Secret

by McKenna, Lindsay

  He chuckled. “Yes, let’s finish them off. Changing the topic, Mattie, I’ve never been as well fed as by you and Miss Daisy.”

  “Big surprise! Remember, I’ve looked into your refrigerator, Reuss, and all I saw there was junk food.”

  “I admit it—I’m not much of a cook, Mattie.”

  Mattie was already thinking about their upcoming paint session.

  “One of the bedrooms will be a pale yellow and the last one, a pale lavender. Have you decided what to do with them?”

  “Not yet. A three-bedroom house has more space than I’m used to living in, and I don’t really have much to fill it up. The rooms are still pretty empty. Remember, the Marine Corps didn’t encourage me to keep a lot of furniture and other stuff with me.”

  “You were on deployment all the time,” Mattie said, frowning. “I asked my mom where you stayed and she said you lived in barracks on base.”

  “I lived there whether I was on deployment or not,” he said.

  “You’ve just had so little of real life to surround you,” Mattie said, frowning as she finished off what was left of her piece of cake. Lifting her chin, she stared across the table at Mark. “Your life is like an blank canvas, and I understand why. Would you like me to show you some decorating tips to make your place cozier?”

  “Yes, I’d like that a lot. Anything you can suggest will help.” He frowned and then said slowly, “I don’t know what it’s like to live inside a real home, Mattie, except for your parent’s home. I know Sage and I always loved hanging out here with you four kids, having lunch or dinner with you. It made all the difference in the world to us. Sage completely redesigned the main ranch house after I signed my portion of it over to her. She repainted the whole inside of it, too.”

  “I know. I helped her,” Mattie replied, remaining serious. “It was so dark in there before. Now? It’s light and airy.”

  “I’m not surprised that it has your touch. There was no life in that house, before you helped Sage redesign it,” he agreed, finishing his cake, and pushing the plate and fork aside. “A pretty sterile environment, looking back on it. Sage and I always loved coming over here. Your home was so alive compared to ours. It was warm and welcoming. I know when Sage took over the ranch, she had asked me how I felt about totally repainting the inside of our house. I told her to go ahead. I didn’t care anyway. That place holds too many bad memories for me. I can go into a specific room and all I remember is the beltings that happened in it.” He shook his head. “No, I was fine with Sage repainting it. I know there’s a lot of family heirloom furniture and she wanted to hold on to that, and I was fine with whatever she wanted to do. I know Sage has memories of certain rooms in that house, too. I don’t know how she handles it—because I sure can’t.”

  “Well,” Mattie whispered, her voice suddenly emotional, “you don’t have to anymore, Mark. Why don’t we look at your new house with fresh ideas? If you tell me what makes you feel at ease, we can add those elements. Your home should be a place you look forward to being in. I could help you redecorate the whole place if you want. I’d love to do that with you.”

  “Well, as soon as I get my feet under me, Mattie, I’d like that. Right now, the furniture in there is pretty heavy and dark wood. It reminds me of the house I grew up in.”

  “And it reminds you of everything that happened there, doesn’t it?”

  He pushed back from the table. “Yeah, it does.”

  “It’s understandable. Look, Sage and I did a lot of antique hunting over half of Texas, looking for special pieces she wanted. It was a lot of fun.”

  To her surprise, Mark immediately responded, “Sounds like a great idea. Maybe we could do the same thing when you have time?”

  She brightened. “Oh, I love antique shopping! Sure, we can figure something out with our weekend schedules.”

  “I just don’t know what I want,” he muttered.

  “But you do know what you don’t want, Mark. No heavy, dark-wood furniture. When I come over tomorrow to paint and go horseback riding, I’ll bring some ideas along. See what you think, and if any of them call out to you, let me know. Okay?”

  “Yeah, I’d like that, Mattie. God knows, when it comes to colors and decorating a house, I have absolutely no idea how to make a house a home.”

  She pushed back from the card table and said, “Well, today’s your lucky day! I’m volunteering to be your own personal decorating consultant. I can’t wait to get started filling up your nest.”

