Holiday in Your Heart (10 page)

“Uh, no,” Maribeth said slowly. “Not until . . . well, I guess until I make a final decision.”

A shiver tickled her spine. Was she fooling herself to think that Mo might be her true love and that their lives and dreams could magically align? Given his track record and the things he'd said about himself, he wasn't the most likely prospect for the husband-and-father role. And yet there was that click. It had to mean something. She'd only find out what that something was by dating the man. If he truly was the love of her life, then somehow things would work out. Wouldn't they?

Chapter Six

After a Sunday lunch of canned tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich made in a frying pan, Mo walked from his apartment to Maribeth's house. He wasn't surprised to find Caruso on his heels. The animal seemed to have developed a sixth sense that led him to Mo. At nights, the dog slept in the rag-padded box Mo had set up for him under the overhang at the garage. Hank Hennessey had accepted his presence with a grumble, but last night at closing time Mo had caught the man tossing the animal half a roast beef sandwich, left over or saved from Hank's lunch.

During the day, Caruso went off on his own business, but he usually turned up to accompany Mo on his walks. He chased an occasional squirrel or bird—the dog's curiosity and energy both ran high—but mostly he paced easily along at Mo's left side. Mo'd had a couple of people politely inform him of the town's regulations about leashing and poop-and-scoop, and he had replied, “He's not my dog.” Occasionally, a dog lover tried to stroke Caruso, but the animal usually backed off.

Now Mo spoke to Caruso. “We're going to Maribeth's. You remember her. The pretty redhead.” For some reason, he'd taken to talking to the animal, at least when no one was watching. It almost seemed rude to stay silent, like he was shunning his unasked-for companion.

“You can't go out with us, though.” He reconsidered. “Or can you? Probably best not. She wants to go riding.” Saturday morning, when Mo had woken and checked his tablet, he'd found e-mail from Maribeth. She said she'd spoken to Brooke, and the other woman had no problems with the idea of Maribeth and Mo seeing each other.

Mo'd been happy about that, for more reasons than he could count. When he'd e-mailed back to ask when they could get together, Maribeth had said she was babysitting for friends on Saturday night. She'd proposed that, since she and Mo both had Sundays off work, they go riding in the afternoon.

“Riding,” he said to Caruso. “Can't say that was what I expected. She seems like such a, you know, feminine type of woman. Well, not that feminine women don't ride, but she's so . . . groomed. Soft. Sweet-smelling. Didn't take her for the outdoorsy type.”

The dog trotted along, looking up at Mo periodically as if he understood what he was saying.

“Lucky for me, I guess. I like being outside, being active. And it makes it easier to spend time with someone. Sitting in a bar or a restaurant across the table from a woman, there's a lot of pressure. When they talk about themselves, you have to say the right things back. Then they go and ask questions about you, and it's hard to know how to answer.”

Mo stopped talking as a woman and a little boy, holding mittened hands, approached. The woman gave him a bright “Good afternoon,” and he returned the greeting. The boy said, “Pretty doggy,” and no one mentioned the absence of a leash.

After the pair had walked on, Mo returned to musing to the dog. “You know something, though? It hasn't been so awkward, talking to Maribeth. She's . . . well, different, I guess. Different from other women. Easier to be around, for all that she's so damned sexy.”

He glanced down to see Caruso peering up inquisitively.

“Yeah, ‘different' is a cop-out word, isn't it? Too vague.” He tried to clarify his thoughts. “She's not judgmental. Oh, she asks tough questions all right, like whether I'm a man worth knowing. Maybe I even like that about her, how she makes me think. But what I like most is that she seems to accept me for who I am.”

They were walking down the block where Maribeth lived, on a well-weathered sidewalk that took them past a variety of houses: contemporary ones that hadn't yet settled into their surroundings, ranchers from the sixties, and older places like the one where she lived. Two-story wooden homes with well-established gardens, homes that looked like families laughed together in them and played in the yards. The kind of house that didn't fit a loner like him.

The kind of house that seemed made for Maribeth, to share with a husband and two or three kids. Yeah, she was sexy and flirtatious, but he got the sense that there was a much deeper, more emotional core to her. The kind of core that spoke to him—even inexperienced with such things as he was—of hearth and home and family. But likely he was wrong, or, as practical and desirable as she was, she would already have all those things. And that meant that Mo could date her and she wouldn't have crazy expectations that she'd somehow domesticate him and turn him marriage-minded.

