Love's Haven (20 page)

Mara shook her head. “No,” she whispered.

“Does Brock admit he was responsible?”

“We haven’t really talked about it.”

“Of course not. Why would he want to dredge that up?”

“No, it’s my fault, Sherry. Brock has tried several times to tell me what happened. I can’t bring myself to hear the details, even though I know it would probably be healing for both of us.”

“Mara, are you really getting deeply involved with this man? Are you falling in love with him?”

“I don’t know what’s happening, Sher. When I try to sort it out, I keep coming back to the same thing. Todd loved Brock for seventeen years. Now I understand why.”

Sherry shut her eyes and let out a deep, exasperated sigh. “Todd was a man. Brock is a man. They fished and hiked and camped out together. They were buddies, for heaven’s sake. Pals. You’re a woman, Mara. That’s completely different. We’re talking sick babies in the middle of the night, dinner on the table at six sharp, PTA meetings and bake sales, getting old and wrinkled together, brushing his dentures every night—”

“Sherry!” Mara burst out laughing. “Now I know why you’ve never married.”

“That’s right. And I sure wouldn’t get myself hooked up permanently with a man who had an eye for pretty women and a nose for adventure. Besides, Brock is not a Christian. You told me that when this whole idea first came up. You reminded me that the Bible teaches it’s wrong for us to marry someone who doesn’t share our faith. It’s bad for us, bad for the children, bad for the marriage. If I were you, Mara, I’d put a halt to the whole thing and find a way to make it on my own.”

“You know I’m trying to find work. I told you about the
situation with the fort project Todd contracted with the Bureau of Land Management. I’m doing my best to keep Rosemond Restoration going.”

“Have you found a builder who’s willing to work with you?”

“Yes, and he’s terrific. He really has a feel for the plans Todd drew up. The man even knows some of the history and understands the ambience I want. He’s worked with adobe all his life, so this is right up his alley.”

“Sounds great.”

“If I can convince the BLM to honor Todd’s contract, I’ll start working at Fort Selden right away.”

“What about Abby?”

“The housekeeper’s daughter, Ramona, said she’d love to watch Abby during the day. It’s hard to think about leaving my daughter all those hours, but it won’t be for long. Once we get the project up and running, I can take Abby out to the site with me.” Mara pursed her lips. “Believe me, Sherry, there’s nothing I’d like more than to become self-reliant.”

“And move out of this house so you can start living on your own.”

Mara studied her friend. “I’m not sure about that part, Sherry.”

T
he first Monday of the new year, Brock picked up his telephone and dialed Washington, D.C. With Mara and Abby in Las Cruces visiting the builder, Pierre puttering in the kitchen and the housekeepers busy cleaning the wings, the house was quiet. A file that included the recent letter tucked under his arm, Brock strolled into the dining room as he asked to speak with the regional director.

When a voice came over the receiver, it was younger and crisper than Brock had expected. “Dr. Stephen Long speaking,” the voice said. “How may I help you?”

“This is Brock Barnett in New Mexico. I’m calling in reference to your decision to terminate a contract with the Rosemond Restoration Company.”

“Ah, you must have gotten my letter.”

“I have it in front of me.”

“Good. Then you know the Bureau can’t agree to continue the project without Todd Rosemond heading it up.”

“And you know that Mara Rosemond Barnett now runs the company. She is expecting the BLM to honor the contract.”

“I’m aware of that.” His voice hardened. “Mr. Barnett,
surely you know your wife is not qualified to carry on with this. We’re dealing with seven sites of vital historic significance here. A history teacher and a man with a bulldozer cannot, in the agency’s opinion, accomplish a professional restoration.”

Brock sat down in his chair and propped his feet on the dining-room table. “Anything else?”

“My position is clearly stated in the letter.”

“Dr. Long, when was the last time you looked at the contract you made with Rosemond Restoration?”

There was a moment of silence. “I’m looking at it right now, as a matter of fact. It’s signed by Todd Rosemond.”

“I see that signature.” Brock propped his copy of the contract on his legs. “I also see that the two parties in the contract are the Bureau of Land Management and Rosemond Restoration Company, not you and Todd Rosemond. As I said before, Mara Rosemond Barnett now owns that company. And she’s completely capable of restoring those forts.”

“I hardly think so.”

“I know so. I also think legal wrangling over this matter would create needless expense for all concerned.”

“That doesn’t concern me. Our legal department is more than capable of handling it. Besides, there’s a time limit on the contract, and it’s nearly up. I doubt she could put together a legal challenge in time.”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t put her to the test on that.”

“What are you suggesting, Mr. Barnett?”

“I’m suggesting you let Mara Rosemond Barnett supervise the project.”

“Look, let’s speak frankly here. I received your wife’s résumé in the mail. She’s obviously educated, and perhaps she did help her husband with the research and plans for Fort Selden. That still doesn’t make her a qualified restorationist. You’re a businessman, Mr. Barnett. Would you let
someone with no experience, no references and few credentials oversee a project of such historical and economic importance to the State of New Mexico?”

