Holiday in Your Heart (21 page)

“Opposites attract,” Brooke pointed out.

Maribeth glanced at Mo, whose expression said he was way out of his depth, not to mention a little horrified. “Look,” she said firmly, “we're dating. Jess, how many guys have you seen me date? Some were opposites and some were similar to me. Don't make such a big deal of it.”

“No, of course.” The younger woman shook her head. “God, I'm sorry. Whack me upside the head now, okay? Better still, I'm going to eat a cookie so I don't stick my foot any farther down my throat.” She reached forward, took a cookie, and then grabbed a second one as well.

“Mo,” Maribeth said, seeking a less emotionally charged subject, “tell Jess and Brooke about Caruso.”

He finished his cookie and told them the story, and for the first time that evening showed them a more relaxed side of himself. Maribeth loved seeing the humor and affection in his eyes as he talked about “that crazy singing dog,” and when his white smile flashed, it took her breath away.

Jess took a third cookie and said, “MB, you heard about Ben Traynor, right? At the CFR?”

“Oh God, I forgot that the Canadian Finals Rodeo was this weekend. How did he do?”

“Canadian champion in saddle bronc,” Jess said, sounding as proud and smug as if Ben had been her fiancé, not Sally Ryland's. “And he and Dusty came third in team roping. That'll give the fledgling Traynor Rodeo School a nice boost in terms of credibility.”

“I'm so thrilled for Ben and Sally.” Not to mention a little envious about how wonderfully things were working out for the couple. Sally and Ben were the loves of each other's lives and everything was falling into place—which was exactly how things were supposed to go. Mind you, there'd been that couple of months when they'd gone their separate ways, before they had the sense to confess their true feelings for each other . . .

Brooke glanced at her watch and said, “Jess, we should head over to the Wild Rose and pick up the little ones.”

They all stood and walked together to the door. Maribeth took coats from the closet and Mo helped Brooke into hers, though Jess made a point of pulling on her puffy jacket by herself. Maribeth was trying to decide whether to take Mo's denim jacket off its hanger when Jess said wryly, “That horse has already left the barn, MB. You don't have to send him out in the cold only for him to walk around the block and sneak back.”

Brooke finished buttoning her coat and glanced at Maribeth, then at Mo. Something passed between the two exes, something a touch rueful, and then Brooke gave a gentle smile and said, “Good night, Mo.”

“Good night, Brooke,” Mo said. A little gruffly, he added, “And thanks.”

The two women stepped outside and Maribeth, hugging her arms around herself to combat the chill air, watched as they walked to the Riders Boot Camp SUV and climbed in. Only after Jess had backed down the driveway and pulled into the street, and Maribeth had given a final wave, did she step inside and close the door.

Turning to Mo, she said, “It's been quite an evening.”

“God, yes.” He put a hand to his forehead and dragged it through his hair. Then he gave a pale imitation of his rakish grin. “I owe you, Maribeth. Big-time.”

“You do. You're seriously in my debt,” she teased. “And I know exactly how you can pay me back.” She stepped closer, looped her arms around him, and slipped her hands into the back pockets of his black jeans, gripping his firm butt. “A kiss will settle your tab.”

“I like the way you think.” He smiled down at her. “In fact, I like a whole lot of things about you.”

“Same goes,” she said softly, wondering if there was any way that his “liking” for her would ever reach the depth of what she was coming to feel for him.

Chapter Eleven

The next Sunday morning, Mo lazed in bed with Maribeth, feeling odd. Odd in a good way. He glanced around her bedroom, which wasn't lacy and fluffy like so many women's, but instead cozy and bright with simple furniture and vivid colors. Sunlight peeked through slits between the venetian blinds.

His gaze returned to the bed, where Maribeth lay next to him. Her shoulders were bare above the pale green sheet, and her red hair tumbled across the pillowcase. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks were flushed, and a smile curved her lips. They'd just made love and she looked satiated and contented.

Yeah, that was how he felt, too. Like there wasn't anywhere he'd rather be or anyone he'd rather be with. Before meeting Maribeth, he'd only ever felt that kind of pleasure after completing a particularly challenging vehicle repair job. The comparison made him chuckle.

Her eyes opened. “What's so funny?”

Somehow he doubted she'd be amused if he told her. Instead, he smoothed a damp curl back from her cheek and said, “Just thinking how nice this is.” Which wasn't a lie. “Looks like the weather's going to be good. Want to see if we can rent horses and go riding?” The snow had disappeared over the past few days, and it should be great riding weather.

“I'd love that. And I bet Caruso would enjoy a good long run in the country.” She rolled onto her side, facing him. “He's sure an easy-care dog.”

“He is.” From what his landladies had told him, singing dogs often preferred their own adventures to human company, so Mo was flattered that Caruso so often chose to be with him. “It still ticks me off that someone abandoned him.”

“They should have done their research before they got him. They probably thought a New Guinea singing dog sounded distinctive, and they never checked to see if he'd make a good house pet. Though he's sure getting more domestic as he comes to know us.”

