Holiday in Your Heart (31 page)

He nodded. “That's so true. Kids are made up of genetics, environment, and something that seems to be uniquely their own.”

“Yes! Their spirit or soul or whatever. Anyhow, I even want to go through childbirth. I'm told it's the closest thing to hell a person can experience, and then when you hold your baby for the first time, that's what heaven's like.”

“Oh, man. That's . . . big.”

“I know.” She was sure it hadn't been that way for him when he first held Evan, and likely not for Brooke, either. “And I want it. Then I want to care for that child, raise him or her, teach and play and laugh together. Be so filled with love that . . .” She blinked against her tears. “That it's a bigger thing than I can even imagine. Be protective and scared and proud and . . .” She put her mug down, pulled a tissue from her pocket, and blew her nose.

Mo was frowning slightly. It wasn't denial she saw on his face, more like puzzlement. She drew in a long, cleansing breath and let it out again. Calmer now, she said, “You've spent time with Robin. What's that like for you?”

He tilted his head, obviously thinking about it. The hard, masculine lines of his face softened with affection. “She's a fine girl. Smart, capable, generous.” He must know that Maribeth was looking for more than that, because his eyes narrowed. “I enjoy being with her. She makes me feel younger and older, all at the same time.”

“How do you mean?”

He took a swallow of soda. “Well, younger because she's so full of spirit and she shares it. Her enthusiasm, her joy in life, they're contagious.” He gave Maribeth a soft smile. “Same as with you. But she also makes me feel older because even if she's only Evan's stepdaughter, that does kind of make her my grandchild. I feel responsible, like I want to do right by her.”

“Is that a bad feeling?”

“Kind of a scary one. Given my past.” His voice firmed. “But I'm different now. I'm up to handling that responsibility.”

She was about to ask him about Evan and Jess's little Alex, but Mo went on. “She's a lot like her mom, Robin is. But it's funny, I see Evan in her, too. Almost like he was her biological dad. Little gestures, the way her jaw firms up when she's determined. He's had an influence on her, and I like seeing that. I only met her real dad, Dave, briefly at your open house, but I can see he's a good man. He and Robin are really close, and that's how it should be. But it's nice to see that she and Evan love each other so much, too.”

Maribeth had picked up her mug again and sipped tea as she listened. Now she said, “I know. She's a lucky girl, having such a big, loving family.” She tried not to sound sad or envious.

Mo's gaze sharpened and he rested his hand on her thigh. “I'm sorry you didn't have that. Sorry it was just you and your parents, and they died so young.”

She appreciated his words, his understanding, the comfort of his touch. “Thanks. I have a great relationship with my grandparents, but they're in Vancouver and it's not the same thing as having family in town. But I've built a really lovely family of my heart, here in Caribou Crossing.”

“I've seen that. And I'm not one bit surprised, given the kind of woman you are.” He pressed his lips together and then said, almost reluctantly, “You'd make a terrific mother.”

She knew that. With every ounce of her being. She also happened to think that Mo had the makings of an excellent father. Curling her hand into his, on her thigh, she asked, “How about Alex? Do you enjoy being with him?”

Mo gave a quick laugh. “Hard not to. He's one spunky little kid. Him and Brooke's Nicki, they're quite the pair.” He took a breath. “Yeah, they're fun. Playing with toy trucks and stuffed animals, that's easy. Even dealing with toilet training. But man, they're so vulnerable, kids that age.”

“Kids of all ages are vulnerable.”

He nodded slowly. “And that's the responsibility side. The fear side. Brooke and I were so stupid when we had Evan. We didn't realize all that stuff.”

“And yet he survived.”

“In spite of us. But he was damaged. Oh, he did an amazing job of getting past it all and building a fine life for himself. But we damaged him, and that's wrong.”

“It was. But you wouldn't do that again. Not with Robin or Alex.”

