Page 29 of You'll Find Out

“I’m not playing games with you, Shane. I’m only trying to understand you.”

“Then understand this—I don’t like the idea that you and I made love in this house last night.”

“What?” Mara was stunned. “What are you talking about?” she asked, clearly perplexed by the twists in the conversation and wounded that he hadn’t shared the same supreme ecstasy and bliss that she had experienced during their lovemaking.

“I’m talking about playing second best to the memory of a dead husband,” Shane ground out, his eyes darkening. “Do you know how hard it was for me to make love to you last night, in his house, his bed, his sheets? Everything around me, including you, was owned by Peter Wilcox! Do you have any idea how I feel each time that I hear his name or see his picture? Don’t you realize that every time I see Angie, I wonder just how much influence Peter had over her? How did she feel about him? Did she love him? Was he kind to her? Did he hurt her, or mentally abuse her?” He paused for a moment, but before Mara could find her tongue and refute his insinuations, he continued with his tirade. “And the same goes for the toy company. I don’t want to live, or work, in the shadow of another man’s memory. I can’t accept that.”

“For God’s sake, Shane, can’t you, for just a moment, forget about Peter?”

“How?” He grabbed her by her thin shoulders and with a shake, forced her to look squarely into his tortured eyes. “How, Mara?” he repeated, through clenched teeth. “Everything that I should have had, he took . . .”

“He didn’t take anything that you weren’t willing to give, Shane. And besides, what’s the point? Peter’s dead!”

“But he was alive once, wasn’t he?” Again the involuntary shake. “And he made love to you, didn’t he? How many times was he invited into your bedroom, like I was last night? How many times did you moan your surrender to him, just as you did to me?” Shane asked, his grim face showing the strain of his pent-up emotion. His rage was so out of control that Mara could feel his hands trembling where they gripped her upper arms.

“I . . . I thought that we had decided to put all of that . . . behind us,” she said, reaching up and smoothing a lock of black hair away from his forehead.

“It’s difficult,” Shane admitted, his grip relaxing slightly. “And . . . I’m not really sure that I even want to try to forget. Not as long as we’re trapped in this house—hishouse.”

There was a silence, long and charged with electricity that hung between them. Finally, Shane’s arms dropped to his sides and he cleared his throat. Still visible, his anger was a tangible force.

“I’m going back to the hotel, Mara,” he stated thoughtfully. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

“But you could stay here tonight,” she invited, suddenly afraid that he might leave and, once again, be lost to her.

“No, I couldn’t.”

“But last night . . .”

“Last night was different. There’s too much here to remind me of the things that I would rather not remember.” His black eyes traveled over her body, and she could see the sparks of passion rekindling in their ebony depths. “I want you, Mara, as much as I ever have,” he admitted, his dark eyes reflecting the intensity of his words. “But I want you on my terms—not yours, nor Peter Wilcox’s. So I’ll wait—as you’ve suggested for two weeks—to claim what is rightfully mine. But, then,” he warned quietly, “things will be my way!”

As he turned to leave, Mara found her voice and called out to him. “But what about Angie? Are you just going to walk out of her life for the next two weeks?” she cried. What was he doing? Why, dear God, was he leaving, just as he had once before?

“Of course not. Don’t you know that I’ll be back?” The fear in her eyes was unmasked, and he felt an uncompromising urge to run to her, to wrap his arms around her thin shoulders, to whisper promises to her that he couldn’t possibly keep. But somehow he found the strength to stand his ground. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he promised. “And we’ll go out, just the three of us. But,” his voice deepened again, “I don’t want to spend any more time than I have to being reminded of your husband.”

Mara took a step toward him and opened her mouth to protest, but his next words halted her.

“Remember, Mara, this was all your idea. You’re the one that needed the extra time to adjust. For the next two weeks, we’re playing by your rules!”

Mara followed him to the door, intent on changing his mind, but somehow lacking the resolve to argue with him. She stood in the doorway as he stepped into his Audi, flicked on the ignition, and roared down the driveway. The headlights faded into the darkness, and the silver car and the man she loved were swallowed in the night.

Shane never looked over his shoulder, but Mara’s image, a dark silhouette backed by the warm lights of the house, lingered in the rear-view mirror and burned in Shane’s tormented memory.

Chapter 7

The weekend passed quickly for Mara . . . too quickly. Sunday had dawned hot and humid, and Mara had packed a picnic basket filled with fruit, wine, cheese, sourdough rolls, and ham. Shane had arrived promptly at ten and, after a friendly reunion with Angie and the four kittens, hurried Mara out the door and into the car. They had driven to Chimney Rock Park, southeast of Asheville, where they had hiked along the terraced trails to view Hickory Nut Gorge and Hickory Nut Falls, one of the highest waterfalls in eastern America. The clean, cascading water, the steep cliffs, and the lush, dense foliage seemed to take the heat off of the above average temperature. Although Shane had to carry Angie part of the way up to Chimney Rock, he hadn’t complained, and the awe on the little girl’s face as she gazed thousands of feet down the hazy, spectacular, seventy-five-mile view of the canyon and Lake Lure was worth the hot climb.

But when dusk had stolen over the Blue Ridge, Shane had taken Mara and Angie back home, and once again left for his hotel. After a long, hot day of enjoying his company, Mara felt strangely empty inside as she watched his car disappear down the driveway. Would it ever be possible for Shane to love her? Would they ever have a chance to build a normal family life, or would there always be a reminder of the past to haunt them and keep them apart? Was the love of a child great enough to conquer the barriers that had separated them? Where would they go from here? The questions, nagging and whirling in her weary mind, kept her awake for most of the night. When June came to the house the next morning to watch Angie, Mara could almost feel the cold, piercing blue gaze of her mother-in-law knifing through her thin layer of makeup and fresh blue, jersey print dress to see the effects of Mara’s turbulent emotions for Shane.

“Hi, Grammie,” Angie called from the kitchen table, where she was studiously attacking a stack of three pancakes and unknown gallons of blackberry syrup.

June’s drawn face broke into a smile at the sight of the little girl, who was nearly covered head to toe in purple smudges of syrup. “Goodness, Angie! Look at you. You’ll certainly need a bath this morning—” the older woman chuckled “—unless, of course, you plan on hiding under the porch all day with those kittens.”

Angie set her fork down and looked quizzically at her grandmother. The syrup on her face and hair made her look almost comical. “Oh, no. The kitties is not under the porch anymore,” she tried to explain. “Come on, Grammie. I show you.” Angie bounced out of her chair and hurried out the back door, which slammed behind her.

Mara cringed at the sound. “Just a minute,” she called to her daughter through the screen. “Why don’t you finish your breakfast, and then Grammie can go with you to see Southpaw?”

“I all done!” Angie asserted, her voice sounding more distant than just the back porch. She was obviously too distracted with the kittens to eat any more breakfast.

---