  Laughing a little, he walked to the door and opened it for her. “You always compare a home to a bird’s nest, Mattie. Do you think you can make one out of mine?”

  She halted a few feet away, the door opened. Looking up at him, she whispered, “I will make you a nest you’ll never want to leave, Mark Reuss. You just wait and see!”

  CHAPTER 9

  February 9, Saturday

  “Have you missed not seeing your old house, the one you grew up in?” Mattie asked Mark. They had finished the painting early and by ten a.m., rode side by side, he on Tank, the sorrel gelding, and she on her favorite buckskin mare, Sugar. They were now in the canyon, a short distance away from the hidden stream surrounded by hardy trees that now stood bare in the winter sunshine.

  “I never miss that ranch,” he admitted quietly, catching her glance. “Not with Jeb still there. Most of my memories are of the Rocking L, and they’re all good ones.”

  Mattie liked it when their stirrups touched from time to time, depending upon the swaying walk of the horses they rode. “I’m glad you have good memories, Mark. You sure deserved some.”

  He lifted his black Stetson off his head and then settled it back on. “You seem to be bringing them back to me, Mattie.”

  She considered asking him a question, and then decided to do it. Nervously, she asked, “Do you feel like you have a home, now?”

  “Yes, and it feels damn good.” They came upon the stream hidden in an alcove of bushes and wintering trees. Dismounting, Mark walked over and held Sugar’s reins while Mattie climbed out of the saddle.

  “Thanks,” she said, smiling up at him. Mattie had wanted this Saturday ride and luncheon to be a celebration. It would join other recent get-togethers when they’d made some sweet, new memories. She took the reins over Sugar’s head and led her over to the stream where the horse promptly planted her muzzle into the clear water. She drank deeply, and so did Tank, who stood next to Mark.

  Mark looked and felt relaxed. Sometimes, Mattie saw him withdraw from her, but he wasn’t that way now, and relief flooded through her.

  “I love all the things we’re doing together on these weekends,” she murmured, coming up and sliding her gloved hand around his upper arm. “I’ve always wanted times like these for us—light, happy moments.”

  Reluctantly Mattie allowed her hand to slip from around his denim jacket. She could feel the hardness of Mark’s muscles beneath the rough material, feeling them tighten when she slid her fingers around his arm. Her own yearning ratcheted up, wanting closeness with him as never before.

  Mark cocked his head in her direction, meeting her upturned gaze. “There’s nothing I want more, either.” He smiled a little and added teasingly, “You’re just a natural well-driller. You always see deeply into people’s psyches and you dig for the real person. It’s a gift, Mattie.” She loved it when he complimented her. It made Mattie feel good.

  “I know I ask a lot of questions—and you’re right—I like getting to the bottom of things.”

  Now, she breathed in the faint scent of his sweat along with the soap he’d used earlier, a lime fragrance. Mark had shaved, as well. She was hungry for him, and had to stop herself from wrapping her arms around those broad shoulders of his, drawing him up against her and never letting go.

  Her instincts told her Mark needed that kind of affection, too. It was something she’d sensed around him all her life, being abandoned early in life, that loss of nurturing, and it hadn’t gone away to this day. />
  Mark looked over at her with deep affection. “Does it bother me that you ask questions or want happy times for us?

  No,” he rasped, turning toward her. He lifted his index finger and nudged a few strands away from her temple, holding her gaze. “You’re a woman of incredible sensitivity. You care deeply and you don’t take another person’s plight lightly. There’s not many people in my life I can point to and say that they tried to understand me and my situation. Pretty much, most of the time I get judged by others. But never by you.”

  Her skin tingled wildly where his gloved finger had barely grazed the curled, loose strands of her hair. Mattie’s breath hitched momentarily as she framed that memory, his unexpected but welcome touch, and the soulful look of yearning she saw burning in Mark’s gaze. How badly she wanted to sway forward, place her hands on his chest, lean upward and kiss that sculpted mouth of his. Reluctantly, she leashed herself, but the yearning continued to mount anyway. “I try to understand people’s motivations, why they act the way they do. I guess I’m kind of an amateur psychologist—and believe it or not, I learn a lot just by working with my kids.”

