“You're right,” Miriam said firmly. “We're guests in Jessica and Evan's house and we don't want things to be awkward. But, Mo, I appreciate what you've said. And I, for one, will take you up on that offer.” She tilted her face up to Wade. “Of course, I don't speak for my husband.” Again there was a warning tone.
For the first time, the harsh lines of Wade's face relaxed. “Like hell you don't. Everyone knows you're the boss of this family. Mo, we'll set up a time and get together.”
Mo heaved the proverbial sigh of relief as he followed the other couple into the living room. Now all he had to do was survive a couple of hours under Wade Bly's judgmental eyes, interacting with the son and ex he'd abandoned, not to mention their spouses, two toddlers, and clever young Robin. Not a piece of cake by any means.
He wished Maribeth were there at his side. And not only because she had a gift for easing uncomfortable situations, but because he felt like half a person without her.
Or maybe, he thought later, after dinner, when everyone had assembled again in the spacious front room with its huge natural stone fireplace, it wasn't that he felt like half a person, but that he couldn't figure out how to mesh all his new roles into one identity.
He was father to Evan, father-in-law to Jess. To Robin, he was Mo-Mo, her stepdad's father. Evan and Jess's little boy, Alex, called him Mo-Mo as well, and in this case he really was the chestnut-haired child's grandfatherâthough he hadn't been invited to his second birthday party a few days earlier. Brooke and Jake's toddler Nicki also called him Mo-Mo. He was no relation to her, yet she seemed to have taken a yen to him and kept tugging on his pant leg and begging to be picked up.
Today he'd held toddlers and played with toy trucks and stuffed animals, he'd accepted Robin's invitation to go riding, and he'd promised to take a look at a hay baler that had given Wade some trouble the last time he used it. When Mo had felt compelled to return to Caribou Crossing, the most he'd hoped for was a civil relationship with Brooke and Evan. He'd never imagined being drawn into such a complicated web of relationships.
And these relationships mattered, they really did. It was just that without Maribeth, it was like there was a filter between him and the rest of the world, dulling the experience, turning the colors to shades of gray.
Maybe it was this odd phenomenon that made him wonder if Jess and Brooke were being a little reserved toward himâor perhaps he read them right, and they'd heard about his breakup with Maribeth. She was their friend. Of course they'd take her side.
It seemed that maybe he was right, because when all the guests headed out the front door around eight thirty, Brooke said, “Jake, will you take Nicki home? I'm going to catch a ride with Mo.”
Jake slanted him a cool look, but said, “Sure.”
Without speaking to Mo, Brooke walked alongside him to the Hennessey Auto Repair truck, and when he opened the passenger door, she climbed in.
He started the engine and waited as the other vehicles pulled out. Miriam and Wade were riding with Jake rather than walk home in the dark.
“Well,” Mo said when he put the truck in motion. “You want to talk to me?”
“You and Maribeth broke up,” she said accusingly.
“We did.”
“Why?”
“Hasn't she already told you?”
“She said she wants a baby, and she's right that it's the most amazing experience in the world. But she said you're adamant about not wanting to have children.”
“Yeah.” It seemed Maribeth hadn't told her about his vasectomy. He appreciated her discretion.
“Why, Mo?”
“Jesus, Brooke.” He glanced over in disbelief. “You of all people shouldn't have to ask that question. You saw what a crappy father I was.”
“I was a crappy mother, but I changed and so have you.”
“It did surprise me that you'd decided to have another child,” he admitted. Then he quickly said, “I mean, seeing you with Nicki, it's obvious you're a great mom. I just wouldn't have thought you'd choose to have a baby.”
She gazed out the windshield in silence, and then said, “Okay, here's the truth. I didn't plan to get pregnant.”
“Oh, man, Brooke!” He let out a low whistle. “Just like with Evan.”
“Yes, you'd think I'd have learned my lesson, wouldn't you? And I admit, when I found out I was pregnant at the age of forty-two, with bipolar disorder, I thought about getting an abortion.”
“What did Jake say?”
“He wasn't in the picture then. We'd broken up. I figured that if I did have the baby, I'd be a single parent.”
“I had no idea.” Her and her husband's love was so obvious, Mo had just assumed things had gone smoothly for them. “What made you decide to have the baby?”
“I started thinking of it as a person and realized I already loved her or him. I knew the thing holding me back was fear. Fear that I wasn't strong enough to go off my meds during my pregnancy, and then to be a single parent. Fear that I wouldn't be a good mother, after the mess I'd made with Evan.” She gave a soft laugh. “Fear versus love. Love won out.”
“And everything worked out.” He'd reached her and Jake's house, which sat on a patch of land situated near where the road to Bly Ranch and Riders Boot Camp joined the two-lane country road. It was a cute, bungalow-style building and, like Maribeth's, had Christmas lights strung along the eaves and around the windows.
