Holiday in Your Heart

by Susan Fox

  “I know. But I don’t want to hurt him any more than I already have. And I figure his mom’s probably the best judge of how he’d react.”

  “The longer you’re in town, the more chance he’ll find out anyway. And if he does, and you haven’t been in touch, he might think you don’t want to see him.”

  His mouth tightened. “I know. But I gotta trust Brooke on this.”

  Maribeth tried to be optimistic. “She loves Evan. She’ll do what’s best for him.” And if Brooke didn’t do it soon, Maribeth might have another chat with her. Sometimes people benefited from an outside perspective, and Maribeth had never been shy about giving her friends advice.

  “I’m going to believe that. Tonight was good. A good start.” Mo smiled across at her. “And this is good. Thanks for letting me come over. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”

  Only hunting for a sperm donor. She glanced at her computer, waved a hand, and said, with a private grin, “Just some online shopping.” In fact, she’d been happy to get Mo’s call, and when she’d opened the door to the wet man holding a bunch of flowers, her heart had given a jump of pleasure. Sitting here watching his attractive, expressive face, listening as he revealed himself to her, she felt so drawn to him.

  How did he feel? He’d made that comment about “reconsidering” dating. Was he serious? She decided to test him out with a little flirtation.

  She uncurled her legs slowly and sensually, and this time his gaze did hook onto her. She slipped out of the chair and, barefoot, went to the fireplace and tossed in another chunk of wood. Returning, she ran a finger over the orange petals of a gerbera daisy. The bouquet he’d brought was nothing fancy, just a plastic-wrapped one from a grocery store, but she loved that he’d chosen vividly colored flowers. She’d never been much of a one for pastels.

  “How are you coming on that decision?” she asked, dropping down to the sofa beside Mo. She wanted to touch him, and the wanting was almost irresistible. But something held her back. Maybe she hoped that the first touch would come from him, to prove that he was as drawn to her as she was to him.

  “Which decision?” he asked.

  “About reconsidering dating.”

  He turned sideways and looked at her, deliberately casting his gaze from the top of her head down her body. “I can’t believe you’re not already dating someone.”

  She shrugged. “Not at the moment. It’s a small town. I’ve gone out with most of the eligible guys, and many of us are still friends.”

  “You’re not looking to get married?”

  “I’d like to, but not until I meet the right person.”

  “Man, you’re choosy.”

  “I’m not. Really, I’m not.” It always rankled when someone made that accusation. “It’s not that I’m looking for anything so special or that I think I’m too good for these men. I’ve dated lots of really nice, smart guys, starting back when I was thirteen.”

  “But?”

  She shrugged. “We have fun for a while, but that’s it. I don’t need to be married. I’m not going to get serious about a man unless—” She bit off her next words as a realization stunned her and her comfortable little world tilted on its axis.

  “Unless what?”

  There was no reason not to tell him, so she said slowly, “Unless there’s a click.” She didn’t go on to reveal the rest. What she felt with Mo . . . well, it bore a strong resemblance to a click.

  “Click? You’ve lost me.”

  Mouth dry, she swallowed and tried to gather her thoughts. “To start with, a special chemistry. Something, and maybe it’s pheromones, that draws you, physically, to another person. Lust, but more than that, because lust is pretty common. More, um . . .” She studied him, feeling the itch to touch him, flesh to flesh. “Like a magnetic, undeniable attraction.”

  A knowing gleam lit his eyes. “Got it.”

  “But that’s only part of it. It’s not just physical, not solely chemistry. There’s also a recognition of . . . who they really are, I guess. That they’re someone who—” Thinking of how she felt about Mo, she tried to put it into words. “Someone who’s different from you, and not perfect, but you can relate to them. You want to understand them. You want to make them happy, help them find what they’re looking for.” Frustrated, she shook her head. “But it’s more than that, too.” She often felt that way about people, just not with the same intensity as she did with Mo.

  “Like all that ‘two halves of a whole’ or ‘you complete me’ romantic shit?”

