Chapter 23 Darby
DARBY
These lumberjacks have so many interesting layers to discover. I have a feeling it could take weeks to discover all their secrets. Maybe even years.
They’re so much more than flannel, beards, and hockey stats. As if a private investigator isn’t cool enough, now I find out Leland is also writing werewolf police procedurals. I still don’t know what the Ice mystery is, and I haven’t even met Doyle. Or his daughter.
A lifetime of friendship binds these men together, but it’s also more than that.
Henrik is helping Leland with his books, and Leland helps him by bringing in supplies.
Ren’s out plowing roads at all hours of the day and night.
I can’t imagine that pays very well. But he was a professional hockey player, so maybe he doesn’t need a reliable salary all year long.
Henrik too. All this land and his cabin couldn’t have been cheap. He doesn’t work.
What does he do all day? Week after week, month after month? Except tromp around in the woods and snow.
My curiosity is piqued, which makes me groan inwardly. Curiosity will be the death of me for sure. The more I discover about the inhabitants of Mooseville…
The more I want to know.
What’s even more amazing is how easily they’ve welcomed me. Despite all their history, they don’t make me feel excluded. It’s impossible for me to pick up on all their past in a few hours or even days, but I already feel…
I swallow hard. Like a part of their strange little family.
I’m even holding hands with a second man.
Gently, I pull my fingers free and make a big production of picking up my cup and drinking some of the cocoa. I can’t get my mind around this sharing thing. Why Henrik’s so chill about it. Even to the point of putting horrible—delicious—images in my head.
What would he say about Leland later? My mind doesn’t need any help coming up with illustrations of all the ways we could be together. All three of us. Four of us.
Ugh. My cheeks are so hot I can barely resist the urge to fan myself.
Thankfully Leland takes the opportunity to go grab some extra books for me. Henrik’s hand still weighs heavy on my neck. The man is too damned smart for his own good. He knows full well what that does to me.
“You know—”
“Don’t say it,” I butt in before he can make me blush even more.
The big jerk laughs, a deep, low, husky rumble that only turns me on. “Whatever you want, babe. It’s all on the table.”
Whatever I want. On the table.
Which only makes me remember his sultry threats last night.
My mind is hopping around again, stimulated by chocolate endorphins. Nothing else. I’m certainly not appreciating the way Leland’s jeans hug his ass as he goes upstairs. Or the way his eyes seem as warm as the hot cocoa I’m sipping when he shyly sets a couple of books on the counter beside me.
“What else’s on the agenda?” Leland asks. “Do you want to try out the sleds?”
“I know you’re hoping to convince me snow is fun and all, but honestly, all I want to do is cuddle up on the couch and read.”
“Done,” Henrik says immediately. “His place or mine?”
My gaze slips up to check Leland’s reaction, but before I can reply, he says, “You’ve got the food and the space.”
“I don’t want to interfere in your normal routine, especially if you have deadlines you’re trying to meet.”
He flashes a grin and then drains the rest of his cocoa. “I work at his place all the time. I have an office here, but nothing drags more words out of me faster than having the Mighty Zon breathing down my neck demanding the next chapter.”
The guys make short work of putting the sleds away, and we trek back to Henrik’s house with Leland following behind in his snowmobile.
We take a more direct path this time, so it only takes a few minutes.
In fact, it takes longer for me to put all the layers on and then take them off than the actual drive.
Tucked against Henrik on the couch with Skadi beside me, I’m reading the first book in Leland’s series, while Henrik reads on his iPad.
Leland sits in the recliner with his feet kicked up and a padded tray across his thighs for his laptop.
It’s quiet except for the occasional pop from the burning wood in the fireplace.
No television. Even Skadi’s napping, pleasantly worn out from her run in the snow.
I never realized how sexy it is to watch a man read. Let alone watch his friend write the book he’s reading.
Michael never read. In fact, I can’t recall him ever picking up a fiction book after high school.
He never read for fun or to learn something new.
To him, quality time was spent watching television.
Mostly sports, especially Sunday afternoon football.