“Yes. As a result of luck, hard work, and lots more love.”
When Mo turned off the engine, Brooke undid her seat belt and reached over to touch his arm. “Are you so different from me, Mo? Why is it you don't want more children? Is it fear? If so, you'd be a fool to let that stop you. And how do you feel about Maribeth? Do you love her?”
“I, uh . . . Jesus, Brooke.”
“No, I don't expect you to share all of that with me. I'm just saying, don't be in a rush to reject the best thing that may ever happen to you.”
Maribeth was, most definitely, the best thing that had ever happened to him. But he couldn't give her what she wanted. Could he?
Brooke had opened the passenger door and was now sliding out. She started to close the door, and then leaned inside to say one more thing. “When Jake first proposed to me, I turned him down because I thought he was doing it out of a sense of duty. Because I was pregnant and not because he loved me. Thank God he came back and proposed again, and convinced me his feelings were genuine.”
Mo wasn't sure why she was telling him this. “I'm happy for you.”
“People make mistakes. Sometimes mistakes can be rectified.”
“I get it, that you think I'm making a mistake in saying I can't give Maribeth what she wants.”
“I don't know, Mo. Only you can answer that question. Only you know what kind of man you've turned into, what you want, and how you feel. What I will say is, MB's one of the finest people I've ever met, and she's a good friend of mine. Make up your mind what you want, and be honest with her. Don't hurt her any more than you already have.”
He'd been honest with Maribeth from day one, but he had to admit that his feelings about a lot of things had changed over the weeks since then. “The last thing in the world I want is to hurt Maribeth.”
“Then doesn't that tell you the truth of your feelings for her?” Leaving that thought hanging in the air, she closed the car door firmly.
As Brooke walked toward her house, the front door opened, revealing Jake framed in the doorway. What would that feel like, to have someone to come home to?
Mo pondered that as he drove the nearly deserted road back to town and pulled up in front of Daphne and Irene's house, where golden light came from an upstairs window. Another home shared by two people who loved each other.
Caruso came running down the block to greet Mo, and Mo bent to stroke him. Maybe he didn't have a real home or a woman who loved him, but he had this dog, and it seemed he now had family. He was coping. More than copingâactually enjoying the companionship.
But it was one thing to play with his grandkids for an hour or two, and a whole other thing to imagine taking on responsibility for a new life.
Maribeth had that kind of strength. She'd be a wonderful mother. She deserved a man who was like her, not a deeply flawed one like Mo.
Except it was him she seemed to want.
Chapter Seventeen
When Maribeth turned out the lights at Days of Your on Tuesday, six days before Christmas Day, and stepped outside, Caruso bounded up to her. Even though she hadn't seen Mo in more than a week, the dog had appeared every now and then to say hi, walk with her for a few blocks, or even cadge some food at her house.
She bent to reach out her hand. “Hey, you. It's good to see you.” His cold nose met her palm and she stroked his head.
“How about me?” Mo stepped out from the recessed doorway of the neighboring shop.
Her heart skipped. Why was he here? Still, she believed in speaking the truth, so said, “I missed you.”
“Me, too. Can we talk? Maybe walk and talk?”
She loved him, and so there was only one possible answer. “Of course.” She wrapped her knitted scarf tighter around her neck and took her gloves from her purse. He was wearing the heavy sheepskin jacket he'd bought from her store, and its masculine style suited him perfectly. The red scarf she'd given him set off his black hair.
They strolled in silence for a few minutes, walking from the side street where her shop was located to the main street of town.
“It's really looking like Christmas,” he said, sounding stilted.
“Caribou Crossing does it well.” Twinkly lightsâcolored strands and white onesâwere everywhere, casting pretty patterns on the fresh white snow. Each store window had a seasonal display. At the florist, it was poinsettias, holly, and evergreen wreaths; the toy store featured Mr. and Mrs. Claus and the elves wrapping an abundance of toys; at Kleinfeld's Deli a lovely menorah sat in the window, with a new candle lit for each day of Hanukkah.
Maribeth and her companions crossed over to the town square, where a big decorated tree took pride of place. Beneath it, wire-framed caribou had been rigged out as Santa's reindeer pulling a sleigh.
“I don't want to hurt you,” Mo said.
She glanced at him to see him staring at the faux reindeer. “I never thought you did. Nor did I want to hurt you. We just didn't communicate very well.”
“My fault,” he said gruffly. “I'm lousy at it. Don't have much experience.”
“Well, I have a lot of experience,” she said wryly, “and I didn't do that great a job either. I made assumptions, and that's always a stupid thing to do.”
“Want to sit? No, you're probably too cold. You've just finished work, had a long day.”
“Mo, I'm not cold. Let's sit.” She strode over to a park bench, brushed off a crisp lacework of snow, and plunked down.