“Never. Not intentionally. Can't say I won't make mistakes, though.” He freed his hand from hers. Strain creased the corners of his blue-green eyes, and suddenly they were no longer talking about him being a grandfather. “What the hell do I know about parenting, Maribeth?”

“You know a lot of things not to do.”

“That's for sure.”

She caught both his hands in hers. “Mo, do you get it at all? Do you have any notion of how I feel when I think about having a child?”

He blew out air, but didn't pull away from her touch. “Maybe. Maybe I'm starting to.” He shrugged his shoulders like he was working out knots. “Feelings. Maribeth, when I was a kid the feelings I had were mostly negative ones. Resentment, anger, a craving for excitement and danger. Later, when I realized what a shit I'd been, I tried not to feel. Just to take each day at a time and, like I said, try to do no harm. It was all shades of gray, my life, for years and years.”

Tension radiated not only from his words but from the hands she clasped. He went on, “And then there was you. And Caribou Crossing. Brooke, Evan, those kids. The singing dog. Life's a whole new thing, with lots of colors. And I have feelings, but I don't know what to do with them. Don't even know how to label them.”

Her first instinct was to jump in with questions to help him pin down his feelings. But maybe this was a time to step back and not be so pushy. She truly did want Mo to work things out for himself, to be honest with himself and with her, and to not let her persuade him into doing something that he might end up regretting. And so, she said tentatively, “This may not resonate with you at all, but have you thought of seeing a professional? A counselor?”

His jaw dropped. “Talk to a stranger about touchy-feely stuff?” he asked incredulously. “Even at those A.A. meetings I went to, I never talked about my own shit. I learned what I needed by listening to others.”

She clasped his hands firmly. “You learned what you needed at the time, and you learned it because those other people were brave enough to share. Now you've got all these new issues and feelings to deal with, and talking might help. And yes, to a stranger. Someone who has no vested interest. Whose only goal is to help you figure out what you feel. What you want.”

“Well, huh. I hadn't thought of it that way.”

“Consider it.”

He nodded slowly. “I'll consider anything that'll help us figure out what to do.”

She smiled at him, feeling good about how hard both of them were trying. “I love you, Mo Kincaid.”

“Oh, hell,” he said softly, his expression suddenly vulnerable. “For all that I don't know much about feelings, I'm pretty sure I love you, too.”

Oh, yes!
“Then get over here and kiss me.”

He did, and the sincerity of that kiss confirmed everything he'd just told her. Maribeth was sinking into it wholeheartedly when he startled her by breaking it off.

“A question,” he said, his arms still around her.

“Okay,” she replied a little warily.

“You have all these rules about Christmas.”

He wanted to talk about Christmas
now
? “Well, kind of,” she admitted, leaning back in the circle of his arms.

“Like, there's the right way and wrong way to decorate a Christmas tree.”

Was he saying she was too rigid? “I guess I could be more flexible about that.” Realizing something, she smiled. “It's been
my
tree for so long. Just mine. But if it's a shared tree, others should have input. I'm sorry I didn't give you that and just bossed you around.”

“Well, if I'm going to have input, there is one thing I'd suggest.”

He didn't think the tree was perfect? She tried not to be offended as she asked, “What's that?”

His eyes twinkled. “The best way to christen a new tree is to make love under it.”

A surprised laugh escaped. “Under it?” She glanced at the low-hanging bottom branches, just perfect for sheltering wrapped gifts but not designed to accommodate two bodies.

“Don't be so literal. Beside it will do.” He tugged her closer. “What do you think?”

She gave him a flirtatious grin. “I think that a new rule should be tested out before it's given final approval.”

Chapter Eighteen

On Friday evening, Mo stood beside Maribeth outside Caribou Crossing's one cinema—a theater dating back to gold rush days, which had been renovated over the years and was now designed to allow the showing of two different movies. They'd decided to go to an early show, and as they studied the posters for their options, Caruso headed off on his own business. Mo put up a token male effort in favor of the save-the-world thriller but knew they'd end up going to the romantic comedy, and that didn't bother him in the least.

