You’ll Find Out

Chapter 3

The meeting with Shane had left Mara drained and bewildered. As she watched him leave her office she sat motionless; her eyes following the strong, swift strides of his straight-backed exit. He didn’t turn around.

A part of Mara, still young and incurably romantic, urged her to run after him and hold onto him for fear that he would once again vanish in the night and this time be gone forever.

She wanted and needed to throw her arms around him and cradle his head close to her breast.

She could almost feel the pounding of his heartbeat echoing against hers.

She wanted to cry out “ Ihad your daughter—I couldn’t give her up, she was my only link to you. I loved you; God, Shane, but I loved you and I love you still!”

But she remained at her desk, silent. Restraint and common sense held her tongue. His name, which had been forming in her throat, died before reaching her lips, and she watched quietly as the door closed behind him. He was gone.

Mara reached for the wheat-colored linen jacket that was draped over the back of her chair and paused for one last calming look through the window to the mountains.

Dusk was painting a purple shadow against the gentle hills, and the line of the distant horizon was melting into darkness with the coming nightfall.

As her fingers rubbed idly against the cool windowsill, Mara tried to think rationally about Shane and the past.

An increasing anger burned quietly within her as the shock of seeing him ebbed and she came face to face with the fact that for four long years he had allowed himself to hide from her—hidden in a feigned death.

Why? Her thoughts nagged her, and she idly rubbed her temple in concentration.

Why, after all of those tender and loving months together, would he suddenly reject her and conceal himself in the lie of his death?

Her thoughts were ragged and scattered, but no matter how much she tried to ignore the obvious, it remained as the only possible solution.

Four years ago Shane hadn’t wanted her.

Had he found out about her pregnancy? Was the love she imagined that they had shared together only a simple girlish dream, dashed when he had somehow learned of her pregnancy?

Her honey-colored brows knit together in concentration as she tried to remember the past. The memory was elusive, kept in the corner of her mind that she had tried to ignore for years.

“Working late?”

A cool female voice broke into Mara’s thoughts, and she visibly shrank from the sound.

Recovering herself, she turned to face her sister-in-law, who was leaning casually in the doorway. Mara glanced quickly at the clock, and then back to Dena. “What are you doing here? It’s after six!”

“Dedication to the job?”

Dena asked coyly, and laughed at her own sarcastic sense of humor. Mara could feel the cold tightness of apprehension. There was a long, tense pause as her gaze locked with Dena’s.

“Was there any reason in particular that you wanted to see me?”

Mara asked while she fished in her purse for her keys.

“I thought that you wanted to go over the advertising budget,”

Dena explained.

“Oh, that’s right!”

Mara agreed, and shook her head as if to clear out the cobwebs. “I’m sorry, Dena. I forgot all about it.”

“Your mind on other things?”

Dena suggested, with a twisted smile curving her full, glossy lips and one gracious eyebrow cocked.

“I guess so . . .”

Mara replied evasively as she walked back to her desk, flipped open her appointment book, and scribbled a note on one of the blank sheets. “There!”

she said with finality. “I’ve jotted a reminder to myself to meet with you early Monday morning.”

Mara looked up from the desk and gave Dena a warm, ingratiating smile. She hoped that Dena would take the hint and leave, but she was mistaken.

The redhead remained in the doorway. It was obvious that something was on her mind.

“Isn’t Monday all right with you?”

Mara asked, and crossed to the front of the desk.

“Monday’s fine,”

Dena agreed with an indifferent shrug.

“Good!”

Mara exclaimed with more enthusiasm than she felt. “Then . . . I’d better be going. I’m late as it is. Was there anything else?”

“Not really,”

Dena returned while seeming to be distracted by a flaw in her cuticle. When she looked up from her fingernail, she smiled. “Who was the man that came to see you this afternoon?”

Mara wasn’t surprised that Dena knew about Shane. No doubt Lynda, the receptionist, had mentioned the unusual reunion to Dena.

“Have you been lurking around here for the past forty minutes just to find out about Shane?”

The thought amused Mara, and she couldn’t hide the twinkle in her eyes.

“He’s the same man that came to the house on the day of Peter’s funeral,”

Dena announced, and let her eyes watch Mara’s reaction. It was Dena’s turn to be amused as she noticed the color draining from Mara’s face and the look of surprise that was reflected in the cool, blue depths of her eyes.

