“Bye, Mar.”
Mara hung up the receiver and stretched out on the bed among the piles of miniature dresses and nightgowns. She wasn’t the least bit tired, and she knew Abby wouldn’t wake up for a while. Of course, she couldn’t leave the house, just in case Abby surprised her, but what could she do with all the empty time until dinner?
She had already walked every inch of this place. The art might be beautiful and the architecture noteworthy, but the house was a prison nonetheless. Mara felt trapped, and she could see no way out. In the midst of winter there could be no gardening, no wading in the pool, few warm days for picnics or walks with the stroller.
Indoors, things were only worse. With effort, Mara had convinced Rosa Maria to let her take on some of the laundry duties. But Pierre wouldn’t dream of allowing her in the kitchen, and Ermaline refused to give up her dust rags. They had brought in a stack of jigsaw puzzles.
Mara hauled herself to her feet and crossed to the window. Brock certainly had enough to do. Once or twice she had caught sight of him from a distance. Mostly she had seen his pickup pulling in or out of the drive. If he came home in time for dinner, he ordered the meal sent to his study. If the weather was too bad to work outside, he spent the day in his workshop. Several nights while Mara was up feeding the baby, she realized his light was on. His room was directly across the courtyard from hers, but it might have been a thousand miles.
She had to find something to do or she’d go stark, raving mad. Mara thought about the old days when she had rushed here and there—teaching school all day at the academy, racing to the grocery store, throwing a meal in the oven, wolfing down dinner with her husband, poring over her students’ homework or helping Todd with his research for the fort project before finally falling into bed too tired to move. What she wouldn’t give for one hectic day.
How could God have given her all that and then snatched it away? Had she done something wrong to deserve this strange, quiet, empty life? On the other hand, Mara couldn’t deny that God had blessed her beyond measure in the past few months. She had a healthy, contented baby. A comfortable place to live. Plenty to eat. Not a care in the world.
Wandering down the hall, she trailed her fingers along the smooth adobe wall. Was this some sort of lesson that God wanted to teach her before He let her back into real life? And if it was, why was she too dense to figure out the message?
Mara reflected on her few blissful years of marriage. She and Todd had naively believed things would go on the same way forever—the two of them together, building a future, a family and a faith that both could rely on to bolster them during the hard times. God had been so real, so ever-present. Where was He now?
Lately when Mara had tried to pray, she felt as if something was stuck in her throat. She just couldn’t make herself really communicate with the Father. How could it be right to feel angry with God when He had given her this perfect child and this great place to live? Yet, she was. Mad at God. Mad at Brock. Even mad at Todd. Why had they all let her down? She had everything she needed, and the whole world felt empty and meaningless.
The fort restoration had been a task Mara and Todd had loved working on together. Though he was in charge of the project, Mara had done much of the research. Her files now lay abandoned in a box in the bedroom closet, awaiting the decision of some bureaucrats.
If Mara were forced to sell her husband’s company, the buyers would be able to claim the research. Brock had assured her he was going to manage Todd’s business. She realized she hadn’t even asked him about the status of the company. Was it possible the project might continue?
The first tingle of enthusiasm she had felt in days ran through Mara’s veins. If Brock could find a way to keep the restoration company going, find someone to take Todd’s place renovating the old buildings, then Mara’s work was still relevant. Instantly, she recalled a section in Brock’s library devoted to the Civil War and the ensuing settlement of New Mexico. Might there be some mention of the old military forts? Of Fort Selden?
She almost ran down the hall and into the living room. The library formed one whole wall of bookshelves devoted primarily to history, archaeology and anthropology texts. Mara made straight for the section of titles she had glanced over previously.
In moments, she had loaded a stack of books in her arms, mounded a pile of sofa pillows against one wall and created a nook that would allow her hours of quiet reading before dinner. Fort Selden had been built in 1865 to protect settlers moving into the Mesilla Valley and those embarking on the Journey of the Dead into northern New Mexico. Indians had never been much of a threat in that area, so no wall surrounded the fort, but the buildings themselves were distinctive.