His cell phone rang, startling him. “Good thing,” he muttered as he extracted it from his jacket. “I'd have forgotten to turn it off. I'm still not used to having one of these things.” Or having people who wanted to talk to him. After checking the caller display, he answered, “Hey, Jess.”

“Mo, we have a family emergency.” His daughter-in-law, normally so calm and capable, sounded frazzled.

His heart jerked. “An accident? Is someone hurt?” He was barely aware of Maribeth clutching his arm and gazing at him with wide eyes.

“No, sorry, nothing that bad. Just . . . a crisis. Can you come to the house?”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“Of course. Uh, Maribeth is with me.”

“Bring her. That's fine. Just come.” She hung up.

Heart still racing, he said, “No one's hurt, but there's some kind of crisis. I have to go to Evan and Jess's house. You're invited, but don't feel you have to come. I've no idea what's going on.”

Her hand tucked under his elbow. “Of course I'll come. If you want me to.”

When did he ever not want her by his side? “Please.”

Hurrying, they went to where her car was parked.

Maribeth drove quickly and, rather than speculate on the nature of the crisis, Mo took the opportunity to update her on his news of the day. “I saw that counselor, Karim.” She'd asked around and told him that the fiancé of one of her girlfriends recommended this guy. When Maribeth added that the fiancé was ex-army and the counselor had helped him with PTSD, Mo figured it was worth giving Karim a chance.

“Did you find it useful?” she asked.

“I think. He's a pretty laid-back guy, more touchy-feely than I'm comfortable with, but he's persistent. And he says interesting things that make me think. Kind of like you do.”

She tossed him a smile. “But like we discussed, he's a stranger, so maybe you'll listen in a different way.”

“Yeah.” After having so many people in his life who seemed to have a vested interest in what Mo did—even Hank Hennessey, with his proposal about the garage—it had been refreshing to discuss his issues with a stranger.

“So, did he say anything interesting that you'd be willing to share?”

“I guess. When I told him I had trouble identifying or maybe even feeling my emotions, he asked if perhaps I felt so guilty over things I'd done in my past that I figured I didn't deserve to be happy. To be loved, to have a full life.”

She glanced over. “Like you're doing penance for past bad behavior. What do you think?”

Once before, when they'd first met, she'd muttered something under her breath about him doing penance. He'd forgotten until now. But if she thought that, and so did Karim, maybe there was something to it. “I dunno. Guess I'll think about it. I'm going to see him again next week.”

She reached over to touch his jacketed arm. “Thanks for doing this, Mo.”

“I think I may end up thanking you for suggesting it.”

They drove past Brooke and Jake's house to the big wooden signs for Bly Ranch and Riders Boot Camp, and Maribeth made the turn. A moment later, another pair of headlights followed.

When she pulled into the driveway of Evan and Jess's house, where four vehicles were already parked, she said, “It looks as if the whole family has come. I hope they don't mind me being here.”

“I hope they don't mind
me
being here,” he muttered. He was such a recent, and fringe, member of this family. What right did he have to be present during a family crisis? Or was that the kind of notion Karim had been talking about, letting past guilt affect his life today?

As he and Maribeth got out of her Mini, Ken and Sheila Cousins emerged from the car that had been following them. The gray-haired couple, whom he'd met at Maribeth's open house, were the parents of Dave, who was Robin's father and Jess's ex-husband. “Any idea what's going on?” Ken asked Mo.

“Not a clue.”

Sheila linked arms with Maribeth. “It's nice to see you. Thanks again for that wonderful party a couple of weeks ago.” The two women led the way toward the front door of the house, with Mo and Ken following.

Sheila knocked twice and then opened the door, and they all went inside.

Boots, coats, hats, and scarves littered the big entrance hall. They added their own to the mess and proceeded toward the front room. As Ken and Sheila walked ahead, Mo took the opportunity to claim Maribeth again, clasping hands with her and drawing comfort from her warm, familiar touch.

