Love's Haven (15 page)

M
ara stared in dismay at her ankles as Brock’s Jaguar hummed down the highway toward Las Cruces. In the rush, she hadn’t thought to change her socks as she stepped into a pair of loafers. She was stuck with the bright red ones decorated with white snowmen. Perfect for a party with loving friends…but a fashion
faux pas
for a gathering of the young elite. Sandy would probably laugh her right out of the room.

Groaning inwardly, Mara lifted her eyes to the man at the wheel. Dark, silent, Brock was absorbed in thoughts he obviously didn’t care to share. Maybe he was regretting the impulse that had led him to invite Mara. He had no reason to be happy about going to a party with a woman wearing snowman socks.

As forbidding as he looked in his black clothes and hat, he had been a different man back at the house. Before they left, he had walked over to Ramona and had taken Abby from the young woman’s arms. While Mara tugged on her coat and gave instructions about the party food, she had observed Brock stroking the baby’s cheek. His brown eyes had gone soft, and the hard set to his jaw had relaxed. Abby had cooed and batted him on the nose, and his mouth
curved into a gentle smile. Before he was bustled out of the house by Rosa Maria and Ermaline, Mara had caught sight of Brock returning the baby to Ramona. Bending over the cuddly bundle, he brushed a kiss on Abby’s forehead. And as she gave her daughter a kiss of her own, Mara melted inside.

Did Brock truly care about Abby? Had the little girl really captured his heart? Mara couldn’t help but want his affection to be genuine. Even as she felt her thoughts betray Abby’s birth father, she admitted how deeply she longed for her daughter to know Brock’s love.

“Did Abby look any bigger to you?” she asked into the silence.

Brock glanced at her as if surprised there was someone else in the car. But as their eyes met, his deepened. He shifted gears with a leather-gloved hand and returned his focus to the road.

“She’s grown a lot,” he replied. After a moment he spoke again. “I missed three weeks.”

“I’m sure you’ve been busy. Rosa Maria told me you’re usually gone from the house a lot.”

“Yeah.” He turned on the wiper as snowflakes began to brush the windshield. “This time I shouldn’t have left.”

When Mara decided he wasn’t going to continue the conversation, she leaned back against the headrest and shut her eyes.

“My dad was always gone,” Brock spoke up. “Building fences or checking on his oil wells.”

Mara opened her eyes and observed him. The solemn line of his mouth and the tension in his jaw wrote a message of pain. For the first time, she knew exactly what the man was thinking.

“Your father missed out on more than three weeks. He missed your whole life,” she said. “Your mother did, too.”

“So did yours.”

“Not by choice.”

“No. You’re not missing Abby’s life, are you, Mara?” His eyes skimmed her face. “You’re right there all the time. Todd would be, too. He’d be at her side. He wouldn’t go off for three weeks to build a fence.”

Mara took a deep breath. Brock was speaking honestly. Could she?

“I’m glad you came back, Brock,” she said finally. “You’re good with Abby.”

“I missed her, even though she doesn’t belong to me. And I missed you, Mara.”

“Even though I don’t belong to you, either,” she reminded him.

“You belong
with
me.”

“Brock, please don’t start.”

“You’ve had three weeks to think over what happened between us out there at the trading post. Three weeks to get more used to motherhood. Three weeks to continue coming to terms with Todd’s death. I want to know where you stand.”

The perfectionist was back, Mara thought as she stared at the snowflakes blowing against the windshield. Brock couldn’t simply let things happen. He always had to manage things, to put it all in order.

“Don’t pressure me, Brock,” she warned him. “I have to think about practical things like the Fort Selden project and Abby’s next pediatrician appointment. I want to forget about the trading post, okay?”

“No, it’s not okay. In the past three weeks, I’ve done my best to put what happened between us out of my mind. I tried to convince myself it didn’t mean anything. But this afternoon when I walked into the kitchen and saw you standing there, I knew it hadn’t worked.”

He fell silent for a moment, and Mara’s heart thudded as her blood puddled in her knees.

“I failed in a lot of things,” he went on, his voice so low it was almost inaudible. “I failed Todd. I failed you. I failed Abby. I failed myself. I failed to understand what it was about you and Todd that made your marriage work, that made you both so different and good and clean and right. I failed God. I’m still failing everyone—every day. I know I’m not right for you, Mara. I see that. But as hard as I try to make myself believe there’s no hope for us, I can’t.”

