You’ll Find Out

Chapter 9 #2

The parking lot under the building was peacefully quiet and was succumbing to darkness in the ever-lengthening shadows of the early evening. Blissfully cool air greeted Mara as she made a hasty exit from the elevator and headed toward her reserved parking space near the entrance to the building. She slid her tired body into the soft vinyl seat of the Renault and let out a nearly inaudible sigh. For a moment, allowing herself a few seconds of precious time to calm down, she rested her head on the steering wheel, and let her tawny hair fall forward around her face.

How did it all get so crazy, she wondered silently to herself as she attempted to shake off the feelings of apprehension and anger that still hung cloyingly around her. She found no answer to the enigma that had become her life.

“Damn,” she muttered to herself, as she switched on the ignition of the car and started worrying about what action Dena might take after hearing Mara’s confession. “Damn, damn, damn.” How could everything in her life have gotten so suddenly complicated? All because of one little lie.

* * *

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” June had replied to Mara’s request that she check in with Dr. Bernard. “You have enough problems of your own without bothering yourself about my health. I’m fine. Really. You worry too much.”

It had taken a considerable amount of gentle persuasion, and Mara wasn’t entirely convinced that the older woman would do as she promised, but June had finally, though reluctantly, agreed to have a checkup. When pressed for a date, June was uncharacteristically vague, but Mara left well enough alone. At least June had promised to visit the local medical clinic. Even that small victory was more than Mara could have hoped for.

It was late by the time Angie had taken her bath. But the sight of the young child with her fresh scrubbed face, laughing dark eyes, and halo of wet, golden ringlets made Mara forget, at least momentarily, about the pressures of her job and problems with Dena. There was something about Angie, dressed head to toe in animal-print pajamas, that made everything else in the world seem insignificant. Mara had taken time to put a rather complicated puzzle together for Angie, and the child laughed delightedly when she recognized that the picture was taking the shape of two adorable kittens.

The doorbell rang, and Angie scrambled off of her chair, nearly slipping on the tile in the kitchen and calling importantly over her shoulder, “I get it, Mommy.”

Mara hurried from the kitchen just as Angie was tugging at the brass handle of one of the twin front doors. With a grunt, she was able to open it and there, on the darkened porch, was Shane, and Mara felt her heart leap at the sight of him. He looked tired, worn out. His black hair was disheveled, and the light touch of silver near his temples stood out in the darkness of the night. At the sight of his daughter the fatigue seemed to leave his face, and he bent down on one knee to scoop up the youngster and hold her against his chest as if he would never let go.

Angie clung to Shane, just as desperately as he held her, and Shane’s face, buried against the tiny neck of his child, was a tortured display of emotions. His love was so open and honest that Mara discovered she had to turn away from the poignant scene to avoid bursting into tears of frustration and self-reproach. How could she deny Shane the small but inherent right of a father to claim his child?

Shane set Angie back on the floor reluctantly, and answered every one of the child’s endless questions.

“We doing a puzzle of kitties,” Angie jabbered excitedly. “Do you want to see them?”

“Of course,” Shane replied seriously. “Maybe I can help.”

“I don’t know,” Angie said, her brows puckering in thought. “Even Momma has trouble . . .”

Shane shot Mara a glance full of amusement and delight with his child. “All the more reason for me to try,” he bantered back at Angie, who was racing down the hall, back toward the kitchen.

“She missed you,” Mara whispered quietly.

“Not half as much as I missed her,” Shane muttered, and deep pangs of guilt twisted Mara’s heart.

Angie, perched precariously on the edge of one of the chairs around the cozy kitchen table, had already managed to scramble several of the pieces of the puzzle by the time that Mara and Shane had reached the kitchen. Shane laughed good-naturedly, picked up the mischievous little imp, and plopped her squarely down on his lap. She giggled with mirth, and father and daughter began working on the puzzle, interlocking the intricate cardboard shapes.

While Shane and Angie huddled together under the Tiffany lamp, Mara put on a pot of fresh coffee, and the rich scent of java eventually permeated the kitchen and small dining nook where Shane and Angie were studiously arranging the puzzle. Mara watched with envy and pride as father and daughter became caught up in a world uniquely their own: Shane’s muscular shoulders—Angie’s small, busy hands; Shane’s thick, rumpled, raven-black hair—Angie’s tousled, slightly damp, blond curls; Shane’s rough, deep-timbred laughter—Angie’s musical, tinkling imitation; and both of them with their deep, black, knowing eyes.

