Holiday in Your Heart (28 page)

He suppressed a snort. “Nope.” He began to untie the tree. And then, because this was Maribeth and he didn't want to hide things from her, he went on. “Christmas has never been that great a time of year for me.”

“Oh, Mo, that's terrible. Not even when you were a child?”

Speaking as he worked, he said, “My dad, the Catholic, wanted to celebrate Christmas with all the trappings, and of course, so did my sister and I. But Amma said it wasn't right for Hindus to celebrate Christian holidays. She made some concessions—like, we did have a small tree and get a couple of presents—but she was begrudging, and it took the fun out of it.”

He pulled the freed tree off the top of the car and headed up the walk. “When Brooke and I were married . . . Well, I guess now that I know about her bipolar, it makes more sense. Some years she'd kind of go crazy with Christmas stuff and other years she was so depressed she didn't even want to think about it.” He held on to the tree while Maribeth unlocked the front door. “Whichever way she was feeling, there was one constant: we drank, fought, and screwed Evan out of an enjoyable holiday.”

“How about after you left Caribou Crossing?”

“I pretty much just ignored Christmas.”

“You once said that you usually volunteer at a soup kitchen?”

“Yeah. If I'm lucky enough to have a roof over my head and food in the cupboards, I figure it's good to help those who are less fortunate. Didn't you say you help out at a soup kitchen, too?”

“I do. Maybe we can do that together this year.”

“I'd like that.”

“So how do you feel about the rest of it?” Maribeth asked, leading the way into the living room. “I mean, with the lights and tree and all? Am I pressuring you into doing things you really don't want to?”

“It feels kind of odd, I admit. But I like doing things with you. You're helping me see the holiday in a different light.”

He propped the fir in a corner by the window, beside where she'd set a tree stand and a box filled with strings of lights. The dog had followed them in, and now sniffed at the tree and gave a tail wag. Mo brushed a hand over Caruso's back, thinking that for a pair of stray creatures, they were both doing pretty damned well.

As he took off his coat, Maribeth came into the room, coatless herself, and went to turn on music. He didn't pay much attention to the song until the beat picked up and Maribeth dance-stepped over to him. “This one's for you, Mo.” She held out her arms in an invitation.

He realized the female singer was urging him to put a little holiday in his heart. It had been a long time since he'd danced with a pretty woman, and he wasn't about to resist Maribeth's arms. He took her in a two-step dance hold and set their bodies in motion. He was a little rusty, but who cared when she was smiling up at him, her whole face alight with pleasure.

That shared pleasure felt just right settling in his heart.

As the catchy tune faded away, Maribeth said, “That song kind of fits with the soup kitchen thing. Being nice to others, not looking down on people. You're like that, aren't you, Mo?”

“Uh, I guess. Not when I was younger, but now, sure.”

The next song to play was one that even he recognized: “Silent Night.” He and Maribeth stopped dancing and she looped her arms around his neck. He circled his around her waist.

He was thinking it'd be a good time to kiss her, when she said, “You're not prejudiced against people who are different.”

Maribeth did raise some odd subjects, but he went along with it. “I sure have no right to think I'm better than anyone else.”

“And you'll give your time to help people who are less fortunate. Not to mention a homeless dog.”

“Don't make me out to be some kind of saint,” he warned, not understanding what she was getting at. “And remember, I've got a lot of sins to make up for.”

“Which you're trying to do, especially with Brooke and Evan. They were your family, and you've finally realized what that means and you want to make things right.”

“Guess that's true.”

Gazing up at him, the sparkle in her eyes became a glow, turning the green from emerald to jade. “Mo, I care about you.”

Her words caught him off guard, giving him a sensation that was pretty much
Oh, wow.
Santa had come early this year, bringing him such a gift. Like the dumbass he was, all he could think of to say was, “You do?”

“Yes. I know we're taking this one day at a time, no pressure or expectations. But I need you to know that I care. More than I've ever cared for another man.”

“Oh, wow.” This time, the words popped out.
More than she's ever cared for another man?
He felt as if he'd landed in a parallel universe.

A twinkle ignited in those jade eyes. “Took you by surprise, did I?”

“You can say that again.” All those men she'd dated, and he was the one she cared about most? It was too big a concept to get his mind around.

“You're not running away,” she pointed out.

No, apparently he wasn't. His arms still circled her supple waist. And that was interesting. His first gut reaction had not been to flee. Casting a feeler into a pond he rarely explored—his emotions—he said, “I'm honored, Maribeth. That a woman like you would care for a guy like me.”

She shook her head. “You. Not a guy like you.”