Or cop shows, ironically. He’d shit his pants to talk to Leland and hear some of his stories.
Not that I’d ever subject him or Henrik to my ex.
Men who not only read books—but went to therapy. I joked about being in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, or Snow White, but maybe I’m not far off. It’s certainly a weird kind of Lala Land.
Honestly, I’m stumped about why they’re still single.
Sitting here reading, peacefully, each lost in our own world but also connected and present. I never dreamed such a thing could be possible. Now…
I can’t imagine a better way to spend an afternoon.
Okay, that’s not true. I have to bite my bottom lip when Henrik sets the tablet aside and carefully extracts himself.
Standing, he stretches and scuffs a hand through his hair, messing it up.
And all I can think about is messing him up some more.
It’s all I can do to keep my hands to myself instead of reaching for his hips.
Tugging the waistband of his pants down enough to get my hand around his cock.
Or my mouth.
I very carefully focus on the book as he moves into the kitchen. Though as I turn the page, I make the mistake of looking in Leland’s direction. His lips are quirked in a smug grin that tells me he knows exactly what I was thinking. Probably because I’m practically drooling at the thought.
Dragging my gaze back to the book, I can’t even see the words. “Need any help?”
“I’ve got it, babe. Just whipping up some cornbread. Ren’ll be here in about half an hour.”
“If you brush the top with some butter and honey after it’s risen a bit, it’ll make a nice, caramelized topping. But not too early or the honey’ll burn.”
“That sounds fucking amazing. Why didn’t I ever think of that?”
I laugh. “Just one of the perks of running a bakery. You learn lots of little tips and tricks to make your baked goods stand out.”
Now I’m remembering the news Kirstin told me this morning, and my smile probably turns sinister. I pull out my phone to see if she’s texted me any of the reviews yet. Lo and behold, she has, and the reviews are as terrible as I hoped.
“Don’t be fooled, this isn’t like the original Darby’s. They don’t have her Morning Glory muffins!”
“What happened to Darby’s? This place is terrible. I can make a better box cake at home.”
“My daughter’s birthday was ruined! They lost the cake order, even though I paid for it. Had to go to the grocery store for a regular cake and dispute with my credit card to get a refund.”
My initial snide amusement fades into a wince of regret. I hate the thought of birthday parties being ruined. If people think Darby’s Too is me, my name…
“Hey,” Leland says softly. “Everything okay?”
I force a smile and put the phone away. That’s what I get for celebrating someone else’s failures. Even when they’re well deserved. “A little bit of a flashback to the job, I guess.”
“Whew. I was afraid my book caused that look on your face.”
Shaking my head, I laugh. “Not at all. I’m loving it. It just blows my mind that I’m sitting here talking to the author.”
“It can be weird for me too,” he admits sheepishly. “When people find out, sometimes they think Ivan Hart is me. That I just put myself into the book as a main character. But that’s not the way it works at all.”
Dreaming, Skadi makes little woofy sounds and her feet lightly flop like she’s running in her sleep.
I stroke my fingers through her fur, calming her in case it’s a nightmare.
Hopefully she’s chasing bunnies and not being chased by something herself.
“How does writing about it help you to deal with your memories of being a police officer?”
“I pull out my emotions. My anxiety, my PTSD, even some of my memories of how I felt in the moment, yeah. But it’s not me on the page. If anything, the main character is more like my partner, but it’s not him either.”
“A fictionalized version of him?”
“Exactly. Everything that made him a great cop are magnified, but so are all his weaknesses and faults, because that’s what makes a good character.
The protagonist started more like Harris, but as I’ve written more, he’s become his own person.
In my head, I mean.” He laughs again self-consciously.
“Though I’m not hearing voices or anything like that.
I know what my character would say or do without thinking about it.
But it’s not things I would say or do, if that makes sense. ”
“Sure, I get that. I’m in the part now where Hart is at the first murder scene.”
Leland grimaces. “Yeah, sorry in advance. That was loosely based on a horrific scene we rolled up on early in my career. I wasn’t the detective on that case, but I remember a lot of the details. Not gonna lie, I almost lost my lunch.”