As he and Caruso approached the house, her red-and-white Mini was backing out of the garage. She climbed out of the driver's seat, turned, and raised a hand in greeting as she saw them. Today, she did look more outdoorsy, in heavy jeans, boots, and a sheepskin jacket over a blue turtleneck. A red knitted hat was pulled down to cover her ears, and her hair—a different but equally vivid shade of red—spilled brightly out beneath it. The clothing suited her just as nicely as everything else he'd seen her wear.

He walked toward her as she came to meet him. “Hey,” he said.

“Hi, Mo. Did you know that not only do you get those deep dimple-groove things when you smile, but your eyes crinkle up at the corners?”

“Didn't know that.” He hadn't even realized he was smiling.

“So,” she said. “Are we calling this our first date?”

“Guess we are.” And didn't that sound fine? “In which case, I figure the right way to start it is like this.” He reached out with both hands to capture her head, leaning down as she came up on her booted toes. Her cheeks were pink and so were her lips, all rosy and glossy. All warm and soft when they met his.

He took his time with that kiss, making it gentle but thorough, not going deep or intense. Not yet. If the afternoon went well, the time for passion would come later. He knew it was there, had felt the blaze when they kissed the other night. Stoking it would be worth a few hours' wait.

For now, Maribeth met him and matched him, resting her gloved hands on his shoulders and not trying to change the pace or up the ante. Content, it seemed, to treat this as a hint of things to come.

When the two of them finally separated, she tipped her head down toward the dog that sat patiently beside him. “You brought a friend. Hi, Caruso.”

“The crazy animal's turned into my shadow.”

“Aw, that's so sweet. But what's he going to do while we go riding?”

“Guess he can't go?”

“Uh . . .” She considered the dog, who stared up at her with that blank “I'm not asking any favors” look of his. “Well, maybe. I'd have to ask Sally if it's okay. You aren't afraid he'd run away?”

“If he wanted to run away, nothing's stopping him from doing it now.”

“True.”

“We've gone for walks on a country road and passed riders, and he's been fine with the horses. He does like to chase squirrels and so on, but somehow he always ends up back at my side.”

“Let me call and see what Sally says.” She took her phone from her jacket pocket, scrolled, and a moment later said, “Corrie? Hi, it's Maribeth. You know that I booked two horses for a friend and me? Well, I was calling to ask you and Sally what you'd think about us bringing a dog along.”

She listened, and then said, “Yes, my friend has a dog.” She grinned at Mo, who mouthed, “He's not my dog.”

Another pause as she listened, then she asked Mo, “Do you think he's been trained?”

“The girl from the shelter said yes, and it sure looks like it to me. His biggest issues are being shy with strangers, liking to explore, and escaping confinement.”

Maribeth passed that on to the person at the other end of the line, along with what Mo had said about Caruso being fine with horses. She listened, and then said, “Sounds good. Thanks, Corrie.”

Stowing her phone again, she said, “That was Sally's assistant. She says they have a couple of clients who bring dogs along, but they need to be careful in the beginning to make sure the dog is okay with the horses as well as with the kids and adults who ride there.”

“Sure.” He glanced from Maribeth to her Mini, and then at Caruso. “Next question is, can we get him in the car?”

Maribeth squatted down and gazed into Caruso's eyes. She didn't try to pet him or grab his collar. “Caruso, we won't take you to the shelter. We won't ever take you anyplace where you'd be shut up. We're going to go riding in the country, where it's all wide-open space.”

As she spoke, the dog cocked his head, clearly listening. Now Caruso shifted his gaze up at Mo.

“I think you'll like it,” Mo told him.

Caruso seemed to be thinking, and then he let out that warbling song.

Mo laughed. “Seems to me that's a yes.” Between the dog and the woman, he'd laughed more this past week than he could remember doing in the last year or so.

Maribeth rose and opened the back door of her car. After the dog hopped in, Mo climbed in the passenger side. Maribeth didn't ask him if he wanted to drive, as women often did. He kind of liked her assumption that since it was her car, she'd drive.