“I guess that makes me feel even more honored.” He swallowed, knowing that he had to tell her the truth, but finding the unfamiliar words so difficult to say. “I care for you, too.” There, he'd said it, and her radiant smile was his reward, along with a warmth that seeped through every cell of his body. When he went on, the words were no longer hard to find or to say. “My life is so much richer and happier for having you in it.” He gave a rueful laugh. “And yours, I'm guessing, is way more complicated than it was before.”

“True. But in a very good way.”

He studied her lovely face. “Why did you tell me now? Tonight?”

“I thought you had feelings for me, but I needed to know. Before I got in any deeper, I needed to know I wasn't alone. That the one-day-at-a-time thing was heading somewhere, and that we were walking the path side by side.”

He swallowed. “All of this is new to me. Heading somewhere . . . I never expected that. Didn't think I wanted it. Never imagined that I'd fall for a woman and contemplate . . .”

“Contemplate what?”

“I don't even know.” What did she mean when she said she cared more for him than she'd ever cared for any other man? What did she want? What did he?

“Because you haven't allowed yourself to have dreams. Now it's time to do that.”

“Now?” He was too stunned to think straight. “Like, right now?”

Her face crinkled with merriment. “Not this very second, no. But in the quiet times. Let yourself envision the future. Find a dream that feels right to you.”

“I can try to do that.” She'd once said that she didn't need to be married, but she'd also said that ideally she'd like to marry and have kids. He'd made it clear that he wasn't going to have any more children, and yet she had still come to care deeply for him. Did that mean . . . that it actually didn't matter to her about having a child, and that one day she might want to marry him? Could he contemplate marriage again? He'd failed so miserably the first time—

She tugged on the collar of his plaid shirt. “Not this very second, right?”

He blew out a breath. “Yeah.”

“But talk to me while you're thinking about it. Share with me. Okay?”

“I'm not used to doing that.” Which wasn't an excuse. “I've talked more to you than to anyone ever before. So I'll try to keep on. But for now, maybe we should get on with the tree.” A practical task would be a welcome relief.

“Sounds like a plan.” Still in the cradle of his arms, she came up on her toes. “But first, a kiss to seal the deal.”

When his lips touched hers, so soft and giving, he thought again,
She cares for me
. It was almost too much to believe. As was the notion that one day he might have a home here in Caribou Crossing with this generous, beautiful, sexy woman at his side, a crazy singing dog, and a decent relationship with Evan and his family.

Could he actually fit himself into that picture or was he the dingy, oddly shaped piece that would never fit the serene, colorful picture on the outside of the jigsaw puzzle box?

Chapter Sixteen

This was going to be the best Christmas ever, Maribeth thought as she gazed around her crowded living room on Sunday afternoon.

Alan Jackson's “Let It Be Christmas,” playing quietly in the background, set exactly the right mood. The Charlie Brown tree had undergone a Cinderella-like transformation thanks to her and Mo's efforts. Multicolored lights sparkled off strands of tinsel and highlighted the dozens of ornaments she'd collected over the years. The decorations ranged from the clunky—things she'd made as a child or been gifted by friends' children—to the sublime, such as the stained glass angel she'd bought in Venice. Every single one had a story, and she loved them all.

Even more, though, she loved the collection of people who had gathered to celebrate the beginning of the holiday season. Her Caribou Crossing family—by ties of affection, if not blood. They, too, ranged widely. She'd been friends with two of the women since preschool, gotten to know other folks over the years, and a few were new on-the-way-to-being-friends like Daphne Haldenby and Irene Peabody. The older ladies were currently chatting with Corrie and her boyfriend, Daniel, who owned one of the arts and crafts stores. He and Maribeth had dated two or three years ago and remained friends afterward, and Maribeth had introduced him and Corrie earlier this fall.

Hank Hennessey and his wife Inga also looked right at home. No surprise since the residents of Caribou Crossing relied on his shop for car repairs.

When the guests had started to arrive in the early afternoon, poor Mo'd had an expression on his face that reminded Maribeth of Caruso when he was feeling trapped. She'd bet Mo would have given anything to be able to run away and climb a tree. But points to him, he'd stuck around, and as people came and circulated, he'd spoken to a number of them.

For the past five or ten minutes, he'd been talking to Evan and Jess. Both of the men's body language broadcast discomfort. Yet there'd been no raised voices; no one had stalked off; she'd even seen tentative smiles from both of them.

Everything was going to work out. She just knew it. Last night, Mo had told her he cared for her. He hadn't pulled back when she talked about the future. Their lovemaking had been so tender and intimate. Ever since, she'd been filled with joy and exhilaration. Now, watching the handsome man, she let herself imagine for the first time what it would truly be like to have his child. To feel a baby they'd created growing inside her. To see the wonder on Mo's face when he felt the baby move and they saw their child on the ultrasound screen. To shop together, assemble a crib, discuss baby names. Yes, she knew she was getting ahead of herself, but she just couldn't help it. The next year was going to be the most incredible one of her life. Happiness bubbled inside her and she wanted to embrace the entire world.