  Tank lifted his head, water dribbling all over Mark’s jacketed shoulder, and Mattie had to laugh at the sorrel gelding. “Slobber puss,” she said, stepping away. Maybe it was fate that had intervened, because right or wrong, Mattie was going to take that step forward and kiss Mark. She knew she’d insisted on taking the slow road to reconnecting with Mark, but what she hadn’t counted on was his natural male charisma, which had always drawn her close, and left her wanting more.

  Leading Sugar over to a partly shaded area of trees, she took a pair of hobbles from the saddlebags and placed them around the mare’s front pasterns. Easing the bridle off, Mattie left the halter on her, making sure the lead was looped in around the saddle horn so it allowed her reach down and nibble the dried, yellow grass.

  Looking up, she saw that Mark was doing the same thing with Tank. These ranch horses knew the drill. They loved times like this, when they could take a mincing walk around and nibble on some winter grass.

  Mattie enjoyed the warmth of the sun on her jacket, the heat stealing through it and keeping her toasty.

  Mark opened up a worn wool blanket that he’d rolled up behind the cantle of his saddle and Mattie grinned, helping him spread it out after it landed on the grass. “Seems to me I remember this poor, ole blanket from our days as teenagers. I’ll bet you do, too!”

  He met her grin, walking back to the stuffed saddle bags. “Yes, I did. In fact, I asked your mom if she still had it, and sure enough, she did. She never gets rid of anything!”

  Mattie laughed. “She’s a pack rat, there’s no doubt about that.” She watched him pull out two, white plastic bags that contained their lunch. He had made their light meal with Daisy’s help, but the fact he’d had a hand in it made her feel wonderful. She understood what she was up against: the fact that abused kids grew up to be self-centered and unable to relate to the needs of others. Mark had been that way with her most of the time, but now she was seeing him stretch, begin to grow, and put her needs first, not second.

  Any child caught in the crosshairs of abuse for eighteen years was not going to understand selflessness. And in Mark’s case, because he was always in the line of fire, the impact of such tension had changed the makeup of his brain. He was now in full-time survival mode. Mattie ached for him, loving him for putting himself out for her, and giving her new hope that they could make a life together.

  The big question was, did Mark really know what she wanted? But she knew that would come with time. Mattie wasn’t about to load him down with her dreams too soon in what would be a long journey. That guaranteed failure, and failure wasn’t an option with Mattie. No way. Timing was everything and she had a world of patience because Mark was worth waiting for.

  He walked over and halted at the edge of the blanket, handing her one of the bags he was holding. “Lunch is in there. Daisy taught me how to make tuna sandwiches.” He gave her a wry look. “Hey, it was my first time in a kitchen, so don’t be too hard on me, okay?”

  She felt his concern and knew how much he wanted to please her. “There’s a first time for everything. And I’m not worried. My mom’s a pretty good teacher.” She took the bag, their fingers touching briefly.

  Settling down on his knees, Mark took off his Stetson and laid it in a nearby corner. “Yup. She was kind, as always, and patient, for sure, with the likes of me.”

  His voice sounded wistful and she understood why. “When my head could reach the counter, that’s when Mom started getting me involved in learning to cook.” Mattie opened the bag. Inside were two Ziplocs containing plump, tuna-fish sandwiches on what looked like her mother’s homemade twelve-grain bread.

  “These look great, Mark!” She handed one to him and took the other. There was also a bag of Fritos and with a small jar of sweet pickles inside the other plastic bag. “You got me my Fritos!” Mattie crowed with delight, her smile deepening. She wanted to do everything she could to make Mark feel good about his first attempt to make a meal.

  Mark avoided her eyes. “Well, I know how much you’ve always loved them,” he murmured. He opened the plastic and pulled out the sandwich.

