Secret

by McKenna, Lindsay

  She nodded and told him what he needed to hear. “I never stopped loving you, Mark. Not to this day. That’s a long time, don’t you think? I’m not going to set up a schedule or give you a drop-dead date you have to meet so I’ll know if we’re a fit or not. I would never do that to you. I know your past history and I’m not going to put a time limit or an unreasonable demand on what we’re trying to do together. Does that help?”

  Did it ever! His shoulders sagged with relief. “Yes, that helps a lot, Mattie. I just worry that I won’t meet your expectations.”

  A corner of her mouth twitched. “None of us will ever fully meet the other’s expectations, so get over that, okay? If I’m confused or concerned about something, I’ll go directly to you.”

  “Fair enough,” he murmured, giving her a slight nod. “I’ll earn you back every single day, Mattie.”

  “We both have jobs, Mark. I won’t be able to see you that often,” she warned.

  “Then we’ll take what we can get and make the most of it when we do get together. All right?”

  “Yes, that works for me.”

  How badly Mark wanted to enfold Mattie against him, hold her, feed her as she’d fed him for so many years. He saw longing in her eyes, and thought that she wanted the same thing as him, but Mark was afraid to trust what he saw. There was so much he didn’t know about Mattie! How much he’d failed her in so many ways.

  Standing a few feet away from her, inhaling her sweet feminine scent, watching the light above cast copper, gold, and crimson colors across her hair, he wanted to kiss her. But that had to wait. So did touching her intimately in any way. But he could at least reach out, slip her hand into his, which is what he did. Giving it a gentle squeeze, he saw her entire expression change to one of hope, one of pleasure. Sometimes, touch said more than words, and Mark understood as never before, this was one of those moments.

  “Ready to leave?” he asked her, feeling her fingers curve warmly around his.

  “Yes. You have a another long work day ahead of you tomorrow, getting those rooms painted.”

  He gave her a slight grin, led her to the door and opened it. Reluctantly, he released her hand and she stepped past him. “But you’ll be helping me so it will be easier. Oh, and I’d like to take you to brunch at Spooner’s Diner tomorrow morning before we go to the hardware store to pick out paint. What do you think?” He held his breath. Mark wanted to be with Mattie in a variety of situations. Would she like his idea?

  “I’d love that. What time shall I meet you?”

  His heart bloomed with unexpected joy. “Nine tomorrow morning? We’ll have all afternoon to paint the rooms.”

  She smiled softly. “That sounds wonderful. I’ll meet you at Spooner’s at nine.”

  For a moment, he couldn’t speak, emotions overwhelming him. “I’ll see you then,” he managed, his voice gruff and low. Maybe learning to show his feelings would be easier than he thought …

  CHAPTER 8

  February 8, Friday

  “This is especially for you, Mark,” Daisy Lockwood said, handing him a huge platter of fried chicken as he stood behind his chair. “I think this is one of your favorite meals, isn’t it?” she announced proudly.

  “Wow! This is great,” he murmured, placing the platter in the center of the huge trestle table so everyone could have access to the golden bird. Friday-night dinners were a tradition at the Lockwood ranch—one he’d grown up with and loved. Ever since he and Mattie had gone to breakfast last Saturday at Spooner’s Diner, his life had definitely improved.

  Mattie gleefully told him that Daisy expected him to show up at Sunday dinners from now on also, and every time he thought of that invitation his eyes welled up with gratitude. It also confirmed that his lifestyle was changing for the better now that he had quit the DEA.

  The group respectfully stood, waiting for Daisy to be seated.

  “Daisy, thank you for inviting me to this special meal,” he said, his voice thick with meaning. Hank nodded and pulled out the chair at one end of the table for his wife, and Daisy sat down, thanking him. She made a flourish with her hand, a signal for everyone to help bring the food in from the kitchen to the table and to sit down and eat. Hank ambled down to the other end of the table and took his seat.

  Jake and Cat brought over two large bowls of steaming, fluffy mashed potatoes drizzled with rivers of melted butter, two bowls of steaming, golden chicken gravy, plus a large, rectangular casserole of sweet potatoes slathered with browned marshmallows and pecans sprinkled across the top of it.