As if to endorse Maribeth's optimism, Jess was now beckoning Robin over. The girl was her daughter from her first marriage, but Robin and her stepdad Evan had hit it off from the moment they met.

Evan was introducing his father to his stepdaughter. What a special moment.

Maribeth sighed with contentment and turned in the direction of the kitchen, needing to get more platters of snacks from the fridge. Her path took her behind the family group, where Robin was saying to Mo, “I have so many grandparents! There's Grandma and Grandpa—those are Dad's parents. And Gran and Gramps are Mom's parents. Evan's mom is Gramma Brooke and her husband is Jake. What am I supposed to call you?”

Maribeth hovered, eavesdropping shamelessly.

“How about we do it like with Jake?” Mo said. “Just call me Mo.”

“Nicki says ‘Mo-Mo,'” the girl responded. “How about that?”

“I guess I can be Mo-Mo.”

“If you marry Maribeth, then she'll be another grandmother. And if you have kids, it'll get really complicated.”

Maribeth wouldn't have left at that point if someone had told her there was a fire in her kitchen.

“Hold on, Robin,” Mo said. “Marriage is . . . well, let's just say that it'd be a ways off if it was ever going to happen.”

She smiled to herself. Mo had admitted in public that he wasn't ruling out the possibility of them marrying.

He shrugged. “But as for kids, I'm definitely not having any more kids.”

What?
What?

Yes, he'd initially said that he didn't want kids, and he'd also said that he avoided relationships and hadn't dated. But things had changed in the past weeks. Mo was forming relationships with his family. He'd said he cared for Maribeth and that they were walking the path side by side. He hadn't said no when Robin hinted about marriage. And yet he'd just given a categorical no to the idea of having another child.

Maribeth had told him she wanted children. Was he just ignoring that, or lying to her, or what? Did he think she'd changed her mind? Her pulse thrummed fast and light in her throat like a hummingbird's wings, making it hard to draw breath. She was vaguely aware that Elvis was singing “Blue Christmas” and she was terribly afraid that song might be prophetic.

“Maribeth.” A hand touched her shoulder, making her jump. It was one of her old friends.

“Oh, Christie. Sorry, I was . . . never mind.”

“Nate and I need to leave now, and I just wanted to say thanks so much for inviting us. We look forward to this party every year. It's the launch to the holidays, the signal that we can all start celebrating.”

Celebrating. Despite the Christmas decorations and music, and the colorful collection of friends, that was the last thing Maribeth felt like doing just then. Five minutes ago she'd been glowing with happiness, and now she felt like she'd been flattened by a snowplow.

She made the conventional social responses to Christie and Nate, and then tried to focus on the other conversations that came her way, but really all she wanted to do was hustle everyone out of her house. It was wrong to jump to conclusions even if Mo's words had sounded decisive. He was in an unfamiliar situation, one he had little experience or comfort with. Maybe he wasn't really thinking about what he was saying; it was the old Mo reacting, not the evolving one. She needed to talk to him. Alone.

Until then, for the couple more hours until her open house wound down, she stayed away from him. When she caught him watching her with a puzzled expression, she turned away, pretending she hadn't noticed.

After ushering the last guest out the door, Maribeth realized that Mo, too, had disappeared. Had he slipped away with a group of people? More likely, he'd gone to see if Caruso was in the sunroom. The song playing now was Roger Miller's “Old Toy Trains.” Damn it, there would be a toy train under her Christmas tree one year, or a doll or a stuffed pony or all of those things. She would have a child, with or without Mo Kincaid.

Shoulders back, chin up, she walked down the hallway. The closed door to the sunroom still had the “Off-Limits” sign they'd put on it earlier.

When she opened the door, the room was dark. There was barely enough light for her to see Mo slumped bonelessly in a chair with Caruso sitting beside him. The man's arm dangled, his hand resting on the dog's shoulders.

Earlier today she'd thought that the pair might be the beginning of her very own family. Now . . . Well, that was what she needed to find out.

“Tiring afternoon?” she queried, her voice coming out with the same social tone she'd been using with the guests. She leaned her back—achy from too much standing and stress—against the door frame.

“Tiring,” Mo echoed. “For you, too? Are you okay?”

She knew he was looking at her, but the light was too dim to see his expression. “Why do you ask?”

“Partway through, you kind of lost your sparkle. It's the first time I've seen that happen. I wondered if you had a headache or something.”

“A headache. You might say that.” She sighed. “I'd like to talk to you.”