Mara flipped open a book and ran her finger down the index. After she dug her files and note cards out of the closet, she would use Brock’s library to add to her research. Todd had always acknowledged that Mara knew more about the history of the fort than he did. His job was engineering and construction, while she provided the background details he needed to make sure the restoration was historically accurate.
“If you’re going to go to the trouble of tracking me down in the middle of a cow pasture,” Brock’s deep voice boomed suddenly from the entry hall, “you might as well come on inside.”
“It’s Saturday afternoon, Brock,” a woman responded lightly. “You’re not supposed to be working. This is playtime, remember?”
Hidden in the shadows of her reading nook, Mara peered around the corner of the library shelving into the living area. A group of young adults—two men and three women—were following Brock into the room. Cheeks bright pink from the cold, they began shrugging out of heavy coats and tugging off leather gloves, rubbing their hands together, stamping their feet.
“It’s freezing out there. Stoke up that fire, Brock.” The woman who spoke was a tall, willowy redhead with copper lipstick and matching nails. She gave Brock a wink. “Do it for Sandy, won’t you?”
“Anything for Sandy,” he said.
Mara gripped the book as he leaned over and gave the redhead a peck on the cheek. Of all the nerve! Brock had just kissed some woman! A flash of outrage surged through Mara…but just as swiftly a drenching reality doused the flame of her anger. She had no claim on Brock. He could do whatever he wanted in his own house with his own friends.
Oh, Lord, please help me, she lifted up in silent prayer, her head against the wall and her eyes closed. This was exactly what she had dreaded. The marriage was real…but it was nothing. A slip of paper. An arrangement. A deal.
She had known Brock would want to end the marriage—and against all she believed was right and holy, she had married him anyway. What a fool she was! Mara could repent until she was blue in the face, but the deed was done. The Lord had promised to make all things work together for the good of those who loved Him…but this? This flat-out selfish thing she had done just to spare herself a hard life? How would she ever explain the marriage to her daughter? And how could she make herself let go of a relationship that didn’t even exist? Why was it so hard to give Brock to these women and their friends when he didn’t belong to Mara in the first place?
The worst thing possible would be to make Brock sneak around. They needed to be up front with their friends, and with each other. Let him go, Mara, she told herself. Just let him go.
Cringing in embarrassment, Mara knew she should emerge from her niche and introduce herself to these people. Though she felt foolish tucked away with her pillows and books, she debated staying put. That morning she had dressed in a pair of black stretch pants and a turquoise T-shirt that hung almost to her knees. She had bought the oversized men’s shirt at the start of her pregnancy to cover the growing bulge in her stomach. The last thing she wanted was for these suave men and their svelte girlfriends to see that the bulge was still there—even though the baby wasn’t.
“So are you coming with us to the party or not, Brock?” Sandy asked. “Stephanie and I have a bet riding on this. She says you w
on’t come, and I say you will. You’re not going to disappoint me, are you?”
Brock had thrown a couple of logs on the stack of kindling in the fireplace. He dusted off his hands, set them on his hips and studied the woman without answering.
Mara wondered what he would decide. Brock looked so good in the late-afternoon light, his denim shirt a little dusty and his jeans scuffed at the knees. He had taken off his hat, and she could see the glint of sun that softened his thick black hair. No wonder these women wanted him.
“Come on, Brock,” Sandy said. “Don’t be a party pooper.” She balanced her weight on one leg, which threw her slender hip in Brock’s direction. Clad in a black leather skirt, boots and a purple turtleneck, she might have stepped out of a magazine ad. She certainly hadn’t had a baby two weeks ago.
“Looks to me like you’ve already been doing some partying tonight,” Brock said, turning his attention from the redhead to her statuesque blond companion. “Stephanie, what possessed you to drive all the way out here?”
“We haven’t seen your hide in six months, honey. You’ve become a regular hermit. When Joe and Travis cooked up the idea of dragging you away from here, I told them you wouldn’t leave.”