  The little boy who resided in him was still very wounded and unloved. Now, Mark’s shyness touched Mattie as nothing else could. “Thank you … for making this lunch. It was so thoughtful of you.”

  With a slight, shy shrug, he bit into his sandwich, his gaze fastened on the blanket.

  She realized he was having difficulty taking her compliment. To change the energy between them, Mattie took a handful of Fritos and placed them on the plastic bag, nudging it in his direction. She knew Mark liked them, too.

  “You know, for your first foray into a kitchen, you’ve outdone yourself. I love the sliced almonds you mixed into the tuna salad. That has to be your idea because Mom never puts them in.”

  “It was, sorta,” he admitted hesitantly, picking up a few Fritos.

  “Did Mom taste your mix after you made it?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “What did she think of the addition of the almonds?”

  “She liked it. I was surprised.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I just was.” Again, the unsure and shy child was speaking, not the man.

  Munching on the Fritos, she held his dark gaze. “You just need to hang out with people who appreciate you, Mark. They’ll support you one-hundred percent, and they will never make fun of your efforts to better yourself.”

  She suddenly remembered when Mark had been bullied in second grade. Mattie had seen it with her own eyes, and had told her parents how three bigger boys were beating up Mark nearly every day.

  Her father was getting ready to go to the school and notify the administration when Mark decided he’d taken enough beatings. The next time they attacked him, instead of trying to run, he stood his ground and fought back. The bullies were so surprised by the skinny kid who was inches shorter than they were, giving them each a bloody nose. They never went after Mark again.

  “I’ve been thinking along those lines,” Mark said, finishing off the first half of his sandwich and reaching for the other half still in the bag. “I’ve tried to use something you told me just before I left you last time, Mattie.”

  “Oh? What did you remember me saying?” She often wondered how much he’d taken in of her ideas, so this was a surprise.

  “That we’re all caught in our own family patterns and that mine wasn’t of my making. We were having a talk about parents at the time when you mentioned it. I really took that to heart, Mattie, and I began to see what you already saw.”

  “I give you so much credit for remembering that. Good for you.”

  “I know I gave you a doubtful look at the time when you were sharing with me, but it stuck with me, Mattie. You should know that it’s helped me so much since then.”

  Tilting her head, she studied him in th
e lulling quiet. “Which part stuck?” She saw his eyes gleam with amusement at her question.

  “The pattern of abuse. It caught my attention. I started reading some books on it after that, Mattie, but I got pulled away on this other job before I could dive into it fully. I still have the books and I intend to finish them and learn from them.”

  They ate in companionable silence. Mattie knew better than to insist that Mark tell her what was going on inside him right now. But they were definitely making progress. They finished the sandwiches and put the chips and pickles back into the plastic bags. He set them aside and Mark brought over another plastic sack from one of the saddle bags.

  “Now,” he said, holding her gaze, “this is my first stab at making dessert. I asked Miss Daisy if she’d teach me how to make chocolate-chip cookies. I know they’re a favorite of yours, Mattie. I wanted something special for us today.”

  Touched, she whispered, “It’s already been special, Mark. But I can’t wait to taste them.”

  He pulled out a square plastic box. “Here, these are for you …”

  Their fingers met and Mattie cupped his hands in hers, holding them, seeing his surprised reaction. “Mark, you are a hero to me. You have such a good heart.” She squeezed his hands gently and then took the box of cookies.

  “It’s my first attempt, so don’t expect them to be perfect,” he warned.

  She eagerly opened the plastic lid and looked inside the container. They looked wonderful. “You can’t mess up cookies, Reuss. It’s impossible.”

  Mattie saw about half a dozen cookies that had broken apart by the ride out to the canyon. “I don’t see anything here that will stop me from diving into these,” she said, and popped a few chunks into her mouth, chewing slowly. Then, a look of pleasure crossed her features.

  “I don’t know … they look pretty beat up to me,” he muttered, scowling down at the chunks and crumbs. “I was hoping they’d keep their shape and look like real cookies.”