Love's Haven (23 page)

She toed a clod of dirt. “I’m focusing on this project right now, Dr. Long. It’s difficult to look beyond it at the moment.”

“But you have a new baby. And a new husband. What does Brock think?”

“He’s been very supportive.”

“Your husband mentioned he owns a small plane that you could use for commuting to the more distant sites.”

Mara glanced up. “He did?”

“Yes. He seems determined to help these projects move forward.”

“You spoke to Brock?”

“About two weeks ago we discussed the future of the restoration company. I assumed he shared that with you.”

“No.” Mara frowned. She knew that around the time of their hasty wedding, Brock had been in contact with the department. Had he also been talking with them during the weeks she was pitching her proposal?

“Now, this jail should be quite a tourist draw,” Dr. Long said, changing the subject abruptly. “People love to look at jails, prisons, courtrooms, crime scenes and battlegrounds. Bring the people in and you suddenly have funds, legislative support, all kinds of good things. Do you have any documentation of the jail’s historical use?”

“I’m working on it. I’d like to create artifact displays inside each restored building.”

“Good idea. That would complement what’s already in the visitor center.” He walked beside her around the walls of the old jail. “You know, Fort Craig has three warehouses—each larger and deeper than an Olympic-sized swimming pool. There was once a bakery, a guardhouse, officers’ quarters. And that fort was encircled by an earthen wall. Do you suppose we could rebuild that wall, Mrs. Barnett?”

“As I said, I’m taking one project at a time. Fort Selden is the best-preserved of all the sites, and look at the shape it’s in. I have detailed blueprints for each of the forts, of course, but I guess everything depends on whether there’s money to restore them all.”

Dr. Long’s eyebrows rose. “The funding looks very strong at this point.”

“That’s good to know.” She brushed back a wisp of hair that had come loose from her ponytail. “As I work on this project, I’ll continue to pull together what I’ll need for the next one. Mr. Dominguez is willing to move to each site, and I’ll speak with my husband about his airplane.”

“Good. I’m pleased with the start you’ve made here, Mrs. Barnett. It looks like Brock was right. You do have what it takes to run your late husband’s company.”

A little frown tugging at her lips, Mara walked him back to his rental car. “I take it you’ve spoken with Brock several times?”

“Yes. He’s a nice man. Totally supportive of you and this work.”

Dr. Long pulled open the car door. “I’ll be back to check on things, but don’t hesitate to give me a call if you run into any snags. I’ll do what I can to smooth your way through the red tape.”

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.”

He started to get in the car, then straightened again. “Oh, and thank Brock again for me, would you? The donation from the Barnett Foundation started us back on track. Then when other benefactors got wind of it, the funding bottleneck opened up.” He gave her a warm smile. “And I know your husband is pleased with the good work you’re doing—we all are.”

Mara’s mouth went dry. “Thank you,” she mouthed, but no sound emerged.

Dr. Long gave her a thumbs-up as he settled into his car and pulled the door shut. “Thanks for the tour!” he called. “See you soon.”

Mara watched him pull away. As his car bounced down the dirt road, a film of dust settled onto her hair, her shoulders, her boots.

“D
onation,” Mara muttered under her breath as she drove down the dirt road away from Fort Selden. “Buyoff is more like it.”

She shifted gears, turned onto the highway and glared at the yellow line that streaked beneath her car wheels. “He’s got a plane you can use,” she said imitating Dr. Long’s voice. “Oh, he does, does he? How come he never mentioned that to me? And since when have you two become best buddies?”

She tugged the band from her ponytail and shook her hair loose around her shoulders. An airplane? Not that using one was such a bad idea. But what else did the wealthy, well-connected Brock Barnett have up his sleeve? Had he mapped out her whole future with the Bureau of Land Management? Mr. Control Freak.

She could almost hear him talking on his beloved cell phone. “I have resources. I’ll see to it you have all the money you need to keep the project going, and you give my wife a job. How does that sound, Dr. Long?”

“Sounds illegal to me,” Mara said out loud. “Illegal and unethical and…and manipulative…and controlling…and obnoxious!”

What a low-down thing to do! After all they’d gone through, how could he have failed to tell her what he’d done? What else hadn’t he told her? That he owned an island? Or a yacht? Maybe he had girlfriends in every city in America. Maybe he was just biding his time, operating undercover with his old methods, until he grew tired of playing the loyal husband game. Until he grew tired of
her.

Was the man she had lived with for almost three months just pretending to be common and down to earth—someone who had learned to enjoy the same things she liked? Had he meant what he said about giving his life to God? Or was he really the domineering, selfish stranger she had thought he was in the beginning?

How dare he pull strings to get her that job?

Half choking on repressed, angry tears, Mara pulled the car up the driveway of the ranch house. As she pressed the garage-door opener, she watched his pickup come into view, the infant chair comfortably buckled onto the seat beside the driver. Abby adored Brock.