“Shane? He was the stranger?”

“If Shane is the name of the man who came to see you this afternoon, then none other. I don’t suppose that he told you about his confrontation with Mother?”

Mara had difficulty in finding words, but Dena read her face. “I didn’t think so,”

she said aloud, obviously pleased with herself.

“You know him?”

Mara asked, still sifting through the information that Dena had given her. Shane had been to see her on the day of the funeral? Why? Surely not with his business proposal. He wouldn’t bother the grieving family just for the sake of business—or would he? She couldn’t help but remember the frigid look of Shane’s black eyes. And, realistically, why else would he try and reach her? But then, what about the last ten months? Why had he waited?

“No, I don’t know him,”

Dena replied, watching the play of emotions on Mara’s face. “At least, not yet.”

“But you intend to?”

Mara guessed, and a sinking feeling swept over her.

“I didn’t say that,”

Dena responded coyly. “But I would like to know what it is that makes him appear and disappear so suddenly. What did he want from you?”

Mara sighed and leaned heavily against her desk in pensive concentration.

She wanted to tell Dena that it was none of her business and leave it at that, but she couldn’t.

Actually, Shane’s purpose did include Dena, and every other member of the Wilcox family.

And since Dena had already heard about the peculiar meeting this afternoon, it would be better for all concerned for Mara to be honest with her sister-in-law.

Mara crossed her ankles in front of her and let her hands and hips support her weight against the desk top.

“Shane’s an old friend of mine,”

Mara began, leaving the intimacy of the relationship out of the discussion.

“I haven’t seen him in quite some time. As a matter of fact, I thought that he was dead.”

A gleam of interest sparked in Dena’s eyes, but faded when Mara continued in the same, even, businesslike tone that had commanded the conversation.

“I didn’t know that he was alive, and so naturally it came as quite a shock when he walked in here, robust and as healthy as a horse. The reason that he came here is that he’s interested in purchasing Imagination Toys.”

If she thought that she would shock Dena with her announcement that Shane was interested in purchasing the toy company, Mara was disappointed. Dena listened to Mara intently and pursed her lips thoughtfully.

“And you’re considering his offer?”

Dena surmised.

“No. I told him, from the beginning, that Imagination wasn’t for sale!”

“He doesn’t look like a man who would be easily discouraged,”

Dena mused, and let her green eyes follow the hallway to the outer office, where she had seen Shane pass on his way out of the building. “Maybe you should hear him out,”

she suggested, and tossed an errant copper lock back into place behind her ear.

“About selling Imagination? You must be kidding!”

“Well,”

Dena began, shrugging her slim shoulders, “why not? If the price is right . . .”

“Dena! Listen to you! Imagination was your great-grandfather’s lifeblood. We can’t just sell it to the first man who’s interested . . .”

“Of course we can. Stop living in the glory of the past and face facts, Mara! The company’s losing money, and it has been for quite some time. Unless you can come up with another inspiration like those ridiculous reincarnations of space creatures from the last hit space movie—”

“You mean the plastic action figures from Interplanetary Connection?”

“The same. Since we lost the contract for the movie’s sequel and we haven’t come up with any other blockbuster toys to fill the gap, Imagination’s profits have plunged! A man like—”

“Shane Kennedy,”

Mara supplied, with a touch of reluctance. Aside from her personal feelings, Mara knew that Dena was close to the truth.

“He might just be the godsend that we’re looking for!”

Dena touched her lips absently and Mara could almost hear the wheels turning in her mind. To herself, Mara begrudgingly admitted that Dena was making a valid point. “Come on, Mara, what do you need this company for, anyway? You know as well as I do that you’d rather be spending more time with Angie—she needs you . . .”

Dena’s words hit a raw nerve with Mara, guilty that she left her daughter with June every day so that she could work full-time. Dena pressed her advantage. “And, after all, what do you know about running a toy company?”

Mara’s back stiffened. “I think I know as much as Peter did. At least I should,”

she sighed. “My degree in business administration should count for something, don’t you think? And I worked in several offices before I married Peter and came to work here . . .”

