by Beth Ciotta
Chrissy raised her glass in a toast. “To your brother, Jimmy.”
“To your Aunt Laura.” Mason tapped his fancy goblet to hers, dissolving the lump in his throat with a swallow of wine. “As dinner goes,” he said in a lighter tone, “it’s not much. I thought it would just be me tonight.”
“It’s a guy meal, all right,” she teased while sorting through his booty. “Pepperoni, crackers, chips, cheese. You’ll hit it off great with Zeke. Well, once we get past the introductions anyway.”
“I hope so,” Mason said, realizing now that if he married Chrissy, he’d be gaining a new brother as well as a wife. In-laws and assorted other relatives. Were they all as down-to-earth as Chrissy? “So your dad and Zeke, they got home okay?”
“Yes, thank you for asking. Windbreaks intact,” she said while breaking open the box of crackers. “Cattle safe and accounted for.”
Mason divvied out paper plates and cheap napkins. “What’s a windbreak?”
“In a nutshell,” she said while slicing cheese, “it’s a natural or manmade barrier—a shelterbelt of trees, stacked bales of hay or straw, a porous wooden structure. Windbreaks reduce wind speed in a protected zone, reducing severe wind chill. Yes, the cattle have thick hides and grow winter coats that help insulate their bodies from the cold, but that’s not always enough for the more mature or newborn animals.”
“So by braving that storm, in rebuilding or reinforcing those windbreaks, your dad and brother saved the lives of however many cattle were at risk.”
“With the help of Mr. Morgan and a couple of his ranch hands, yes.”
“Speaks volumes of your family. Helping out like that. Surely they had concerns of their own.”
“Dad’s the best at what he does. Our ranch, our livestock were secure. Zeke…he’s the best at what he does, too—going head to head with Mother Nature, but he also grew up on a ranch. He loves and respects all varieties of critters. He’d do anything to save even one creature, let alone several.”
She frowned and Mason’s heart squeezed. “What?”
“I try not to think about it much, but a couple of years ago this region got pummeled by an unseasonal blizzard,” she said. “We weren’t prepared. Countless heads of cattle perished. It was awful. Horrific, actually. Arlo Morgan was one of the hardest hit. His son, Bryce, bailed him out of a financial catastrophe and now Bryce is facing ruin himself.”
“How so?”
“Long story short, he owns and runs The Coyote Club, one of the two bars in town. Although Bryce sank a crap load of money into the joint, it’s going down. Only so many people to support local business. He dropped into the bakery today to buy some desserts for his crew. It won’t soften the blow when he tells them he’s being forced to close his doors—right before Christmas, no less—but it was a sweet gesture. I wouldn’t be surprised if Bryce drained the last of his savings to pay his employees some sort of holiday bonus and to compensate the contracted musicians he’ll have to cancel. Big-hearted jock.”
“Wait,” Mason said as something clicked. “Bryce Morgan. Bryce—The Bullet—Morgan?”
“The closest thing Nowhere has to a hometown celebrity,” Chrissy said as she sipped more wine. “Although Bella’s in the process of making a name for herself. Local librarian turns famous author.”
“Your cousin writes books?”
“Fairy tales. Once you get to know her more,” Chrissy said with a smile, “you’ll totally get it.”
“Your friends seem like an interesting bunch,” Mason said as they munched on his “guy” meal. The heat from the electric fireplace warmed him nearly as much as Chrissy’s company. All that was missing was Melody. And Rush. “I assume this is the same bunch you mentioned five years back. The Inseparables?”
She raised a brow. “Yes, and I mentioned them in passing. That’s some memory you’ve got.”
Mason reached over and tucked her soft hair behind her ear. “I remember everything about that week. Every word, every song, every expression, every touch. That’s why now, this, us feels so natural. The connection’s still there and as strong as ever. At least for me.”
“I feel it, too,” she said causing his heart to jerk in his chest. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be sitting in this bed with you.”
“Anything more going to happen in this bed?” Mason couldn’t help asking. “Aside from sleeping?”
She drank more wine then met his gaze. “I also remember every word, every song, every expression and every touch. Knowing us and how we roll, I’m guessing more is inevitable.”