Oh, Abby! Where was her baby? All Mara wanted to do at this moment was hold her daughter tight and escape from these tangled emotions.

She parked the ranch pickup she was using and shut her eyes for a moment. His vehicle…his house…his money. She had sold out to him, just as Sherry had warned she would. She had trusted him in spite of her better judgment. Worse, she had slept with the man—and not just once. What now? Would he use her and then divorce her, as Sherry also had predicted?

Mara slammed her palms onto the steering wheel and then threw open the truck door. How could she have been so stupid? So weak? He was deceitful, egotistic, bullheaded, sneaky….

“Mara.” Hands on his hips, Brock stood just inside the kitchen door as she entered the house. A tower of black
hair, piercing eyes and dusty blue denim, he looked downright menacing. “I want to talk about Todd.”

Mara tossed her purse on the counter. “Where’s Abby?”

“In the nursery. She fell asleep in the car, and I put her to bed.” He moved toward her, his dark eyes locked on hers. “So, what’s this about Todd?”

“What’s this about sending me around the state on an airplane?” She lifted her chin. “You tell me about that.”

“I keep a plane in Las Cruces. You can use it.”

“And you and Dr. Long have it all worked out that I’m supposed to commute to the other forts.”

“If you want to. I’ve offered the plane.”

“You offered it to Dr. Long.”

“I’m offering it to you. If it would make things easier, I could hire a pilot, and you could use the plane to get to work and back.”

Mara glared at him. “Why didn’t you discuss it with me?”

“What’s mine is yours, Mara,” he said. “I thought that’s how marriage worked. Give and take.”

“Like you give Dr. Long a bunch of money so he’ll take me on? Is that the kind of give and take you’re talking about?”

“What?”

“Oh, stop playing games with me, Brock. Dr. Long told me you donated money to keep the fort restoration project afloat. That’s why he hired me. You pulled all the right strings.”

“Wrong!” He pointed a finger at her. “You got that job on your own merit. And you’ll keep it or lose it based on your performance.”

“Or, you could just give another sizable donation to Dr. Long.”

“I didn’t give anything to Dr. Long. Barnett Petroleum has a foundation that supports lots of causes. The money does some good. The company gets a tax write-off.”

“Yes, and aren’t you Barnett Petroleum, Brock?”

“I didn’t authorize that donation in order to influence the BLM. Dr. Long told me he might be interested in working with you, but he said there was no money. After Todd died, the funding had dried up. The fort project was stalled. I stepped in for one reason—to keep Todd’s dream alive.”

She stared into his eyes, aching to believe him. “Don’t lie to me, Brock.”

“I’m not lying, Mara.” His eyes narrowed. “Do you think I’d do something illegal?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I know you at all.”

“You know everything about me.” He stepped toward her. “What’s the problem? You want to see my portfolio? Fine. I’ll call my lawyer tomorrow morning, and we’ll go over it with you. There’s an airplane in Las Cruces, an apartment complex in Albuquerque, a vacation house in Ruidoso, a small plastics company in El Paso, a boat in the Gulf of Mexico and another one in San Diego. I’m part owner of an Indy car team. I’ve got interests in a white-water excursion company in Wyoming and a mountaineering outfitter in Washington state. I own a hot-air balloon, a hang glider, a dune buggy, a jet ski—”

“Stop!” She covered her ears. “I don’t care. You can have all the toys and businesses and real estate you want.”

“I want you.” He stepped toward her. “I want you, Mara. You’re all I want. I’d chuck everything if I could get you to trust me. Trust me? I can’t even get you to forgive me. I gave that money to the fort project so Todd’s dream could come true. But you won’t accept the things I’ve tried to do to atone for his death. You still haven’t forgiven me, have you?”

“Brock, I have. I’ve tried—”

“No, you still talk about Todd as though he’s alive. You tell me you can hear his voice and see the two of you doing
things together. You’re still holding on to him, aren’t you? You’re still in love with him.”

“I’ll always love Todd, but—”

“That’s what I thought. And you’ll never forgive me for what happened on those cliffs. If you can’t forgive and forget, Mara, how can we ever build ourselves a future?”

His eyes were red-rimmed, his jaw clenched with suppressed emotion. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to feel his arms around her. Nothing mattered but this man and the love she felt for him.

“It’s you, too,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “You haven’t let go of the past, and you can’t forgive yourself. What future does that leave us, Brock?”

Shaking his head, he backed away from her and swung around. He grabbed his hat from the rack by the door and threw his coat over one shoulder. As he pulled open the door, she called out.

“Brock, where are you going?”

“Climbing,” he growled.

Mara watched through the kitchen window as Brock loaded the back of his pickup with climbing gear. Ropes, more ropes. Gloves. Rock shoes. Belt. Harness.

She chewed on her bottom lip as tears streamed down her cheeks. She should stop him. She should run right outside and throw her arms around him and somehow find a way to work everything out.

