I watched six men carry out a coffin on their shoulders. Behind them was Emma with someone at her side.
There was only one person’s funeral Emma would be at the center of. Her father’s.
Everyone headed to the right side of the church away from me toward the cemetery, except for one person. Alana saw me and veered in my direction.
“A little late,” she said when she reached me.
“Nice shoes,” I teased. This was one occasion she hadn’t worn converse.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m at a funeral, and as much as I like those sneakers, I wouldn’t wear them to a funeral. Now, why are you wearing that?” She gestured.
My button-down was flannel and not black. Neither were my jeans. “I didn’t know.”
She gaped at me. “How could you not? Mom said she was going to tell you.”
“I missed her call and forgot to call her back.”
She hustled me around the corner out of sight. “I suggest you leave before everyone gets to talking about you not going to the funeral.” If I thought she was done, I was wrong. “By the way, just because you’re here now, doesn’t mean you start hovering and acting all big brother-like. I’m not twelve anymore. Mom and Dad accepted that and so should you.”
I smiled and feigned ignorance. “What? I should pretend I don’t have a sister?”
“Pretty much. Stay out of my business and I’ll stay out of yours.”
“Sunday dinners with Mom and Dad?”
“Not a guarantee. I have a job and college. I can’t spend all my free time with family.”
I arched a brow.
“You know what I mean. I’m busy, adulting. Now get out of here.”
To her dismay, I had to follow her back towards the church because that's where my car was parked. I got in and from Tucker Lane drove down Harbor Street, turning on Mason Creek road out to the house I purchased from Stanley, the former chief deputy sheriff. It was a corner lot on the edge of town with unobstructed views of the mountains. The land on the other side of the street would never be developed as it belonged to my family. I was close to the farm but far enough away; it would take a short drive or a long walk to reach their house.
What I didn’t expect to find was Darcy, my ex-girlfriend from high school, sitting on my porch.
I took off my Stetson hat and ran a hand through my hair when I reached her.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I asked her.
She stood, sweeping her dark hair to one side with her hand without once taking her even darker eyes off me. The black dress she wore fit her just right. Buttons ran down the center on purpose knowing her. My guess was so she could leave enough open at the top and bottom to get a guy to glance her way. Especially when everything was belted at the waist to show just how tiny it was. She still looked good. Too bad for her, it didn’t change a thing between us.
“You still look good, cowboy. I see city life didn’t change you.” Her eyes offered more than a hello and I just couldn’t go there.
“You aren’t at the funeral?” I asked.
“Emma might have died if I showed up considering her dad had eyes for me.”
Darcy liked to flirt, and what guy wouldn’t appreciate her attention? “Who in this town didn’t?” I asked.
“Apparently, you. You left me for college and that was it.”
Darcy had been my first long-term girlfriend, and we’d shared a lot of other firsts. But she wanted a commitment I couldn’t give when I left for college. As much as I cared for her, I hadn’t loved her like a man should love a future wife. It wasn’t because she was wild and carefree. That was what had made our relationship fun. The problem was there had always been someone else I saw as my future wife, and I didn’t think it was fair for Darcy to live in her shadow.
“We both know neither of us would have stuck to a long-distance relationship,” I said.
She didn’t argue. “Now you’re back,” she said, sliding her palms up my chest to my shoulders.
I caught her wrist and pulled her hands away. “Let’s not start.”
“Why not? Emma’s engaged to be married. You can give up that puppy crush you have on her.”
I’d never lied to Darcy, ever. “She’s not married yet.”
She rolled her eyes like I was foolish in my thinking. “He’s rich and giving her everything a small-town cop can’t.”
I arched a brow. “Jealous?”
“Why would I be jealous of her? I’ve had the one thing she hasn’t.”
I took the bait and asked, “What’s that?”
“You.”
“Darcy,” I warned. “It’s never going to happen.”
“Why? Because I was hurt when you left and did things I thought would hurt you?”