He sat beside her, leaving a foot of space between them. Caruso gazed between the two of them and then went off to sniff at the caribou.
Maribeth restrained herself from asking questions. Mo had initiated this meeting and she'd give him time and space to say what he wanted to say.
Finally, still not looking at her, he spoke. “I don't know anything about love. Except that when I was with you, I felt something I'd never felt before. Like my heart came alive. Like it was warm and beating, and full. Like life might mean more than just passing through and doing no harm.”
She blinked against sudden tears. “You did?”
“And when we broke up, all of that died. I mean, I do care about Evan. And his family, and Brooke. But it's . . . pale. It's not like what I feel for you. That's so . . . big. Vivid.” Now he did turn to face her. “I think maybe I love you, Maribeth.”
A tear slipped free. “I love you, Mo.”
“Well, shit.” He looked stunned. “I mean, wow.”
She scrubbed a gloved finger under her eye, not knowing whether to be happy or sad. “But where does that get us? If we want such different things . . .”
“Maybe I'm rethinking,” he said slowly. “I can't promise to suddenly change and say I'd be thrilled to have another kid. But I'm thinking about it. Brooke talked to me, and I've spent more time with the grandkids, and . . .” He shook his head. “I had this idea of what my life was, and now it's all changing.”
Heart fluttering, she nodded, encouraging him to go on.
“When we first met, you asked me to envision the future, to dream. That wasn't something I'd ever done. I'm still no good at it because, well, I don't really know who I am. There's this new Mo Kincaid person that I seem to be turning into, and I don't know what he'll end up being.”
“I didn't mean to rush you.”
“I know. But you had everything figured out. The whole, uh, sperm donor thing. And then I came along and threw a monkey wrench in the works.”
“And you're the mechanic who's supposed to fix stuff, not break it,” she teased gently.
“I wish I could.” There was no teasing note in his voice, just utter seriousness. “I wish I could turn a magic screw or charge a battery and somehow make everything all right for both of us. But I can't.”
The dog chose that moment to run over and glance from Mo to her and back again, clearly impatient. “Not now, Caruso,” Mo said, and Maribeth could almost hear the creature let out a huff of frustration as he did one of those odd head tosses and then wandered off to sniff at tracks in the snow.
She turned back to Mo. “So what are you saying? Why did you want to talk?”
“I have no right to ask this, but I'm going to. Because I think I'm in love with you and because I want to be honest. I don't want to give up on something wonderful just because I'm afraid and uncertain. I want us to have another chance, Maribeth. I'm asking if you could be patient with me. If we could keep seeing each other and you could give me a little time to see if I can possibly get to . . . well, to being the man you want me to be.”
The man she wanted him to be? Those words rang a bell. Occasionally, Maribeth had been accused of being too pushy in trying to persuade friends to do something that, to her, seemed obviously right, but that they weren't ready for or simply didn't want to do. She touched her gloved fingers to her brow. “Oh, my. Is that what I'm trying to do? Turn you into a different man? That's not right.” Guiltily, she remembered, “That's what you said your parents did.”
He shrugged awkwardly. “It kind of is.”
“I'm sorry, Mo. You have to do what
you
want. I truly don't want you trying to turn yourself from a square peg to a round one, to fill some hole in my life.”
He was quiet for a bit and then reached his gloved hand across the bench toward her. “Maybe it'll turn out that I want to be a round peg. But I can't promise that.”
She wanted promises. Certainty. A baby. But she also wanted this man, and if their love was ever going to blossom into a happy future, she had to be patient.
She stretched out her hand and met his as it curled upward. “Promise me to be true to yourself. If you aren't, if you pretendâto me or to yourselfâthen it would never work between us, long term.” She'd seen more than one couple break up because one or both were trying to be something they really weren't.
Gazing at the faux caribou, she remembered something Brooke had said when Maribeth had first asked about dating Mo. Brooke had commented that she worried Mo might drag Maribeth downâbut then she'd changed her mind. She'd said that, of all those guys Maribeth had gone out with, none had changed her and she wouldn't give a man that power. At the time, something about those words had bothered Maribeth, but then she'd brushed them aside in the excitement of getting together with Mo.
Now she realized that it wasn't right for one person in a relationship to have all the power. It wasn't right to be inflexible.
Thinking about her friends, the ones who were now in happy relationships, she realized that, for most, the path of true love hadn't run smoothly. There'd been obstacles, sometimes ones that seemed insurmountable. Oftenâalmost alwaysâthere'd been adjustments and compromises. Not the kind where one person bent themselves out of shape for the other, but the kind where two people who truly loved each other looked deep into their hearts and found a solution they'd both be happy with.
She took a breath. “And I'll promise to think hard as well. Wanting a childâwell, that's always been there for me, ever since I was a little girl. But I know life doesn't always give us everything we want, and I know that people make compromises.”