No, she should let him go. If he wanted to climb up the side of a cliff, it was his neck he was risking. She hated climbing! She hated all his crazy recklessness. She hated his money and his stubbornness and his selfishness.

But as his pickup pulled out of the driveway and started down the road, Mara realized that wasn’t true at all. She didn’t hate him. She loved him. She loved his smile, the sound of his voice, his intelligence, his kindness. She
loved the way he put his feet on the table when he relaxed. The way he held Abby against his chest. The way he laughed. The way he touched her.

And that was all there was to it, she admitted, dropping onto a chair by the window. Sherry had been right about that one. Mara was simply a lonely widow on the rebound, and Brock would give her what she wanted until he got bored with it.

Mara stood again and studied the plume of dust that rose high against the setting sun. Let him go. Let him climb away from her, far away until he was back in his world of race cars, parachutes and hang gliders. She had a daughter, a job, responsibilities. Any woman with an ounce of sense would move out of the house, rent an apartment, get as far from Brock Barnett as possible.

With a jolt, Mara knew what she needed to do. She would use her job as a stepping-stone to freedom. For the first time in her life, she could live on her own—fully capable and independent.

In fact, why not call Sherry right now? They could go apartment-hunting in the morning. By Monday morning, she could have everything moved out of Brock’s house and be living on her own.

She walked into the great room and picked up the phone. A quick succession of buttons, two rings, and her best friend’s voice came on the line.

“Hello?”

Mara tried to speak. Tell me I’m a fool to love Brock. Tell me I’m crazy to want him. Tell me he’s no good. Tell me I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.

“Hello?” Sherry said again. “Well, nuts.”

As the phone went dead in her ear, Mara stared blindly at the side table. She placed the receiver on the smooth wood and thought of the man whose hands had sawed, nailed, planed, sanded and oiled it. Brock.

As her eyes focused again, two little boxes sharpened into view. One was sleek and polished on the outside, perfectly crafted and so fine it made her sigh. The other was lovingly, tenderly made of Popsicle sticks.

Brock and Todd.

Mara picked up the Popsicle-stick box and held it for a moment. She could almost see Todd’s freckled fingers carefully gluing the little sticks in place. His tongue would be firmly tucked between his teeth, and his red-blond hair would spill over his forehead as he concentrated on the job.

Mara blinked back tears. She would always love her teddy-bear Todd. He was the man she had married, promised her future to and lived with for nine years. He was the man who had given Abby life. Was it wrong to mourn him? Was it wrong to hold his memory inside her heart?

“No,” Mara said out loud. It wasn’t wrong.

She ran her fingers over the uneven surface of the little box. Then she lifted the lid. Inside lay a jumble of stones. Brock’s rock collection. Some of them obviously had been purchased at a curio shop, machine-polished chunks with dots of glue and paper still attached where they had been pried from their cardboard mounting. Others must have been found in the New Mexico landscape—rose quartz, obsidian, granite, mica.

Mara dug through the stones, lifting each one and holding it to the fading light. Included among them was a piece of hardened rubber tire and a pebble of gravel from the driveway. When she came across a shard of broken glass from a soda bottle, she had to smile. No doubt the little boy Brock thought he had found a diamond.

Then she picked up the smooth box Brock had made her for Christmas. She lifted the lid and gazed at the ring she had put inside it. It was small and rather plain, but she had always loved it. Now her fingers were as bare as Brock’s promises on their wedding day.

Did he love her? Did he plan to spend the rest of his life faithful to her? She didn’t know. And what about his accusation that she had never forgiven him? She had said the words. She had tried to mean them. But had she really forgiven Brock for asking Todd to climb those cliffs with him? Had she forgiven Todd for dying?

Most important, Mara thought as she shut the lid on her ring, had she forgiven herself and turned loose the root of bitterness in her heart?

Her options stood out as clearly as the two little boxes on the table. She could keep loving and living with the memory of the Popsicle-stick, teddy-bear Todd, and she could view Brock as the slick manipulator who couldn’t commit and didn’t have the capacity to love or make a successful marriage. She could take her daughter away from this house, use her job to support the two of them, create a life of her own. The voice of sanity and reason instructed her firmly that this should be her decision.

If not, she could take the greatest risk of her life. She could go after Brock and hand over to him her love, her heart, her future—and her daughter’s future. She could choose to put Todd’s memory away in his Popsicle-stick box, always loving him but always letting him go. And she could choose to see Brock as the man who cradled her baby, who put his money where his heart was, who told her again and again how much he wanted her. She could believe what the gentle voice inside her whispered—that God had put Brock into her life and that He would bless the marriage He had planned for them.

Maybe Brock didn’t love her. Maybe he didn’t know how to love. But all the same, she could choose to give her heart to the man who believed broken glass was diamonds.

Mara stared at the telephone. Then at the two boxes.