Harlequin Superromance December 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: Caught Up in YouThe Ranch She Left BehindA Valley Ridge Christmas

by Beth Andrews

  And going to the library tonight was one of the frivolous endeavors he should have avoided. He should have stayed at home and ordered an ebook. It would have been delivered instantly to any number of the devices that he could read it on. But there was something about holding a printed book.

  But it was too late to turn around and go back. He could see the library from over the bridge, and he was closer to it than his uncle’s apartment, so he kept on slogging through the slush.

  He passed the small cottage that bordered the library. There were a few trees and a small stone wall that separated the cottage from the library’s parking lot. He knew it was Maeve’s house. There was a big old RV parked in front of it. When Uncle Jerry had called earlier that day, Aaron casually mentioned having met Maeve. Uncle Jerry told him the same thing Dylan had—that Maeve had almost single-handedly reopened the library, which had closed about a decade ago. And every customer who came into the supply store had been talking about the family Maeve had taken in.

  “They’re not staying in a barn behind the inn, but an RV in a driveway is close enough,” he’d overheard Mrs. Dedionisio say to Mrs. Keith.

  The two women had gone on and on about the young homeless couple who were expecting a baby at Christmas, as he set up a snowbrush display and eavesdropped.

  He’d wished the conversation would turn to Maeve.

  Aaron didn’t know what to make of the fiery redhead who volunteered her time at a library and took in homeless families.

  She had to have an angle. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he’d learned the hard way that everyone had one.

  To listen to his uncle and the customers, she was too good to be true. And Aaron knew that if something seemed too good to be true, it generally was.

  Maybe it was his curiosity about her, more than some burning need to borrow a book that had driven him from his warm house tonight. He wanted to see Maeve again, and, according to his uncle, she was at the library most evenings.

  There were roughly half a dozen cars in the parking lot and a neon sign in the window read Open. He stomped up the marble stairs. Someone had tossed sand on them to prevent people from slipping.

  He opened the door and was greeted not only by heat, but noise.

  He spotted Maeve immediately. Even if her hair had been a more sedate color, she would have still stood out. She sat on one of the wooden chairs arranged in a circle in front of the checkout counter. She was laughing at what someone had said. It struck him that there were a lot of people making a lot of racket and this librarian was not shushing a soul.

  When she saw him, her laughter died. So did her smile. She turned to an older woman, said something, and then approached him. “May I help you?”

  “I came in to browse,” he said.

  “Fine. Help yourself. If you find something you want to borrow, we’ll set you up with a file.”

  “Not a card?”

  “This is a small library. I just started a database and whenever someone borrows a book, I mark it in their file. When they return it, I take it off. It saves people losing cards and the library the expense of reissuing them.”

  He nodded. “Is there a time limit?”

  “Time limit?” she asked.

  “A deadline the book has to be returned by?”

  “When you finish?” She made the statement sound like a question. She was looking at him as if he was nuts.

  Aaron couldn’t help it if he liked things spelled out. He pressed on. “But what if someone else is waiting to borrow it?”

  Maeve sighed and the movement caused her hair to flutter. He wasn’t sure what else to call it. Her hair moved.

  Maeve smoothed it back, she’d noticed its movement, too. “If someone else is waiting to borrow it and you’ve had it a long time, then I’ll send you an email and tell you that. Most people are polite enough to hurry and finish it, or bring it back and sign it out again when they have more time and there’s no waiting list.”

  “Maeve?” an older gentleman in the midst of the gathering called out.

  Maeve held up a finger indicating she’d be right with him, and then turned to Aaron. “If you have any problems, holler. We’re in the middle of book club.”

  “What is the book club reading?” Aaron asked.

  She sighed again. Sometimes Aaron felt he wasn’t very good at reading people, but he had no problem understanding that Maeve was finding him frustrating.

  “We finished Jim Butcher’s first Harry Dresden novel and we’re starting The Hobbit next. The English department at the high school wanted a book that was universal. Something both older and younger readers would enjoy. They’ve assigned the book to their classes over winter break. The kids get extra credit if they show up for our competition next week.”

  “I never heard of a book club competition.”

  “This is a first for me, too. But the teachers and I came up with it as a way to engage students and adults in the club. We’re having a riddle competition. The kids get bonus marks for attending. And those who show up for our regular January meeting will get extra credit if they join in the discussion.”

  “Riddles?”

  “Have you ever read the book?” Maeve countered.

  Aaron frowned.

  “Watched the movies?”

  Again he frowned.

  Maeve studied him carefully. “So, what you’re saying is, you live under a rock when you’re not filling in for your uncle.”

  “Can anyone join? I could check out a copy and read it.” He wasn’t sure why he said that. He read. But his tastes leaned toward nonfiction. Biographies lately.

  “Sorry. The library’s copies are all signed out. The school bought copies for the students.” She paused and looked as if she was trying to decide something. “But you can borrow my personal copy if you want.”

