by Beth Ciotta
“I never saw it. Someone must have intercepted it, passing the contents on to my dad. I know it sounds lame, but that’s my best guess. I’ll get to the bottom of it, but for now, please, give me the benefit of the doubt.”
Tears shimmered in her big blue eyes. “You’re right. That sounds lame. But, okay. Fine. I’ll cut you some slack. Maybe you didn’t know. But now you do and I’m asking you to forget.”
“What?”
“Don’t press this issue with your father. He threatened to ruin my family if he ever heard from me again. If I ever contacted you… Promise me you won’t mention today. This encounter. Our discussion. Promise you won’t mention Mel.”
Her panic sickened and infuriated Mason. “I can’t do that.” He wanted to pull her into his arms, to comfort and protect. Instead, he reached across the table and grasped her hand. “You wrote to me all those years ago because you thought I’d want to know I had a kid in the world. You were right. I may be five years late, Chrissy, but I’ll be damned if I’ll turn my back now on my daughter.”
Her fingers and expression turned icy. “If you mean to sue for custody or even partial custody—”
“Don’t insult me.”
“We don’t want your money.”
“Understood.”
“She doesn’t know about you. I don’t know how—”
“We’ll figure it out.”
She swallowed hard, shaking her head. “Why haven’t you asked for proof? Don’t you want a paternity test?”
Mason smoothed his thumb over the back of her hand, trying to ease a tension that rivaled his own. He looked into her eyes, remembering her passion and innocence and honest affection. “Is Melody my daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Your word is proof enough.” Along with my gut feeling. Together they set his life on a new course. Purpose infiltrated every fiber of Mason’s lost soul. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this driven. This alive.
Chrissy licked her lips, tugged loose of his grasp. “You don’t care that she’s profoundly deaf?”
He’d wondered about the severity of her hearing loss. Now he knew. “Of course I care,” he said, sensitive to Chrissy’s defensive tone. A lioness shielding her cub. “And I have a lot of questions. But those can wait.”
“If this is some misguided attempt… If you feel sorry for her, for me—”
“I feel sorry for myself. Melody seems like a great kid and I missed out on the first few years of that infectious smile.”
Chrissy frowned. “I wish you’d stop saying nice things.”
“Why? I’m a nice guy. If you’d think back, you’d remember that.”
“I’ve been afraid that I romanticized that portion of my life.”
“You don’t trust me.”
“I don’t trust this. After all this time… You can’t just waltz into Melody’s life and play part-time daddy. You live here. We live in Nebraska. Even if we worked something out your father would never stand for it.”
“Let me worry about my dad.”
“While you’re at it, worry about mine, too,” she said as she stood. “He swore to kick your ass if he ever learned who you are. My brother swore the same. That’s a double ass-kicking coming your way.”
Mason stood as well, brow furrowed. “You never told your family my name?”
“I never told anyone. It wasn’t worth risking your father’s wrath.” She pulled on her cap, hiked her hippy purse higher on her shoulder. “I need to get back to Melody.”
“I’ll walk you to the performance center.”
“It’s just across the street. I’ll be fine.”
He started to object, but she cut him off. “Please don’t push this, Mason. I need time.”
“I hear that. It’s a lot to take in. For both of us. Is there someone in your life?”
She met his gaze and flushed.
“A boyfriend?” he prompted. “Fiancé?”
“Why?”
“Just wondering if I need to worry about a third ass-kicking.”
She smiled a little and Mason’s heart jerked just like the first time she’d smiled at him across the stage five years back.
“You’re safe in that regard,” she said.
No man in her life. That made things simpler. Something told him earning Chrissy’s trust and his daughter’s love wouldn’t be so easy. Even though she was no longer staring daggers at him, she was still wary.
He tried to imagine her life for the last five years. A single mom of an audibly-challenged child and, by the modest look of her wardrobe, just getting by. Not to mention living all these years under the assumption that he’d rejected their daughter. Living in fear of his SOB father. Mason burned with anger and remorse, silently vowing to make amends. In the meantime his gut warned: Tread lightly.