Just as Mara was pouring the coffee into cups, they finished with their project. Within minutes, the jagged pieces of the simple jigsaw had, to Angie’s amazement and pleasure, been rejoined and the two playful kittens in the picture once again stared back at Angie.

“Does Imagination have much of a market for these things?” Shane asked, eyeing the puzzle box.

Mara handed him a cup of steaming coffee. “Some . . .”

“Don’t tell me, let me guess—the competition does much better than we do?”

A self-derisive smile curved over Mara’s lips. “I wish I could disagree with you, but unfortunately, once again, you’re right. San Franciscan has outdone Imagination three to one in puzzle sales, along with dolls, clay, balls . . . you name it.”

“Not computer games for children?”

“I don’t know,” Mara sighed. “Until you came into the company, we weren’t even in the electronics market.”

Angie interrupted as a sudden, important thought struck her. “Mommy—is Snoopy on tonight?”

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I forgot all about it!” Mara glanced at her watch. “You’re still in luck; if you hurry, you can see the last twenty minutes.”

Angie darted into the den and snapped on the TV while her parents joined her at a slower pace. Angie insisted that Shane sit on the couch, and after racing through the house to find her blanket and Lolly doll, she hurried back to the den to scramble onto Shane’s lap and reclaim her important position.

It had been a long, fatiguing day, filled with unsettling and turbulent emotions that had torn at Mara for hours. The outburst with Dena had been the worst, and Mara wanted to tell Shane about it, but the unspoken tension in the air stopped her. Although Mara was already emotionally drained and exhausted, she could feel the threat of another confrontation with Shane in the air. It wasn’t so much what he said, as what he didn’t say, and the dark, impenetrable looks that he passed in her direction. Deep lines of concern knotted his brow and indicated to Mara that he was ready for a showdown. Only Angie’s presence had kept him from demanding answers to the questions that were hovering in the black depths of his eyes.

The Snoopy special was long over. While sitting near Shane on the couch, pretending interest in a dull variety show, Mara could feel the tension between them building, minute by minute. She wanted to close her eyes and transform the cozy den, with its paneled walls and shelves of books, into her favorite room with the two people that she loved most in the world filling it. But, although both Angie and Shane were only inches from her, she felt isolated and cold with dread; she knew that soon Shane would demand to know why she hadn’t come out and told June the truth about Angie. Nervously, Mara played with her coffee cup, an action not lost on Shane. Only the softness and innocence of the heavy-lidded blond child cuddled in Shane’s lap kept the imminent argument at bay.

Within a few silent, uncomfortable minutes, Angie had fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep. Mara reached for the tired child, intent upon taking her upstairs to bed, but Shane shook his head and pushed Mara’s arm gently aside as he rose from the couch still clutching Angie. When he walked out of the den, Mara could see the top of Angie’s curly head nestled securely against Shane’s chest. Mara had to restrain herself from following them, but she knew intuitively that Shane wanted to spend a few quiet moments alone with his child.

Mara took the coffee cups and placed them in the sink in the kitchen. Shane was still with Angie; rather than disturb the long-denied intimacy between father and daughter, Mara stuck her hands into the pockets of her jeans and walked out past the back porch, into the darkness of the night. Although the temperature had dropped considerably since late afternoon, the air was still cloyingly warm, unusually thick, heavy with humidity. The dark sky was hazy, with only a few winking stars lighting the black expanse overhead; a hot, sultry, late-summer night. The promise of rain hung heavy in the air.

The only relief from a night that stole the breath from her was a slight, pine-scented breeze, which lifted Mara’s hair away from her face and neck, cooling the small, dewy beads of perspiration that had gathered on her skin. Silently, wrapped in her own, private thoughts, she strode down the garden path, not noticing the heady scent of the late-blooming flowers or the murmuring buzz of the evening’s insects. Finally, after crossing a broad expanse of slightly dry lawn, she reached the white fence that separated the manicured grounds from the paddock. She stood, her arms folded over the top wooden plank of the fence, her left foot poised against the bottom rail. In the meadow beyond, she saw the shadow of a cat stalking field mice. In the distance, Mara heard the soft call of a night owl, and the rumble of an eighteen-wheeler on a remote highway. It was a hot, restless summer night.