Dena didn’t seem convinced, and Mara felt tired and drained from the ordeal of meeting Shane again. Suddenly she gave into the pressure. “All right, Dena, you know that I’m opposed to the idea, but if it makes you feel any better, I’ll talk with him and try to keep an open mind. I’m supposed to meet with him tonight—to discuss an alternate proposition rather than a complete buy-out.”

“Tonight?”

A light of interest brightened Dena’s face, and then she quickly sobered. “Just give him a chance, Mara. Hear him out. What have you got to lose?”

“The company,”

Mara murmured, but wisely Dena didn’t comment. With a flourish, Mara locked the door of her office and headed out of the building. She wondered about Dena’s concern. It seemed almost too genuine. Wearily, Mara thought that perhaps she had judged Dena too harshly at times. And yet, whether it was intuition or mental wounds from past experience, Mara still didn’t feel that she could completely trust the svelt-figured redhead. Was it possible that she was overly suspicious of Peter’s older sister?

It was later than usual for Mara to leave the office.

She pulled out of the parking lot under the building and carefully merged her car into the traffic of the business district of Asheville.

The small sidestreets of town were relatively free from traffic at this time of evening.

The air was thick and hazy as Mara drove through the colonial town with its splashes of modern architecture and onto the highway that would eventually take her to the countryside and the Wilcox estate.

Fortunately the Friday night traffic had thinned to the point that allowed Mara to wheel her imported car home in record time.

The lemon-colored Renault darted up the prestigious tree-lined drive and ground to a halt near the garage at the back of the house.

Mara slipped from behind the wheel of the car and half ran up the brick walk.

She was too preoccupied to notice the bloom of the late azaleas or the hint of honeysuckle that perfumed the air as she opened the kitchen door and called out her familiar greeting.

“Angie! June, I’m home . . .”

June appeared promptly from the den near the back of the house, and a wave of relief washed over her pinched features. “I was just about to call the office,”

the older woman chastised as she removed her reading glasses. “I was beginning to get worried about you. It’s late . . .”

“Nothing to worry about,”

Mara replied with a wan smile.

June’s piercing eyes looked questioningly at Mara.

To avoid her direct gaze, Mara reached for a glass and turned on the faucet.

The cool water slid deliciously down her parched throat.

After a lengthy drink she dried her hands on a nearby dish towel and faced her mother-in-law.

June’s features were drawn, and Mara couldn’t help but wonder about the older woman’s health.

“I had an unexpected appointment at the last minute,”

Mara explained. “That’s why I’m late.”

She gave her mother-in-law a warm smile and tried to brush June’s fears aside, but the anxious expression on June’s face indicated that Mara had failed to reassure her. “I’m sorry,”

Mara sighed with genuine affection. “I should have called.”

“It’s all right, dear. I suppose I worry too much,”

June acquiesced, and then with more vehemence than Mara thought possible, June continued. “It’s just that you’re so wrapped up with that damned toy company!”

Mara stiffened at her mother-in-law’s change in attitude, and June chuckled softly. “Forgive me, Mara, I shouldn’t use such foul language.”

Mara looked seriously at the little old woman. “Do you think that I’m neglecting Angie?”

she asked, mentally bracing herself for June’s reply. Once again the guilt for the hours away from her child weighed heavily on her conscience.

“Oh, goodness, no, Mara!”

June murmured and touched a fond hand to Mara’s shoulder. “Angie’s just fine. If anything, I’d say that she’s a little spoiled.”

“Then?”

“I don’t think that you take enough time for yourself. If you’re neglecting anyone, it’s you.”

Mara let the pent-up air escape from her lungs, but June hadn’t finished. “It’s unnatural the way you spend all of your time at home or the office. You’re young, you should be around young people . . .”

June’s lecture was interrupted by the sound of the back screen door slamming and light, running footsteps hurrying to the kitchen. Angie let up a shriek of delight and gales of childish laughter when she caught sight of her mother. “Mommy! Mommy!”

Angie shouted, and scurried over to Mara’s outstretched arms.

Mara scooped her daughter up off the floor. “How’s Momma’s big girl?”

she asked, and placed a kiss on Angie’s smudgy cheek.

Angie giggled with joy and tightened her arms around Mara’s neck. “Southpaw got kitties!”