“Sure I would. There’s nothing to lose and a lot to gain. Mara is the best thing the Bureau has going right now. Read the contract. There’s a clause on page three that allows you to inspect the work in progress and terminate if it doesn’t meet with your approval. Give Mara a month, then fly out here and take a look at the site. If you think she’s doing a good job, that’ll save you starting the whole bid process over again. If you don’t like what she’s doing, shut her down.”

For almost a minute, the silence on the line told Brock his suggestion was being weighed. Then Long spoke again.

“Considering your concern about the wording in the contract, and since we would retain oversight, I’m willing to re-evaluate Mrs. Barnett as the potential project director. But even if I changed my mind, it wouldn’t do much good.”

“Why not?”

“Money. The fort project has lost its base of support. Before the BLM contracted with Rosemond, we promoted the project rather heavily. A foundation in Albuquerque decided to throw some funding our way. It was enough for us to give the go-ahead to the Rosemond company for the first fort. But when Mr. Rosemond passed away and we weren’t able to continue with the project immediately, the foundation pulled its backing. We have a little money set aside, but it’s not enough to complete the work on even one fort.”

Brock propped one foot on the other and studied his boots. “I don’t believe that has to be a problem, Dr. Long,” he said. “I imagine there are plenty of folks around who are always looking for a tax write-off, especially with the price of oil going up again.”

Long fell silent for a long moment. “Well, I can’t think of a better place for citizens to put their money than enriching the heritage of the land.”

“I can’t, either.” Brock lifted his focus to the snow melting outside his window. “I’d better be going, Dr. Long. I’ve got some hungry cattle to feed.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

“You talk things over with Mara next time. She’s the boss.”

“I’ll do that.”

Brock pressed the button on the phone and set the receiver on the table. His face softened into a smile. Mara was going to be one happy woman.

“You never used to eat lunch at the house,” Mara commented the following Thursday as they sat in the dining room over plates of pasta vinaigrette. “As a matter of fact, you didn’t eat supper here very often, either.”

“Had no reason to,” Brock said.

“The food’s the same.”

“Different company.” He speared a curly noodle. “You beat out old Pierre for conversation any day, and you’re a lot better looking.”

Mara smiled. Brock had kept his distance since the incident at the New Year’s Eve party, and neither of them had brought up the subject of their stroke-of-midnight kiss. All the same, he had eaten every meal at the house, he had come in early in the evenings and he had spent a lot of time with her and Abby. In spite of Sherry’s dire warnings, Mara had enjoyed every minute with him.

“Maybe so,” she conceded lightly, “but Pierre wins hands-down in the kitchen.”

“I don’t know about that. These croissants you made are the best I’ve ever tasted.”

“Pierre’s a good teacher.” Mara fiddled with her napkin,
oddly pleased at Brock’s compliment. “Unfortunately, I haven’t had a lesson in ages. I’ve spent so much time on the fort project I haven’t even worked on the quilt with Ermaline.”

“How are things with the builder?”

“Great. I’d like to invite Mr. Dominguez out to the house some evening for dinner. You’d enjoy talking with him. He’s read all the plans, and he doesn’t see any problem doing the wall reconstruction. He’s an older man, and he’s spent years building adobe homes. He says all the good jobs these days are going to young men who work in steel and concrete.”

“Has he been to the site?”

“Lots of times. He’s a serious history buff. His family has deep roots in this area, and he loves combing through museums. He goes to Frontier Days at Fort Selden every year.”

“What does he think about working on the other forts after Fort Selden is complete?”

“He’s ready to retire from his construction business, and he and his wife want to buy an RV and live at the different sites.” She let out a deep breath. “Everything is falling into place, Brock. I just hope I don’t have trouble with the Bureau of Land Management over the contract.”

“I doubt you will.”

“I wish I had your faith. BLM sort of backed away after Todd—”

“Excuse me, Mrs. B.,” Ermaline said, stepping into the dining room. “You have a phone call from a Dr. Long. Shall I ask him to call back after dinner?”

Mara frowned. She didn’t know any physicians named Long. “Just take his number and tell him I’ll—”

“No,” Brock interjected. “Go ahead. Take the call.”

Mara shrugged as Ermaline handed her the phone. “This is Mara Barnett.”

“This is Dr. Stephen Long with the Bureau of Land Management in Washington, D.C.”

“Oh, yes.” Mara glanced up at Brock and gestured toward the phone. “It’s them,” she mouthed. As Brock nodded, she returned to the conversation. “What can I do for you, Dr. Long?”

“Well, I’m hoping you can do some work for us.”

“I would like that.”

“Next Monday I’ll be flying into El Paso and then driving up to Las Cruces to begin a tour of several fort sites. I’d like to meet with you for an interview at that time. Would that be convenient for you?”

“Certainly.”

“Good. We’ll also invite the state monument ranger and the manager of the visitors’ center at Fort Selden. They’re eager to get to know you. If all goes as I expect, we can get started on the restoration right away.”

