by Beth Ciotta
“Then my timing’s perfect.”
He smiled a little and Chrissy floated between besotted and annoyed. She’d never considered herself shallow, but she was enamored with Mason’s good looks. His intelligent and kind blue eyes were her favorite feature, but every aspect—full mouth, chiseled jaw—was pretty much model perfect. Easy to see why she’d fallen into bed with him the first night they’d met.
Apparently few were immune to his charm. According to the media Mason had a stable of female admirers. She’d been one of many. Unfortunately that reality didn’t temper her raging lust. That handsome face was only one part of the killer package. Add the charisma of a rock star and the talent of an accomplished musician, and, oh, yeah, she was a goner.
Georgie elbowed her, interrupting the drool-fest.
Cheeks burning, Chrissy cleared her throat. “I’ll grab my coat. Maybe we can walk and talk.”
“I should go,” Georgie said to Chrissy. “You know where I’ll be and who I’ll be with, so call if you need us.” Then she narrowed her eyes on Mason. “We protect our own.”
“So do I,” he said, with a tender glance at Chrissy.
“Huh.” Georgie cleared her throat. “Right. Later then. Bye, Mrs. W!”
“Mind the icy roads, Miss Poppins.”
Georgie hustled out and Chrissy hurried into the staff room before she did or said something stupid. Like moving into Mason’s arms or offering to knit him a scarf. Too intimate on both counts. Mason’s ability to warp her good senses was alarming. She’d damned the man to hell every day for the last five years and now she physically ached to lose herself in his arms.
What are you? A hormonal teenager?
Disgusted by her girlish infatuation, Chrissy talked herself down to earth. Buttoning her secondhand coat, she considered the rest of her appearance. Although her jeans and black tee hugged her petite figure, any sexiness was offset by her clunky sweater boots, the frilly yellow apron embroidered with a fat bumble bee brandishing a crooked, red spatula—Buzz-Bee’s official logo—and her hand-knitted cap. Ten to one Mason was not fantasizing about getting up close and personal with her. Plus she smelled like cookie dough. Not exactly the perfume of a seductress.
“He’s here for Melody, not you,” Chrissy muttered to herself as she zipped out of the staff room, clipping poor Mrs. W and sending a cookie platter flying. “Crap! Sorry!” she exclaimed as the tray clanged to the floor and crumbs scattered. “Let me—”
“No. Go. Please,” Mrs. W said with an exaggerated sigh. “You’re a Nervous Nellie today, Miss Mooney. Whatever has gotten into you?” She shooed Chrissy away while glancing at Mason. “Don’t answer that. I’ll see you tomorrow. If roads permit.”
Did Mrs. W just make an off-color crack? Chrissy couldn’t go there. She muttered goodbye—she’d never muttered so much in her life—and hurried Mason out the door.
“Watch your step,” two men said as they shoveled and salted the walk.
Chrissy recognized them as two employees of the nearby hardware store. “Thanks, guys.”
“Anything for Mrs. W.”
The frigid air both braced and chilled. Chrissy looped her thick, long scarf around her neck and tugged on matching mittens as Mason donned leather gloves—far more sophisticated than his ugly holiday scarf.
“Interesting character. Mrs. W,” he clarified. “Is she always so formal? Miss Mooney? Miss Poppins?”
“Only with her former students. Velma Wickham taught elementary school for a hundred years. They had to boot her out of the place.”
“And now she works at the bakery.”
“My co-worker and boss. She owns Buzz-Bees,” Chrissy said. “Inherited it from her son when he relocated to Florida.”
“Given her age I’m surprised she didn’t move with him.”
“Mrs. W is a native and a lifer. Thank goodness. Her secret recipes have kept Buzz-Bees on the map. A lot of other businesses…” Chrissy fluttered a hand toward the random deserted stores. “As you can see, commerce is flagging. So,” she hurried on, anxious to know his mind. “Walk and talk?”
Mason indicated the mounting flurries. “In this?”
More snow had already accumulated on the newly shoveled path. “I guess it could be dicey.”
“And cold,” he said, shoulders hunched against the wind. “Last time I looked the temp had dropped to the single digits.”
Even though Chrissy’s cheeks stung from the icy winds, she couldn’t help but tease. “What are you, a wuss?”
“What are you, Nanook of the North?” Mason tugged her hat lower and knotted her scarf.
The easy banter and his thoughtful gestures catapulted Chrissy back to Napa Valley. She had to remind herself this wasn’t the struggling musician she’d fallen in love with. This was Mason Rivers—millionaire playboy. She took a step back—physically and emotionally—and looked down the snowy sidewalk, scoping out a port in the storm.
“Are you hungry?” Mason asked. “I saw a café—”
“Café Caboose.” She shook her head. “I’d rather not risk anyone overhearing us. In case you haven’t noticed this is a small town. Everyone knows everyone’s business, if given half a chance.”
“If it’s privacy you want, I can give you that. Ten, fifteen minute drive, depending on road conditions.” He cupped her elbow and turned her toward a snow-covered SUV. “I’ll drive.”
