Love's Haven (17 page)

“But you might hurt—”

“I won’t. I promise.”

At his words, Mara began to sob against his chest. The harder she cried, the tighter he held her. Time stood still as she poured out the unforgiveness and fear and doubt she had held on to so tightly. Finally, when nothing more would come, her shoulders stopped heaving, and she raised her head.

The snow had stopped falling, and the boundless sky above the desert glowed with the light of stars beyond number.

A
s Brock held her on the roadside, Mara allowed her hands to move up the arms of his sheepskin coat and over his broad shoulders. How long since she had touched another human besides her baby? How long since anyone had embraced her? How long since she had felt anything beyond motherhood and grief and loneliness?

Oh, Lord, Lord…
her heart cried out. Beneath the blurred veil of tears clinging to her eyelashes she saw the tiny, dark point of each whisker on Brock’s jaw. With her fingertips, she feathered the coarse black strands of his hair and touched the sides of his face with her thumbs.

Her prayer wrenched through her chest.
This must be wrong, Lord…or not wrong…he’s my husband…not my husband…help me, help me, Lord…

“Mara,” he murmured, “It’s all right—us together. I know it.”

She drank in the scent of his hair as he lowered his head and brushed a kiss on her cheek. At the touch of his lips, she shivered. “I missed you those three weeks, Brock. But all of this scares me so much.”

“Please don’t be afraid of me. I won’t do anything to drive you away.”

“I’m here now,” she said softly. “Just hold me.”

As his strong arms enfolded her and drew her closer, she remembered she was not just a mother, not just a widow. She was a woman. Todd had died, but Brock’s engulfing presence reminded Mara how very much alive she was. Everything that had gone before vanished like snowflakes on warm asphalt, leaving only this man whose touch lit a fire inside her heart.

As the scent of leather and aftershave drifted around her head, images filtered through Mara’s mind. Wrapped in the warmth of Brock’s embrace and bathed in the soft glow of starlight, she pictured them together…as husband and wife…as God intended….

The picture seemed so real she could hardly believe they were standing on a roadside in the middle of a snowfall. And then she thought of her body’s limitations so soon after childbirth. She remembered stitches and torn muscle and stretch marks. He wouldn’t like that. Wouldn’t think her beautiful. Wouldn’t want her.

She pulled back, but this time he found her lips. “Mara,” he murmured. “Mara, this is right. This is the way it’s supposed to be.”

“Is it, Brock?” Blossoming inside at the touch of his mouth against hers, she stood on tiptoe and sought him again. This time the kiss lingered, entranced, fulfilled her. “Oh, I feel out of control,” she said as she let out a breath. “I can’t tell right from wrong.”

“Mara, we’re married. You’re my wife. How can it be wrong for me to kiss you?”

His words made such sense, and she was so lost in him…lost to him…aware only of his arms so tight around her…and his mouth so near…and a flashing red light…

“Excuse me,” the voice came out of nowhere. “You folks all right here?”

Mara let out a muffled squeak. Brock stiffened and pulled
her into the protection of his chest. “Who’s there?” he barked.

A bright white light shone into his eyes, nearly blocking the blinking red beam behind it. “Dona Ana County Sheriff’s Department,” the voice said. “I noticed your car on the shoulder.”

Blinded by the glare of the flashlight, Mara barely made out the face and uniform of a deputy.

“We’re fine,” Brock said. “Just…uh…enjoying the evening.”

“You all right, ma’am?”

Flushing, Mara peered around Brock’s shoulder. “I’m fine. Thank you, Officer.”

“And the car’s okay?”

“Car’s fine,” Brock said. “Running great.”

The deputy nodded. “Well, I guess you know, we really prefer that people don’t stop so close to the roadway. Could be dangerous to park on the shoulder, especially at night. Sir, would you mind if I took a look at your driver’s license?”

Brock groaned. Tucking Mara against him, he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and handed the license to the patrolman. “I guess you’ll want to see the car’s registration?”

“Yessir. Proof of insurance, too.”

Brock and Mara asked for and received permission to wait in their car while the deputy ran a check on Brock’s documents. Everything was in order.

“Merry Christmas, now,” the officer called as Brock finally started the Jaguar. “You folks go on home. Santy Claus will be here before you know it.”

“Merry Christmas,” Brock and Mara said in unison. Brock glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “It’s Christmas morning.”

