Love's Haven (10 page)

Mara watched his face harden as his hand knotted into a fist around the iron poker. He was angry, she knew. She had provoked him and backed him into a corner. He hated that. But what else could she have done? If he stopped spending time with his friends because of his marriage, he would resent her even more.

Though her heart begged him not to go, her mouth formed words of separation. “Go on,” she said softly. “They’re waiting.”

J
aw clenched, Brock fought the emotion that had welled up inside him the moment Mara stepped out of the shadows. Golden-haired, she stood with her arms locked protectively at her waist and her chin lifted in a gesture of defiance. She wore blue—a soft turquoise blue that made her gray-green eyes shine. Her long legs were sheathed in black. No wonder Sandy was acting so catty, he thought. Mara looked terrific.

There she stood, the sum of everything he had come to desire most, pushing him away. She didn’t want him.

Mara would take his money, sure. She would live in his house and raise her baby there. But Abby was her daughter, she reminded him again and again. Both of them belonged to another man, even though he had been gone for many months. Brock wondered if those sparkling eyes would ever look at him with anything but rejection and distaste.

On the other hand, this group of men and women did want him. They wanted to laugh at his jokes. They wanted his social status to enhance their own at parties and gatherings. They enjoyed his tales of adventure, his daredevil stunts, his freewheeling joyride through life.

And the women. They made no effort to conceal their interest in him. He could have Sandy on his arm whenever he chose. Same with Stephanie. And quiet Justine was biding her time, giving him little hints that she, too, would appreciate his attention.

Joe and Travis didn’t mind. They were used to Brock and his women. Theirs was a sort of trade-around group—young professionals searching for the right person to marry eventually, and trying out everyone else in the meantime.

It had been fun.

Sort of.

Brock tossed the poker onto the hearth. Metal clanged against stone, an echoing sound magnified in the awkward silence. He looked at Mara. Then he looked at his friends. For some odd reason, the choice was simple.

“I believe I’ll stick around here,” he said in a low voice. “Keep the home fires burning.”

Joe chuckled as the others headed for the foyer. “Well, Mrs. Barnett—sorry, I forgot your first name—you take care of ol’ Brock for us.”

Slapping Brock on the back as he passed through the doorway, Joe shook his head. “I’ve got to admit, Brock, you’ve pulled off some strange stunts in your time. But marrying your best friend’s pregnant widow? This has got to take the cake.”

“Later, Joe.” Brock leaned against the door frame as the visitors strolled to their cars.

“I thought bungee-jumping off that bridge was pretty wild,” said Travis, the last one out. He leaned toward Brock. “Your new bride’s a looker, though. You might as well get some mileage out of your marriage license, pal.”

“Get out of here, Travis,” Brock said, giving his friend a shove.

Travis laughed and waved. “See ya later, Daddy Barnett.”

Brock shut the door and stared at the beveled wood for a moment. Had he really liked those people? He knew he had. Once, there had been little better than a roomful of good-looking women, tough-talking men, liquor and loud music. Beer bashes, cocktail parties. Nightclubs, dance halls, bars. Sandy, Stephanie, Suzy, Sheila. He’d been caught up in that life. Now, he couldn’t even remember why.

As he turned back to the living room, Brock had the sensation that he’d been a hollow man. He had grown up with an absent mother, a father who was always distant, and nothing to fill in the emptiness. So he had spent his time and money on thrill sports, taunting fate as he tested the limits of his own strength. And he had used those people who were driving away from his house. He had plugged up the hole in his heart with everything they could offer.

Brock had run them off tonight, but the truth was he still felt hollow. Instead of partying, he was filling his emptiness with work. Branding, roping, breeding, rounding up. Cows. Bovines.

Shaking his head, he recalled how Todd had tried to talk sense into his best friend. During childhood, the schoolmates had spent their time dreaming up adventures and exploring the New Mexico countryside. But when they were teenagers, Todd had pulled away from Brock’s fascination with powerful cars, fast girls and alcohol. Warning his boyhood companion about the emptiness of such pursuits, Todd had advocated seeking fulfillment in a purer, more godly way.

His lifestyle had reflected that. He worked as a grocery stocker, went to church and eventually began dating Mara. Brock stayed up all night, slept during the day and partied hard. Whenever the two got together, they quickly resumed their familiar, easygoing friendship. But Todd was disappointed in Brock’s choices, and he let Brock know it.

