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

long-legged lady in blue jeans, he thought. Mara was definitely beautiful to him—even more so since he had experienced the miracle of Abby’s birth. But this was the last time he would study her this closely, Brock instructed himself. Every time he permitted himself to really look at Mara, it shook him to the core.
    Satisfied the baby was sleeping, she faced him again. “Stocks and bonds, art, oil, cattle,” she said. “It’s all pretty foreign to me.”
    “Some of the money goes to causes I support. Charities, foundations.” He knew Mara was religious, and she might not think too highly of his interest in acquiring stuff. Brock had gone to church as a boy, and he believed in God and Jesus—all that. But he had learned that money, and not religion, turned the world.
    Brock had hated the loss he’d experienced when his mother moved away. His life felt upside down, and nothing he did could right it. Only financial success seemed to give Brock the feeling of control he craved. Until Todd’s death, he had been sure he held the key to power. Nothing had prepared him for the emptiness and guilt that assailed him afterward. His only hope was that taking charge of the lives of Todd’s wife and baby—salvaging something out of the future he had destroyed for them—would relieve his pain.
    Brock led Mara down the hall toward her rooms. “I’ve always wanted to get this place back on its feet. Last year the ranch turned a profit for the first time since the seventies.”
    “So, you decided to use your cattle money to improve the house?” she asked.
    “Afraid this is oil money.” He pushed open a heavy door. “The ranch keeps itself going, but we’re not setting the world on fire. I’m still working on that. This is the west wing. Here’s where you’ll stay.”
     
    Mara stepped into the huge room and squeezed Abby so tightly the baby whimpered in surprise. Her whole apartment could have fit into this place. And the decor! Thick wool rugs covered the oak floor. A large old bed with enormous posts anchored one wall. Two huge chairs flanked a beehive fireplace that filled a whole corner.
    “A fireplace!” She tried to bite back her gasp, but Brock heard it and his mouth lifted in a pleased grin.
    “I built one in every room.”
    “It’s…nice,” she said as she walked toward thewindows that lined an entire wall. Nice was not an adequate word. The windows faced the plains at the base of the San Andres Mountains, now robed in shades of purple and indigo. Two tall French doors opened onto a deep porch on which sat wicker chairs and tables. A swing hung from the beams, its seat drifting back and forth in the slight breeze.
    “Your sitting room opens onto the courtyard,” Brock said as he stepped through a doorway.
    Startled from the spell the scene had cast over her, Mara followed him into the other room and peered into the dimly lit garden. She could just make out the faint outline of the swimming pool and covered terrace.
    “I put a little waterfall by the pool,” he told her as he moved to stand beside her. “I planted a xeriscape garden—native wildflowers, cactus, other stuff that can take the heat and dryness. On my property over by the mountains, I found some great rocks. Big ol’ things. The water runs over them, and makes a calming sound. It’s good for nights when you can’t sleep.”
    Mara looked up, wondering what could ever disturb Brock Barnett’s sleep. Highlighted by the setting sun, his stony profile belied the softness in his brown eyes. Odd. All she had ever noticed about him in the past were those severely carved angles of jaw, cheekbone and brow. She’d seen the swagger and the cocky grin, heard the curt sentences, tasted the bitterness the man could leave in his wake.
    Who was this person with gardens, art, waterfalls in his soul? Why had he built a beehive fireplace in every room? And what kept him awake at night?
    “The baby’s room is next door,” he said. “Come