A Husband For The Holidays. Ami Weaver

believe him. Didn’t believe him. “It’s just—always been here.” But of course she could see the proof, that it needed more than Joe and Marla could give it.

      “It’s been in the family for a few generations now,” Joe said. “But there’s no one to carry on the farm. Unless...” His voice trailed off and Darcy, hearing the speculation in his tone, pivoted to face him.

      “Unless what?”

      “Unless you want to run it.”

      Darcy laughed and slapped her hand on her chest, incredulous. “Me? I couldn’t possibly.”

      Joe’s gaze was steady and her laughter died. “Why not?”

      She scrambled for an answer. “My life. My job. It’s all in Chicago.” It seemed obvious. Didn’t it?

      “Are you happy there?”

      She turned back to the window. What was up with that question? Mack had asked her the same thing. “Of course.” Wasn’t she happy? Was it her guilt that was eating at her?

      She heard the creaking of Joe’s knees as he rose off the bed and came to stand beside her. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “As a child, you loved this place. Loved it, Darcy. Followed me and your daddy all over, helping. Even after he died, and you were so young, you kept on helping. With your PR skills, you could take this place and really turn it around. We have a verbal agreement only at this point. No papers have been signed yet.”

      She stared at his profile, her mind whirling. She had a closet full of stilettos, for God’s sake. She’d never wear them here. She was a city girl now. And—Mack was here. Could she live in the same town and still move on with her life?

      Joe looked over and slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a hug. She breathed deeply of his outdoorsy, piney scent and squeezed her eyes shut. “Keep it in mind before you reject it totally, Darcy.”

      She hugged him back. “I can’t make any promises, Uncle Joe.” She didn’t want them to pin their hopes on her. She just didn’t see how it could ever work.

      She’d worked so hard to make partner, a feat that was almost in her grasp. So hard to earn the respect of her coworkers. So hard to forget what had happened here, to move past it. To come home to stay would be like throwing away the past seven years of her life. Why would she want to undo everything she’d worked so hard for?

      Why would she want to face, every day, what she’d tried too hard to forget?

      * * *

      Damn it. It hadn’t gone away.

      Mack walked into his office Monday morning in a foul mood thanks to his sleepless weekend. Ever since Darcy showed up, he’d been unable to sleep for the damn dreams.

       Dreams of Darcy.

      They’d managed to spend all weekend together, but not really. She spoke to him when necessary but no more than that. Eye contact was minimal but searing. Sometimes he’d catch her watching him, and he couldn’t read her anymore. Wasn’t sure he wanted to. It was driving him slowly insane.

      Now he went into his office, tossed his coat on the coatrack and dropped in his chair to rub his forehead wearily. God help him, he’d never make it to Christmas this way. She’d kill him all over again and not even know it.

      Even though Sherry would fuss at him, he went ahead and started coffee. Functioning on zero sleep required constant caffeine. Delivered by IV preferably. Since that wasn’t an option, he headed for the coffeemaker.

      There was a rhythm to the mornings. Check everyone, feed everyone, take out those who needed it. Medicine to those who needed it. He embraced the routine today, relieved for the constancy of it. Today he had no truly ill animals, which was always nice. By the time the coffee perked, he was feeling more relaxed.

      Jennifer, another vet who worked with him, came in on a flurry of snow.

      “Morning,” she said, then looked at him hard. “Notice I didn’t say ‘Good morning,’ because you look like hell.”

      He sputtered a laugh. He could always trust she’d get to the point. “Thanks, Jenn.”

      “This have anything to do with the return of the ex-wife?”

      He shut his eyes for a second before reaching for a food bowl. “You heard.”

      “Of course. Small town means everyone eventually knows everything.” She held up a hand before he could say anything. “You don’t have to confirm or deny. Though one look at you is plenty of confirmation for me.”

      He replaced the bowl and ran his hand down the back of the cat gently. She didn’t purr, but neither did she swipe at him. “There’s not much to say.” He knew his tone was curt but she didn’t flinch.

      “Maybe I’m not the one you need to talk to,” she said softly.

      He thought of Darcy, of her laugh, of her spill of hair, of her big brown eyes and smooth skin. Of her cute little body in worn jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Of how he’d thought he was over her and somehow he wasn’t.

      Nope, no reason to say anything.

      “I’m good,” he said, and she rolled her eyes at him as Sherry entered the clinic.

      The morning passed quickly. He managed to keep thoughts of Darcy to a minimum. He wasn’t due to help at the Kramer farm till the weekend. With any luck he’d have this under control by then.

      His last patient of the day was a cantankerous old cat. The owner, Mrs. Harris, had known him his whole life, and she still spent most of her days at the bakery she’d owned for as long as Mack could remember.

      “Hello, Mrs. Harris,” he greeted her as he entered the exam room. “Wolfie’s not eating today?”

      The older lady frowned. “No. He’s just not himself.”

      An exam of the animal didn’t reveal anything untoward, so Mack suggested a change of cat food and sent them on their way with a sample bag. He stood in the reception area, making his notes in Wolfie’s chart. Afterward, he ran through the closing duties with his staff and headed out to meet his brother for dinner. It wasn’t lost on him how his mother and brother checked up on him regularly. Even Katie had, all the way from California.

      He tried to appreciate their concerns, but it was a little stifling.

      * * *

      “So. How’s it going with Darcy?” Chase’s question was casual, but Mack heard the concern under the words.

      “There’s nothing to report,” he said drily. “I hardly see her, much less talk to her.” All true. She was avoiding him. He knew he should be grateful.

      “Mmm. So that’s why you look as if you haven’t slept in a week,” Chase observed, tilting his beer bottle toward Mack. “You want to try again?”

      Unsure actually if that question meant change his answer or give it another go with Darcy, he gave the answer that covered both. “No.”

      Chase raised an eyebrow but said nothing else. Mack stared at the TV, pretending Monday Night Football was enthralling, even though he had no idea what the score was and the teams were just a blur, since Darcy’s face kept floating through his brain. He rubbed his hand over his face.

      “Have you talked to her?”

      “Well, yeah. I have to work with her. I’m not going to be rude,” Mack said, irritated.

      “That’s not what I meant.”

      Mack laughed. “Why would I do that, Chase? It’s long over. There’s nothing to say.”

      Other than ask questions. Like, Why did you leave? Why didn’t you love me as much as I loved you? Why wasn’t I enough? Why couldn’t we pull through our loss?

      And