Mara felt a bubble of elation well up in her chest. “If no one minds, I’ll bring Mr. Dominguez. He’s my adobe contractor.”

“That would be fine.” Dr. Long was silent for a moment. “You do understand that your work will be subject to my inspection and approval?”

“Of course. And I’m sure you won’t be disappointed, Dr. Long.”

“Well, then, I’ll see you at about two Monday afternoon in our Las Cruces office.”

As Mara placed the phone on the dining-room table, she knew her hand was shaking. Never—not even when she was hired for her first teaching job—had she felt such excitement.

“He wants to interview me,” she said in almost a whisper. “Monday.”

Brock grinned. “That job is yours.”

“I hope so. I want this so much, Brock. At first I felt I
had to keep the company going for Todd’s sake. It had been his dream all his life. But as time went on, I knew it was something I needed to do for myself. Now I want to touch those adobe walls and breathe life back into the old fort.”

“You will, Mara.”

She stared into his deep-set brown eyes. “Thank you, Brock.”

“For what?” He lifted his cloth napkin to his mouth.

“You believe in me. That means a lot.”

He studied her for a moment. “You mean a lot to me, Mara. You and Abby. But you already know that.”

She closed her eyes. Wanting to hear more and at the same time wanting to flee, she waited.

“I’ve kept my distance like I promised,” he told her. “But when you kissed me on New Year’s Eve, I knew that was no holiday tradition. I’m not going to push you, Mara. But there is one thing I want to know.”

She wrapped her own napkin around her hand. “Brock, please—”

“If you take on the fort job, are you moving out of this house?”

She sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Tell me.”

“I don’t know yet!” She stood up from the table. “Are you my landlord—wanting thirty days’ notice?”

“Mara, you’re my wife.” He pushed back from the table, rose and walked around to her. “I deserve to know. Mara, we’ve been tiptoeing around for weeks. I’ve held back from Abby.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“No? You think all I want to do is change her diaper and give her a bath? I’d like to take her out in the pickup and show her things on the ranch. I’d like the hands to meet her. I’d like to let more of my friends see her. Let them see you, too, for that matter. And I’m not talking
about introducing the pair of you as my best friend’s widow and their daughter. If I had my way, Mara, I’d stop this crazy game we’re playing, and start…start…”

“Start what?” Her heart was beating so hard she was sure he could hear it. “You see? You don’t know either. What are we? Acquaintances? Friends? Housemates? Or husband and wife? Every time I think about it, I get confused. I’m scared. You are, too. You don’t know what you want. Brock, I’m walking out of this room now, and I’m asking you to please just…just…”

“I do know what I want, Mara. It’s the same thing you want. You want me to follow you right out of this room. You want me to take you in my arms and hold you and kiss you until you’re shivering. That’s what you want. Why won’t you admit it?”

“Because I’m afraid,” she said softly. “Afraid I won’t want you to stop until it’s too late.”

Dropping the napkin on her chair, she turned away from him once again and left the room.

Mara spent the rest of the afternoon preparing for her interview with Dr. Long. Earlier that morning, Abby had developed a stuffy nose that made her cranky and demanding, so Mara decided to keep her nearby in case she needed comforting. She laid the baby on a blanket on the floor so Abby could kick and play with her rattle, then she picked up a yellow legal pad and began to jot notes to herself. Surely keeping busy would help her avoid thinking about Brock.

Wrong. Brock was far too real to dismiss. He was her husband and her friend and her housemate. Why couldn’t he be her lover, too? She tried to remember Sherry’s admonitions. They rang hollow. Mara wanted everything about Brock, and he wanted her. Did this mean they should call their marriage real? And if they did, what then? Could she really trust Brock with her future? Did she want to
spend the rest of her life with a man who didn’t share her faith? A man whose past might easily beckon him again?

Mara looked down at her baby. Tiny feet up in the air, Abby was gazing in fascination at her hand. She turned it first one way and then the other. Mara recalled taking off her wedding ring on Christmas morning. Though her left hand was still bare, she felt very much like a married woman.

“Oh, Abby,” she whispered as she stretched out on the blanket beside her daughter. “Do you want Brock to be your daddy? What does God have planned for you, sweet girl? I wish I knew what was right.”

Mara stroked her fingers across a cheek so soft she almost couldn’t feel the downy skin. Instinctively, Abby turned toward the touch, her mouth pursed. Mara smiled and kissed the baby’s forehead.

“All you really want is to eat and sleep and stay dry, don’t you?” She dabbed at the baby’s damp nose with a tissue. “There, is that better?”

Mara let Abby’s tiny, curled fingers wrap around her index finger. As Mara wiggled it, Abby’s hand moved in unison. “We’re two peas in a pod, you and I. You’re ready to nurse right when I’m so full of milk I think I might pop. You fall asleep just when I’m so tired I can’t keep my eyes open. I think we’re connected, little one. So tell me, what do you think of that guy who likes to make breakfast with you every morning?”