Darcy and the Single Dad. Stacy Connelly

Darcy thought it was another distant roll of thunder until she heard a vehicle door slam. “He’s here,” she whispered to the dog. “He’ll make everything all right.”

      Pushing up from the muddy ground, Darcy felt her heart pound in her chest as she lowered her head against the rain and ducked beneath the shelter of the wide eaves on her Craftsman-style house. She was worried about the dog, afraid Nick Pirelli might confirm her fears that the animal was sick. It was enough to make any compassionate person’s pulse quicken, knees weaken, breath catch.

      Who was she trying to kid? She’d felt that same quickening, weakening, catching sensation when she had first laid eyes on Nick Pirelli in the town’s grocery.

      He was tall, over six feet, with intense, solemn brown eyes and dark, thick hair. Darcy could tell in that first glance that Nick Pirelli wasn’t a man given to spending much time on his appearance, and why should he when he was as close to masculine perfection as she’d seen? But she could also tell that what time he did spend in front of the mirror was used to try to tame the hint of natural wave in his mahogany hair into some kind of order.

      Darcy didn’t know why that had struck her as so endearing, but coupled with the collection of pink and purple head bands he’d been holding, she’d been utterly charmed.

      Not that he’d felt the same if his sudden one-eighty and quick disappearance from the aisle where she’d been shopping was anything to go by.

      Skirting beneath the dripping eaves as she rounded the front of the house, Darcy ignored the sharp prick of hurt now just as she had then. It didn’t matter if Nick Pirelli had listened to all the rumors around town about her or what the too-serious vet thought. He was here to help, to do his job. The only opinion she cared about was a professional one.

      But seeing Nick standing on her porch in a beat-up pair of jeans topped by a red and black checked flannel shirt—looking so strong, so sure, so hands-on—Darcy couldn’t deny the rush of attraction. One she was determined to ignore. If Nick Pirelli was the type of man to judge her based on a bunch of lies, then she could only imagine what he’d think of her if he knew the truth.

      Chapter Two

      As Nick lifted his hand to ring Darcy’s doorbell, he heard footsteps on the porch behind him. He turned in time to see her rush up the steps toward him. Her dark red hair was caught up in a damp ponytail, and her jacket and jeans were wet. She stopped short, mere inches away, and her feet nearly slipped out from beneath her. Pure reflex had him reaching out to catch her.

      And it was reflex that had his hands bracketing her narrow waist, reflex that had him ducking his head to inhale her summery scent, mixed with rain from the storm. Reflex that had him hungering to kiss her, to slide his palms down to her hips, to …

      Stay far, far away.

      That had been his goal when he’d driven up to her small Craftsman-style cottage at the end of the street. He would be professional and polite—or as polite as he could manage —do his job and get out of there before—before any of this could happen.

      Jerking away his hands before he could get burned, he stiffly asked, “Are you okay?”

      “Yes. Fine. Thanks.” The short, choppy response wasn’t what he expected. It was almost as if Darcy had been just as affected by the unexpected contact as he had been.

      Straightening, she stepped back and wiped her face. Her hair and cheeks were wet from the storm, and her efforts left a streak of mascara beneath one eye. He couldn’t imagine why the sight made her seem somehow vulnerable or why it tugged at something inside him, something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

      “Sorry. I don’t normally fall over people like this,” she said with a wry enough smile to make Nick wonder if she’d heard the gossip in town. Gossip that said falling all over men was exactly what she normally did.

      Shoving aside thoughts of the rumors, he focused on his reasons for being out in the middle of a storm instead of at home with baseball on the TV and a beer in his hand. “My assistant said you have some kind of emergency.” He hoped his voice didn’t sound as skeptical to Darcy as it did to him, and figured he must have done a passable job at hiding his doubt when she nodded quickly.

      “Yes, and thank you so much—”

      “It’s okay,” he said quickly. “Just doing my job.”

      “Right. Of course. This way.”

      After bending down to grab the well-worn, brown leather bag he’d dropped when Darcy had appeared out of nowhere and stumbled into his arms, Nick followed her around to the back of the house. She must have come from that direction, and yet he was a little surprised. Somehow he’d expected her to lead him inside.

      Not that he was looking for an invitation. He was just—He didn’t know what he was right then.

      And his confusion only increased when Darcy knelt down before her back porch. The rain had turned the area to mud, and now that he wasn’t so distracted, in the glow coming through the windows he could see reddish-brown mud caked the boots she wore and rimmed the hem of her jeans. She wore a fitted, thigh-length jacket in a rich taupe color, but her choice had little to do with fashion. Whatever was going on, Darcy had been outside in the storm for a while.

      “… I can’t coax her out and she’s not eating,” Darcy was saying. “I didn’t know what to do.”

      Squatting down on his heels, Nick got his first look at the she in question. A medium-sized dog lay huddled beneath the porch. “How long has she been like this?”

      “Since I came home this afternoon.” Darcy crouched down beside him to peer at the dog. The animal had crawled through a hole in the rickety latticework framing the fascia of the porch. A small hole. Small enough that the two of them were nearly cheek to cheek gazing into it.

      Focusing on work instead of giving in to the need to study Darcy’s elegant profile, the arch of her forehead, the straight slope of her nose, the tempting curve of her lips, Nick asked, “Has she been out of the yard at all?” An injury might explain the dog’s instinctual need to hide. “Or is there anything she could have gotten into back here? Pesticides? That kind of thing?”

      “No, nothing. But—You think it’s something serious then?”

      The worry in her voice called to Nick. He turned toward the sound, forgetting how close she was. Close enough for him to be in danger of falling into the endless green of her eyes. Close enough to be a breath away from feeling her pale pink lips against his.…

      “I, um—” Nick cleared his throat against the sudden lump of lust lodged there. “I can’t tell from here.”

      He’d learned his lesson when it came to making promises he couldn’t keep, but he found himself longing to ease the frown between Darcy’s auburn eyebrows.

      It’s going to be okay. Everything will work out for the best. You’ll see.

      Those were the vows he’d made to Carol years ago, and he’d failed miserably on all accounts. Nick had never been a man to say he hadn’t made mistakes, but he damned sure didn’t repeat them.

      “Do you have a flashlight?” He needed to try to assess any injuries before moving the dog.

      It hadn’t been his intention, but somehow his words managed to wring a small smile from Darcy. “Living in this house? I have a flashlight in every room.”

      He’d heard about the troubles she’d had with the house—faulty electricity, leaky plumbing—typical complaints with a house built at the start of the last century. But it wasn’t Darcy’s wires or pipes people in town were talking about after she went out with part-time handyman, full-time ladies’ man Travis Parker.

      No one was surprised when the relationship ended quickly. Travis Parker was known for chasing after a woman only to cut her loose once she was caught. But it was Darcy who kept the rumor mill churning as she seemed