Mara snuggled into the depths of her coat as the Jaguar’s heater blew warm air on her wet feet. She felt
confused and worried and unbearably happy. Most of all, she felt alive. When Brock reached over to take her hand, she wove her fingers through his.

He drove along in silence, his eyes focused on the snowflakes that were falling once again. Mara studied him through half-open lids and realized that at this moment, she didn’t care what their future held. All she knew was the pleasure of his kiss.
We’re married,
he had said. That made it all right. She had forgiven him, and God had brought them together, and everything was going to be fine. Perching on the tip of her newfound confidence, she held her breath. Hoping. Praying.

When a smile tilted the corner of his mouth, she savored it, tucking it away in her mind to think about when he was away. “You’re grinning like the cat that ate the canary. What are you thinking about, Brock?”

He chuckled. “’Twas the night before Christmas, Mara. I’m having visions of sugarplums.”

Ramona insisted she didn’t mind the late hour. She seemed especially pleased when Brock handed her a fifty-dollar bill. After giving Mara a rundown of Abby’s feedings over the course of the evening, Ramona slipped on her coat and headed out to her car. With calls of “Merry Christmas,” she drove away, leaving Mara and Brock in the silence of the big house.

“Looks like everyone had a good time,” Brock said as he surveyed the great room with satisfaction. The tall tree glowed in the firelight, its myriad ornaments hanging between long garlands of red cranberries and white popcorn. The scented candles flickered on the mantel, logs popped and crackled on the grate.

“They left everything so tidy,” Mara observed. She had taken off her coat, but she stood in the foyer, as if suddenly uncomfortable at being alone with Brock. “I
guess that’s what you get when you invite the housekeeping staff to a party.”

He chuckled. “I’ve never known Rosa Maria to leave a room anything but spotless. I wonder if she and Pierre got through the evening without one of their squabbles.”

“They haven’t been bad these past few weeks. Maybe they just like to argue around you.”

Brock slung his leather jacket over his shoulder and gave the fire a stir with the poker. Orange sparks shot up the black wall of the chimney. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mara moving hesitantly into the great room. Her tightly clasped hands and pale face told him exactly how she felt. Nervous.

As much as he hated to risk breaking the truce between them, Brock knew he couldn’t keep up this elusive dance with her. The attraction between them was real and powerful. He had never been the kind of man to sidestep an issue. If he wanted something, he went after it until he got it.

Brock set the poker in its stand and straightened from the fire. What he wanted was Mara. She was so different from any other woman he had known. Mara was complicated—intelligent, passionate and, most significant, moral. She was a Christian, and that meant things Brock couldn’t quite understand. Todd had told him they had waited until their wedding night to consummate their union. The notion had baffled Brock. Intrigued him. And made him feel somehow dirty.

He certainly was not Todd. The first tinges of guilt he had felt with women were quickly squelched. He’d hardened his heart and put a heavy blanket over his conscience. He was in charge of his own life, after all. At least, that’s what he had believed for so many years. Now he knew it had been a lie. He had deceived himself.

His roving ways had not given him as much pleasure
as he had told himself. In fact, he realized, spreading himself so thin had diminished him. Left him emptier than ever. Made him look into that hollow pit he now knew so well.

Brock studied the fire. As much as both of them might want to consummate their marriage, Mara wouldn’t just climb into Brock’s bed. He knew that. She would think about the impact. She would dwell on consequences and ponder implications for the future. Her deliberateness and morality frustrated him, but it was one reason he had come to desire her as he had never desired anyone.

“I’d better check on Abby,” Mara said as she skirted the leather sofa a safe distance from him. “It’s been hours since I nursed. She’s bound to be hungry.”

He reached up to a panel on the wall and flipped a switch. “She’s quiet,” he said in a low voice. “Intercoms never lie.”

“Then I guess I’ll head for my room.” She eyed him from her position across the open space. “Thank you for taking me to the party, Brock. Stephanie seems nice. Maybe she and some of the others could come out to the house one of these days. I doubt it would be a—”

“Mara, come here.” Brock held out a hand.

She glanced down the darkened hall as if making certain of her escape route. When she looked at him again, her eyes were luminous. She let out a deep breath. “I’m not ready for this, Brock. It’s not right.”

“I want to hold you.”