For a moment, he didn't respond. “Did I do something wrong? I thought things went pretty well. Evan and Robin—”

“That's not what I want to talk about.” Normally, she'd have loved to hear about all his interactions this afternoon, especially the ones with his family. “Would you please come back into the living room?”

Mo stood. Caruso did, too, glancing from the man to Maribeth. He put back his head and warbled. There was a melancholy sound to it, or was that her imagination?

“Is he hungry?” she asked. Just because she felt miserable, that was no reason for the dog to suffer.

“I fed him.” Mo walked toward her, paused beside her, and then without speaking again or touching her, he headed down the hall.

In the living room, he took a chair by the window, the chair that happened to be closest to the tree. At any other time, she'd have relished that picture. She sat on the couch, trying to ignore the clutter of glasses, plates, and napkins that covered every surface.

“What's wrong, Maribeth?” Mo asked.

“I overheard you talking to Robin,” she said, trying to speak calmly despite her anxiety. “I think I heard you tell her you definitely don't want to have children.”

He eyed her warily. “That's right. I told you that before, when we first met.”

“You said a lot of things back then. Like that you weren't into serious relationships. Yet last night we started talking like we might have a future.”

“I hope we do.” His tone was cautious.

Confused, she shook her head. “How can we have a future if you don't want kids and I do?”

He stared at her, swallowed audibly, and then said, “You're really that serious about it?”

“Damn right I am!” She almost never swore, but this situation called for it. “What, you thought I was just fantasizing?”

“I guess I thought,” he said slowly, “that since you're thirty-nine and have never been married, it wasn't that big a thing for you. That you liked kids and figured maybe one day you'd get together with a man who had some.” He swallowed. “I have grandchildren.”

Was he serious? “It's not the same thing. I want to be pregnant, to have a baby, to raise my own child. Or children, preferably.”

“Oh,” he said heavily. “I didn't realize that.” He frowned slightly. “But . . . Look, I don't want to sound rude or insensitive, but aren't you getting a little old for that? I mean”—he added quickly—“not that you're too old to have kids, but that if you hadn't found the right guy by now . . .”

“I thought I might have.” She glared at him. “Obviously, I was wrong.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “When we first met and you said that down the road you'd like marriage and children, you were already slotting me into that role?”

She heaved a sigh. “No. I'd given up on slotting any man in that role.”

He considered that and then said, “You've lost me.”

“I'd decided to use a sperm donor. In fact, I've already got one picked out, and the sperm is at the women's clinic, just waiting for me.”

His eyes widened as she spoke. “Oh, man.”

“I would have already used it, except you came along and the connection between us felt so strong that I put it off.”

“You thought I . . .” He scrubbed his hand through his hair and stared at her, for once almost looking his age. “Maribeth, I had a vasectomy.”

“
What? You what?
And you never thought to mention that to me?” Hurt and anger flared and she blinked against the moisture that welled in her eyes.

“When I told you I didn't want more kids, I figured you'd believe me.”

The anger dimmed because he had a fair point. She said wryly, “Well, when I told you I wanted them, I thought
you
would believe
me
.” She swiped her hand under one eye to flick away an escaping tear and tried to explain. “Mo, you said you didn't want to date, but you changed your mind. You said you weren't good at relationships, but yet you've been working hard at building them with me and Brooke and Evan. I hoped the same thing would happen when it came to your views on kids. That once you met your grandchildren, you'd see that having children is a wonderful thing. If I'd known you'd had a vasectomy, I'd have . . .” She trailed off, not sure how she'd have reacted. Would she have nipped their relationship in the bud despite the click she felt with him?

“Oh, man, Maribeth. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.” He sounded it, which wasn't much consolation.

“I believe you, and I am, too.” She swallowed against a lump in her throat. “I guess . . . I mean, I know it's sometimes possible to reverse a vasectomy . . .”

He scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “I had one because I wanted to make sure I never, ever had another child. I'm sorry, but you need to believe me, Maribeth.”

“I do,” she whispered. Now, finally, she did. And that meant that if she used the sperm donor, Mo would never want to be father to that child. Tears slid down her cheeks. “That thing Irene and Daphne said about communication? I guess we're pretty t-terrible at it.” A sob came out like a hiccup.

“I've never been good at it,” he said gruffly. “Look, I'm really sorry if I hurt you, Maribeth. But I'm not sorry for what we've had together. I've never, uh, opened up to anyone the way I have with you. I've never cared for someone this way. Even if you want to end things now, I'll always be glad for having had this time with you. For seeing that, even if only for a little while, life could be better.”

Life had been better with Mo in it. Until that afternoon—but that was as much her fault as his. She shouldn't have let her faith in the magical click lead her to make assumptions. She shouldn't have let her dreams—and her perhaps desperate desire to fulfill them—overrule her common sense.