Holiday in Your Heart (32 page)

“Oh yeah, right!” The girl was crying and almost yelling. “None of you love me. You're all just a bunch of liars!”

Alex twisted in Mo's grip, opened his round little mouth, and began to wail.

Nicki, in the sling across Jake's torso, promptly did the same.

Maribeth rose, gave Mo a tiny, pained smile, and then lifted Alex from his lap and set the toddler on his feet. She took his hand. “Come with me, little one. Tee Bee will find us some toys to play with or read you and Nicki a story.” Towing the whimpering little boy, she walked over to Jake as he unbundled Nicki and put her down so Maribeth could take her hand, too. Maribeth glanced around the group of on-edge adults. “We'll be in the playroom.”

“Thank you,” Jess said fervently.

Mo, realizing his mouth was dry from stress, picked up his can of ginger ale and took a long swallow.

There were a few moments of silence as the threesome left the room, and then Brooke, her voice firm now, said, “Evan, tell us how this happened.”

The obvious answer would have been, “In the usual way,” but clearly Brooke meant much more than that.

Evan sighed. “It was once. Just once. Right after, I realized it was a big mistake. I felt like I'd betrayed my friendship with Jess, Miriam, and Wade.” He glanced warily at Robin, who'd perched on the edge of a chair and was glaring at him. “We did use protection, but it failed. Anyhow, this happened right before I left for university. After that, Jess and I didn't really keep in touch. She didn't tell me and she had good reasons for that. Anyhow, the first I knew was when she came to me the night of Robin's accident, saying they needed blood. I was . . . in shock.”

Evan hadn't known. He hadn't run out on Jess and the baby. Mo felt horrible for having imagined that his son might have done such a thing.

“Jessica?” Miriam said in a firm mother-to-daughter voice. “Why didn't you tell Evan? Surely he had a right to know.”

“You think?” Robin said sarcastically.

Evan put a supporting arm around his wife as she began to speak. “Maybe he did. But all he'd ever wanted to do was leave Caribou Crossing and make a new life.”

“That's true,” Brooke said softly, sadly.

Mo caught her eye and gave her a sympathetic half-smile.

Jess went on. “If I'd told him, he'd have done what he thought was the right thing. He'd have married me, been stuck in Caribou Crossing, and been miserable. Which meant I'd have been unhappy, too.” She glanced over at her daughter. “And probably so would Robin.”

Just as had happened when Mo and Brooke wed. His ex, still gazing at Mo, nodded slightly, confirming that they shared the thought.

Dave coughed, drawing attention. “Jess came to me,” he said. “We were good friends and she wanted a guy's opinion.”

“Why didn't you come to us, Jessica?” Miriam cried in a hurt tone.

“Oh, Mom,” Jess said. “I wanted to, and I knew you and Dad would support me, but I felt so stupid and I was so confused and . . . I don't even remember what I was thinking. Just that Dave was someone I trusted totally.”

“People have always taken their problems to our son,” Sheila said with both pride and a touch of ruefulness.

“When I thought about Jess's situation,” Dave said quietly, “the solution seemed obvious. She and I liked each other a lot and were really compatible. More suited to each other than her and Evan, I thought at the time.”

“And that was true,” Jess said. “Back then, Ev and I were so different, even though we were such good friends.”

“
Friends
,” Robin said bitterly.

“When I thought about Jess's baby,” Dave said, “I felt something I'd never felt before. Like I could be that child's father, and I wanted to be.” He gazed at Robin with her red, tear-streaked face. “I did love you, sweetheart. From before you were born. I have never, not for one moment, loved you anything less than wholeheartedly. And when Evan came back and we had to tell him the truth, it almost broke my heart.”

Mo read the truth of that on Dave's face, but he felt sorry for Evan as well. What a shock, to find out that he had a daughter. That Jess, his best friend and onetime lover, had betrayed him, even if her intentions had been good. To learn that another man had raised his child as his own.

“Good,” Robin said to Dave. “You deserve it. You all deserve to feel crappy.”

“Robin,” Dave said warningly. “Language.”

“Ha! Like you have any right to order me around. You're not even my real f-father!” Her angry words came out chokily, mixed with sobs. “And Evan doesn't deserve to be my father because he r-ran out! And Mom's a liar, and Cassidy kept this huge, giant secret from me, and everyone else is, is—” She broke off, either crying so hard she couldn't speak or unable to find the words she wanted. The poor kid was obviously heartbroken and looked to be on the verge of an all-out temper tantrum.

Somehow, Mo found himself on his feet, walking over to Robin. His granddaughter in all senses of that word, as proved by the flaky blood she'd inherited.