Mason had been fighting a hard-on since the moment he’d walked into Buzz-Bees and spied Chrissy in that fuzzy cap and frilly apron. Now it raged like the storm outside.
She nibbled on cheese, watching him with wary eyes. No doubt she expected him to jump on her seductive assumption—to jump her.
As much as he wanted the sex, he wanted her trust more.
He shifted, trying to ease his sudden discomfort while affecting a casual tone and trying not to obsess on the fact that he might be getting naked with this woman tonight. If not tonight, soon. “So tell me more about your friends.”
* * *
“These were great,” Mason said, his voice slightly strained. “Thank you for sharing them with me. Do you think,” he cleared his throat. “Would you mind emailing me a couple?”
Chrissy tapped into his restrained emotion, her chest aching as she imagined herself in Mason’s shoes. What would it feel like to learn, out-of-the-blue, that you had a child in this world? A child who’d experienced four and a half years of special moments and challenges without you?
In going through some of the pictures and videos stored in her tablet, Chrissy relived several Melody “firsts”—first birthday, first walk, first haircut, first pony ride—along with various special or random moments over the years.
Mason had missed them. All of them.
“Here.” She passed him her tablet. “You choose.”
They were lying in bed, side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder. Under the blankets, but fully clothed. Mason had turned out the lights, still the room glowed and flickered with the amber lighting from the artificial fire. The heater provided warmth, but an icy wind seeped through the windows, therefore the room temperature wasn’t toasty as much as bearable.
Chrissy snuggled a little closer to Mason, watching as he opened her photo gallery app and clicked on his choices. Rather than a couple, he chose several photos. Most of them featured Mel. Some featured both Chrissy and Mel. Mother and daughter mugging for selfies.
Heart pumping, she watched as Mason emailed himself memories he hadn’t been a part of. When showing him the pictures, she’d also shared a few stories, most of them sweet and funny because, yeah, that’s how Mel rolled. The kid was a hoot and a blessing.
When he’d asked about Mel’s impaired hearing, Chrissy had tensed up, but she’d shared openly. Full disclosure. Since Mason had a background in audio, he easily absorbed the bulk of Melody’s limitations and what Chrissy had done in order to advance her education and means of communication. Chrissy especially appreciated that he didn’t bombard her with suggestions. Instead of making her feel like she hadn’t done enough, he applauded her efforts. She knew without asking that his wheels were turning. And she knew, at some point, he would offer advice.
Amazingly, she didn’t mind. In fact, she looked forward to his expertise and input. She’d always had the support of her friends and family, but this was different.
This was Melody’s father.
Chrissy tingled with a zap of happy as she placed her tablet on the night stand alongside her phone. “Your turn. Got any pictures of Rush?”
“You want to see pictures of my dog?”
“I think I should know what Mel and I are getting into,” she teased, hoping to lighten his spirits.
“Mmm.” He reached for his phone and scrolled his glowing screen. “He’s a mutt, just so you know. Irish Wolfhound mix. Mix undetermined. And we do
n’t do those frou-frou cuts when we visit the groomer. He’s kind of naturally, um, scruffy.”
“So he’s not a pedigree and he’s not pretty.” Suppressing a grin, Chrissy wiggled her fingers. “Let me see.”
“All right. But you’ve been warned.”
She nabbed the phone and focused on the mutt Mason had adopted from a shelter. Rush was bigger than she’d expected. Taller than a Shepard or Lab. The brown coat of his lean body had been buzzed a little, but his hound face sported lots of scruffy long hair.
“What he lacks in looks, he makes up for in temperament. He’s gentle and loyal, smart, yet dopey.”
“He’s adorable.”
“Ya think?” Mason leaned his head closer to hers, muscling in on her pillow and looking up at the screen as she scrolled to the next shot. “That’s us after an impromptu tussle in the snow last week.”
Chrissy stared up at the motley duo, Mason hugging the big dog as they mugged for a selfie. She imagined Melody playing with the fun-loving pair and experienced another happy zap. “Can I send these to myself?”