“I’m sorry…but I can’t—”

“You don’t trust yourself.”

“Maybe not. Back there on the road, I…I got carried away and didn’t think. It was…wonderful…and I still feel so…I did want what happened between us, Brock. I can’t deny that anymore. There’s no point in trying to lie to you or to myself. But I need time to pray about this. I have to think it all through. You ought to think it over, too.”

“I know how I feel. I know what I want. And God knows I’m willing to wait for it.”

“God? How can you be sure what He knows?”

He stepped toward her. “I’m not religious like you and Todd. But I do think about God. There are times…Well, I wish I understood God better. I might not have done things the way I have. Maybe I would have been a better man.”

“It’s not too late.”

“It’s too late for Todd. Too late for Abby. I blew it. I urged Todd into my life and all my craziness, and look what it got him. He died.” Overwhelmed with the loss, the guilt, Brock lowered his head and rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t cry. Not in front of Mara. He had shed so many tears, felt such remorse. And he didn’t know what to do with it but stuff it away and try to rebuild. Build the fortress with no foundation. The fortress over the big pit in his heart.

“Look, Mara,” he said. “About this thing between us…I’ll wait until you get it all figured out, if you want to try. And I’ll try, too. But in the meantime, I’d like to sit by the fire and hold you.”

She wrapped her arms around her stomach and shook her head. “Stephanie was right. You have all the words.”

“This is no memorized speech, Mara.” He walked toward her, frustration bubbling inside him again. “You make me out to be something I’m not. I’m just a man. I speak my mind.”

“Brock, stop right there.”

He kept walking. “Don’t run again, Mara.”

“This is Christmas. I should be thinking about Todd. I am thinking about him.”

“I’m thinking about him, too.” Pausing a pace away, he ran his hand up her arm. “I’m remembering the time I bought him a collection of baseball cards for Christmas.
We were eleven years old, and we went to summer camp together. When Todd opened the box of cards, he was so happy he cried. He told me it was okay to cry, because it was the best present he’d ever gotten.”

“Oh, Brock…”

“And I’m remembering when he gave me a decorated chest he’d made out of Popsicle sticks and glued-on shells. I kept my rock collection in it. I still have that box in my bedroom. Todd was my best friend, Mara. I’ll never live through a Christmas without thinking about him.”

Her lower lip trembled as he pulled her closer. She unknotted her hands and allowed him to draw her into his arms. “I miss Todd,” she whispered.

“I miss him, too.” He fought the lump that formed in his throat. “But it isn’t helping anyone if that keeps us apart.”

She laid her cheek on his shoulder, and once again he felt a tumult of emotion tear through him like a tornado. He wanted this woman in every way. He wanted her smile in the morning over coffee, her conversation, her spiritual depths and her intellectual pursuits. He wanted her in his bed at night, a wife with a husband.

And yet he couldn’t deny the ache inside at the memory of her true husband. She had married Todd, and in her heart, she was still married to him. Brock couldn’t release his own need to be forgiven for ripping Todd out of her life. He didn’t want to push Mara, didn’t want to betray his friend, but how could he make himself hold back from something he’d never wanted more?

“Todd won’t ever see Abby open presents on Christmas morning,” Mara said in a choked voice. “Sometimes it hurts so much.”

He kissed the tear that slid down her cheek. He’d made her cry. No wonder she had hated him. She blamed him for the loss of Todd, her husband and Abby’s father, and she had to deal with that grief every day of her life.

Brock pondered the guilty joy he felt when Mara came willingly into his arms. Standing on the roadside, she had wanted him as honestly as if there had been no barriers between them. Yet Brock knew that if Todd had not died, his best friend would never have known the taste of Mara’s lips. How could he allow himself to take pleasure in that?

“It seems wrong to be anything but sad.” Mara’s voice broke into his thoughts. “When I let you hold me, it’s so good…and then I hate myself for liking it.”

“I feel that, too.” Brock cupped her face in his hands and tilted it toward the soft light of the candles. “But I can’t help what I feel, Mara.”

“I’m afraid to let myself even think what I feel.”

“You want to be whole, just like I do. You don’t want to be a half-empty widow anymore. There’s more to you than being a mommy, too. You’ve got a mind and a body that are waking up after months of numbness. You’re churning with new thoughts. You’re ready to get on with your life.”