Page 42 of You'll Find Out

“June,” Mara began, looking into the den and noticing that Angie was playing with the doll house, out of earshot. Mara anxiously fingered a spot on the tablecloth and her insides began to knot in dread. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” June’s spine stiffened, or was it Mara’s imagination?

“It’s . . . it’s about Shane . . .”

June clamped her mouth shut, and in the same tone of voice that had effectively controlled the board meeting, she cut Mara off. “I think we’ve discussed Mr. Kennedy and his proposal to buy a portion of Imagination long enough, don’t you?” June rose from the table with regal grace, as if to add physical emphasis to her words.

“It’s not about the company.” The words were spoken quietly, but they seemed to sizzle, hanging in the air.

June set her lips in a tight line and reached for her purse. “I have to go, and it’s not that I’m not interested in what you have to say about Mr. Kennedy, but, well”—her slender shoulders drooped with the weight of her words—“I’m just not that fond of the man.” June noted the pained expression in Mara’s eyes, and two points of color stained her cheeks. In all truth, June loved the young woman sitting at the maple table with the checkered cloth as if she were her own daughter. “Perhaps I’m not being fair,” June sighed. “But ever since that day that he came bursting in here. . . demandingto see you . . . I don’t know.” Her voice caught for a moment, and it was a hoarse whisper, barely controlled when she continued. “You know the day I mean, the day that Peter was buried.”

Mara nodded and swallowed her tears of grief for the older woman’s pain.

“I’ve had trouble accepting him,” June explained.

“He’s trying to help Imagination.”

“I know that . . . and, well, I suppose that when I don’t resent it, I do appreciate it. Really I do, in my own way.” She took a deep breath, hesitating. “But there’s something about him, I don’t exactly know how to put my finger on it, but I just don’t trust the man.”

“Then why did you give your consent to let him invest in Imagination?” Mara asked, stupefied. June’s pale blue eyes hardened to ice, and she seemed to talk in circles—never confronting the real crux of the problem.

“Oh,” June continued determinedly, “don’t get me wrong! I don’t think he’s fool enough to try and manipulate the company for his own interests entirely. He’s too smart for that. But,” she waved a suspicious finger in the air knowingly, “I’ve seen his kind before, and his ruthlessness is something that I don’t like, and I can’t trust.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Mara said simply.

“Oh, child.” June’s eyes closed for a second. “I’m just asking that you be careful with him. It’s not hard for me, or anyone else, to see that you’re falling in love with him. And I’m giving you my unrequested, and probably unwanted, advice. That man . . . he’s dangerous. Treacherous to women.” June’s blue eyes, from her imperial position standing over Mara, impaled Mara to the back of the kitchen chair. “Don’t let him hurt you . . . or Angie. That’s all I’m asking.”

Mara was stunned. June’s theatric performance seemed to be exactly that—an act. Yet she played the part with all the vitality of a woman who’s experienced the pain and anger of betrayal.

Mara had fully intended to confide in June that Shane was indeed Angie’s natural father, but the contempt and disdain that June bore against him stilled Mara’s tongue. Without being forthright, June had let Mara know in no uncertain terms that she disliked Shane Kennedy and considered him a threat to everything that she loved, including Angie!

As Mara watched June’s sky-blue Lincoln Continental purr down the driveway, she wondered how she would ever be able to summon enough courage to tell the older woman that Angie was Shane’s daughter.

Chapter 9

Shane didn’t return. After a long, lonely weekend of soul-searching, Mara was disappointed when he called late Monday afternoon and informed her that his business would keep him in Atlanta until Wednesday or Thursday. The conversation was stilted and the unasked question hung between them on the telephone wires, spreading the distance between them into impossible miles. Shane didn’t have to ask. Mara couldfeelthe tension and knew that he hoped for her to tell him that she had made the break with Peter’s family and told them about Angie. Mara couldn’t.

The week stretched before her. At home she would find herself thinking of Shane, wondering where he was and what he was doing. It didn’t help that Angie chattered nonstop about him and asked when he would be back—or had he gone forever, like Daddy.

For some reason Mara felt as if her relationship with her mother-in-law was deteriorating. The strain of their conversation about Shane seemed to have pushed the two women further apart. Although June was still enchanted with Angie, Mara sensed that the easy familiarity that she had shared with her mother-in-law was gone, most likely forever.

Then why was it that Mara found it impossible to summon the strength to quietly tell June that Shane was Angie’s natural father and to explain the delicate situation to the older woman. Surely she would understand. The awkward set of circumstances in which they all found themselves entrapped wasn’t Mara’s fault, was it? Why, then, the guilt? Why did Mara still carry the burden of June’s happiness and health upon her shoulders? The questions besieged her nights and disrupted her days.

It was Thursday when Mara noticed how on edge she had become. When Shane hadn’t arrived in Asheville the day before, Mara was more than disappointed, she was downright scared. Vivid memories of the past assailed her; pictures of his jet winging into the night across the Atlantic to a troubled and strife-filled nation, the dull ache that had converged upon her when she had learned from his father of Shane’s brutal death, the nausea of morning sickness combined with the pain in knowing that she would never see the father of her unborn child, and finally the joy and suspicion of betrayal that had assailed her upon his return. If he didn’t come back to her, she wondered if she would have the mental tenacity to continue living. Fortunately, she had Angie. If Shane chose to turn his back on her again, there was always her child . . . his child to warm her days.

“You’re being maudlin,” she chastised herself aloud. “It’s the heat that has finally got you down.” She rummaged in her top drawer for her favorite pen and mentally cursed herself when she noticed that her fingers were trembling. “Damn! If those repairmen don’t get here soon to fix the air-conditioning . . .”

“You’ll what?” Dena asked, walking uninvited into Mara’s office.

“Oh, I don’t know, but they’ve promised to be here all week . . .” Mara looked up from her desk drawer and met the redhead’s gaze. A dark prickle of apprehension darted up her spine as she noticed the catty smile on Dena’s features. “Didn’t you leave earlier today?” Mara asked, straightening and leveling her gaze at Dena.

The smile broadened. “That’s right,” Dena acquiesced and dropped herself onto the couch.

“And you’re back?” Mara prodded, noticing that the clock on the wall indicated that it was nearly seven. “Why?”

“I called at the house. Mother said that you were working late, so I thought I’d drop by for a chat.” Again the slightly vulgar smile.

“A chat?” Unlikely, Mara thought, and twirled the pen nervously. “What about?”

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