“How does it help you to write about scenes like that? I would think that would make it worse.”
He hesitates a moment, not because he’s reluctant to answer.
I can see the concentration on his face, the furrowing of his brow, as he thinks through what he wants to say.
“It’s my chance to right wrongs we couldn’t do anything about.
Some of the perps were caught, yeah, and some of them offed themselves to avoid justice.
But most of the murders we investigated were never solved.
“It’s those cases that stick with you the most, I think.
The ones who got away. The criminals who never answered for their crimes.
They might still be out there killing people.
Destroying families and ruining lives. In my world, Ivan Hart can stop some of those senseless deaths from ever happening.
Even if he’s tiptoeing on the line between right and wrong himself. ”
“Thanks for explaining without getting offended. I’m fascinated by the whole process and how your mind works.”
“Plus they’re just damned good stories,” Henrik says as he comes back to the couch. “I keep telling him so, but he doesn’t believe me.”
“They’re fine,” Leland mumbles, turning as red as his hair while he studiously focuses on his laptop screen. “Sales aren’t there yet.”
“They will be.”
I’m barely back into the murder scene when Skadi’s head snaps up, her ears perked, though she doesn’t bark. A few moments later, heavy thumps on the steps announce Ren arriving. He doesn’t knock but throws open the door with a whoop. “Honey, I’m home!”
Leland snickers and Henrik flips him the bird.
Skadi jumps down and darts around the room, yipping with excitement.
Ren only encourages her rather than trying to calm her down, play-grabbing at her and chasing when she steals his hat.
She jumps up on the couch, straight into my lap, and then vaults over the back when he tries to grab her.
Laughing, Ren flops down beside me entirely too close for comfort. “So, how was your day in the snow? Did the big guy convert you yet?”
He smells like outside. Crisp snow and pine, like he rolled around in a bunch of fresh needles before he came inside. “We took a ride over to Leland’s and back. It was fun.” I pause dramatically and then add, “For Skadi. I was cold.”
Henrik shifts slightly, widening his stance, taking up more room. And suddenly I’m crammed between the two of them as his arm drops around my shoulders. “But we warmed you up real good, didn’t we, Lee?”
Ren honest to god pouts, sticking his bottom lip out and crossing his arms over his chest. “No fair. Lee got to help warm Darby up? Without me?”
They make it ridiculously easy to play along with them. I say very primly, “We had hot chocolate.”
“Yum.” Ren makes a low purr like a giant cat. “With marshmallows?”
“You know it,” Leland says. “Though only the kind in the packet. I’m not bougie like you.”
Ren sighs mournfully. “I can’t believe I missed it. Maybe I can help next time.”
“I invited you,” Henrik says, his tone mild. “You said you were busy.”
“I had to get everything set for the Ice.”
Curiosity burns in me, enough that I turn toward him so I can see his face. “When are you going to tell me what the Ice is?”
Mistake. Huge. Because he turns fully toward me, giving me the full effect of his million-watt smile, up close and personal. “Tonight. You can see for yourself. But I wanted to tweak a few things to really give you the best effect.”
His cocky-ass smirk should have annoyed me.
I wish it annoyed me.
Instead…
I want to kiss him. Feel his teasing lips against mine. See if he’s as confident and easy in that department too. You know he is.
I’m saved by the oven timer beeping. Henrik gets up, letting me slip back into the warmth where he was sitting. Gaining some breathing room.
Flustered, I focus intently on Leland’s book even though I can’t see the words. They blur together on the page, while my mind runs circles on a hamster wheel.
I can’t believe I want to kiss Henrik’s best friend. While he’s sitting right here! And his other friend’s watching too! Idiot. So embarrassing. You finally have a hot, wonderful guy interested in you, yet you can’t stop slobbering over his friends.
Ren slips closer so our thighs are touching again. “How’s the book?”
“Great.” I don’t look at him. I’m certainly not making that mistake again.
He makes a low, purring laugh. Then reaches over and turns the book around in my lap. So it’s not upside down. “Maybe that’ll help.”