back.

Smiling at her from the front page of the business section was Michael Davidson. She was so mired in shock, it took her a full minute to register the headline beside his photograph.

“Davidson Named President of Everything Kitchen.”

Everything Kitchen was the name of the largest chain of kitchen-gadget stores in the country. It was also a multimillion dollar
Spokane-based
corporation. And according to the article, Michael Davidson,
her
Michael Davidson, had taken over the reins of the faltering company.

The article went on to say that Davidson would be holding a press conference the next day at noon in the lobby of Everything Kitchen’s Riverside building. He planned to outline his restructuring strategy for the company, and to also reassure stockholders and employees alike that their investments and jobs were secure.

Darcy couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t move. Shock held her immobile, imbecilic and breathless.

Michael had moved to Spokane. He’d left New York and moved to Spokane. He’d left Dining Incorporated and moved to Spokane.

Coincidence? Yes, it had to be. She couldn’t allow it to mean more than that. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t live through another heartbreaking experience. She’d never, ever survive it.

But the knowledge that they shared the same town, the same streets, the same air made her dizzy and nauseous. How could she live here, knowing that at any moment of any day, she might run into him?

How would he react? she wondered. Would he engage in polite, yet distant, chitchat? Or would he be so uncomfortable that he’d just look right through her and pretend not to know her?

Did he know she’d moved back here? Or did he think she’d settled permanently in D.C.?

So many questions rattled through her head. She didn’t know how long she sat and stared at his picture. About an hour, she decided, when the timer started dinging at her.

In a trance, she went to the oven and removed the crispy-baked ravioli. She put three samples on her plate, one covered with a white sauce, one with a marinara sauce, one with a spinach sauce, then took it back to the table.

While she stared at Michael, she took a bite of each in turn, washing her palette clean with lemon water between tastes. When she’d tried all three, she realized she hadn’t tasted any of them. Her taste buds were as much in shock as the rest of her.

Shaken, she dumped the plate into the sink, turned and hugged herself. It was too much. How dare the man invade her territory? How dare he move to her hometown? How dare he be so damn photogenic?

She might have continued listing her grievances against him, if a knock at her door hadn’t brought her up short. Her heart leapt to her throat. Who could it be? Darcy almost never had visitors. She was as much a loner now as she’d been most of her life. Except for those few weeks . . .

She tried to calm her raging nerves as she went to the door. It wasn’t Michael, she was sure. Maybe it was some Jehovah’s Witnesses. Or the Mormons. Maybe it was some Girl Scouts, selling cookies. Was this Girl Scout cookie season? Whatever, it wouldn’t be Michael.

She was right. It wasn’t Michael. It wasn’t a Jehovah’s Witness or a Girl Scout either, but the disappointment that washed through her because it wasn’t Michael was a real blow. She didn’t have time to think about it, though, considering a kid she recognized from the neighborhood stood at her door with a golden retriever puppy in his arms.

Darcy plastered a smile on her face. “What an adorable puppy!” she said, scruffing the dog’s head. “What can I do for you?”

The kid thrust the dog at Darcy, startling her. “She’s for you.”

“Excuse me?”

“The puppy’s for you.”

“I . . . don’t understand. I didn’t buy a puppy.”

“Nah, it’s a gift. Some old guy paid me a buck to deliver her. She’s a girl.”

Confused, Darcy took the puppy. “Some old guy?”

“Yeah. There’s a card under her collar. Here, see?” the boy said, pointing to a small card. “Some of the bigger guys are coming any time now to bring stuff for her.”

The puppy wiggled and licked Darcy’s chin. She instantly fell in love with the little white-blond fur ball. Still she didn’t understand. But before she could question the boy further, he said, “Have fun!” and scampered down the hall.

Dazed, Darcy watched as three more boys appeared, carting a metal crate, a huge bag of puppy food, toys and rawhides, a food bowl, a leash, a brush and a pooper-scooper. When they finished carrying it all in and dumping the treasures in her foyer, they left, whooping the whole way down the hall.

Darcy closed the door, then carried the dog to the couch and sat down. The puppy immediately tried to climb up her chest to lick her face, its tail wagging furiously.

Darcy laughed, pulling the card from under the bright red collar. While trying to entertain the puppy, she took the note from the envelope and read it.

“It’s about time you got a dog.”

It wasn’t signed, and she didn’t recognize the handwriting. She immediately thought of Michael, but discarded the notion. Surely he wouldn’t get her a dog.

Or would he? Was this just one more handout to assuage his guilty conscience?

But the little boy’s words came back to her. An “old guy” had asked him to deliver it. Her father?

She didn’t know, and at the moment she didn’t care. She was too busy falling head over heels in love with the most adorable puppy she’d ever seen.

Darcy put the puppy on the floor and played with her for she didn’t know how long. Then she took the pup across the street to the park, pooper-scooper and leash in her free hand. Setting the curious puppy on the grass, she snapped the leash on the collar and let her roam at will.

First things first. Darcy needed a name for her. She discarded Buttercup and Princess. Too sissy for her puppy. The puppy yipped, a high-pitched bark that came out sounding suspiciously like “Ralph.”

Dropping to the ground and sitting Indian style, she let the puppy climb all over her. “How does Ralph sound?”

“Ralph!” the puppy agreed.

“It’s not very feminine, certainly not traditional, but since neither of us are much of those things, I guess we might get away with it. What do you think?”

“Ralph!”

“Ralph it is.”

She hugged the puppy, so thrilled at the gift from her unknown benefactor, she thought her heart would burst. Why hadn’t she thought of this herself? A puppy on which to lavish all the love pent up inside her. It was perfect.

She and Ralph roamed the park a little while longer, and Darcy blessed her gift-giver when the pooper-scooper came in handy. Whoever it was, he’d certainly covered the bases.

They returned to the apartment a half hour later, when Ralph showed definite signs of slowing down. Darcy set up the crate in the kitchen and placed blankets on the metal bottom. To her amazement, the puppy almost looked grateful as she climbed in, turned in a circle twice, then plopped down and fell instantly to sleep.

Half relieved, half disappointed, Darcy left the kitchen. She picked up the cordless phone on the bookshelf and dialed her father’s number.

When he answered, she got right to the point. “Daddy, did you buy me a dog?”

“What?”

“A dog. Did you have one delivered to me this afternoon?”

“No,” he said slowly. “Are you saying someone gave you a dog?”

“A puppy,” she said, almost elated. The dog had to have come
from Michael. Surprisingly, the thought didn’t bother her. Somehow she knew he wasn’t just trying to buy her forgiveness. Somehow she knew he was trying to tell her he still had faith in her, even if she’d lost faith in herself. “She’s a golden retriever,” Darcy added breathlessly. “Her papers say she’s ten weeks old and she’s had her first shots. I named her Ralph.”

“Whoa, slow down, sweetheart. Who would buy you a dog without asking you?”

“Someone who knew how much I’ve always wanted one.”

There was a pause. “By the happy sound of your voice, I wish it
had
been me. Who do you suppose it was?”

“An old friend,” Darcy answered, hoping he wouldn’t probe.

Thankfully, he left it at that. “Ralph? You named a sweet female puppy Ralph?”

“Yes. Isn’t it perfect?”

Her dad chuckled. “I guess it is, at that. Well, Princess, enjoy her. And good luck on the housebreaking. I’d love to come see her soon, but right now I’ve got to make my tee-off time at Indian Hills.”