Read Online Love's Haven by Catherine Palmer - Free Book Online Page A

Brock’s long, buttery leather couches, wool-upholstered pillows, Mission-style cabinets, silver-inlaid tables and wrought-iron lamps must seem like utter luxury. “This part of the house used to be all there was,” he explained as he led Mara and the baby past windows that faced north toward the vast plains that stretched to the San Andres Mountains. “The great room is more than a hundred years old. On the other side of it there, you can see the courtyard with the new swimming pool and the gardens. What are now the kitchen, dining room and library used to be bedrooms. My father bought this land from a descendant of the original Spanish land-grant owner. We moved into the house when I was six.”
    Mara followed Brock out of the great room and down a long hall lined with Native American and Hispanic art. “So, your father collected New Mexican artifacts?”
    “Nope, these are mine,” Brock replied. “I pick up things wherever I go. I particularly like the native crafts: baskets, pottery, silver, weaving. I’ll buy a painting if it’s one I’m partial to.”
    Mara gaped at the collection of originals by Peter Hurd, Henriette Wyeth and Gordon Snidow. A largeframed Amadeo Peña hung on one long wall, an R.C. Gorman on another.
    “If I can find an authentic Hispanic religious artifact,” he was saying as she readjusted Abby on her shoulder and hurried to catch up, “you know, a retablo or a santo —I’m as happy as a skunk eatin’ cabbage.”
    “I didn’t realize you were so religious,” Mara remarked.
    Brock swung around, surprised at the question. “It’s art. These things come out of old churches. They’re hand-crafted folk art. That’s why I collect them.”
    “I thought your interest in Todd’s work was just a whim. He said you liked to try new things all the time. Let’s see…parasailing, hang-gliding, whitewater rafting…rock climbing.”
    Brock stared at her, feeling the emotion behind her words. “I’ve collected art for years.”
    “Todd never told me.”
    “I don’t know why not,” he said, angry with Mara for some reason he couldn’t quite pinpoint. The climbing accident wasn’t her fault. It was his.
    “I guess you and Todd covered more ground than I realized.” Her voice was softer now. “You knew him longer.”
    “We liked exploring. I’d be hunting something every time we went off someplace together. Todd was looking at the architecture, and I was searching for folk art or paintings.”
    She nodded and turned her focus to the beamed ceiling. “So, did your father add the two wings onto the house?”
    “I did.”
    “You?”
    “Sure. Are you surprised?”
    “I guess so.”
    Brock knew most people thought he lived solely on his father’s coattails. “I took over the ranch about six yearsago, after my father died. He founded Barnett Petroleum and turned his attention to the oil leases he owned over in the southeastern part of the state. He pretty much let this place go. I was kind of steamed about it. Then, when the bottom fell out of oil, Dad sort of dropped out of life. Tipped the bottle, you know?”
    “I do know. One of my foster dads had a drinking problem.”
    “When I was in college,” he continued, “I’d come home on weekends and try to put things back in order around the ranch. Dad died shortly after I graduated, so I moved back in and took over.”
    “What happened to the oil business?”
    “A management group in Artesia takes care of things for me there. I look in on the operation regularly just to keep my hand in. The oil pays for itself and a little more. Well, a lot more, but the money goes into stocks and other investments. I let some boys in New York play around with it.”
    Mara focused on the tiny bundle in her arms, and Brock allowed himself to study Mara. Her hair, brushed shiny-smooth and gleaming, lay like scattered wheat across her shoulders. Mesmerized by her gray-green eyes and her pink lips, he took in her soft curves. Nothing like a