Mo nodded. “Yeah, he seems happy with domesticity as long as it's his choice and he knows he's free to come and go as he pleases.” Caruso had settled in nicely at his apartment. He used the pet door frequently, but seemed happy to sleep inside. The dog had even been fine the night Maribeth had slept over. And at her house, Caruso now ventured into the kitchen. Mo figured it wouldn't be all that long before Caruso would be napping in front of the fire.

“I'm hungry,” Maribeth announced. “Let's go down and make breakfast. French toast sound good?”

“I knew there was a reason I like spending the night with you.”

“Ha ha.”

He dressed in last night's clothes while she pulled on her robe and put on her glasses, and then they went downstairs and fixed breakfast together. Caruso joined them, his reward a couple of the breakfast sausages Mo fried up.

While the humans were drinking second cups of the decaf coffee that Maribeth preferred, she phoned Ryland Riding and reserved horses for later.

As they went up to shower, Mo said, “I need to change into heavier clothes and shoes.” She'd given him a new toothbrush the first night he stayed over, but neither of them had suggested that he bring spare clothes with him.

“We can drop by your place on the way,” she said as she tidied the sheets and striped duvet.

“The thing is . . . well, Ms. Haldenby and Ms. Peabody got back yesterday afternoon. And Ms. Peabody's grandson and his husband, who live in Caribou Crossing, brought over some groceries and they were all having dinner together. So I didn't get a chance to talk to them about Evan.”

Maribeth faced him across the bed. “Do you want to see if the ladies are around today and have time to talk?”

“Yeah, I think so. It feels kind of deceptive, not telling them. Now that I know Ms. Haldenby was Evan's teacher.” He sure wasn't looking forward to it, though.

She fluffed a pillow. “Do you want me there, or would you rather do it on your own? I want to call my grandparents, but after that my schedule's clear until we go riding.”

“It's my issue, Maribeth. You don't always have to help me out.”

Her eyes flashed green fire, a moment's irritation. “Friends help friends. You fixed my porch railing and got the tap in the powder room to stop dripping.”

Tiny things, and he liked fixing stuff. But then he guessed Maribeth liked helping people. “I think this is something I need to do by myself. I do appreciate the offer, though.”

“I like being appreciated.”

“Let's climb into the shower, and I'll show you some appreciation.”

She slipped her glasses down her nose and gave him a seductive look over the top of the frames. Then she undid the tie of her bathrobe, peeled it off, and dropped it on the bed. With a sensual saunter she headed for the bathroom, leaving Mo scrambling to tear off his clothes.

Maribeth was already in the shower, and he slid back the curtain to join her. Her glasses were off now. She was creamy-skinned and voluptuous, her hair gathered up in a shower cap, which on her actually looked sexy. She chose a bottle from the assortment set out on the tiled surround and squeezed gel onto a bath sponge.

Mo had never been anywhere near a French country garden, but this was how he guessed one might smell. When he'd first met Maribeth, he'd marveled that her scent was rarely the same. It wasn't perfume, but the shower gels, shampoos, and lotions she used.

He lifted his head to the spray of the shower and then, refreshed, shook water drops every which way. “You sure do like variety,” he commented, gesturing to her array of products.

“It makes life interesting.”

He picked up a bottle of shampoo, smelled it—too flowery—and tried another. Finding one that reminded him of the ocean, he lathered his hair.

She had more than a dozen scented products to choose from. She wore different clothes every day, using her thrift shop as her personal boutique. When she took a holiday, it was always to somewhere new. And she'd dated lots and lots of men.

She'd said that she'd like to find the right man, marry, and have kids—but it seemed to him that maybe she actually preferred to keep her life “interesting” with a variety of men. She was thirty-nine. Not that he knew a lot about having babies, but wasn't thirty-nine pushing it? Of course, Brooke had been forty-two when she got pregnant for the second time, but that wasn't the way most women chose to have kids, he was pretty sure. Maybe Maribeth was thinking about adopting. Or maybe—yeah, this made more sense—when she got older and was ready to settle down, she planned to marry a man who already had kids.

“I think your hair's clean enough,” she said, and Mo realized he'd been rubbing shampoo through his hair while his thoughts drifted.

He rinsed it out, and then took the bath sponge from her. “Just practicing, because next I'm going to get you clean. And I plan to be very, very thorough. Make sure I get in all the nooks and crannies.”

“Mister, you've already been in my best nook and cranny,” she teased.

“And it was so great, I have to make a return trip.” Gazing into her sparkling green eyes, he thought that everything about Maribeth was great. This was one very special woman, and he was damned lucky to be with her.

He dropped the sponge, shoved her wet hair back from her face, and held her head steady, tilted up to his. When he kissed her, it wasn't light and teasing. He showed her all the passion, appreciation, and affection she made him feel.

She made a tiny, surprised sound, and then she was kissing him back. Her hands gripped his ass, tugging him closer, trapping the solid thrust of his erection between their bodies. Breaking the kiss, she came up for air and gasped, “Oh God, Mo.”

