Games of the Heart (The 'Burg #4)(3)

Taking in her appearance, it surprised Mike that Darrin didn’t lie or even exaggerate. She was wearing a fortune in silver and turquoise. Her boots were not shabby by a long shot. Although long, her hair was cut in chunky, attractive layers that suited the shape of her face and the long line of her neck and Mike knew it was no hack job and likely cost a fortune. And her clothes, considering he understood this better than most men due to his ex-wife’s proclivities for shopping for designer shit, were the good stuff.

She wore it well, all of it, hair, clothes, jewelry, makeup. She was clearly comfortable in her style. She wasn’t tall nor was she short but a long skirt like that usually suited women who had couple more inches than she did. But somehow it also suited her.

His eyes moved from her body to her face. She was leaning back against the wall and had her head bowed to look at her feet. But she wasn’t looking at her feet and he knew this because her eyes were closed. He had her profile and, at first, he thought her face was blank. But he also noticed that there was a pallor under her skin. Her lips were soft and as he watched, he saw her little, even white teeth emerge and bite her full lower one.

Fuck, he was wrong. She wasn’t blank. She was feeling this. She was in pain.

Her head lifted, her teeth left her lips and her eyes opened.

Mike had always liked her eyes. Debbie’s eyes were blue. The rest of the Hollidays were dark brown, like Mike’s. When Dusty was a young girl they always held a warmth that was astonishing. The kind of warmth that could welcome you with a glance, making you feel like she missed you when you were gone and couldn’t wait for that moment you returned. They could also dance like no others he’d ever seen, with amusement, mischief, adoration.

But even with her face mostly in profile, he saw her eyes weren’t dancing. The warmth wasn’t there either.

They weren’t cold.

They were wounded.

Yes. She was in pain. A great deal of it.

He heard Ron finish up and looked forward. Pastor Knox came back to the podium to deliver the prayer and Mike bowed his head with the rest. Then he lifted it when Pastor Knox mumbled, “Amen”.

George Markham hit the podium to inform them the service was over and they’d be moving to the cemetery to lay Darrin to rest. People got up from their seats, shifted, moved and Mike stood too, turning immediately toward Dusty.

But when he did, she was gone.

*

“Thank you for coming, Mike.”

He was standing with Rhonda and Debbie on the porch just outside the door to the farmhouse and Rhonda was giving him her good-bye. There was a crush of people in the house. The dining room and kitchen tables along with every surface in a common area were covered in platters of food or bowls of snacks. He was holding Rhonda’s hand, squeezing it and looking into her eyes.

They were done, he knew, at least for a time. She couldn’t look at him without seeing him bent over her dead husband, trying to get his heart pumping again. She might never be able to look at him without remembering what they shared.

He would need to avoid her until she gave him the all-clear and he knew that might never happen. This happened to cops, not frequently, but it happened. You shared a tragedy, you delivered bad news; in a small town it was hard to avoid the man who gave it to you. But you did it all the same.

He wasn’t happy about this with Rhonda. Darrin was a friend, without him, Rhonda, in normal circumstances, probably wouldn’t continue to be. Not by either of their design, they would just drift apart without a common anchor. He liked her, she was a little flighty, a little oversensitive, but she was a good woman and now she and her boys needed all the friends they could get.

But it was not his choice and he sighed, squeezed her hand deeper and let her go.

She smiled a small, joyless smile and drifted back into the house.

Debbie moved to him and hooked her hand around his elbow, propelling him over the porch and down the steps to the walk.

“You doin’ okay?” he asked softly.

“No,” she answered honestly.

“Right, honey, what I mean is, you gonna be okay?”

She looked up at him, took a small breath and replied, “Yes. I’ll be all right.”

Mike nodded knowing even before he asked the question that she would. Debbie was like that. She loved her brother, he knew, but she was the kind of woman who sorted her shit in short order and moved on. She’d do the same after losing Darrin and she wouldn’t waste time with it.

He moved with his long since ex-girlfriend toward his SUV as he asked, “There a reason Dusty didn’t show at the cemetery or here?” He jerked his head back to indicate the farmhouse.

Debbie was looking at him and he watched her face get hard.

“Is there a reason she didn’t show at the service?” she surprisingly returned and continued. “Is there a reason she gave us such shit about this whole thing? Is there a reason Dusty does anything?”

Mike stopped them by his SUV, turning to face her, feeling his brows had drawn.

“She was at the service, Deb,” he informed her and he saw her brows draw together.

“She was?” she asked as she dropped her hand from his elbow.

He nodded. “She stood at the back against the wall.”

Debbie studied him a split second before she rolled her eyes.

“So Dusty,” she stated. “Silent rebellion. Nothing ever changes.”