Striving to end their emotional meeting on a lighter note, he snagged his phone from his pocket. “Considering we have a child together, this sounds ridiculous,” he said with an awkward smile. “But could I get your number?”
She held his gaze for a tense moment then took his phone and punched in her information.
“I’ll text you my number in return,” he said, his brain revving on the future.
“I don’t trust this, Mason.”
“So you said.”
“If you manipulate us, if your dad makes a stink, if you hurt Melody or my family in any way, I’ll not only kick your ass, I’ll make you sorry you were ever born.”
Heart pounding with respect and, oh hell, lust, Mason took back his phone, his fingers lingering on her wrist.
Her pulse raced beneath his touch. Anger? Desire? He’d take them both. “I’ve been warned.”
Chapter Five
Once upon a manic Monday
Nowhere, NE
“Here you go, Bryce. Two dozen chocolate chip, a dozen chocolate peanut butter, and a dozen holiday mixed cookies.” Wired, Chrissy shifted from one booted foot to the other as she set the signature Buzz-Bee Bakery box on the counter and totaled the sale.
“Don’t forget the cinnamon rolls.”
“Oh, right. Half a dozen. Sorry.”
“Make it a dozen.” The rugged and quietly handsome owner of the Coyote Club, one of the two drinking holes in Nowhere, pulled two large bills from his wallet. “Breaking some bad news to the team tonight. Figure I’ll soften the blow with sweets.”
His team meaning his employees.
Chrissy’s chest tightened as she imagined and yet another local establishment closing its doors. Rumors had been circulating for months. Bryce—The Bullet—Morgan, former pro football player, was on the verge of bankruptcy. If Coyote’s went under, the people who lost their jobs would probably move away. As it was there were far more people than jobs in this dying town. “This news,” she said as tumbleweed blew through her mind’s eye. “Is it what I think it is?”
“Fraid so.”
“Can’t it wait until after the holidays?”
“Fraid not.”
The servers, the bartenders, the musicians who played there every weekend—all unemployed, and right before Christmas.
Knowing her boss, Mrs. Wickham, was hovering in the background, and assuming the longtime resident of Nowhere would approve, Chrissy added three extra cinnamon buns—Buzz-Bee’s specialty—to the mix. “Maybe something will happen before the midnight hour.”
“What? Like a Christmas miracle?” His lip twitched as he scooped up the fragrant box. “Yeah. Well. ’Tis the season.”
“Wait!” Chrissy called as he turned to leave. “I shortchanged you.”
“Focus, Miss Mooney,” Mrs. W admonished while emptying the dregs of the coffee urns.
Cheeks hot, Chrissy rectified her mistake. Her fourth mistake in the last hour. “Sorry, Bryce. I’m distracted.”
“I know the feeling.” Touching the brim of his hat in farewell, the gentle giant strode toward the door.
Like everyone else in town, Chrissy pretended not to notice
his uneven gait. Plagued by a knee injury, that occasional limp was a reminder of his early and painful retirement from football. His reflexes, however, were still dead on. Proven when he dodged a direct hit as the door swung hard and Georgie blew in with an artic wind.
The woman tripped over her own two feet, face burning red as Bryce saved her—one handed—from a fall.
“Mind your step out there,” she said without making eye contact. “It’s really coming down.”
Chrissy was pretty sure Georgie had tripped because she’d been flustered by Bryce—a long time not-so-secret crush—and not because she’d slipped on ice. Many moons ago Bryce had unintentionally stomped on Georgie’s heart. She’d yet to recover from the rejection or the crush.
“Makes driving a bear,” Bryce said of the storm as he stepped into the whirling flakes. “But it sure is pretty.”
Chrissy marveled at the man’s ability to retain his good humor in the midst of disaster, wishing now that she would have paid for that box of sweets out of her own pocket. Even though the forty-something athlete had flirted with fame and fortune, somehow he’d retained his downhome sensibilities. Ask anyone and they’d tell you The Bullet’s monster financial problems were directly related to his overly generous heart.