Mara felt Shane’s presence before she heard the familiar creak of the screen door as it scraped over the floor of the porch, and before he coughed quietly. Looking upward, to the imposing second story of the house, she noticed that the light in Angie’s bedroom was out, and surmised that the child was sleeping soundly in her bed.

Mara’s image, a dark womanly form, thrown in relief by the white fence, reminded Shane of a younger, more carefree period of his life—an existence that they had shared happily together. There was a childlike quality in the way that Mara hung against the fence, as if she were still an adolescent school girl daydreaming in the darkness. It was her form, a silhouette of innocent womanhood, that played dangerous games with his mind and beckoned him to walk closer to her.

He stopped short of her, his hands pushed to the back pockets of his jeans, and watched as she turned to face him in the shifting moonlight. Soft strands of golden hair were lifted by the breeze and shimmered to silver in the hazy moonglow. In the quiet solitude of that summer night, their gazes locked, dusky blue with darkest ebony. In the distance, thunder growled.

His hand, as if in slow motion, reached out and outlined the curve of her jaw, the length of her throat, the swell of her breast to drop in frustration at his side. Mara felt the hardening of her nipples straining for release against the soft imprisonment of her clothes. Her breath became constricted in her throat, and when she attempted to speak, to try and bridge the abysmal gap that she knew was growing between them, she was unable to. The words of love failed her. The apology that she felt straining inside her—to amend for the fact that she had denied him his right to claim his daughter—was lost in the darkness. She needed him . . . wanted him . . . ached for his touch, and yet the words that would help heal the wounds and bind the two of them together were lost somewhere in the deepest part of her.

“Mara . . . oh, baby,” he moaned, his hands on her shoulders, holding her at a distance from him and yet teasing her with their warm promise. A shudder ripped through her, a shudder of a need so deep that it inflamed all parts of her as she felt his fingers enticing warm circles of passion against her skin. Even through the light fabric of her blouse, his touch aroused her to the depth of his longing.

His lips descended hungrily to the welcome invitation of her open mouth. In an explosive, long-withheld union of flesh, Shane’s tongue rimmed her anxious lips and delved into the sweet, moist cavern of her mouth. Softly she moaned and slumped against him, letting the heat of the summer night scorch her body by his passionate, hungry touch. Spiraling circles of desire wound upward through her veins from the most womanly core of her body. Her fingers touched and wound themselves in his thick, wavy black hair, communicating without words how desperately she wanted him . . . how much she needed him.

“Why do you make me ache so badly?” Shane asked, forcing her against him with a fierce power born of denial. Her supple body molded willingly to the throbbing contours of his. “Why do you torture me?” he whispered against the skin of her cheek. His lips roved seductively to the shell of her ear. “And why, why do I need you?” He buried his face in her soft, honey-touched tresses, and his hot breath caressed the very center of her being. “I want you, Mara,” he murmured in hot, desperate longing. “God, how I want you!” His voice and hands seemed to embrace every part of her, and Mara could feel the insistent tips of his fingertips rubbing the taut muscles of her back, kneading them with urgent persuasion.

Far off, lightning paled the late summer sky, and for one breathless instant, Mara saw Shane’s face as clearly as if it were early dawn. The muscles in his face were set and hard. The look in his shadowed eyes was that of a man plagued by his own traitorous thoughts.

“I . . . I don’t mean to play games with you,” she asserted, reading the anger and frustration on his features. “Surely you must know that.” Her light eyes were probing, delving deeply into his black gaze. Once again, his lips sought and found the supple curve of her mouth, and any words that may have been forming in his mind were instantly forgotten with the fever of his embrace.

Mara found herself clinging to him, clutching him, holding on to him as if she thought he might, once more, disappear into the night and be lost to her. Don’t leave me, she thought desperately. Please, Shane, don’t leave me ever again, but the words were lost in the passion of the night. The tears that had been threatening to spill all day came at last, unwanted. Her eyes filled, and although she fought to push them back, the salty droplets slid down the soft hills of her cheeks to moisten her lips and give the heated kiss the tangy flavor of her despair.