Brock didn’t listen, of course. He assured Todd he was
having too much fun. Three different times—each of which Brock clearly recalled—Todd had sat Brock down and talked about the important place Christianity ought to hold in a man’s life. Brock remembered his friend’s warnings and the hammered refrain, “You’ve got to make a choice, Brock. You have to make a decision to get off the road you’re on and turn to Christ. Give him your life. Surrender.”

Brock had laughed at the idea of ever giving up control of his destiny. Surrender? You’re kidding! Give up parties in favor of church? No way.

But Todd had been right, as he usually was. Brock’s pursuits had left him empty. And his current efforts to fill the hole in his life weren’t turning out much better. He wondered if things would ever change.

As he entered the living room, he spotted Mara standing next to the blazing fire, her arms still crossed and her mouth set in a rigid line.

“Why didn’t you go with them?” she asked without looking at him.

“I didn’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Work.”

She let out a sigh of exasperation. “You could take one evening off to go to their party.”

“Look, no way am I going to drive to some shindig in Las Cruces. First, I have a sick cow to take care of. She’s down in the barn, and I have to check on her every hour or so tonight. And second, I’m your husband, and people are beginning to find that out. If I go to a party with Sandy or someone draped around my neck, that’s not going to look too great, is it?”

Mara swallowed. “I don’t want your misguided chivalry, Brock,” she told him, her voice hard. “You may be my husband, but I know better than to expect loyalty or celibacy from you.”

“You don’t know a thing about me.”

“I heard the way your friends talked. You’re not exactly known for long-term relationships.”

“Yeah, but I’ve never been married till now.”

“Oh, come on, Brock!” Mara twisted the wedding band Todd had given her. “We’re not really married, and you know it.”

“Are you trying to tell me you want out of this thing?”

“I’m telling you I don’t want you to feel trapped.”

“If I’m trapped, you’re trapped, too. We’re in it together, Mara, and it’s a lot more tangled than I thought it’d be.”

“Whose fault is that? Are you implying I tricked you into this marriage?”

“I said we’re both caught. We chose it.”

Mara stared into his eyes. “You offered me a way out of one deep hole. Sometimes I feel like I fell right into another one.”

“What kind of a hole are you in, Mara?”

“This crazy marriage.” She swung her arms out. “We obviously don’t love each other.”

“Don’t we?”

“Well, no.” Staring at him, her breath went shallow. “Of course not.”

“So, I’m trapped in this crazy, loveless marriage, which keeps me from going out to parties with Sandy and her pals. Big loss. What’s it keeping you from?”

Brock walked toward her, his hands at his sides and his eyes fastened on hers. He had felt this way before. Consuming. He wanted to devour Mara, and against all reason he suddenly believed she wanted him to.

He saw the wariness in her eyes. And the desire. If he tore down her walls, he could destroy her. And she could destroy him, too.

“This marriage is keeping me a prisoner,” she said, taking a step backward.

“How?”

“This house.”

“You can walk out of here any time. Take your baby and go. You’ve told me I’m useless to you. I’ll never be Abby’s father.”

“Todd is her father.”

He stopped a foot away and leaned toward her. “Todd is your prison, not this marriage. Look at the ring on your hand. You’re still married to him, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Mara whispered.

“You made a lifetime commitment to a man who died a long time ago.”

“It’s only been six months.”

“Seven.”

“So what? It doesn’t matter how many months have gone by. He’s still my husband.”

“Todd isn’t coming back, Mara.”

“I know!” Her eyes filled with tears.

“Mara.” He reached out a hand to her. “I’m sorry.” He hadn’t meant to hurt her. His words were the message he had told himself again and again. Todd wasn’t coming back. Todd was gone. And it was Brock’s fault. Now he had thrown those words at Mara and hurt her all over again.

“You’re as committed to Todd as I am,” she retorted. “You’re just as bound and imprisoned by his memory. You married me out of some misguided sense of obligation.”

“And I’ll never break that vow.”

“What do you mean?”

Brock turned aside and walked past her to the fire. As he knelt on the hearth and stared into the licking flames, he wondered what was happening to him. Had he turned his back on his friends to spend a lifetime with a woman he could never touch? Had he given up a life of freedom and pleasure for this? The anger, the resentment, the
constant guilt…Yes, Brock concluded. Because it was the only way to pay for what he had done.