Speaking of big hearts, Georgie, who was also swimming in debt, nearly blinded Chrissy with the blinking red-nosed reindeer pinned to the lapel of her coat.
“Please tell me you didn’t buy that ridiculous thing,” Chrissy said.
“Don’t be a Scrooge,” Georgie said then smiled. “Season’s greeting, Mrs. W!”
“Same to you, Miss Poppins.”
The gravelly-voiced, silver-haired proprietor of Buzz-Bee’s squeezed in next to Chrissy. Though she was skinny as a rail and barely five-feet-tall, Mrs. W possessed an enduring don’t-mess-with-me presence. Hence Chrissy hadn’t commented on her garish gingerbread house earrings or the reindeer antler headband anchored over her black hairnet.
“I hope you don’t want coffee,” Mrs. W said. “I just swapped out the dregs for a fresh pot.”
“Just stopped by to share some news with Chrissy.”
“I hope it’s good news. This girl’s wound tighter than a ball of rubber bands.” Mrs. W eyed Chrissy then spun around and resumed her coffee making.
“Love the antlers!” Georgie called.
“Of course you do,” Chrissy muttered.
Grinning, Georgie tugged off the thick gloves Chrissy had knitted for her and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “We’re all set. Bella and Savage are expecting me and Melody for dinner. After that we’re going to string popcorn garland and add more decorations to their tree.”
“One more ornament and that spruce will tip,” Chrissy said as she double checked the cash drawer. “Savage has got to be ODing on my cousin’s festive cheer.”
“I don’t know. I think he’s sort of into it. He even agreed to appear as Santa at the library.”
For someone who’d suffered major issues regarding children due to his former job, Savage had come a long way since hooking up with Bella. Still. “Biker dude as jolly St. Nick?” Chrissy snorted. “That I have to see.”
“Take Melody to the Jingles Jamboree this week and you will.” Georgie leaned over the counter and whispered, “Can you take a short break?”
“Go,” Mrs. W said before she even asked.
Though somewhere in her eighties—no one knew for sure—the former school teacher turned confection maven had scary impressive hearing. “I’ll just be a sec,” Chrissy said.
Adjusting her knitted yellow skull cap which negated having to wear one of Mrs. W’s cringe-worthy disposable hairnets, Chrissy followed Georgie to an empty table. Hugging herself as they passed the frosted panes of the store’s front windows, she noted the heavy snowfall with a frown.
“Maybe I should reschedule this meeting with my parents,” she said while they plopped in the yellow-cushioned seats. “This storm is hitting sooner than predicted. I’d hate for you and Melody to get snowed in at Savage’s place.”
“About that… Bella wanted you to know that if the talk goes badly with your parents and Zeke, if you need the rest of the night to decompress, Melody’s welcome to spend the night with her. Same goes for if we get snowed in. We’ll just make a party of it. Seriously, Chrissy. You’ve been living with this secret for five years. The sooner you tell your family about Mason, the sooner you can relax. You’ve been on edge ever since you ran into him. Not that I blame you. Your past history aside, the man is potent.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Gorgeous. Charismatic. Still into you.”
“I don’t know about that last part.”
“You’d have to be dead not to notice. And if what he told you was true, if he really didn’t know about Mel… If he wants to assume responsibility. If he wants to be a family—”
“Can we not go there?”
“Just saying I totally get why this guy haunted you for so long. He’s—”
“Potent. I know. He’s also stinking rich. An inheritance from his grandfather, trust fund from his dad, stock in the company. Not to mention his salary.”
“That doesn’t make him bad.”
“But it does make him dangerous.” Chrissy couldn’t shake the possibility that Mason could rattle her stable world. If he fell in love with Mel… If he thought he could provide her with a better life… Knowing her parents, they’d have the same worry. And what about his father? What if Boyd Rivers made good on his threat?
Wired to the max, Chrissy drummed her fingers on the black-lacquered table. Her leg bounced with adrenaline-charged anticipation. The only reason she hadn’t broken the news to her family the day she returned from Denver was because Zeke had been away for the weekend. She only wanted to tell this story once. Tonight was the night.