His body stiffened as he recognized that she was quietly crying. After a pause, as if he was trying to restrain himself, he moaned, and then softly, gently, never allowing their bodies to drift apart, he folded his knees against hers and drew her down to the dry, soft carpet of grass. Far away, a pale, craggy streak of lightning flashed against the mountains and the dull, echoing sound of thunder reverberated through the surrounding hills.

“What’s wrong?” Shane asked, his eyes guarded while his hands, with gentle strokes, smoothed the hair away from her face. With a wistful smile, he captured a tear from her eye on his finger and touched it to his lips.

She returned his smile with a wan imitation, and lay on her back, her crossed arms cradling her head. Shane lay, half sat next to her, his face bent over hers so closely that she could feel the warmth of his breath ruffling her hair and taste his heady, masculine scent that laced the air and lingered against her lips. His dark eyes showed nothing but genuine, intense concern, and all at once she saw the younger man that she had always loved so desperately. Did he know, could he feel, just how desperately she had loved him and agonized over him for the past few days . . . how much she had wanted him for the last four years?

“What isn’t wrong?” she countered, finally able to answer his probing question.

“Nothing is,” he corrected her and pressed a finger to her mouth, at first to silence her. But finally he surrendered to the longings in his body, and enticed her to open her lips and let him touch the inside of her. Slowly she complied, opening her mouth and accepting the exploring finger, letting the wild, suggestive impulses spark her blood. He touched her teeth, her gums, her tongue, and she reveled in the salty, bittersweet masculine taste.

His groan of surrender was primeval in intensity, and Mara felt him tremble with repressed passion. As the space of minutes lapsed he levered himself up on one elbow and with his free hand, opened the buttons of her blouse. The sheer fabric fluttered in the breeze to gape open in the filtered moonlight, an open invitation. He was entranced, filled with a need only she could fill, and while thunder rolled against the Blue Ridge, Shane moved over Mara and pressed his face into the dusky hollow of her breasts. “Oh, God, Mara,” he moaned, letting his weight press against her, “you’re beautiful!” With hands that trembled, he lifted the blouse away from her breasts and looked with naked yearning at the uneven pattern of her ragged breathing. Even through the flimsy fabric of her bra, the dark circles of her nipples pushed tautly upward, an anxious invitation to his hands and mouth.

Before touching either of the warm, supple peaks, he placed the palm of his hand over Mara’s trip-hammering heart, and felt the rush of desire coursing through her veins in its erratic, pulsating beat.

Gradually Shane’s hand moved. And while his eyes held hers, his hand slid over the lace of Mara’s bra, and brushed against the tip of her straining nipple. A long, low sigh escaped from Mara’s lips. And when through the soft fabric she felt his hot breath and warm, coaxing lips tease and brush her breast, she could stand no more of the bittersweet yearning. She arched her body up to meet his and let her fingers push his head more tightly to her breast, drowning in the sweet, warm, melting sensations that were oozing throughout her body.

“Oh, Shane,” she murmured, calling his name over and over into the furious night. His answering groan and shudder of surrender further added to the heightened feeling of desire that was making her lose all thoughts of anything other than fulfilling the burning need that was flaming within her.

And his lips, after suckling tentatively at each of her nipples, left wet shadows of passion against her bra, and made the heat of her need smolder to new summits of desire.

The power of her hunger was dizzying, and without thought she found the buttons of his shirt and began slipping them through the buttonholes to expose the taut muscles of his chest and the powerful shoulders. Her fingers slid even more boldly to the waistband of his jeans before he took a long, steadying breath and held both of her hands in his. “Oh, Mara,” he breathed raggedly, “don’t do this to me.” His eyes closed in agony.

Confused and disappointed, she pulled her hands from his and turned away from his dark gaze. “I . . . I . . . guess I don’t understand,” she admitted, torn by the depth of her need for him and the pain of his rejection.

“Neither do I,” he conceded, in one long, lingering breath. Disgusted with himself for the breakdown in his willpower and angry because of the pain he was causing her, he let himself fall back onto the grass to gaze, searchingly, at the few winking stars that could be seen in the restless, dark sky. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, wondering why he always felt such a need to apologize. “I told you before—I can’t have you on these terms—Peter Wilcox’s terms.”

