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.”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
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