Fresh Tracks (5 page)

body, firm, tight ass, and talent in the sack that Darby had never seen before. It was the

whole propensity-to-cling issue that had become a problem. An immediate problem. Darby

had seen her—and had mind-blowing sex with her—for five nights in a row before she

realized that Rebecca viewed their pairing as a "relationship" as opposed to the "fun and amazing fuck" that Darby preferred to call it. Christmas was coming and Rebecca wanted

to take Darby home to" meet her parents.

Red flags shot up all over the place, accompanied by the clanging of alarm bells in Darby's

head. The next thing she knew, she was avoiding Rebecca like the plague and Rebecca had

become some sort of video game vixen. Queen Rebecca: Lesbian Hunter of the Dark. She'd

begun popping up at Darby's friends' homes looking for her. She called Darby's cell phone

every hour on the hour. She even waited for Darby in the parking lot of the Blockbuster

where she worked. Darby had stayed locked in the manager's office until three o'clock in

the morning to avoid her, wondering if there would ever be an escape.

That's when she decided hiding out at Aunt Jo's place was the perfect solution. Rebecca

had no idea where it was or that it even existed. Darby would hang there until early next

week and once Rebecca went back to college, she'd be home free. It wasn't the bravest of

plans—which would be to actually talk to the girl and tell her the truth about not wanting a

relationship. But face-to-face honesty wasn't something Darby was experienced at, nor

was she any good at it. For now, any plan was better than none and better than taking her

chances on Rebecca acting rational all of a sudden.

Aunt Jo and Aunt Amy would be surprised to see her. She hadn't initially planned on

spending any time at their cabin, but they'd always told her she was welcome any time—she

was family and didn't need

an invitation. Aunt Jo was the best. They'd been close since Darby was a baby and having a

lesbian in the family had made things a whole lot easier when Darby was coming to terms

with her own sexuality. During her teen years, she'd spent many a weekend at Aunt Jo's,

sometimes talking in depth, sometimes not talking at all, just hanging out and enjoying the

company while Aunt Amy cooked the most amazing meals. How Aunt Jo didn't weigh three

hundred pounds by now, Darby had no idea.

She refocused on the' road in plenty of time to see the large deer standing on the

shoulder with the intent of crossing, no matter what size vehicle might be barreling toward

him. Darby hit the brakes, coasting to a stop and lowering the volume on the radio as she

watched the large, majestic animal wander gracefully across the snow-covered pavement as

if he owned it. His head boasted solid-looking antlers and Darby could hear her father's

excited voice in her head. An eight-pointer. Nice!

Though she completely understood the need for hunting season in this area of the country,

she couldn't imagine kil ing something as regal and impressive as the buck before her. She

remembered being eleven years old when her father took her out into the garage where his

pride and joy hung from its beautiful head. It was a very large buck, solid and strong with a twelve-point set of antlers. His torso was hollow, his dead eyes glassy. The garage smelled

of copper and iron.

Darby remembered the effort it had taken for her not to cry in the presence of what was

once a proud and gorgeous living creature. Though still very young, she was tough in almost

every aspect, a classic tomboy, and she knew her father hoped she'd warm to the tradition

of deer hunting, which he'd practiced faithfully every November since he was a boy. He'd

painstakingly explained to Darby the dangers of the overpopulation of deer in their area,

the threat of death by starvation, and therefore, the necessity of hunting season. He told

her it was very regulated and the rules strictly enforced. Knowing she was particularly fond

of the spring fawns, all white-spotted and innocent, he promised her that no respectable

hunter would ever dream of harming a young deer.

They had talked for the whole afternoon, Darby eyeing the dead buck warily. She asked

many questions and listened intently to her father's ariswers. When they finished, she had

to admit that she did understand the theory behind hunting season, even began to

reluctantly

accept it. But join in? No way. It would never happen. She just couldn't be the reason such

a magnificent animal would no longer roam the woods. Her father had been disappointed,

but to his credit, he'd never pushed her on it.