“Peter has nothing to do with us . . .”

The unasked question burned in the air, and though unspoken, Mara could feel the question in Shane’s gaze.

“You don’t have to say anything, Mara,” he whispered. “I know that you haven’t told June about Angie.” Shane’s words sounded dead with disappointment.

“I tried,” she offered, somewhat apologetically. A gray-green flash of jagged electricity sizzled across the sky, lighting the mountain tops, and thunder rumbled ominously near.

“That’s not good enough,” he accused. “She has to be told!”

“She’s . . . she’s going to the doctor, sometime next week, I think. Once I know that she’s all right, I’ll tell her . . . everything.”

“Too late.” Shane’s voice was as distant as the approaching summer storm.

“Shane, be reasonable . . .”

“Reasonable?” he repeated incredulously, throwing the word back into her face. “Reasonable? I think I’ve been more than reasonable.” In a quieter tone, “It was my mistake.” He pulled himself up into a sitting position, and his eyes traveled over the tortured expression on her face. His shirt gaped open, exposing the tense, rock hard muscles of his chest and the dark mat of hair that swirled roughly between his taut male nipples. The ripple of his muscles in the warm night was electrifying, and Mara felt the feminine urges of her body once again responding to his enticingly male physique.

“You’re insinuating that I haven’t been fair. . . .” she charged, though her voice sounded frail.

A dark eyebrow quirked attentively. “No, I’m not. What I’m telling you is that you can’t expect to have it both ways.” He silently let his eyes run down the length of her body. Her blouse was still parted, and the sculpted form of her breasts heaving in the moonlight made his ache for her increase. Reluctantly, he moved his eyes away from the soft curve of her abdomen . . .

“You’re wrong—I don’t expect anything to work both ways,” she pouted.

“Sure you do! Admit it, Mara, you want everything—Angie, the toy company, the Wilcox fortune, social standing, this house, and me. And I hate being last on the list!” His dark eyes narrowed.

“You’re wrong . . . you’re not last. Oh, Shane, don’t you know that much, at the very least?”

“I know that you’re hedging.”

“I’m not trying to . . .”

“Well, then, dear,” he teased, his face moving to within inches of hers, “you have to be willing to pay the price, and it won’t be easy.”

“The price?” she asked. “What price are you talking about?” Even in the shadows of the night, under the black cloud-filled sky, Shane could see that she was honestly confused.

“Can’t you see what is bound to happen?” he asked. “Once you make your surprise announcement to your mother-in-law that Angie is my child, can’t you see what is bound to come crashing down on you, on us? The whole damned roof will cave in! All of that Wilcox family will go running to their lawyers in an attempt to save what they consider to be rightfully theirs. There is going to be one helluva mess, darling, and you’ll be right in the middle of it.”

He stopped for a moment to note her reaction to his thoughts. She had propped herself up on her elbows and was hanging on his every word.

“And what about the press?” he continued. “The newspapers will have a field day with this one, don’t you think?” he asked.

Dena’s taunts, issued earlier in the evening, came thundering back. “Oh, God,” Mara moaned with the impact of his statement.

“And that’s not the worst of it. There will probably be charges of collusion between you and me, as if we had planned the entire stock takeover. And,” his voice grew even more sober, “Angie will be the target of it all!”

“No!” Thunder, closer now, clapped threateningly.

“You won’t be able to avoid it.”

“But . . . if you knew all of this . . . why did you take such a chance and invest half a million dollars into Imagination?”

“It’s a sound investment, believe it or not,” he stated with a grim smile. “And Imagination Toys needs me much more than I need them.”

“Oh, Shane,” she murmured. “I don’t know if I’m up to battling with the family anymore.”

“Sure you are. And any story they might dream up about collusion won’t wash with the courts. Don’t worry about it, I’ve already done the groundwork.”

“You don’t know Dena . . .”

Shane’s eyes narrowed wickedly in a brilliant flash of lightning. “I saw her in action last Friday at the board meeting, and don’t worry about Dena, I’m sure I can handle her . . .”

The rain, thick droplets, began to fall in a late summer deluge. Quickly, Shane pulled Mara to her feet and together they dashed toward the house. Once in the safety of the screened portion of the porch, they stood close, not touching, but together watched the fury of the storm unleash.