Meanwhile, two days after her run-in with Mason and Chrissy was still floating on a cloud of disbelief and a dollop of wonder. As jolting as that meeting and the subsequent conversation had been it had shifted her insides, altered her attitude. She had no evidence to back Mason’s side of the story, but at least she had his side of the story. Until that moment she’d assumed the worst. That he was a serial womanizer who counted on his rich, influential daddy to clean up his messes. That he’d played her a fool that week in the valley. That he was a self-absorbed bastard who cared nothing about the well-being of his own child.
I care.
That one declaration had gone a long way, softening the fierce resentment she’d harbored for years.
I’m a nice guy.
One of the reasons she’d fallen so hard and fast for Mason in the first place. Her extreme bitterness had clouded that memory. But that same gentle kindness had been evident when she’d first seen him with Melody. And after, when he’d returned his daughter’s greeting by mimicking her gestures—a palm sweeping twice toward the chest, followed by one “C” hand arcing, like tracing the top of a wreath.
Merry Christmas.
His effort had been clumsy, but sweet.
“Downplaying the lawyer’s threatening letter is the key,” Chrissy added as an afterthought. “The last thing I want or need is for dad and Zeke to confront the almighty Boyd Rivers. Rocking that yacht isn’t smart. Allowing Mason to slip into our lives probably isn’t the best idea either, but he made it clear he wants to know his daughter.”
“You haven’t said and we didn’t want to pry,” Georgie said, eyes sparkling with curiosity, “but I can’t help myself. Has Mason contacted you?”
Chrissy’s other leg joined in the anxious bouncing. “No. But it’s only been two days and I did ask him to give me some time. Who knows? Maybe he won’t call at all. Maybe he slept on it and decided he wasn’t happy about being a daddy. Maybe—”
“Maybe he’ll drop by on a whim,” Georgie said.
“He lives in another state,” Chrissy said. “Not around the corner.”
But then she realized Georgie was focused on someone
passing the window. Bells jingled signaling a new arrival. Chrissy knew even before she turned and made eye contact. The adrenaline that had been gushing through her body, spiked to her brain. She gave herself credit for not keeling over from a massive head rush as she stood and faced the subject of their conversation.
Mason stomped clumps of slush from his boots and shook snow from his hair, nodding to the proprietor in greeting before moving toward Chrissy. His stride was steady—unlike her pulse and legs. Her entire being zapped with sensual awareness. The other day he’d been dressed in a suit and tie—hot. Now he was dressed down in jeans and a thermal tee—also hot. He wore the same dark blue pea coat—nice—accentuated by a green cable-knit scarf with bright red tassels—hideous. Her fingers itched for her needles and a skein of sapphire blue yarn. Or maybe red—if he was shooting for festive.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood.”
She’d entered her name and number into his phone. She wasn’t surprised he’d tracked her down, but she hadn’t expected a surprise visit. Unsettled, she fell back on snark. “Went out for coffee and took a wrong turn?”
“I’ve been in town most of the afternoon. Before this I was in Lincoln.”
Confronting his dad? Though Mason looked composed she did sense underlying tension. Had his father issued a nasty ultimatum? Had Mason relented? Rebelled? Or maybe he was just anxious about forming a relationship with his daughter.
“Hey,” Georgie said, moving in and breaking the awkward silence. “Georgina Poppins. Friend of Chrissy’s.”
“I remember,” Mason said. “And before you jump down my throat, I’m not here to make trouble.”
“Why are you here?” Georgie—God love her—persisted.
“To speak with Chrissy.”
“Obviously,” Georgie said with a smirk.
“Mrs. W?” Chrissy called.
“We’re closing in an hour and you’re as good as gone anyway, Miss Mooney, so go.”
Grateful for the opportunity to speak with Mason before she spoke with her family, Chrissy smiled at her tough-as-nails boss then turned to her handsome-as-sin ex. “I can only spare an hour or so. I have a date. That is, an appointment. With my parents. And brother. I’m breaking the news. About you.”