He kneeled in front of the chair where she sat, not daring to touch her. “Robin, look around this room. Right now, you're really mad at all of us.”

“I'm so mad I could, could . . .” Again, it seemed words failed her.

“Look at each person,” Mo said. “Every single one is here tonight because of you. Because they—” He took a breath, realizing the truth and finding the courage to speak it. “Because
we
love you so much.” He stared into her glazed, bloodshot eyes and realized she was actually paying attention.

“It tears us apart that you're hurt,” he said, “but believe me, no one here ever wanted to hurt you. We want to protect you, but that isn't always possible. Right now, we'd do anything to make it better, but things happened in the past that can't be undone. But here's the thing. Because of what happened, you've ended up with even more people who love you and who'd do anything for you. And you know what?”

Her tears had eased, her cheeks were a little less red, and she shook her head slowly.

“In my books, that makes you one very lucky girl.”

She frowned. “L-lucky?” It came out hiccupy, but questioning rather than angry.

“Lucky.” As he said it, he realized that what he'd told her was, in fact, a little bit true for him, too. He'd gone from being all alone in the world to being connected to everyone in this room. “Robin, you already know that family can be complicated. Remember when you met me and had to figure out what to call me because you already had so many grandparents?”

For the first time since he'd seen her that night, a hint of a smile flickered on her face. “Yeah. I remember, Mo-Mo.”

That softening gave him the courage to rest his hand on her arm when he went on. “So, what you learned tonight about Evan is just one more little complication that makes your family even more special. But it doesn't change any of the love. You're a smart girl, Robin. You know that nothing's going to change the love.”

“I guess you're right,” she said wonderingly. And then she launched herself off the chair and into his arms.

He caught her, awkwardly but firmly. As he hugged his granddaughter, this time it was his eyes that were moist.

Then the others were there, gathering around them hug upon hug, with tears and words of love. Mo's only regret was that Maribeth wasn't there to be part of the family embrace.

Chapter Nineteen

The next evening, Saturday, the friends Maribeth had been babysitting for returned home just after nine. When she climbed into her car, she called Mo. “I'm finished and am heading over to your place. Should I pick up anything on the way?”

“You're the only thing Caruso and I want.”

She smiled as she put her phone back in her purse. How lovely that sounded, and she really hoped he meant it.

Last night, she'd been a bit worried. When she and Mo had driven back from Jess and Evan's house, he'd filled her in on what had happened after she'd taken the toddlers to the playroom. She'd been shocked by the evening's revelations, and clearly Mo was feeling stunned, too.

When she'd asked if he wanted to come to her place, he'd said, “Not tonight, thanks. I need some time to process everything. Besides, I have to get up early because I promised Hank I'd be at the garage at six. We've got a bunch of jobs to finish up before the holidays.”

His kiss had been perfunctory when she dropped him off, and she'd tried to tell herself he was just distracted and she shouldn't take it personally. Like Caruso, Mo was a creature who needed space and freedom.

Earlier today, Mo had called to ask if she was free tonight, and she'd immediately hoped that he really wanted to see her, not that he was having third thoughts about their involvement. She had told him she'd promised friends she'd babysit while they went to the wife's office party—and also said that the couple hated the obligatory event and planned to be home early. Mo had invited her to his place when she was finished, saying, “I'll sweeten the pot with a Sunday brunch invitation from Daphne and Irene.”

“As if the pot needed any sweetening,” she'd told him sincerely, relieved that it seemed he had no intention of breaking up.

And now here she was, pulling up in front of his house and reaching for her bulging tote bag. In it were a change of clothes, a few toiletries and cosmetics, and her contribution to tomorrow's brunch: the makings for nonalcoholic mimosas.

At the front of his landladies' house, the curtains were closed and the outside Christmas lights lit. As she walked around the side, Caruso came running to greet her with a warble. She squatted to greet him and was delighted to receive his latest gesture of affection: a cheek rub.

By the time the two of them had reached Mo's door, it was open and he stood there, lean and handsome in jeans and a gray Henley. Smiling a welcome.

Barely pausing to put down her heavy tote, she stepped into his arms and clung tight as he wrapped her in a warm hug. “I missed you,” she said. “Last night was so strange.”

He eased her away, gestured for Caruso to come inside, and closed the door. As she unbuttoned her coat, he said, “You can say that again. I was overwhelmed. Sorry, I didn't mean to shove you away, but I guess I'm still a bit of the lone wolf. Sometimes I need to process stuff on my own.”

“It's fine. I understand, Mo. Believe it or not, I even do that myself sometimes.” After all, she'd been alone since her late teens. As great as her grandparents were, they lived so far away. And her friends might be a “family of the heart,” people to call on for support and to provide support to in return, but she didn't want to burden them with every woe, setback, or doubt.