He smiled. “Sure.”
While forwarding the photos to her email, she mused on the fact that, though wealthy, Mason lived a modest life. He wasn’t one to flaunt his money and he reveled in simpler pleasures. It was refreshing. Somewhat surprising and wholly wonderful. Pensive, she passed back his phone, and then rolled in to face him.
He rolled in as well and after a moment of silence he raised a brow. “You look a little intense.”
“Just thinking.”
“Intense thoughts.”
They were practically nose to nose, their bodies close, so close, but not quite touching. Except for their feet. They both wore thick socks and they’d instinctually rubbed their feet together to generate more warmth. Silly, but the gesture struck Chrissy as intimate. And sweet.
“Just so I’m clear,” she said. “We’re going to trust this attraction, move forward as a couple.”
“You’re wary.”
“I can’t help it. You have to admit it’s a little crazy. We come from different worlds. We haven’t seen each other in five years and before that we were only together for one week. Also… I know you’ve never been close with your parents and I know you miss your brother. I worry you’re using Mel and me to fill that void in your life. That’s a lot of pressure.”
He pursed his lips in thought, then nodded. “I’ve always longed for what I don’t have—a warm loving family. So, yeah. You and Mel, the thought of you and Mel and me together, living and loving and making memories, satisfies a deep need. But know this, even if you put the brakes on now, my life is still fuller than ever before. No matter what, you’re both in my heart.”
Holy… Chrissy closed her eyes, her pulse racing as his words wrapped around her soul—a soothing cocoon, an inspiring nudge. Breathless, she summoned an almighty dose of derring-do. An ocean of boldness and a wisp of faith.
She met his anxious gaze. “I’m not putting on the brakes, Mason. I’m racing headlong into this crazy scenario—us as a family. I want to try. I want to…sparkle.” For Melody.
“Never mind that last part,” she said when he furrowed his brow.
He smoothed a hand down her arm. “Anything else?”
“I don’t know how to introduce you to Mel,” she said honestly. “I can’t just say: This is your daddy. How would I explain?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. She’s too young for the full-blown story. Maybe it’s better to allow our relationship to develop naturally. The more time we spend together—the three of us—the more she sees the affection between you and me, the sooner she’ll start thinking of us as a family. And eventually she’ll think of me as daddy. When it’s time to reveal our past, we’ll know.”
“That will require a lot of patience on your end.”
“Anything worth having is worth waiting for. Although I’m having a hard time with that notion where you’re concerned.” He leaned closer and pressed his mouth to hers, his tongue teasing the seam of her mouth, coaxing her to open to him.
Chrissy melted in his arms, her mind and body regressing five years. She knew his body intimately, the feel of him, the taste of him. She fantasized about the bare skin and sculptured sinew beneath his thermal pullover. She knew she’d come apart the moment he slid inside. Her entire being tingled in anticipation.
Five years of celibacy hadn’t been so bad—until now.
He shifted, moving over her, the weight of his body—so familiar, so good. She wiggled against his erection, slid her fingers beneath the hem of his shirt. His skin was warm, his muscles bunching as she smoothed her hands over his sides and back. She wanted more. She wanted naked. Skin-to-skin.
Meanwhile, he explored her curves through the fabric of her clothes, while kissing her into a frenzied mess of need.
Blood burning, chest heaving, she gasped as he broke the kiss, as he rose to his elbows and dropped his forehead to hers with a groan. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Why did you stop?”
“I want to make love to you in the worst way, Christmas Mooney. Up until about five seconds ago, the dude down south was all for it. But then I had a thought. Last time around we hit it fast and feverish from night one. And it was,” he shook his head, smiled, “unbelievably hot. Sexually we know we’re a perfect match. This time around there’s more at stake and I want you to know I’m in it for the long haul. I want to do this right. And I sure as hell don’t want to meet your parents knowing I took advantage of the situation tonight.”
Her body still buzzed from the effects of that mind-blowing kiss, and, okay, maybe a little too much wine. Thinking straight was next to impossible, especially when quite possibly the nicest guy on earth was talking all noble and romantic.