  Cat hurried back to the kitchen for one more item and pulled out the fluffy, lightly-browned homemade biscuits from the oven. She placed them in two large baskets and put one at each end of the table. Two jars of local honey were open and waiting to be used.

  Mark had tried to help lay the food out, but everyone shooed him to sit at the table with Mattie, who sat opposite him. Heavenly smells were wafting into the dining room from the kitchen, and he instinctively breathed them in. Mark’s mouth watered. It had been so long since he’d had so many home-cooked meals in the space of just a few weeks.

  Cat and Jake traded jokes as they took their seats. Cat sat next to Mattie, and Jake sat on Mark’s left.

  “This all smells so great,” he told everyone. “Thanks again for inviting me.”

  Daisy smiled as Mattie held out the platter of chicken so she could easily choose from it. Her eyes glittered with amusement. “We know you’re making your home, Mark, but I figured you might be getting tired of your own cooking. And every Sunday, you are welcome to come and sup with us from now on. No excuses.”

  Grinning, he took the platter from Mattie, their fingertips brushing against one another. Hungrily, he absorbed their momentary contact. “You won’t have to ask me twice, Miss Daisy.” He had always called her by that name.

  Once in a while, when he was much younger, he called her Mom, but as he grew older, he stopped. Holding the platter, he allowed Mattie and Cat to grab what they wanted. Then, he and Jake got their favorite parts of the chicken: the thighs and wings. Mark passed the platter on to Hank, seeing that there was plenty of white breast meat—the rancher’s preference—left in it just for him.

  “Well,” Daisy murmured, spooning some mashed potatoes onto her plate, “it’s nice to see you back with us, Mark. I just wish Sage could have made it over today. I know it was short notice for her.”

  “Maybe another time,” Mark said. “She loves your cooking, you know. Just give her a week’s notice next time because she’s juggling a lot of things over at her ranch right now.”

  “She’s underweight, and I think Sage is working herself to the bone because she can’t afford another wrangler. And heaven knows, she desperately needs one.”

  His conscience smarted. If he hadn’t hated Jeb so much, he would have easily filled that slot in order to help Sage.

  “Now, honey,” Hank counseled in his deep voice, “everyone is doing the best they can. Let’s talk about only good things at this dinner table?”

  Mark breathed a sigh of relief, silently thanking Hank, who glanced across the table at Mattie. She had arrived earlier wearing a pretty white blouse with ruffles around her throat. Her red hair was tamed and she’d clipped it with a tortoise shell comb her grandmother had given her. Tendrils still escaped, however, declaring their natural, curly independence. Tonight, she had worn dark-purple, wool slacks and brown leather shoes. He liked the handmade, knit scarf that she’d draped around her shoulders. It was white, purple, and pale pink with silver threads woven among the strands of yarn. Her cheeks were flushed, her forest-green eyes framed by those long, red lashes.

  He couldn’t help lusting after her as he sat her family’s table. Mattie was so vital, so alive, exuding warming rays of sunshine from within her to everyone nearby.

  “How did you like the colors Pepe used to paint the rooms?” Hank inquired lightly, a devilish grin hovering over his lips.

  “It’s a little bright. I
felt as if I needed to wear a pair of sunglasses when I first moved my stuff in there,” Mark admitted.

  Cat and Jake laughed and nodded their heads sympathetically.

  “That’s okay, Dad,” Mattie said, “Mark’s letting me help him repaint those rooms. They’re looking good actually, and we’ve just got a couple more rooms to go.”

  “Good thing,” Jake said, his blue eyes dancing with mirth. “Pepe loved those wild, Latin colors.”

  Cat rolled her gray eyes. “Only someone from his mother’s family would have approved. I can remember when we built those homes, that I’d asked him why he wanted those bright colors in his house.”

  Jake gave her an amused look. “Oh? And what did he say?”

  “He said he wanted his home to reflect his mother’s home when he was growing up.”

  Mark sobered. “And he’s always been close to his family in Mexico.”

  “Yes,” Hank agreed, cutting into a huge piece of chicken breast, “and that’s why he left to go home. He’s doing a son’s duty and I respect him for that.”