The car had rolled into the outskirts of Las Cruces where Christmas lights cast a multicolored glow on the gathering snow. Brock said nothing, obviously waiting for her response as he steered through a subdivision, past a park and up a gentle hill. Mara concentrated on her red snowman socks. It was impossible to believe he had said what she thought she had heard.

“Brock, I think what happened out at the trading post was just reaction to the situation.” Choosing her words carefully, she tried to make sense of it even as she spoke. “We were alone, and we’d been through so much, and it was…well, it was an impulse, right? It happened on the spur of the moment. It didn’t mean anything.”

He pulled the car up to the curb in front of a stucco home with a sloping front lawn and perfectly trimmed evergreens. Cutting the engine, he leaned back against his seat and let out a breath. Mara could see the muscles in his thighs tighten as he tapped his fingers on them. Suddenly his big shoulders turned, and he pinned his focus on her.

“That kiss didn’t mean anything to you?” he demanded. “Don’t evade the question, and don’t lie to me when you answer.”

Mara shivered at the intensity in his brown eyes. If she was timid, he would devour her. She had no choice but to stand up to him. “Listen, Brock, I’m doing my best to work
this out in my mind. The bottom line is, I’m a widow and a mother. I can’t let a kiss mean anything. I shouldn’t have let it happen.”

“But you did. You wanted it.”

She turned away. “Is this Joe’s house?”

“You wanted to kiss me, Mara. I’m no fool. This has been brewing between us for a long time. You know it has.”

“No,” she whispered, and her breath formed a circle of mist on the window. “I’m cold. Let’s go inside.”

“But you loved Todd, and so did I. Neither of us would have betrayed him for the world, and neither of us wants to betray him now. So what do we do?”

“I’m going in.”

“No, Mara!”

“Stop pushing me.”

“Stop running away.”

“I don’t want to feel this!

“But you do. Mara, look at me and tell me you wanted that kiss.”

“Leave me alone, Brock.” She grabbed the door handle and shoved with her shoulder. Stumbling into the snowy night, she heard him slam his door behind her. She ran up the hill, her heart hammering with every step.

This was not happening! She couldn’t allow it. She couldn’t let him say the things he was saying…and she couldn’t feel what she knew she was feeling.

“Mara!” Opening the front door to Mara’s ring, Stephanie hailed her. “This is a surprise. Where’s Brock? We had just about given up on him.”

Mara was engulfed by strangers, men who helped her out of her coat and placed a warm drink in her hands, women who stared appraisingly as they stepped aside to let her pass. She walked beside Stephanie on wooden legs.

“Brock’s coming,” Mara said. “He’s locking the car.”

“Well, come on into the living room. Did you bring the baby?”

Mara shook her head. She glanced behind her to see Brock entering the foyer, a sprinkle of snowflakes scattered across his shoulders and the brim of his hat. Turning her back on him, she trailed Stephanie into a cavernous great room. The home was modern with chrome-and-glass tables, sleek leather sofas, plush gray carpet, recessed lighting. It smelled of expensive perfume and men’s cologne. A gas-log fire glowed between a pair of potted green neon cacti on the hearth.

Mara took an offered chair beside Stephanie, who seemed inclined to want to talk. Around them, fit-looking men and thin women clad in cashmere, silk and leather stood in laughing, talking clusters. The women sparkled with diamonds and gold. The men shone in silver and turquoise.

“So, how is your daughter?” Stephanie began.

“Oh, it’s her!” Sandy in a tight red skirt minced across the floor, with three other women close behind. “I didn’t know you were still with Brock. Ladies, this is Brock’s sweetie. I’m sorry, I forgot your name, honey.”

“Shut up, Sandy. And go easy on that punch.” Stephanie rolled her eyes at the others. “This is Mara Barnett. She’s Brock’s new wife.”

“Wife? Wait a minute, I thought Brock told us it was a monetary arrangement,” Sandy complained loudly. “You know, she gets the dough, he gets the—”

“Excuse me.” Mara stood and gave Stephanie a nod. “I think I’ll take a look around the house.”

“Hey, love the socks!” Sandy said in a stage whisper as Mara brushed past. “Snowmen! Wow, those are cute!”

Sandy solicited Stephanie to join her in giving the others an animated reenactment of their recent visit to the Barnett ranch. Mara wished she could shrink into her snowman socks and disappear completely.