Angie declared, crossing her chubby arms importantly over her chest.

“She does?”

Mara asked, and Angie wriggled out of her arms. Before the tiny feet hit the floor, they were in motion, and the little blond girl ran out the back door as quickly as she had entered. “Hurry, Mommy . . . I show you the kitties!”

she called from somewhere in the vicinity of the back porch.

“So the big day has finally arrived?”

Mara asked June.

“Oh, yes, I guess so. Angie’s found the spot where Southpaw has hidden her kittens,”

June explained with a chuckle. “I haven’t been able to pull her out from under that porch all afternoon!”

Mara laughed aloud at the thought of her daughter and her fascination for Southpaw’s proud new family.

Mara reached into the refrigerator and gathered some vegetables for Angie’s dinner. She glanced at her mother-in-law and noticed that June seemed preoccupied while staring out the window at Angie. “June, are you feeling well?”

Mara asked carefully.

“Of course, dear,”

June replied spritely, and Mara wondered if she had imagined the strain on the older woman’s face.

“You’re sure?”

Mara prodded.

“Of course, Mara. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I was hoping that you would be able to stay with Angie tonight,”

Mara mentioned, and hastily added, “but if you have other plans . . . or if you would like to rest . . .”

“Nonsense! I’d love it!”

“Good. I really do hate to bother you, but the man that came to see me late this afternoon insists that I hear him out—tonight!”

Mara’s thoughts lingered for a moment on Shane.

“That’s perfect!”

June responded, and her tired eyes brightened at the prospect of having Angie for the evening. It was a luxury that she hadn’t experienced much. Since Peter’s death, Mara hardly ever went out. “She can stay at my place with me! I’ve been meaning to take her on one of those miniature train rides in the park, but it’s been impossible. The train only runs on the weekends.”

“Great,”

Mara whispered.

June knew her daughter-in-law well, and she regarded Mara’s oval face thoughtfully for a moment. There seemed to be a trace of disturbance in her wide-set blue eyes. “Mara . . .”

“Yes?”

Mara looked up from the potato that she was peeling.

“Is everything all right?”

Gentle concern forced June’s graying eyebrows together.

“Sure.”

Mara laughed, but she heard the hollow sound of her voice.

How could she explain to her mother-in-law, the woman who showered so much love on Angie, that Mara was going out with her old lover—the father of her child, the man that she would have married if it had been possible? How would June react to the knowledge that Angie wasn’t Peter’s daughter, and that the man who fathered the little girl whom June cherished was a total stranger to his child? How could Mara wash away the deception that she had committed for the last four years, under the false belief that Angie’s father was dead?

“If you say so,”

June agreed, absently, as she studied Mara. June had been raised with Southern manners, and she never was a woman to pry, not even into the private lives of her own family. She watched Mara’s slim and graceful figure anxiously as Mara headed out to the back porch in search of Angie. In June’s opinion, Mara took life much too seriously.

“Angie,”

Mara called as she opened the screen door and searched the back yard for her spritely young daughter. “Angie! Where are you?”

“Right here,”

was the muffled reply from somewhere nearby. Mara looked down the porch steps in the direction of the sound. Two dusty tennis shoes were the only evidence that Angie was close at hand. Mara hurried down the steps and balanced on one slender knee as she grabbed Angie’s exposed ankles. A muted squeal of surprise and anticipation erupted from somewhere under the porch.

“Angie Wilcox! Just look at you!”

Mara exclaimed, with a good-natured laugh. She extracted the little girl from beneath the lattice work that supported the back porch, and she brushed the cobwebs from Angie’s golden curls. “You’re a first-class mess!”

Mara teased as she surveyed the dirty child.

“Kitties! Kitties! Southpaw got kitties in there!”

Angie jabbered excitedly and pointed a knowing finger at the porch. Against Angie’s better judgment, Mara picked up her daughter and carried her up the steps toward the house.

“Let’s go up and have some dinner,”

Mara suggested, hoping to deter Angie’s interest in the newborns. Angie looked longingly back to the porch until Mara whispered in her ear. “Guess what, dumpling?”

Mara asked in a secretive voice.

Angie’s eyes widened expectantly. “What?”

the little girl whispered back, in a show of affectionate collusion with her mother.