He gripped her hand so tightly that if they hadn't been wearing gloves, it would have been painful. “Maribeth, you can't give up a long-held dream for me.”
“I'm not saying that I would. I'm just saying we both have a lot of thinking to do.” She turned to give him a tremulous smile, and found him watching her. “I have another long-held dream. To find a special man to share my life.”
A slow smile warmed his face. “So where do we go from here?”
She felt a little weepy, and for the life of her she didn't know whether it was because she felt a new sense of possibility or because she was afraid she might have to give up on one of her dreams. If she felt that way, she'd bet Mo did as well. They needed a change of scene, of pace. She raised her chin, shoving her concerns to the back of her mind. “Pizza,” she said. “Why don't we pick up a pizza, take it back to my place, and eat in front of the fire?”
“Now, that sounds like a fine plan.” Still clasping her hand, he stood and pulled her to her feet. “Thank you. For listening. For giving me another chance.”
She gazed up at his striking face. “Thank you for coming to me and asking, Mo.” Even if he had, once again, thrown her tidy plans for a total loop.
No way could she regret that when his lips, chilly from the winter air, met hers. As warmth sparked between them, she focused on one miraculous thought: Mo Kincaid was falling in love with her.
She held that thought close in her heart as they collected Caruso and walked over to Venezia Pizza, squabbled amiably over the choices, and sat across from each other at a small table with a red-and-white-check tablecloth waiting for their large half-salami, half-margherita pie.
The thought was never far from her mind as they drove back to her place, fed the dog and put him in the sunroom, and then settled on the rug by the fire with the pizza box and a roll of paper towels.
Mo had said he might love her. She'd laid her heart on the line and told him the truth, that she did love him. How would her heart survive if this second chance didn't work out for them?
He rose, and she glanced up. “Stay,” he said, moving to the fireplace and adding a new log. “I'm just going to toss out the garbage. Can I bring you anything back? A glass of wine or a liqueur, maybe? I've seen the bottles in your cupboards, Maribeth. I really don't mind if you have a drink.”
She would
love
a glass of wine or Grand Marnier, but she said, “No, thanks.” They'd promised to be honest and to talk, so she went on. “I'm avoiding alcohol. It was something the doctor at the women's clinic recommended, in preparation for getting pregnant. I'm also staying away from caffeine.”
He processed that in silence, and then said, “Tea, maybe?”
“A mug of chamomile tea sounds lovely. Thanks, Mo.”
When he'd gone, she glanced over at the lit-up tree and then turned on some Christmas music. It was the same mix she'd played the night they'd danced, starting with “Holiday in Your Heart.” A song about the true holiday spirit, about how if each person would reach out and be kind to someone who was down on their luck, the world would be a better place.
She sank down on the rug again, leaning back against the couch. LeAnn Rimes really put things in perspective. Maribeth had so much: a cozy house, a wonderful community, a business she loved, the best grandparents in the world, and a huge collection of friends. An amazing man whom she loved, who seemed to be falling in love with her. How selfish was she being, that she wanted even more? She had always wanted more and been denied it, and now perhaps it was time to give up on another dream. Gazing at the tree she and Mo had put up together, melancholy seeped through her.
He returned to the room and put a warm mug in her hands.
“Thank you.” She cradled it, watching the handsome, complicated guy in faded jeans and a black jersey who lowered himself to sit beside her. If she could have Mo and Caruso, did she really need anything more?
He was holding a bottle of lemon-lime soda and took a sip before turning toward her. “Tell me what it means to you, having a baby.”
“What?” It was the last thing she'd expected him to say.
“I mean, I guess most women have a maternal instinct, but I don't really understand it.”
She frowned and put her mug down. “Not all women want children. And I'd guess that for those who do, it's a bit different for each one. And, I'll point out, a lot of men want children, too.”
“Sorry, I didn't mean it the way it came out. What I want to know is how
you
feel about it.”
Okay, that was better. In fact, she counted it as a positive step that he'd asked the question. She picked up her mug again and inhaled the familiar, comforting scent of chamomile. “It's like there's a part of me that will never be whole until I have a child. There's a craving I've always felt, and it gets stronger the older I get. But it's not just like a straightforward biological urge, it's this whole complex of things.”
“Go on.” They weren't touching, but his gaze was fixed on her face as if he was really listening and trying to understand.
“It's wanting to create life and then experience that moment of knowing there's a tiny new life inside me. Of spending all those days carrying that baby as it grows. Feeling it move, talking to it. Singing to it, even though I'm no great singer. Wondering who it's going to be when it finally emerges, and who it'll turn into as it grows up. Knowing it's going to be this incredible, unique human being who's made up of part of me and part ofâ” She broke off, because of course the ideal was that the baby's biological father would be the man she loved. “Well, of another special person. But the child would be so much more than just the sum of two sets of DNA.”