He traced a thumb over her cheek. “I can’t tell what you’re thinking.”
“That makes two of us.” She struggled to assess the moment. In the past, the sex had been impulsive and wild and not once had they practiced restraint. Mason, especially, was prone to checking his brain at naked. A slave to lust. Chrissy had found his lack of control exciting. Now, wow, who knew restraint could be a turn on?
Settling into this new level of intimacy, Chrissy dragged her fingers through his hair and cradled the back of his head. “Looks like I’m not the only one who’s changed.”
“I’d like to think I’ve matured over the years.” He smiled into her eyes, and then fell back on the bed. “Turn away.”
She blinked.
“You can’t expect me to keep staring at that beautiful face and not jump your bones. Mature does not equal monk-like.”
Touched and flustered, Chrissy shifted, pulse racing as Mason pulled her body into his—spoon-like—back-to-front. She swallowed hard, cocooned in his possessive embrace. No sex, yet the connection deepened. “Keeping it real?” she asked.
“As real as I can.”
Chapter Nine
Once upon a tense Tuesday
Chrissy bolted out of Mason’s arms as if the bed was on fire.
Slightly disoriented, he pushed up on the pillows. “What the… What’s wrong?”
“It’s morning.”
“Okay.”
She pushed up the long sleeve of her slept-in tee, tapped the watch on her wrist. “It’s seven-fifteen. I overslept. I’ll be late for work.” She stood by the nightstand, rumpled and red-faced. “I forgot to plug in my phone. What if Mel called? What if—”
“Hold up. Come here.” Sluggish, Mason dragged his hair off of his face as Chrissy rounded the bed. “Give me your phone.” He transferred his charger from his phone to hers then reached out and tugged her down beside him. “Breathe.”
She shrugged off his touch, nabbed her charging phone and powered on. “Nothing from Bella or Mel. Text from Mrs. W. Delayed opening,” she read. “See you at noon.”
“That’s a good thing. Why are you frowning?”
“I don’t know. Yes, I do. I feel…anxious.”
“About the meeting with your family?”
“About everything.”
Mason shifted so they were sitting side-by-side. Their arms touched and their sock-clad feet dangled next to each other. Regardless, Chrissy felt a million miles away. “Want to talk about it?”
“Not really. But I’m the one who insisted on full disclosure this time so, yeah. Okay. I’ll spill.” She tucked her messy hair behind her ears and fixed her gaze on her fuzzy yellow socks instead of making eye contact with Mason. “I was dreaming about our week at the Oakley Festival. About the music we made together on stage and off.”
Mason remembered well. Whether they were plugged in or playing acoustically, they complimented and inspired one another. His guitar and her fiddle, a kick-ass combination. “Why does that make you anxious? I’m confused, hon. Performing together was a beautiful thing.”
“I don’t play anymore, Mason. I haven’t touched my violin in almost five years. I avoid concerts and dances and I barely tolerate the radio. You still play guitar. You still frequent concerts and clubs. You still find joy in music. I don’t.”
She could have knocked him over with a feather. When they’d met, music was her life, her passion. He knew she’d traded a career as a concert violinist for motherhood, but he’d assumed she still played for pleasure. A hundred questions crowded his tongue, but all he asked was, “Why?”
She fisted her hands in the bed covers, gaze still averted. “I’ve been through this with my family and friends. No one has said it outright, but I know they all think I’m nuts. They understand why I forfeited my dream. A career as a concert violinist takes supreme discipline and dedication. Excelling at my art and being a devoted mother were at odds, and I wasn’t about to cheat my baby of my full attention. They get that. What they don’t understand is my problem with music overall.”
Mason bit the inside of his cheek, mulled her words. “I’m a little lost myself.”
“The most special moment of my entire being was when the nurse placed my newborn in my arms. A wonderful, bawling, wrinkly, squirming baby.” She smiled a little and rubbed her chest. “The feeling, that moment, it’s indescribable. But then later, the doctor pronounced my baby deaf and a part of me died. My passion for music turned to contempt. Instead of bringing me joy, it sparked resentment. How could I enjoy something my daughter would never hear?”