"Hello, you beautiful thing," she whispered as he made visual contact with her through the windshield, his round brown eyes looking like smooth, giant marbles.

The sight of the deer made her almost giddy and Darby sighed wistfully when he looked

away after a long pregnant moment and meandered into the trees as if he knew he had

nothing to fear from her.

Turning the music back up, she continued on her way, her old tires fighting for a grip as

they slid on the snowy pavement. She was glad the sky was clear. She'd meant to get some

snow tires, but money had been tight and frankly, she'd forgotten about them until the

first big snowfall came a week before Christmas. Driving had been a heart-pounding

adventure ever since.

Fifteen minutes later, she was turning into the meticulously cleared driveway of Aunt Jo's

cabin, hesitating only for a split second when noticing an unfamiliar Honda parked in front

of the unfamiliar Jeep. It had never occurred to her that her aunts might have company.

She parked behind Aunt Jo's king cab pick-up, killed her own engine, and got out, inhaling

deeply. Darby was a city girl at heart, but there was something about the crisp, clean smel

and feel of the country air that made her want to slow down just a tad. She retrieved a

beat-up duffel bag from the backseat just as she heard her aunt's voice cal to her from

behind the garage.

"Darby? Is that you?" Aunt Jo approached, smiling. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought you might need some help carrying wood into the house," Darby answered with a smirk.

"Wel , then, you're just in time." Aunt Jo palmed the back of Darby's head, a sign of affection she'd always used; Darby considered it their version of a hug. "This is new," she commented, flicking the small silver hoop piercing Darby's eyebrow.

"So's this," Darby said with a grin and stuck out her tongue to show the stud piercing through it. "I got them both last month as a birthday present to myself."

"Mmm." Aunt Jo tried unsuccessfully to hide her wince.

Darby grinned at her aunt's attempt to be nonjudgmental.

Aunt Jo took Darby's bag off her shoulder and slung it over her own. "Come on. Let's fill up those young arms."

Inside, Aunt Amy and two other women sat around the dining room table, mugs in their

hands and smiles on their faces.

"I found this apparently homeless person wandering around our driveway," Aunt Jo said as they entered the front door.

"Darby!" Aunt Amy jumped up from the table and Darby dropped her armload of wood onto the brick hearth just in time to catch her aunt as she threw her arms around Darby's neck.

Darby laughed, surprised but loving it. Aunt Amy always gave real hugs, warm, firm, and

filled with emotion.

Darby mock-groaned as she was squeezed. "Hey, Aunt Ame. Merry Christmas."

"What are you doing here? We missed you at your parents' house on Christmas Eve."

"I think I got there about twenty minutes after you left."

"It figures." Aunt Amy began unzipping Darby's coat as if she were still ten years old.

"Take this off. Come in. Sit down. Have some coffee. Do you know our friends?"

Darby glanced toward the two very attractive women at the table. "I don't think so..." Her eyes rested on the smaller of the two, the one with the arresting green eyes. Her heart

began to pound. "Wait.. .we've met, haven't we?"

"Probably more than once," Aunt Jo said as she took Darby's coat and hung it on a hook with her own. "This is Molly DiPrima. She's one of Aunt Amy's oldest and dearest friends.

And this is Sophie Wilson, another very good friend. This is my niece, Darby."

Darby shook hands with Sophie first, smiling, then took Molly's warm, smaller hand,

momentarily captivated to watch it disappear in her own.

The green in Molly's eyes sparkled. "I think I helped your aunt baby-sit you long, long ago."

"Oh, my God, that's right," Aunt Amy said, "You were about twelve and Jo and I hadn't been together very long...maybe a year or two. You stayed with us for the weekend and

Molly came over for dinner. You had such a crush on her." She pushed at Darby playfully.

Darby could feel her cheeks flame as she remembered. The statement was absolutely true;

she'd had it bad for Molly and she'd had

no idea why. Molly had been her very first crush. And damn if I didn't have great taste in

women even back then.

"I think I followed her all over the place that evening."