  The table grew quiet for a moment, the clink of silverware against plates. Mark savored every delicious bite along with everyone else. When you grew up on a ranch, you never took food for granted. Ranchers lived close to the earth and they expected to work hard for it.

  “What colors are you painting the rooms, Mark?” Daisy inquired.

  “That was a problem for me,” Mark replied. “I asked Mattie to help me choose some colors last Saturday because I’m not very good at that kind of thing.”

  “What man is?” Cat hooted, laughing. “Well, I’ll give you this, Mark, you know who to ask.”

  Mattie gave him a warm, silent look across the table.

  “She’s much better at color combinations than I am,” Mark said, drowning in the tenderness he saw burning in her eyes for him alone. It was such a damned intimate glance, even though it was at a family gathering. He had always loved that about Mattie. She made everyone feel special, as if each person was the center of her world for her. And right now, he was bathed in that green-eyed look that conveyed so much.

  “So what colors did you choose?” Cat prodded Mattie.

  Between bites of mashed potatoes and the thick, fragrant chicken gravy, Mattie told Mark, “Tell them what your favorite colors are.”

  Shyly, he admitted, “I liked sunset colors. Not bright, but the paler ones, if that makes any sense.”

  “It sure does. Pastels can give rooms a nice, peaceful feeling,” Cat said with a dip of her head. “Good choice. Something pretty, but not blinding,” she chuckled.

  “That became our theme for choosing a color palette he was comfortable with,” Mattie said wryly. “Tell them what your favorite sunset colors were, Mark?”

  Shrugging, he said, “Pinks, golds, yellows, oranges, and the pale lavender you see sometimes along the western horizon at sunset.”

  Daisy waved her index finger in Mark’s direction. “Young man, you’re a lot more in tune with colors than you think.”

  He flushed, and saw Mattie’s eyes mirror sympathy for him. She knew how much he hated being the focus of attention and why.

  “I think you’re right, Mom,” Mattie said. “Matter of fact, I brought a bunch of color swatches from Marcia’s Ace Hardware Store with me. I have them out in the glove compartment of my truck. After dinner I’ll go get them and you can see which ones Mark chose. He’s finished all but two of the rooms, and we’ve agreed to get together tomorrow to finish the rest of the painting.”

  Hank grinned, wiping his fingers on a yellow linen napkin. “Always organized—that’s my Mattie.”

  Cat gave them a teasing look. “Mom’s made pineapple upside-down cake especially for you, Mark.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Mattie said, smiling.

  Mark nodded, giving Daisy a grateful look. “You really did make a pineapple-upside down cake for me?”

  “Yep,” Daisy said with a big smile. “I told you: tonight’s dinner was to commemorate your return to us, Mark. I wanted to celebrate by making your favorite foods—the ones I knew you loved as a kid here at our dinner table.”

  “Yeah,” Hank intoned drily, “maybe that will keep you here and you won’t run off again, son.”

  Mark winced inwardly, but kept his face carefully arranged. He knew Hank had taken a chance on him by hiring him as a wrangler. “There was a special reason I had to leave, Hank. It isn’t going to happen again.”

  Hank grunted. “You have a home here with us, Mark. You and Sage have always known that. You’re nearly thirty years old, now. It’s time you settled down and decided what you want out of life as a civilian instead of as a Marine.”

  “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought,” Mark admitted, pushing his fork absently through the sweet potato casserole. He knew that there was probably gossip flying around town that he’d taken a wrangler’s job at the ranch next door instead of going home to Jeb’s place. Mark was sure many of the town’s residents were judging him for that, but they hadn’t been beaten half to death by Jeb, either. And no one except Mattie, knew the toll it had taken on his soul.

  *

  “I think Mom and Dad know that we’re trying to patch things up,” Mattie told Mark as they sat opposite each other at the card table. They were enjoying Daisy’s homemade dessert, along with some fresh coffee.

  “Your mom misses nothing. She never did.” Mark gave her a kind look, wanting her to know it was meant as a compliment to Daisy.

  Mattie shot him a humored look and was rewarded with a half-hearted smile.