  “Not exactly. I don’t believe that stuff. I think people should be self-sufficient, not need someone else to complete them. Sorry, I honestly don’t know how better to describe it except to say that there’s this click inside you, like tectonic plates shifted and the world rearranged itself in a different way, and you know you’re supposed to be with this person for the rest of your life.” Which was insane, because she barely knew him. He was Brooke’s ex, Evan’s father. He had been, as he labeled himself, a loser and a shit.

  But if she could believe him—if she could trust in his words and what she heard in his voice, trust her own instincts—he was also a redeemed man, a careworn guy who was struggling to make things right. A man worth loving. Staring into those river-water eyes, Maribeth did indeed feel as if her world had shifted on its axis. Now, what was she going to do about it?

  She needed to be patient and not get ahead of herself. She barely knew this man. Quite possibly, at some point his actions would belie his words. Or there’d be something about him that totally put her off. Or he’d turn out to be lousy in bed. Sometimes the hottest-looking guys proved to be duds between the sheets, men who didn’t have a clue how to look after a woman.

  On the other hand, if Mo truly was the one man for her, before long everything would start to fall into place. How amazing if that happened at the very moment she’d decided to move ahead as a single parent. Maybe she should stop shopping for a sperm donor? But no, that would be short-sighted. Right now, she needed to keep all her options open.

  Chapter Five

  Mo grinned at the beautiful redhead who was such an intriguing combination of practical and romantic. “Tectonic plates?” he queried with amusement. “Is that the same thing as ‘the earth moved’?”

  “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” she said saucily. A few moments ago, she had looked a little dazed, but now she’d recovered her sass.

  The only thing he wanted to try right now was to touch her. He’d told her about when he’d first met Brooke when they were teens, how he’d felt like a kid staring in the window of a candy shop. It was the same with Maribeth, except more potent because he definitely wasn’t a kid and he knew exactly what, as a man, he wanted from the irresistible redhead. Sex, yeah. But also he wanted to know if her hair felt as springy and silky as it looked. If her cheek was as soft yet resilient as it appeared. If those lush reddish lips tasted of strawberries, lipstick, or chocolate. Whether the tantalizing flowery scent came from her hair or from perfume.

  There was so much more to a woman than just sex.

  Tentatively, he reached a hand toward her face, then saw how rough his skin was and noticed the grease that lurked under his nails no matter how hard he scrubbed. She was so clean, so sweet-smelling, so perfectly feminine. It seemed almost like a profanity to touch her with this hand—and yet she was leaning forward as if she wanted him to do it.

  What had she been talking about with that romantic tectonic plates stuff? Should he be worried? No, he’d told her he didn’t get involved in relationships. Besides, despite her earlier denial, she obviously was choosy. If all those guys she’d dated before him didn’t measure up to her standards, no way would she get serious about a man like him.

  Which meant he needn’t have qualms about accepting her body-language invitation. As gently as he could, he ran a couple of fingers down her cheek, feeling warm skin, not makeup. That delicate paleness tinted by a slight rosy blush, it was all Maribeth, wh
ich made it even sexier. And so did the fact that her color deepened as he caressed her skin.

  Such a simple touch, and yet it affected her.

  Him, too. It was no surprise that arousal surged through him, but it did startle him to see that his fingers trembled as they slid along her cheek and down to cup her jaw. A strong, determined jaw for a woman who knew her own mind. Maribeth was a grown-up, that was for sure, and he liked it. Liked her. Liked everything about her.

  Liked the way her lips parted slightly as he leaned closer, angling his face to hers.

  And then there was the soft brush of her warm, chocolate-scented breath against his skin. A moment later, his lips touched hers. A sound—a rough moan—escaped him.

  So sweet, her lips, chocolate and sugar and woman. So eager, in the way they met his. So intoxicating that the world spun around him and he was dizzy, lost, wanting only to kiss her and kiss her and kiss her. And so he did, with his lips, with his tongue, even with little nips like he was testing to make sure she was really there. Which she was, kissing him back just as urgently.