  “You’re sure it’s okay if I borrow it and join your book club?” That seemed highly unlikely as she continued to look at him with an expression somewhere between exasperation and annoyance.

  “The book club is open to all Valley Ridge residents,” was her prim response. “You might be a temporary resident, but you qualify.”

  “Maeve,” the old guy hollered again.

  “I really have to go. If you want the book, let me know. You can pick it up at my house after I’ve closed here, or I can drop it off at the store tomorrow.”

  She rushed back to her circle, her hair bobbing as she crossed the room. She smiled at something the old man said.

  Aaron walked over to the bookshelves, but he couldn’t help taking note of the people who made up the book club. There were a wide range of ages, male and female. There had to be about twenty people crammed into the limited space.

  After a few minutes, Maeve stood. “I want to thank everyone for being here tonight. Don’t forget, we’ll still have our regular meeting in January to discuss The Hobbit, but instead of a December meeting, we’ll have our Riddlefest next week before the holiday activities begin in earnest. We’re hoping to get a lot of young people from the school joining us.”

  She stopped and spoke to a few individuals as she made her way to the counter and began checking out books. A man with three kids in tow—a boy and two girls—put a large number of books on the counter. “Stamp ’em, Miss Maeve, stamp ’em,” the youngest girl commanded.

  Maeve pulled out an old library stamp and thumped it against the card at the back of each book. It made a satisfying ka-thunk. Aaron had never given it any thought before, but he liked the sound.

  He remembered his once-a-week visits to the school library where the librarian had used the same kind of date stamp. It was a nostalgic sound and reminded him of those carefree days.

  “Last one’s for you, Mica,” Maeve said, passing the stamp to the little girl. The boy picked her up and held her
while she stamped the card with far more energy than required.

  “See you next week,” Maeve said to the family.

  Slowly, the line of people shrank. Maeve spent a long time talking to a tall man Aaron didn’t recognize. He’d visited his uncle on occasion and knew a few people here in town, but not this guy.

  When the man smiled and nodded, Maeve walked around the counter and gave him an enthusiastic hug.

  Aaron realized he’d been staring at Maeve rather than looking at books, so he grabbed the closest book to him and took it to her.

  Maeve asked for all his pertinent information, including an email address. “I’ll give you a shout if someone else asks for this title, but I think you’re safe keeping it as long as you need to. I don’t get a lot of requests for Julia Child. Are you cooking for someone special?”

  Aaron glanced down and realized he had picked up a cookbook. A very old cookbook. “No. No one special.”

  Maeve nodded and looked at him expectantly. “Was there anything else?”

  “Yes. If you meant what you said earlier, can I borrow your copy of The Hobbit?” he asked.

  “I’m sure you can, but you also may,” she responded with a grin.

  “Funny,” he said, which made her smile wider. “I’m not known for my social skills, but my mother taught me better than that.”

  “Give me a minute to turn out all the lights and make sure everything’s locked,” Maeve said.

  He waited at the door as Maeve walked through the library.

  A few minutes went by before she grabbed a coat from behind the counter, slipped it on and joined him. “I’m only next door.”

  After Maeve switched off the sign in the window, and locked the door behind them, she and Aaron carefully made it through the snow-covered parking lot and past the RV to her door. His sneakers had begun to dry out in the library, but were now soaked again.

  Maeve paused for a mere second and said, “You might as well come in.”

  They entered a tiny mudroom, and when she opened the second door, they walked into a small kitchen. There was a table, a woodstove and cabinets that looked as if they were original to the house, a circa 1960s laminate counter and basic white appliances that seemed ancient.

  There were glowing embers behind the glass in the door of the stove. She flipped on a light and said, “It will only take me a moment.”

  She went through the archway and turned on another light, this time illuminating a cozy living room. A living room where every wall was in actuality a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. The only breaks in the shelves were for doors and windows. And each shelf was bursting with books. It was easy to see that there were double rows of books on many of them.

  “Wow,” he said.

  She gave him her first genuine smile of the night. “I’m out of room again. My stepfather is giving me another wall of shelves for Christmas.”

  There were no more walls available anywhere that he could see. Even in the kitchen, the walls were lined with cabinets. “Where will you put them?”

  “My bedroom. Two of the walls are slanted from the roof line, but there are flat walls on either side. He’s building the shelf around the windows and my bed. I can’t wait.”

  “What will you do for shelves after you fill those?” he asked because he was absolutely sure she’d fill them, too.

  Maeve dragged the footstool from in front of the rocker over to the shelf that framed the front door and climbed up on it. She pulled out a large book. When she came closer, he could see that it was green leather and in a slipcase. “When I run out of shelves, I’ll think of something else.”

  “You could start reading ebooks,” he said.

  He waited for her to laugh at the suggestion, as he recognized the expensive book in his hand.

  But she didn’t laugh. Instead, she sighed. “I already read ebooks. But my first love will always be printed books. A bound book is a work of art in itself. Speaking of which, hang on while I get a bag for you. I’d rather this one didn’t get waterlogged if it starts to snow or sleet again.”