"You sure did," Aunt Jo said. "I knew right then you would be playing for my team."

"How could I not?" Darby gestured at her two aunts. "Look at my role models."

"Wel , you're certainly all grown up now," Molly commented. "How old are you?"

"I turned twenty-five in November."

"Holy crap." Molly threw a panicked look inAunt Amy's direction. "We're so old."

"Some of us are older than others," Aunt Jo added. "But you're only as old as you feel."

"Then I must be pushing eighty," Molly said, grimacing.

"Hottest damn elderly woman I've ever seen," Darby said, feeling a perverse sense of pleasure at seeing Molly's cheeks turning red this time as she grinned and glanced down at

her steaming mug.

Aunt Jo whacked her upside the head. "Stop flirting with my friends, you little punk," she scolded with affection.

Aunt Amy ushered her to the table. "Sit. I'll get you some coffee."

Darby sat and looked back and forth at Sophie and Molly.

"Are you staying for the week?" Sophie asked, sipping from her own mug. She wore an ivory-colored turtleneck sweater that looked as though it was woven just for her. Her light

brown eyes were the color of the cocoa powder Aunt Amy used for baking cookies.

"Actually, I've sort of come by unannounced and I didn't realize my aunts had guests. I

don't want to be in the way."

"Nonsense," Aunt Amy said, returning to the table with a mug of coffee for Darby. "As long as you don't mind the couch, you can stay as long as you like. You know that."

"I don't want to crash your little party."

"You're always welcome, Darby. Our friends don't mind."

Darby glanced at the friends in question, her eyes resting on Molly. "You're sure?"

Molly grinned. "As long as you don't mind our kind of parties."

Darby furrowed her brow and waited with an expectant smile for Molly to elaborate.

"You know, old lady parties. We'll be playing canasta..." "And bridge," Sophie added. "I brought my dominoes, too." "We'l be falling asleep during the six o'clock news," Aunt Jo tossed in.

"And then we'll go to bed by nine," Aunt Amy said. Darby laughed heartily. "Who do you think you're kidding? You're obviously unaware of how well I know my aunts. You'l probably

drink me under the table. There are probably strippers coming tonight." "Who told you?"

Aunt Jo asked, feigning horror.

THE PROPER DECOR

A

my hung up the phone, a pleased smile on her face. "Laura's coming tonight instead of

tomorrow. She's on her way."

Jo nodded. "Good. The more the merrier."

They were all relaxing in the living room by the fire, stretched out on the floor and on

furniture in various states of repose. It was still early in the week and would be several

more days before this type of lounging made them feel like lazy sacks of uselessness.

"Laura.. .blonde?" Darby asked from her spot on the floor, to which she'd been relegated as the youngest and therefore the one who'd have the least trouble getting back up. "The one who used to work in your restaurant, Aunt Ame?"

"Good memory. That's the one."

"I've met her a couple times, too, right?" Molly asked, feeling slightly appalled at the number of people her best friend knew that she didn't. She hadn't been spending nearly

enough time with Amy, especially over the past year, and she was starting to feel guilty

about it.

"I think so. She started as a chef for me about three years ago. We hit it off right away and were immediate friends. However, it soon became obvious that our styles of running

the kitchen were very, very different. And you know me..." Amy let the sentence dangle,

looking chagrined.

"You couldn't let her run things her way," Molly supplied with a knowing smirk.

"Exactly." Amy shook her head at her age-old inability to understand her own reactions to certain situations. "So, we had to

decide which was more important, Laura running my kitchen or us being friends. As luck

would have it, Shadow Oaks had a scout looking for a kitchen manager-slash-head chef.

Laura jumped at it."

"Smart girl," Sophie commented, stretching out in the leather club chair, her socked feet crossed at the ankle on the matching ottoman. "That place is the retirement community of some of the richest people in western New York. Tons of money there."

"They love her. It was a great move for her. And she and I are still very good friends,"

Amy said.

"Everything happens for a reason," Molly said. "Or so I've been told."