Why had she come? At the ranch house, everyone would be enjoying the eggnog, sugar cookies and homemade
posole
she had worked so hard to prepare. They would be stringing popcorn and cranberries, hanging ornaments and singing the Christmas carols she had been looking forward to all day. Abby would be the focus of love as everyone reveled in the contentment and peace of the season. Instead, Mara was stuck at a party with a female Attila the Hun.

To her surprise, she realized that Stephanie had followed her across the great room to the ceiling-high Christmas tree. Decorated in silver and blue, the tree sported chromed icicles interspersed with tinsel. The artificially flocked branches looked as though they were choking in their muffler of goopy fuzz.

“So, how are things going at the ranch, Mara?” Stephanie asked. “Are you getting used to motherhood?”

Mara studied the woman for a moment and concluded she wouldn’t bite. She let out a deep breath and tried to relax her shoulders.

“Motherhood is a slow process,” she said. “I don’t get much sleep at night. My nerves are a little frazzled.”

“Are you, like, nursing your baby and all that?”

Mara smiled. “It’s not hard once you get used to it. Do you plan to have children, Stephanie?”

“Who knows? At this rate, I’ll hit menopause before I get married. That’s Sandy’s problem, you know. She’s so bitter. A lot of us haven’t found the right guy, but we’d really like to start families. So we date around. It’s been a bust for Sandy and me. Most men just aren’t into commitment. I think Sandy was hoping Brock would be it for her. Anybody could have told her differently. A lot of us tried to warn her, but she wouldn’t listen.”

Taking a sip of spiced cider, Mara studied the tree. “Brock’s not the kind to settle down, is he?”

“You ought to know that by now. He’s a smooth talker, and when he turns those big brown eyes on a woman, there’s no holding back, you know? But the man doesn’t have a heart. Or if he does, he’s not about to give it away.”

“Sounds like you’ve been burned.”

“Who hasn’t? Most of the women in this room have probably gone after him at one time or another. Just look at the man.”

Mara glanced behind her at the group gathered in the foyer. Brock stood head and shoulders above the others, his hard, suntanned face contrasting with the paler complexions of his citified companions. Holding his black Stetson, he chuckled at a joke someone had told. Two women giggled, and one of them leaned her head against his shoulder for just a moment. He seemed oblivious to the flirtatious ploy.

Mara turned away. “Has his moves down pat, does he?”

“Oh, yeah. Brock’s got charisma in spades. If he fixes his sights on someone, she’d better look out. It’s like he has this uncanny sense for knowing what will make a woman melt. Once he has her in the palm of his hand, he loses interest. He’s broken a lot of hearts, I can tell you that.”

“Yours included?”

“Sure. We dated a few years ago. I thought Brock was so intelligent, so handsome, the whole bit. But he was always holding back, you know? It was like his mind was somewhere else. His heart was locked up tight, and I sure wasn’t the woman with the key. I don’t believe there is such a person.”

Mara recalled Rosa Maria’s use of the same image to describe Brock. These were women who had known him longer and more intimately than she had. If they believed he was impossible to reach, they must be right. Certainly Mara didn’t hold the key to Brock’s heart. And she wasn’t about to become another notch on his six-gun.

“Anyway,” Stephanie went on, “you’re probably smarter than the rest of us have been. You’re enjoying his money and his company without making a fool of yourself over the man. You’ve got your baby and your memories of a happy marriage. I wish I’d been wiser where Brock was concerned.”

“I’m just doing what has to be done to survive.” Mara spotted Brock across the room. Though surrounded by people, he was staring straight at her. When he left the group and started her way, she turned quickly and took out her cell phone. “Could you excuse me a minute, Stephanie? I need to check on Abby.”

The rest of the evening became a cat-and-mouse game as Mara did her best to avoid Brock. Every time he appeared at her side, she invented an excuse to get away. She asked Joe for a tour of his house. She made two phone calls to the ranch. She went to the bathroom umpteen times. In fact, Joe’s downstairs powder room became her ultimate refuge.

She perched on the closed lid of the toilet seat and stared at her snowman socks. The truth was dismaying. She was no better off than Stephanie and Sandy and all the rest of the women at this party. Brock had spoken just the right words to weaken her heart. Every time he came near, her pulse sped up to double time. When he spoke against her ear, she got woozy. If their hands brushed, she went weak in the knees. She was an absolute fool.