“Yeah.” He captured her mouth again, releasing his grip on her head and stroking up and down her back.

Against his chest, her nipples were budded as if they craved his touch. He couldn't resist them and reached between their bodies to cup and caress her breasts. Water streamed over her shoulders, sliding over her skin and making it slick.

She moaned, throwing her head back and arching into his hands.

“Shit, Maribeth, I want you.” He ached with the need to be inside her.

“Me too. Now.”

“So glad you said that.” He released her and stepped out of the shower to grab a condom from the package on the bathroom counter.

A moment later, he'd sheathed himself, climbed back into the shower, and hoisted her into his arms.

Agile Maribeth hooked her legs around his waist.

He backed her up against the wall of the shower so it supported her shoulders while he clasped her butt. As she raised her arms to loop them around his neck, he lowered his head to kiss the inside of her wrist and tongue the pulse point.

She shuddered. “Mo, please. Now.” She freed her hand and reached down between them, grasping his shaft.

He groaned as she guided him to her center. And then, with one powerful thrust, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

She circled his neck with her arms and hung on as, with long, deep strokes, he drove both of them higher and higher.

“Mo,” she gasped, “I need to come. Make me come now.” She ground herself against him.

His hips tilted, jerked, and somehow he was even deeper inside her, and he felt her start to come apart. When her orgasm hit, she cried out, high and loud.

Mo let himself go, his own climax ripping through him. He shouted too, a wordless, primitive sound.

He barely managed to support their entwined bodies until she slowly unwound her arms and legs and stood leaning against him, breathing hard. His legs were shaky and he felt weak from the combination of the steamy shower and the steamy sex. And, maybe, from something more. From the strength of his feelings for Maribeth, a generous woman who had given him so much in the short time he'd known her.

Attachments. For the first time in twenty years, he was forming attachments. Suddenly life was filled with possibilities, a prospect that was both scary and amazing.

He dropped a kiss on the top of Maribeth's head and gently pushed her away. Reaching down to find her bath sponge, he said, “Now, where was I?”

Eventually, they finished their shower, dressed, and went downstairs again.

“Well,” Mo said, “I'll leave you to phone your grandparents, and head over to my place. I hope my landladies are free to have a chat.”

“You should take something with you. If only that orange almond cake had turned out . . .”

“It tasted great.” Last night, with the radio playing country tunes and him sitting at the kitchen table watching her, she'd tried out a new recipe for a cake that didn't use flour.

“But it didn't turn out to be a proper cake and I can't slice it. It's just this messy . . . I don't even know what to call it.”

When they'd finally sat down to sample the finished product, the “cake” had been so moist and crumbly that she'd ended up serving it in bowls rather than on plates. Still, they'd both eaten sizable portions. He liked that she'd taken the semi-failure in stride, laughing about it and scribbling notes on the recipe for things to try the next time. So many women would have been all fussed, either angry or apologetic, and it might've ruined the evening. From what he'd seen so far, it would take a lot to spoil Maribeth's good temper.

“Maribeth, I can just pick up flowers on the way.”

“No, it should be something more personal. How about these?” She took a zipper bag of chocolate chip cookies from the freezer.

He knew better than to protest again. “Your cookies are great. Thank you.” He only hoped they were magic cookies that would soften his landladies' hearts, or else he and Caruso would find themselves homeless.

* * *

A couple of hours later, Mo and Caruso were waiting at the curb in front of his landladies' house—which, fortunately, was still home for him and the dog.

Maribeth drove up in her Mini, right on time. Caruso actually wagged his tail, and Mo said, “Yeah. Me, too, buddy.”

He opened the back door and the dog jumped in willingly, but when Mo went to get into the passenger seat, he found a Stetson sitting there. He picked it up. “Maribeth?”

“I have this fantasy about going riding with a real cowboy,” she told him with a wink.

Grinning, he climbed into the car and put the cowboy hat on his lap. “Would that be on horseback or . . . ?” he teased.

“Both,” she replied promptly, and leaned over to kiss him.

As she drove away, she said, “I got your text that things went well with your landladies. I'm so glad.”

“Yeah. Now Caruso and I don't have to go house-hunting.”

“Hah. It's more than that. They're nice women and you don't want them to disapprove of you.”

“Okay, you got me.” Sometimes it seemed like she knew him better than he knew himself.

“Tell me what they said.”

“Ms. Haldenby said Evan did so well in school, he was head and shoulders above the rest, and that's not usually true of children with bad home situations.”

“I gather he had a strong drive to leave Caribou Crossing and to create a very different kind of life.”

“Yeah. He had big dreams.” Mo smiled wryly. “No, it was more than dreams. He had a goal, a focus in life, and he worked hard to achieve it. He was completely unlike me or Brooke. Hard to believe he was our kid.”

They were out of town now, on the two-lane road that led to Ryland Riding. The world was dusted with snow, like that icing sugar Maribeth had sifted over the top of her orange cake.

She glanced over at him. “You told the ladies about what you'd been doing since you left town, and why you came back?”