Evan and Jess's front room was large, highlighted by the huge stone fireplace and a big, decorated Douglas fir. Mo gazed around, cataloguing the occupants. In one corner of the room Evan and Jess stood side by side, with little Alex fussing in Jess's arms. They were involved in what looked like a rather tense conversation with Dave and his wife, Cassidy. Cassidy had her arms wrapped around herself, and her expression looked defensive.

It seemed that the obvious tension in that small group had caused everyone else to keep their distance. Brooke and Jake sat on a couch, with Nicki sleeping in a sling across Jake's chest. They were chatting with Jess's parents, Miriam and Wade Bly, who sat on a smaller sofa facing them. The four adults all glanced up and exchanged hellos with the newcomers. The only family member who seemed to be missing was Robin. Whatever kind of family crisis this was, it seemed it was for the ears of adults and toddlers only.

Sheila and Ken took the other end of the four-seater, beside Brooke. Mo was about to steer Maribeth to a pair of chairs near the fireplace when Jess glanced around and her troubled gaze lit on him. “Mo, would you take Alex?”

Him? But he hurried over to scoop his grandson from her arms. The poor kid's face was red and scrunched and he was making choky, wailing sounds. Mo cradled him close, rocked him gently, and murmured, “Hey, there, kiddo, it's not so bad.”

Amazingly, as Mo crossed the room to sit down, the toddler blinked and stopped crying. “Mo-Mo?” he said. “Play trucks now?”

“It's not a good time for trucks.” Mo settled the child on his lap so that they faced each other. “The grown-ups are going to do some boring talking, so you might want to take a little snooze right about now.”

Alex's face screwed up with displeasure again. Before he could let out another wail, Maribeth, who'd taken the chair beside Mo, pulled the woven scarf off from around her neck and held it out, catching the boy's attention. She made a couple of folds and knots and said, “Hey, Alex, it's a bunny rabbit. See, here's his head and here's his tail.”

The kid must have a lot of trust or a great imagination, because he accepted her word for it and began to play with the improvised toy, a smile on his face.

Mo glanced across the room to see that both Evan and Jess still looked distressed. Dave scowled at Cassidy and she said something, looking earnest and apologetic. He heaved a sigh and put his arm around her. She tensed for a moment and then leaned into him. She said something else, Jess nodded, Dave spoke, and then Jess left the room.

Maribeth rose and said quietly, “I'll get drinks for us.”

As she moved to a sideboard, Mo saw that it held a collection of bottles and cans. She came back with a couple of cans of ginger ale. She cracked them both open, handed him one, and took her seat again. Finding it difficult to juggle his grandson, the scarf toy, and the drink, Mo put the can down on a coaster on a side table.

Evan spoke, his voice cutting through a couple of quiet conversations. “Jess has gone to get Robin. Then we'll explain why we asked you all to come.” He sounded as unhappy as he looked.

Did this have something to do with Robin?

Apparently so, because the girl thudded down the stairs and stalked into the room, red-faced, her usual ponytail a scraggly mess. Normally, she was poised and bouncy. It was a shock seeing her so obviously upset. What the hell was going on here?

Jess followed her daughter into the room, a couple of steps back, also flushed. She went to join Evan, Dave, and Cassidy. Robin's parents and stepparents remained standing in their corner of the room, a little apart from the seated grandparents and Maribeth.

Robin paced over to the Christmas tree. She turned, fisted her hands on her hips, glared around the room, and said, “You've all been lying to me!”

Her accusation was met with a collection of gasps, protests, and questions. Mo examined his conscience. In agreement with Robin's parents and Brooke, he hadn't told the girl all the details of his crappy parenting of Evan, but he'd given her the general idea and had never once lied.

Voice taut with anger, Robin said, “I found out who my real dad is.”

Her real dad? That was Dave. Wasn't it? Maybe not, from the pained expression on the man's face.