  The slipcase of the green leather book read The Hobbit and the spine was embossed with gold and red lines and decorative squiggles. “I can’t borrow this. I thought you were offering me a paperback. You’re right. A book like this is a work of art.”

  She reached out and ran a finger over the leather binding, obviously savoring the feel. “I know. I found it while I was browsing through the bookstore when I was in college. I didn’t have any money to spare. I took a job as a housekeeper full-time at a hotel, did work study on campus and still had classes. No time, no money. I didn’t want this book, I needed it. I ate peanut butter and crackers for weeks to save enough money to pay for it. But it was worth it. What a wonderful way to read the book the first time round. Don’t get me wrong, I have plenty of paperbacks, but there’s something about a leather-bound book. The heft of it. The smell. There’s even the sound. That creak as you open the cover. It tells you that the book was stitched together, not simply glued. A book like this is meant to be enjoyed. Savored even.”

  “I’ll be very careful with it.”

  She took the book, tucked it into a plastic grocery bag, along with his cookbook, and handed them back. “There you go. And when you finish it, ask me to borrow my copy of The Lord of The Rings. It’s in red leather and equally beautiful.”

  “More peanut butter and crackers?” he asked.

  “No. I got that one later. I was past my peanut butter years then.” She glanced at the clock and said, “Speaking of late—”

  It was a hint. A not so subtle hint that she was ready for him to leave. But he wasn’t ready to leave her. He stood there, with his plastic bag of books and his coat on and he didn’t want to go. Not yet. He struggled to find a conversational gambit. “So, you worked all day at the winery in Ripley—”

  She gave him a sharp look. “How did you know that?”

  It wasn’t the reaction he’d been looking for. He should probably face it—he didn’t know how to talk to women anymore. “This is Valley Ridge. I bet I could find out your birthday and who you took to homecoming when you were in high school by next week’s Riddlefest.”

  That look of suspicion was replaced by a smile. “The sad truth of it is you probably could.”

  He tried again. “So, now that you’re done working and volunteering for the day, what do you do with your time?”

  She glanced at the clock again. “I’m going to watch A Christmas Carol. It’s on at eight.”

  “It’s not Christmas yet.”

  “I know. I thought about recording it, but there’s something about watching it live on TV that I like. There are so many versions of that movie. I’m planning to catch as many of them as I can, and then I’ll reread the book.”

  She looked so pleased with her idea. He was confused. “Why watch them all?”

  “I found ten television and movie versions. I want to see how each director’s vision of the story differed, what parts are universal to all the films.”

  She seemed to sense his confusion and sighed. “Here’s the thing, if you told a story and I told the same story, there would be differences. Things that stood out for you might not be the parts that stood out for me. A few years ago, Harlequin—”

  He must have looked confused because she clarified, “They publish romance books. One of the biggest publishers in the world. Anyway, they asked a group of authors to participate in a storytelling adventure. The authors started with the same paragraph, and then each had to write the rest of the story. Every author came at it from his or her individual perspective. One was humorous, one was historical... They were all different, despite the fact they all started at the same place. I thought that watching the same movie as envisioned by different directors and acted by different actors would be interesting, so—
” She shrugged. “Why am I telling you this? Go read The Hobbit and let me get to my movie.”

  “You could invite me to watch it with you. It might be fun having someone to discuss it with. Sort of like a book club, but with a movie.”

  He thought for sure she was going to say no. But instead of telling him to leave, she nodded. “Okay, but be quiet during the movie.”

  “Any chance you’ve got some popcorn?”

  “And an air popper.”

  “Phew. I don’t count the microwave kind as real popcorn.”

  She laughed.

  * * *

  “SO, WHAT DID YOU THINK?” Maeve asked as she clicked off the television once the movie had ended, a little less than two hours later. She had to admit that Aaron was a good movie companion. He didn’t eat all the popcorn and he hadn’t tried to start a conversation while the movie was on.

  “It’s not going to supplant my favorite version,” Aaron said diplomatically.

  She turned sideways and faced him. “You have a favorite version?”

  He looked at her with mock sternness. “Promise not to laugh?”

  She crossed her fingers solemnly over her heart.

  “The Muppets.”

  She smothered a giggle.

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  She was afraid if she answered, she wouldn’t be able to smother it, so she just shook her head. He grinned. “There is some very real cinematic value in the Muppets’ version.”

  That did it. If he was going to talk about cinematic value he couldn’t blame her for laughing.

  “Women,” he said to no one in particular. “They undervalue the Muppets.”

  “Hey, it’s on my list, too,” she said when she was able to talk. “And in between watching all the Christmas Carols, I’ve got a bunch of other Christmas movies lined up.”

  “I thought you’d be reading Christmas books.”

  “Most of the year, all I do is read. I’m reading a great book now for our romance book club called The Secret Santa Club. But as far as movies go, I love Christmas classics, and...” She let the sentence fade.