  “Yes, that’s true. I went in to see Marcia at Ace Hardware mid-week about getting another can of paint and she asked me if we were an item again.”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks and Mattie lowered her lashes, looking at the huge piece of moist, pineapple upside-down cake in front of her. “I’ve had a couple of mothers asking the same thing.”

  “Gossip, good or bad, gets around here faster than a wildfire in Van Horn,” he grumped.

  Shrugging, Mattie said, “I told all of them that you’d just returned home and that we were still good friends.”

  “Did that explanation satisfy them?” he asked, cutting into a piece of the pineapple.

  “Probably not,” she laughed a little, “but it stopped the other thousand questions that were coming on its heels.”

  She traded a merry look with him. How the past few weeks had changed Mark! They weren’t able to get together often, but when they did, she could see him actively trying to give her what she needed from him. That sent warmth trickling through her body, waking up her once-dormant heart.

  Mark had been through so much. And now she was putting more stress on him of another kind. It didn’t seem fair to Mattie, but she had no other way to get him to open up to her.

  Groaning, he muttered, “We could do a box lunch in the canyon tomorrow after finishing those rooms. Do you mind if it gets back to our local fan club?”

  Her lips curved. “Not in the least! I’d love a picnic after we’re done painting those rooms. Do you want to ride to that canyon over on our property? There’s a great stream on it.”

  “Yes, that was what I had in mind. Wyatt said it’s one of your favorite places. I know it’s winter, but it’s supposed to be in the sixties midday, and no bad weather is coming through. I figured with your mom’s help, I could pack us a halfway decent lunch.”

  “I’d like that. I just was grousing the other day that I’m not getting the exercise I need.”

  “What? Chasing those little kids around eight hours a day isn’t enough exercise for you?”

  Sitting up, Mattie met and held his warm, amused look. “That’s different. I love to ride horses but I just don’t get the time I used to when I lived here at the ranch.” She patted her wool-clad thigh beneath the table. “I’ve completely lost my riding legs, Mark, so be warned—I’ll probably ride like a greenhorn.”

  Snorting, he said, “That’s highly doubtful, Ma
ttie. Your favorite horse, Sugar, always likes being saddled up and ridden. She’s a good mare with a nice, even disposition.”

  “Like me.”

  He grinned as he leaned across the table toward her. “Are you kidding? I would never compare you to a horse, Ms. Lockwood. Let’s be clear about that.”

  She felt a deep blush appear on her cheeks. Mark brought that out in her. “Thank you for opening up to me,” she began, catching and holding his glance. Pushing her fork around on the plate, she added, “I really appreciate what you’re doing, Mark. In some ways, I feel bad because it’s adding stress to you that you don’t need. But I can see you’re trying every time we come together.”

  He nodded, savoring the cake. “Thanks for letting me know. I guess I’m anxious whenever we meet. I feel like you’re grading me every time we are together. I know that’s not fair to you, Mattie.”

  “It’s anxiety,” she said. “And I’m not grading you. I’m always feeling anxious myself when we see one another. I want this to work out so badly, but I also realize I don’t have full control over it. And I know you have good days and bad days with your PTSD symptoms, and that’s in the mix as well.”

  “It’s not easy,” he agreed, “but you’re worth the effort, Mattie. I’d like to be someone you look forward to being with, sharing time and space with—not dreading it, or feeling so anxious and stressed out that it’s nothing but an uncomfortable place to be with me.”

  She gave him a sympathetic look and reached out, briefly touching his hand. “Hey, I’ve never felt that about you, Mark.” Lifting her hand off his, she added, “I always look forward to seeing you. You make me feel good—happy. Didn’t we have a lot of fun and laughs last weekend painting some of those rooms in your house?”

  He grinned lopsidedly, cutting into the piece of pineapple across the cake. “We sure did.”

  “And didn’t I suggest that we paint each room together, not have you in one room and me in another? I really enjoyed painting as a team.”

  “It felt good for me, too, Mattie.”

  “Are you okay with me coming over at nine a.m. tomorrow and we’ll finish off those last two rooms? It shouldn’t take that long.”