Dave's mother, Sheila, spoke first, gently, sounding puzzled. “Honey, Dave's your dad.”

“Yeah, that's what you all wanted me to think, wasn't it? That's the stupid big lie!”

“It's not a lie,” Sheila said, the slightest quaver in her voice. She turned to her son. “It's not. Is it?”

Dave squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them their hazel was glossed with moisture. “I'm afraid it is, Mom. I'm sorry. And, Robin, you're wrong. Your grandparents didn't lie. They didn't know the truth. None of them did.”

What was the truth? Mo felt like he'd gone to a movie and was too dumb to follow the plot. From the puzzled expressions on others' faces, he wasn't the only one.

“How stupid do you think I am?” Robin raged, her cheeks even brighter. “Like I'd never learn about DNA?”

DNA? What was the girl talking about?

Miriam gave a soft gasp. “Your school assignment. You called me to ask about your mother's blood type.”

Robin nodded. “Lucky thing I couldn't get Mom, Dad, or Evan on the phone this afternoon, right? If I'd have asked them, they'd have lied. But Cassidy told me the truth when I called her to ask
his
”—she glared at Dave—“blood type. And I realized he couldn't be my real dad.”

Cassidy said, “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to spill the big secret. I was distracted, in the middle of dealing with a supplier crisis, and when Robin asked I didn't think about the implications.”

Dave sighed. “We should've thought about the DNA thing, and that Robin would be studying it in school one day. I guess we figured we had time . . .” He shook his head. “I don't know. Ostriches. Heads in the sand. Stupid.”

Mo exchanged glances with Maribeth, who looked as stunned as he felt. Dave really wasn't Robin's biological father. Dave had known that and had obviously told Cassidy, but it seemed that they and Jess had been the only ones who knew the truth. And maybe Evan? Mo studied his son's face, which bore just as tortured an expression as Dave's. Had Evan shared the secret or been just as in the dark as Robin?

Mo had to wonder who had fathered Robin, and what the circumstances had been.

Robin had been echoing Dave, saying “Yeah, stupid, stupid, stupid.” She sneered, her pretty face twisting in a far too adult expression. “Like I didn't know I have this really weird blood type.”

Weird blood type? Mo had a rare one, inherited from his mother. His son had inherited it from him . . . But no, surely Evan couldn't be the girl's biological father.

Mo had almost forgotten that he was holding little Alex. The child had been happily playing with his makeshift toy, and Mo'd been intent on Robin and the unfolding drama. But now his grandson moved restlessly, as if the tension in the room was getting to him. Mo jiggled the scarf-bunny absently, not wanting to miss a second of the conversation.

“After all,” Robin said, “we always stockpile some of my blood so the hospital has it frozen in case I need it. Like when I had the splenectomy three years ago.”

Jess's sad gaze met her daughter's. “That night, there wasn't enough blood on hand and there was a storm, so we weren't sure that more could be flown in. So we had to ask”—she paused, and tears slid down her cheeks—“your biological father. It was just sheer blind luck that he happened to be in town.”

At the sound of a feminine gasp, Mo's gaze turned to Brooke.

“Evan?” she asked in a squeaky, disbelieving voice.

Mo, along with everyone else, stared at his son. Evan had knocked up teenage Jess and run out on her? Oh shit, the apple didn't fall far from that tree.

A memory flashed into Mo's mind. When he and Evan had first talked, Mo had said that every child deserved to have two responsible, loving parents—and his words had taken his son aback. Now he understood why.

“Yeah,” Robin said. “Evan.” She spoke the name with disgust. Even so, her voice trembled when she said, “The father who didn't want me.”

“He didn't know!” Jess cried. “He never knew. I didn't tell him. Not until the night you needed surgery.”

Robin's eyes widened. “Mom! How could you do that?”

“I meant well.” Tears rolled freely down Jess's cheeks. “I swear, I honestly meant well. And so did Dave. He loved us, Robin. Dave loved you as his own daughter, from way before you were even born.”