single, solitary thing you need to know.”
Cody’s expression hardened as he became more the boss than the friend. “You’d tell me if there was, right?”
“Right.” Trace almost believed it. Almost.
* * *
That night as Mara lay in her bed she relived her visit with the Walkers and their daughter, Alyssa. And Trace. He was Trace to her now. She would never think of him as Special Agent McKinnon again. Because when he was with his friends, when he held his goddaughter in his arms, he was so much like her brother, Andre, her heart ached.
She tucked a hand beneath her cheek.
But it is not as a brother you see him,
a little voice inside her head tormented her.
He is a man who makes you understand what it is to be a woman.
Mara remembered the way Trace had held Alyssa, remembered the expression on his face as he gazed at the little girl. Remembered also the look on Alyssa’s face as she smiled up at him and cuddled in his arms. She adored her “Dace” as she called him, and he could not have loved the little girl more if he had been her fath—
Father.
But fathers didn’t love their daughters. Did they? Or was her own father the aberration? She had known for years that her father wasn’t just indifferent to her, he actually hated her, and she’d known why. And except for her brother, it was reinforced by the attitude of the majority of men—particularly those in power—all around her. But why had she accepted her father’s hatred? Why had she accepted his assessment that she had no value, that she was a worthless addition to his family?
Andre had never felt that way about her. She was special in her brother’s eyes. He had protected her, fought for her, loved her. And she had made him proud of her when she obtained her PhD, something she might never have achieved without his assistance.
She smiled softly to herself. She would never forget the mingled love and pride on Andre’s face as she’d accepted her Oxford diploma and the trappings of her new status in a ceremony that dated back centuries. Then her smile faded. Why had that not been enough for her? Why had she looked in vain for her father beside her brother? Why had there been a gaping hole in her heart as she realized that even in this, her supreme moment, she had failed to win her father’s love?
The fault was not in me,
she realized with a sense of shock.
The fault lay in my father. Andre was right all along. It was not anything I did or did not do.
Her thoughts returned to today.
Keira said her husband cried tears of joy when Alyssa was born. That is how a father should feel. That is what my father should have felt at my birth. He did not. I could have brought him great joy, just as Alyssa has brought to her father. But he chose to turn away from me, chose to hate me instead. That was his loss. Not mine. All these years wasted seeking his approval. Seeking his love.
It hurt terribly to realize now just how much of her life had been wasted pursuing something that could never be. It hurt even more to realize she’d allowed her father to control her emotionally, had allowed him to make her fear rejection so much she’d come to expect it and steel herself against it, afraid to risk her heart with any man other than Andre. Even though her father had been dead for more than two years he was still controlling her through that fear. But no longer.
Chapter 7
Y
ou have been a coward long enough,
Mara told herself with sudden conviction. Not a physical coward—she’d never balked at taking a fence when she was riding, and had been thrown more than once. She’d always picked herself up, dusted herself off and climbed back into the saddle, determined not to let fear control her. But that same dauntless courage had failed her time and again when dealing with her father.
Not anymore,
she vowed.
He is dead, and he will not control me anymore.
Mara felt like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis, struggling to free herself from the confining cocoon
Cody’s expression hardened as he became more the boss than the friend. “You’d tell me if there was, right?”
“Right.” Trace almost believed it. Almost.
* * *
That night as Mara lay in her bed she relived her visit with the Walkers and their daughter, Alyssa. And Trace. He was Trace to her now. She would never think of him as Special Agent McKinnon again. Because when he was with his friends, when he held his goddaughter in his arms, he was so much like her brother, Andre, her heart ached.
She tucked a hand beneath her cheek.
But it is not as a brother you see him,
a little voice inside her head tormented her.
He is a man who makes you understand what it is to be a woman.
Mara remembered the way Trace had held Alyssa, remembered the expression on his face as he gazed at the little girl. Remembered also the look on Alyssa’s face as she smiled up at him and cuddled in his arms. She adored her “Dace” as she called him, and he could not have loved the little girl more if he had been her fath—
Father.
But fathers didn’t love their daughters. Did they? Or was her own father the aberration? She had known for years that her father wasn’t just indifferent to her, he actually hated her, and she’d known why. And except for her brother, it was reinforced by the attitude of the majority of men—particularly those in power—all around her. But why had she accepted her father’s hatred? Why had she accepted his assessment that she had no value, that she was a worthless addition to his family?
Andre had never felt that way about her. She was special in her brother’s eyes. He had protected her, fought for her, loved her. And she had made him proud of her when she obtained her PhD, something she might never have achieved without his assistance.
She smiled softly to herself. She would never forget the mingled love and pride on Andre’s face as she’d accepted her Oxford diploma and the trappings of her new status in a ceremony that dated back centuries. Then her smile faded. Why had that not been enough for her? Why had she looked in vain for her father beside her brother? Why had there been a gaping hole in her heart as she realized that even in this, her supreme moment, she had failed to win her father’s love?
The fault was not in me,
she realized with a sense of shock.
The fault lay in my father. Andre was right all along. It was not anything I did or did not do.
Her thoughts returned to today.
Keira said her husband cried tears of joy when Alyssa was born. That is how a father should feel. That is what my father should have felt at my birth. He did not. I could have brought him great joy, just as Alyssa has brought to her father. But he chose to turn away from me, chose to hate me instead. That was his loss. Not mine. All these years wasted seeking his approval. Seeking his love.
It hurt terribly to realize now just how much of her life had been wasted pursuing something that could never be. It hurt even more to realize she’d allowed her father to control her emotionally, had allowed him to make her fear rejection so much she’d come to expect it and steel herself against it, afraid to risk her heart with any man other than Andre. Even though her father had been dead for more than two years he was still controlling her through that fear. But no longer.
Chapter 7
Y
ou have been a coward long enough,
Mara told herself with sudden conviction. Not a physical coward—she’d never balked at taking a fence when she was riding, and had been thrown more than once. She’d always picked herself up, dusted herself off and climbed back into the saddle, determined not to let fear control her. But that same dauntless courage had failed her time and again when dealing with her father.
Not anymore,
she vowed.
He is dead, and he will not control me anymore.
Mara felt like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis, struggling to free herself from the confining cocoon
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