  He held her face in both hands, her hair like curly, living silk tumbling over his skin. Her fingers twined in his hair, then rubbed over his shoulders like she wasn’t happy to find a sweater rather than bare flesh. God, he wished they were both naked. He couldn’t wait to unzip that tantalizing silver line down the front of her top, to undo her bra, to see her full breasts, and to feel them against his chest. To taste them, and every other inch of her lush body.

  There was another sound, a groan, and then Maribeth’s hands were on his shoulders, pushing him away. “Oh God, Mo,” she gasped. Her cheeks blazed now and her breath came in sighing pants between her parted lips.

  He struggled for breath, too. “Oh man, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take it that far. You’re just . . . so amazing. I got carried away.” Under his fly, a throbbing, single-minded hard-on urged him to surrender again to his need for her.

  “You’re amazing, too.” Her eyes were huge, feverishly bright emeralds. “But then it hit me.” She was still trying to catch her breath. “What about Brooke?”

  Brooke? At this moment, he had trouble remembering who Brooke was. He struggled to collect his thoughts and control his lust-crazed body. “You mean, she might be upset if we . . . ?”

  Maribeth ran her hands through her hair, messing it up and making herself look even sexier, if such a thing were possible. “Yes. I didn’t think before.” Her speech sounded disjointed, like she, too, was having trouble pulling her thoughts together. “The girlfriend thing.”

  He frowned slightly, trying to figure out what she meant. “You mean like the female equivalent of how a guy’s not supposed to hit on a buddy’s girlfriend? But Brooke and I have been divorced for decades.”

  “I know.” She breathed in and out, more slowly now, and when she went on she sounded calmer. “And this is such a small town that a lot of women have dated their girlfriends’ exes. If we didn’t, there’d be no one to go out with. It’s kind of understood that if one woman’s finished with a guy, he’s fair game.” She sighed. “But maybe this is a different situation.”

  “I can guarantee Brooke’s finished with me. And vice versa.” As lovely as Brooke was, he no longer felt even a tug of attraction to her.

  A smile flickered on Maribeth’s face. “I got that. But you two have so much history. And you were away for all those years, and now you’re back and trying to resolve things, maybe find a way to be friends.”

  Friends? Could he and Brooke ever be friends? Could he and Evan ever be . . . what? Father and son? That seemed pretty much impossible.

  Maribeth had at least distracted him from his painful arousal.

  “I need to talk to her,” she said.

  “I guess I get what you’re saying,” he said. Or at least he realized it was some kind of female thing he would never truly understand. Reflecting, he went on. “Maybe it’s what I deserve for what I did to her. Now it’s in her hands whether I see Evan and whether you and I can, uh, date.”

  Date seemed like a high-school word for what he wanted to do with Maribeth. And yet he not only wanted to have steaming hot sex with her, he also wanted to sit and chat while they drank hot chocolate. Maybe take her out to one of the Western bars and dance with her. Date. Seemed that was what he wanted to do after all. “Will you talk to her soon?” he asked.

  Maribeth fussed with her hair again, trying to tidy it. “She and some other friends are coming over tomorrow night. I’ll find a private moment to talk to her.”

  He sure hoped his ex-wife, who had no reason to think kindly of him, would be generous. “I’d better be going, then.”

  “Yes.” She picked up her cell phone, which lay on the coffee table. “Give me your phone number.”

  “Don’t have a phone.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I do have e-mail.” The only device he owned was a tablet. It provided him with everything he needed: e-mail, banking, music, books, news, movies. He gave Maribeth his e-mail address and she input it into her phone.

  “Okay,” she said, “I’ll e-mail you and let you know what Brooke says.”

  * * *

  The women on Maribeth’s list—with the exception of Corrie, who spent much of her spare time with her new boyfriend—had all been happy to come over to her place at eight o’clock on Friday. She’d offered dessert, a raisin pie that she’d made before work that morning. There was a lot to be said for a job that started at ten o’clock, as she had time for yoga, a relaxing breakfast, and a chore or two.