Shane’s thoughts, deep and troubled, were as ominous as the black night itself. The rain beat a steady rhythm against the roof of the porch, and the downpour, still dusty with summer grit, gurgled with the sound of running water. Mara’s clothes clung to her, and tiny droplets of rain, reflecting in the light from the kitchen window, ran in jeweled rivulets down the tanned length of Shane’s neck.

“I expect that you’ll tell June tomorrow,” Shane announced, wiping the moisture from his face with the back of his hand.

“I don’t know if I can . . .”

“You don’t have a choice.” His tone was even more cutting than his words. He rested his hands on his hips and looked off into the mountains before turning to face Mara. When he did, he crossed his arms over his chest. His hooded gaze pinned Mara against the screen, and involuntarily, expecting the worst, she felt her spine become rigid with dread. What she didn’t realize was how alluring she appeared, her hair and face freshly doused with rainwater and her clothes clinging to her slim figure.

Shane’s words came out slowly, as if with measured intent. “You should know that while I was in Atlanta, I spent a lot of time with Henderson . . . my attorney.”

“Yes?” she returned stiffly. Apprehension tightened her features.

“We talked about a lot of things, such as the collusion and fraud that the Wilcox family will no doubt charge us with.”

“Go on,” she coaxed, steadying herself for the final blow that she was expecting.

“And besides all of that, I told him about Angie.”

Genuine fear took hold of Mara. Her fingers tightened on the screen. “And?” she prodded, her breathing irregular and constricted. “What did he say?”

“Well,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck. “What it all boils down to is this—either you marry me right away and I adopt Angie, changing the records to indicate that she is my natural, biological child, or I’ll start custody proceedings against you.”

Mara’s knees began to buckle under the weight of his threat. “No! Oh, Shane, you . . . you wouldn’t!” Mara cried, unbelieving. “You can’t . . . take her away . . .”

“I don’t want to. You know that, but—”

“Don’t do this to me!” she wailed over the pitch of the storm.

“You don’t really leave me much of a choice, do you? I’ve set up a trust fund for her, but that’s not enough. Damn it, Mara, it’s just not enough!” His fist crashed into the screen. “I want her, damn it, and I intend to have her!”

“I told you that I would marry you,” Mara pleaded.

“When?” he demanded, and the lightning crackled in the air.

“After I know for certain that June is well.”

“There are no certainties in this life, Mara. I gave you two weeks, and they’re gone!”

“But, Shane—”

“There’s no more room for argument!” His eyes glinted in the night like tempered obsidian. “This is what’s going to happen—I’m going to fight you tooth and nail for custody of my child unless you marry me tomorrow. And if you think that you can handle a legal battle—fine, I’ll see you in court. But just be aware that I’ll spare no expense, and I’ll leave no stone unturned in order that I get at least partial custody of my child!”

“Shane, please . . . don’t do this to us. Please, don’t threaten me,” she pleaded, her frightened eyes beseeching him.

“It wasn’t my decision, Mara. It was yours!”

“I’ll tell June next week, I swear . . .” she began, half-sobbing, the tears glistening in her eyes. “. . . but please don’t take my baby away from me!” Mara’s face twisted in fear and agony—why did he demand so much and give so little? She loved him with a passion that wouldn’t, even after four long years, subside, and yet she felt as if he had never loved her. Why couldn’t he understand and wait, just a little longer?

Lightning cracked across the sky and the thunder pealed loudly enough to shake the timbers of the old Southern mansion. The wind had picked up, but above the clamor of the storm, Mara thought she heard the faint sound of a child screaming . . .

“Angie!” Mara gasped, realizing that the girl was probably terrified. She turned toward the kitchen, but Shane was ahead of her, running through the house and dashing up the stairs two at a time. The thunder roared again, and the little girl shrieked.

Shane reached Angie’s room before a minute had passed, and by the time that Mara had made it, breathlessly running to the bedroom, Shane held the sobbing, frightened child in his arms. He was whispering soft words to her and fondly stroking her hair with his hands. “It’s all right, precious,” he murmured against her small head. “ Daddy is here now, and he’s never, never going to let you get scared again.”

Mara froze in the doorway, and Shane’s dark gaze defied her to deny the words of comfort and love that he, as Angie’s father, was giving to his child.