“Todd,” he said to the fire, and he realized the word had somehow changed in meaning for him. “I’m loyal to Todd. It’s because of him that I’ll never break my vow to you.”

“Todd is gone,” Mara whispered behind him. “You keep telling me that.”

“I know.”

“How long can you honor a promise to a dead man?”

Brock slammed his hands on his thighs as he swung around and stood to face her. “How long, Mara? You tell me.”

“I don’t know!”

“I don’t know, either.”

They stared at each other, neither daring to move. Brock could hear the blood hammering in his temples. How could this have happened? How could he be standing a breath away, willing her to be the first to break the barrier between them?

If she said one word. If she reached out to him. If she touched him. Everything would collapse, and he would take her straight into his arms.

“Abby’s probably hungry,” she said in a low voice. “I’m going now. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

He caught her arm. “Mara, believe one thing. I didn’t let Todd fall off that cliff. It was an accident.”

“Don’t!” She tried to break away, but his fingers closed tighter around her wrist. He couldn’t release her. Not yet.

“If you won’t hear me out, you’ll never let it go, Mara. You’ll never be able to forgive me.”

“I’m not sure I want to forgive you.”

“Because you would have to admit I’m not all bad? You’d have to see some of what Todd saw in me. If you forgave me, you would know me.”

“Do those buddies of yours know you?” She shook her
head. “I don’t think anyone really knows you, Brock. I’m not sure you know yourself.”

He dropped her arm. “Todd knew me.”

“Maybe.” Mara faced him, her eyes narrowing. “But I don’t want to know you.”

He nodded, bitterness in his mouth. “You want to nurture your pain like that little baby you keep hidden away in the back room. You know I loved Todd. You know I’d never hurt him. He fell off that cliff, and I did everything I could to save him, but he—”

“Stop talking about it!”

“You’re going to hold on to your bitterness and nurse it every day of your life until it grows big enough to eat you alive.”

“Why do you care what I do?” she exploded. “What difference does it make? What do you want from me?”

He grabbed her and jerked her against him. “I want…I want…” With every ounce of strength he could summon, he fought the need to embrace her.

“Brock,” she gasped.

“Go feed your baby.” He set her aside and turned his back. “I’ve got a sick cow.”

He strode across the living room and through the foyer. He flung the front door open so hard it banged against the wall before slamming behind him. In a moment, his pickup roared to life and gravel crunched beneath its wheels as it blasted down the driveway.

Brock glanced at the old grandfather clock on his way down the hall to his bedroom. A little past one in the morning. He felt dead on his feet, but he was hungry enough to eat his own horse. Tending the ailing cow all evening, he’d missed supper, drunk nothing but black coffee and shot his nerves to shreds.

At least the animal had pulled through. She must have
eaten some kind of noxious weed. With the onset of winter, the good grass had died back, and the cattle sometimes poked their noses where they shouldn’t. This cow had been a good breeder, often giving birth to twins, and Brock sure didn’t want to lose her. He had hauled her down from the pasture and tended her until she’d passed the poison.

Though he was no veterinarian, he had learned how to handle most livestock ailments, and he kept a good supply of medicines on hand. Now the animal was in the foreman’s care, and she should be back on her feet by morning. Pedro Chavez cared as much about the ranch as Brock did, and Pedro never balked at being roused from his sleep after midnight.

After tossing his hat on his bed, Brock raked his fingers through his hair and gave a long stretch. His back ached from bending over for hours without a break. His muscles felt as though they’d been tied in knots. At least he hadn’t had time to think much about Mara.

Unwilling to permit even her name to slip into his mind, he stripped off his shirt, tugged the tail of his thermal undershirt out of his jeans’ waistband and rubbed a hand across his flat belly. Empty. But he’d better take a shower before he ate. He started to unbuckle his belt, and his stomach gave a loud rumble.

On second thought, the shower could wait another fifteen minutes, while his appetite couldn’t. Still in his boots and jeans, Brock walked silently down the darkened hall to the kitchen. He flipped on a low light over the stove and opened the refrigerator as he wondered if he would find anything besides Pierre’s sauces, marinades and fresh vegetables. A thick roast beef sandwich and a couple of dill pickles would sure hit the spot.