Brock shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”
“Busy.” One of the two men picked up a box of long matches and knelt by the fire. “Bunch of cows.”
“Bovines,” the other one hooted. “Brock, what’s going on? You haven’t gone this long without female company since you were five years old.”
“Yeah, Brock,” Sandy cooed, “you used to call me once in a while. What’s up? You found someone you like better?”
Mara held her breath. Did these people have any idea what Brock had been through this past year? What kind of friends wouldn’t know about the rock-climbing incident? Hadn’t it occurred to them that their good buddy might have withdrawn because he was dealing with some personal difficulties? If they did know about the accident, they certainly didn’t know about her. Mara knew she had to emerge. Shoving the books off her lap, she stood.
“Well, I have been on the go a lot,” Brock was saying. “There are a few things you might not have heard about, but—”
“Excuse me, Brock,” Mara spoke up. Everyone in the room turned to stare at her. She attempted to smooth the T-shirt over her stomach as she stepped into the light. “I was reading in the corner. Would you introduce me to your friends?”
Five pairs of eyes swiveled to Brock. He jammed his hands in his pockets. “Uh…this is Stephanie, Sandy and Justine’s over there. This is Joe, and that’s Travis.” He straightened and looked at the guests. “This is Mara. My wife.”
A stunned silence followed as the five pairs of eyes darted back to Mara.
“Brock!” Sandy said with a gasp. “You didn’t! You got married?”
“The other day. But it’s a different kind of deal than—”
“Brock married me to help take care of my baby,” Mara explained.
“Baby!” Sandy’s voice lifted into a near-shriek. “You have a baby?”
“Not Brock’s baby,” Mara said quickly. “My husband died. Brock was his best friend, and he wanted to help out. I was having some difficulties, and he offered to take care of us financially for the time being.”
“You married this woman? Is she the wife of the guy who…” Sandy’s blue eyes grew wider. “Brock, you married your best friend’s wife?”
“It’s a long story. Just take it at face value, Sandy. I’m a married man, so I’ve mostly been spending my time here. Seemed the appropriate thing to do under the circumstances.”
“You don’t need to stay here on my account,” Mara said, crossing her arms. “I’m fine. Go and be with your friends, Brock.”
“I don’t believe this!” Sandy plopped onto one of Brock’s long leather couches. She threw her arm over her eyes and laughed without humor. “The man is married. I can’t believe it. Tell me I’m dreaming.”
“Or tipsy,” Brock suggested.
“It’s an arrangement. It’s legal, but it’s not…real.” Mara glanced expectantly at Brock. Instead of clarifying, he turned his back on the group and began prodding the fire with a poker.
“Brock felt responsible for me,” Mara went on. “He knew I was pregnant, and I was facing some business debts my husband had incurred. The marriage is a way to provide insurance coverage and build some long-term security for Abby.”
“Abby?” Sandy peered out from under her arm.
“My daughter.”
“He’s got a daughter.”
“Abby is my daughter. Brock is her…her financial benefactor. Sort of a guardian or a godfather. Right, Brock?”
“That’s what you keep telling me,” he said to the fire.
She glared at his back. These people were his friends, not hers. Why did she feel compelled to explain his behavior?
“He likes to remind me I’m a line item on his budget,” Mara said, forcing a laugh. “That ought to give you some idea of where this marriage thing stands. It’s certainly fine with me if he goes out for a night on the town.”
“Ooh, tension,” Sandy said, sitting up. “This is sounding better. Your husband must have been that archaeology friend of Brock’s. The guy who fell off the cliff.”
“That ‘guy’ was like a brother, Sandy.” Brock swung around, red-hot poker in his hand. He narrowed his eyes at the woman, then he fixed Mara with a cutting stare. “Nobody forced this on me. I offered to take care of you and the baby.”
“And I thank you for that. Brock, you don’t owe me anything. Especially not some misguided sense of spousal loyalty. If you want to go out with your friends, go ahead.”
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.”
Chapter Nine
Jaw 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.
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