“We going to that place on the edge of town?” he asked as she backed out into the street. “Westward Ho!? Caruso and I've walked past it a couple times, heading out into the country.”

“No. It's good and I used to ride there, but then I made friends with Sally Ryland. She has a place in the country, about a fifteen-minute drive, where she rents horses, boards horses, and teaches riding. She just got engaged to a rodeo rider, and next year they're going to add a rodeo school.”

“This is still horse country,” he commented, “even if the town has spiffed itself up since I was last here.”

“Horse country and tourist country.” She turned the car onto a road that led out of town. “There's Gold Rush Days Park, the Crazy Horse Guest Ranch, and lots of other attractions. Another friend and her family run Riders Boot Camp, an intensive riding program for people who come and live on-site for a week or two.” She flicked him a glance. “You do ride, don't you? I never thought to ask. I just assumed.”

“I didn't ride when I lived here before, but I've done some now and then over the years. I enjoy it.” Like long walks, it was a good pursuit for a loner. “You go riding a lot?” He glanced out the window, noting how cold and crisp the ranch land looked under a brooding gray sky. It wouldn't surprise him if it snowed.

“In the summer, I usually go out a couple of times a week—evenings or on a day off. Sometimes alone, sometimes with friends. I go less often in winter due to the short days.”

She gestured to a couple of thick-coated horses gazing over a fence. “I was horse-crazy when I was a girl. Nagged my parents to buy me a horse.” She gave a soft laugh. “They said I'd grow out of it, and I said I never would, but then I discovered boys. After that, horses didn't seem quite so important.”

“You don't own one now?”

“No. I wouldn't have enough time to commit, and owning one isn't important to me now. I even ride different horses, to get to know them and have some variety.”

The heater in the car was pumping and Mo unbuttoned his denim jacket. Maribeth pulled off her hat and reached over to turn the heat down. He caught a whiff of her scent, a different one yet again, not flowery or spicy but more herbal. Outdoorsy, like her clothes. Seemed she liked variety in more than just horses.

Maybe that was what had kept her single. Even though she'd said she might get married one day, her behavior suggested that at heart she had no desire to settle down with one man. If so, that was good for him. It meant she wouldn't put pressure on him. Wouldn't get hurt when inevitably they broke up. In fact, odds were that she'd be the one doing the breaking up, once the novelty wore off and she found a better man. That thought made him vow to enjoy every precious moment she shared with him.

Best to clarify the situation, though, rather than make assumptions. “So, this dating thing,” he said. “I take it you're no more into finding a serious relationship than I am.” He watched her profile as he spoke.

Her eyes widened for a moment. Then they narrowed and her lips pressed together. Finally, she said, “I start every relationship without expectations. I take it as it comes, see where it goes.” Another lip press, and then, “To be honest, I would like to fall in love with a wonderful man who's crazy about me. I'd like us to get married and have children.”

He swallowed hard. If that was what she wanted, she shouldn't waste her time with him.

Maybe that gulp was audible, or maybe she read his mind, because she flicked him a glance and said drily, “Don't panic, Mo. I've been dating for twenty-six years and I've dated at least twice that many men.”

“Did you fall in love with any of them?” He remembered her talking about that click, the tectonic plates thing.

She shook her head. “Nope. If I had, I'm sure things would have worked out for us and we'd be married now and have two or three children.” She shot him a quick sideways glance. “How about you? Have you been in love? Did you love Brooke?”

With some regret, he said, “No, I'm afraid not. I was hot for her, but we'd never have lasted more than a few months if she hadn't got pregnant.”

“You don't think she loved you either?”

“Only in the way teenage girls fall for guys in boy bands, or older dudes on motorbikes. But not once she got to know me and found out what a shit I was.”

“Why did the two of you stay together?”

He'd asked himself that question more than once over the years. He hoped he got another chance to talk to Brooke, because he'd like to hear her perspective. “Looking back, I don't really know. It's hard to understand the things you did when you were a kid. Maybe in our own misguided way, we both figured it was the right thing to do. We were married and had a baby. And then, well, circumstances built upon each other and it seemed like we were bound together. You know how they say in weddings ‘for better or worse'? We got the ‘for worse' part.”