Mo had slipped her coat off her shoulders and was hanging it up while she bent to unzip her boots. When she straightened, he was studying her with an appreciative smile. “You are always such a treat for my eyes,” he said.

“Same goes for you, Mr. Kincaid.”

“Me?”

She snorted. “Don't give me that. You have to know that you're serious eye candy.”

“Maribeth, I'm fifty.”

“And some things get better with age.”

“Flatterer. You must want something from me.” He said it teasingly, unthinkingly, and then his face sobered.

He knew what she wanted. Everything.

“Right now, a nice cup of tea or hot chocolate would be perfect,” she said, to take the pressure off.

“I think I've learned how to make decent hot chocolate.”

She could have made it herself, and probably more efficiently, but she liked that he was waiting on her. So, after she put the nonalcoholic bubbly wine and the organic orange juice in the small fridge, she settled herself on the comfortable couch that unfolded into a less comfortable but acceptable bed. With a sigh of relief, she put her sock-clad feet up on the coffee table. Her friends' three kids had been little monsters tonight. With only two days to go until Christmas, they'd been hyped up.

She glanced over to watch Mo as he heated milk on the hot plate. Aside from a small bathroom with a shower and no tub, the apartment was a single room. The kitchen had a little fridge, a sink, a microwave, and a two-burner hot plate. The rest of the room held the couch, a coffee table and end table, a small table with a couple of chairs, and a TV. The furniture was simple and the decor gender neutral. If Maribeth lived here, she'd add books, knickknacks, colored pillows and throws, and some art on the walls. Now the only personal touches were Mo's tablet on the coffee table, and the box with an old blanket where Caruso now curled up.

Still, the very fact of the man's and dog's presence, not to mention the scent of chocolate as Mo stirred cocoa into the hot milk, made the place feel homey.

She smiled gratefully up at Mo as he brought her a steaming mug. “This is just what I needed. Thank you.” Did he know she meant much more than just the beverage?

“Long day?” he asked as he seated himself beside her, put his own sock-clad feet on the coffee table, and reached for her free hand.

She twined her fingers with his and squeezed. “Oh, yes. The store was crazy busy, lots of last-minute shopping happening. And the babysitting—well, let's just say I've seen those kids on better days.” She blew on the hot beverage and took a tentative sip.

“Seems to be the weekend for kids in bad moods.”

“I wonder how Robin's doing.”

“I called her. She's settled down some and seems to be putting things in better perspective.” He turned to Maribeth. “She asked me to go riding with her tomorrow afternoon. Just the two of us. I hope you don't mind.”

“No, of course not. Mo, that's great. I'm glad you two are growing close.”

“So am I.” He released her hand, dropped his feet to the floor, and sat forward in the couch, elbows resting on his thighs and both hands curving around his mug. “When I thought over everything that happened last night, I realized that, well, I have a family. That's not what I expected when I came to Caribou Crossing, but it's what has happened.”

She nodded. “How do you feel about that?”

His face relaxed and he smiled, the kind of smile that turned the lines running between his nose and lips into dimpled clefts. “Good. That's what I realized last night. I like it. And I think maybe I can do it.” His blue-green eyes twinkled. “What I saw at Evan and Jess's is that all those people who are great parents and grandparents can get thrown for a loop. They don't always make the right decisions or know the best thing to do.”

She smiled back. “Of course not, because they're human.”

“Just like me. I think I, well, did okay with Robin last night. I found things to say that maybe actually helped her.” Wonder lit his face. “She hugged me, Maribeth. She kind of launched herself into my arms. Like she needed me. Like she was glad I was there.”

“Oh, Mo. That's wonderful.” She was sorry for the girl's trauma, but so happy that Mo had found the internal resources to help—and that he was able to give himself credit for it.

“So . . .” He put his mug on the coffee table and swung around to face her, his knee bumping hers. “Maybe I wouldn't be such an awful parent. If I were, uh, to do it again.”

Fizzy bubbles rose in her blood and she forced herself to take a calming breath before saying, “You could be an amazing father. If you decided, with all your heart, that it's what you truly want to do. Not something you're doing just to make me happy.”

He nodded, soberly and reflectively. “I hear you, Maribeth. But I need more time.”

“I know. Take whatever time you need.” Still, she felt encouraged that he was heading in the right direction—not just one that was right for her, but for him as well.

She finished the last couple of mouthfuls of cocoa and sat up to put her mug on the coffee table. “Unfold this couch, Mo, and take me to bed.”