  Now several of her girlfriends curled up on various seats in Maribeth’s sitting room, casual in sweaters, jeans or winter leggings, and socks. Each had a plate of pie topped with cinnamon-sprinkled whipped cream, and a mug of coffee or tea. The fire blazed cheerily, and Maribeth pulled the curtains against the sound of sleet hitting the window. She spared a thought for Caruso, glad that Mo had provided shelter for the independent dog.

  So far tonight, she hadn’t had a chance to speak to Brooke alone. The blonde looked tired and a little stressed. Maribeth only hoped that Mo’s return to Caribou Crossing would prove in the long run to be a good thing for all concerned.

  Maribeth glanced at Cassidy Esperanza, who sat in the recliner with her feet up. The younger woman was as lovely as always, with her black hair in the pixie cut that drew attention to her half-Latina features and smoky blue eyes, but she’d said her bad leg was bothering her. “You’re sure you’re okay?” Maribeth asked her. “There’s nothing else I can get you?”

  Cassidy wrinkled her nose. “I’m good, MB. It’s just been a long week and my stupid MS won’t cut me a break.” She’d been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis last year, and though mostly she was doing really well, she did suffer from symptoms when she got too tired. “Tonight is exactly what I need—delicious food and girl talk. I promised Dave I’d stay off my feet except for hobbling to and from Jess’s van.”

  It was terrific the way that Dave Cousins’s ex-wife, Jess, and his new wife, Cassidy, got along. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Jess was very happily remarried, too—to Brooke’s son, Evan. Ah, the joys of a small town. Rather than six degrees of separation, it tended to be more like one or two.

  So much had happened since Mo left town almost twenty years ago. He not only had an ex-wife and son, he had a daughter-in-law and grandchildren. If the self-confessed loner could examine his heart of hearts—something that, unfortunately, he didn’t seem inclined to do—what role might he see himself playing in the lives of his family? Not to mention, in Maribeth’s life.

  Cassidy’s bright voice interrupted her thoughts, saying, “On a much more interesting subject, I have great news. My parents and my brother and sister-in-law are ditching rainy Victoria to come to Caribou Crossing for a proper white Christmas! We’ve reserved rooms for them at the Wild Rose, which means the inn is now full for the holidays.” Dave owned the Wild Rose Inn, a beautifully restored historic hotel, and he and Cassidy ran
it.

  “We’re all looking forward to seeing them again,” Jess said, her chestnut ponytail bobbing as she nodded. “It’s going to be a huge family Christmas this year.” Her eyes widened suddenly, and she glanced at Brooke.

  That glance spoke volumes, making it clear that Brooke had told her son and daughter-in-law about Mo’s presence in town. What had they decided to do? Automatically, Maribeth ate a forkful of pie, but didn’t really taste it.

  Lark Cantrell, a striking, six-foot-tall brunette who was the town’s fire chief, spoke from her easy chair at one side of the fireplace. “It’s sure going to be a different holiday for my family, with Eric there.” Her happy smile left no doubt that “different” meant “wonderful.” She’d recently fallen for a soldier who’d lost a leg in Afghanistan, and he was in the process of leaving the army and moving to Caribou Crossing. Prior to that, her family had consisted of Lark, her mom, and Lark’s nine-year old son.

  Maribeth was happy for her friends, with all their holiday plans, but more than a little envious. It had been twenty years since she’d had a real family Christmas. Each year over the holidays, she spent some volunteer time at a church soup kitchen and at the women’s shelter. She held an early December open house. Friends invited her to join them for Christmas Eve carol singing, midnight Mass, present opening with kids, and turkey dinners. But nothing was the same as being with her own family. Of course, she could have visited her grandparents in Vancouver, but she loved the small-town warmth and color of Christmas in Caribou Crossing, and besides, her store was always so busy. It had become tradition to make her trip to Vancouver in mid-January instead.

  Next year, would she be enjoying Christmas with her own baby girl or boy? Or, if the click she felt with Mo Kincaid proved to be the real thing, would the two of them be married and starting a family in the good old-fashioned way? So many possibilities ahead, and how wonderful they were to contemplate!