* * *

As Mo ushered Maribeth down the hall of his landladies' home, he put his arm around her shoulders, wishing he never had to let go. There was one thing he was sure of: he wanted this woman. He loved her and, as much as he was capable of imagining the future, he knew he wanted to spend it with her. But did he deserve her? Was he the right man for her? She said she loved him, but could he give her what she wanted most?

One moment, he'd think yes, all optimistic that they could have a child, maybe children, and be happy. But the next moment, he'd have second thoughts. He'd remember his past; focus on his guilt and his flaws; worry that he couldn't possibly deserve happiness and he shouldn't drag this wonderful woman down with him.

As always, Daphne and Irene's kitchen was bright and attractive and smelled wonderful. The two women looked festive. The usually tailored Daphne wore a holiday sweater, black with snowflakes the same silvery white as her short hair. Irene's sweater was red with a big snowman, a little incongruous on an eightysomething-year-old and yet it went perfectly with her rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes. Both women's smiles were warm and welcoming, with no hint in their expressions that they saw him as a deeply flawed man.

Maribeth gave their hostesses her offerings, and the couple promptly set her and Mo to work. He took graceful flute glasses from a high shelf and Maribeth filled them half-full of orange juice while he uncorked the nonalcoholic sparkling wine. Pouring carefully, she topped up the glasses so the bubbles rose boisterously but didn't overflow.

Irene poured coffee—decaf for Maribeth—and put a bowl of sliced fruit, including jewel-red pomegranate seeds, on the kitchen table. Daphne took a casserole from the oven, saying, “It's a breakfast strata and I'm afraid you're guinea pigs.”

Mo didn't know what a breakfast strata was, but once the white-haired woman had put a sizable serving on his plate, he saw that there were layers of all sorts of good things: onions, potatoes, sausage, eggs, cheese, mushrooms, and who knew what else.

Once the four of them had all taken chairs, Maribeth, seated to Mo's right, lifted her flute glass and said, “To a happy and memorable holiday season.”

They all drank the toast and then Mo dug into the strata. “Mmm, that's good. This guinea pig says don't change a thing.”

“I agree,” Maribeth said. “When you get a chance, I'd love the recipe.” She helped herself to fruit and passed the bowl to Mo, who did the same before sending it on.

“Good,” Daphne said. “This is one of the dishes we want to serve for Christmas breakfast. Everyone's coming over here.”

“Andrew and Terry want to host the turkey dinner,” Irene said. “The first one in their new house.”

Mo had met Andrew, Irene's son, and his husband Terry. “Did your daughter and her family get here as well?” he asked the woman.

“Yes, they drove up from Vancouver on Friday,” she said. “My daughter and her husband along with my granddaughter, her partner, and the new baby. They're all staying with Andrew and Terry.”

“They'll love Christmas in Caribou Crossing,” Maribeth said. “It's the best, and way more fun than being in a big city.”

Mo had been in all sorts of places during the holidays and had never paid attention to the differences because it had never mattered. Now, as he'd seen this small town deck itself out with lights, ornaments, trees, menorahs, and holiday cheer, he had a pretty good idea what Maribeth meant. And it wasn't just the decorations—ranging from spiritual to humorously tacky—it was the cheerful, generous spirit of the residents.

Daphne rose and made fresh mimosas for them. When she sat down again, across from Mo, she said, “I truly regret not having had children. I had my students, of course. A new class each year. I wanted the best for them and did my best, but it wasn't like having my own children. I didn't let myself care deeply. Or, rather, I couldn't. My heart locked itself up when I said good-bye to Irene after teachers college.”

“You were an excellent teacher,” Maribeth said.

“Thank you. I was certainly never the most popular one. I wasn't a warm person.”

“Your students respected you,” Maribeth said. “We learned a lot from you. You got us at an impressionable age in fourth grade. Those who were paying attention learned good work habits, goal-setting, discipline, morality.”

The older woman smiled at her. “It's kind of you to say that. Looking back, I see that there's more I could have given, but sadly I didn't have it in me.”

“Oh, now, love,” Irene said.

Daphne took her hand. “No pity, please. I had a fulfilling, busy life and I had colleagues and friends who offered companionship and stimulating conversation. If I lacked for more, it was my own damned fault. I didn't have the guts to be the woman I was meant to be.” She tilted her head to study Maribeth. “Do you know when my heart opened up again?”

She gave the same answer Mo would have. “When you got back with Irene?”

“Before that. When your friend Cassidy came to stay here. She has a way about her.”

Maribeth laughed. “Yes, she does.” She turned to him. “Mo, you don't know her well yet, but Cassidy's special. She's frank, generous, smart, free-spirited.”