She wasn’t keen on giving over control. Plus, what if the storm worsened and she couldn’t get back to her car? “Let’s go separately. That way I don’t have to backtrack.” Before he could argue, she swung toward her own four-wheel drive. Tossing her purse in the car, she nabbed her long-handled scraper and attacked her snow-covered windows.
“Let me help,” he said.
“I got it,” she said. “You scrape your own so we can roll.”
“You sure about this?” Mason asked as they made quick work of the powdery flakes. “I’d feel better if you rode with me.”
“I’ve driven in worse storms than this. It’s all fluff. Where are we headed anyway? The Sunset Diner on 20?” Although, the diner was north of town. He would have come in from the south.
“Your friend Angel’s house,” Mason said, ducking into his car before Chrissy could absorb and react.
How did he know where Angel lived? How did he know Angel? They’d only met briefly in Denver, right? And wait… Her new place or old? She’d recently moved. Although her new place was here in town. Fifteen minute drive, he’d said. Which meant her big house on Eagle Butte Road. The house she’d put up for sale. What… Unless… “Oh, hell no.”
Putting her car in gear, she followed Mason down Frontier while digging in her purse for her phone. She’d vowed never to talk or text while driving, but curiosity overrode caution.
“Are you kidding me?” No juice. Zip. She was usually so good about keeping her battery charged and where the heck was the charger?
She dumped the contents of her purse on the passenger seat. Assorted personal belongings mixed with random toys of Mel’s. Santa puppet, box of crayons, a pink pony with a braid-able mane. Everything but the kitchen sink and a phone charger.
“Crap!” What if her mom called? What if Mel needed her? Maybe she should veer off and head home. Then she remembered. Zeke had given her an extra charger last month. Glove compartment. “Yes!”
She plugged her phone into the adapter while keeping an eye on the road. Driving one-handed through a dancing curtain of snow was bad enough. A minute later she had enough juice to see she had three voice mails and a text from Angel.
Heart pounding, she braced and listened.
“Call me ASAP, Chrissy. You’re not going to believe this. My realtor called and I… Well… Just call me.”
Beep.
“I’m assuming you’re slammed at work and I know how Mrs. W feels about personal calls on the business landline, so I thought I’d give your cell another try. Damn. Okay. And, cripes, he’s here. Gotta go.”
Bee
p.
“Just called Buzz-Bee’s. Mrs. W said you left early. With a man. Assuming it was Mason. Call me when you can.”
Anger welled, compromising Chrissy’s senses and focus. Surely Mason didn’t… Surely Angel wouldn’t…
The one-sentence text left her hanging.
I hope I did the right thing.
As in selling her home to Mason? As in not selling her home to Mason? Chrissy itched to return Angel’s call, to get the detailed scoop, but the snow was blinding. She needed to keep both hands on the wheel. She needed to focus. And besides she was only a few minutes from their destination.
“If it’s privacy you want, I can give you that.”
If Mason had the key to Angel’s house then…
Chrissy lost it. She grabbed her phone and dialed the man in the car just ahead. “What have you done?”
“Get off the phone and focus on the road.”
“Tell me you didn’t buy Angel’s house.”
“I didn’t buy Angel’s house.”
Chrissy’s shoulders slumped with relief.
“I rented it.”
Chapter Six
A game plan would’ve been nice. But it was too late for that. Mason had been flying by the seat of his pants for two days, driven by white-hot emotion and little else. His dad had stonewalled him on the phone. He’d stonewalled him in person. Flat-out denied any knowledge of a girl by the name of Juliet or Juliet Mooney or Chrissy Mooney or Christmas Joy Mooney. He claimed he didn’t know about any email or pregnancy. At least not that particular pregnancy.
Over the years, a half-a-dozen girls had accused one of the Rivers brothers of putting a bun in their oven. All in an effort to milk the family fortune. Each and every one a false charge. At least Mason was in the clear. He couldn’t swear the same for Jimmy. And, yes, all of those instances had been handled and swept under the rug by Boyd.
“But not in this instance,” the old man swore. He even got his lawyer on the speaker phone. Edward denied issuing a letter on Boyd’s behalf to anyone in Nowhere, Nebraska. Then again, he’d swear the sky was green in order to protect his number-one client’s privacy.
“Did you see this so-called letter?” Boyd asked Mason.
“No.”
“Then what the hell are you going on? Some chippy’s word?”
After that the conversation had deteriorated into full-blown ugly.
For once Mason had served the biggest blow.
This morning he’d driven away from Lincoln, discarding the family he’d been dealt and focusing on the family he wanted. West of North Platte he’d given into a whim, stepping up a plan he’d only partially researched. Instead of driving straight through to Denver, he took a major detour north, calling the posh doggie care where he’d kenneled Rush and booking an extra day.
Not wanting to give her a chance to shoot him down, he’d purposely steered clear of Chrissy while laying the groundwork.
I don’t trust this.
Mason did.
Seeing her in Denver had triggered memories of the happiest week of his life. They were better than good together. They were magic.
Mason wanted magic. And he was pretty sure Chrissy needed magic. Gone was the vibrant free-spirit he’d made music and love with in the valley. Now she was subdued. Cynical and wary. He didn’t want to believe he’d played a hand in shaping her new, troubled spirit. Either way, he was determined to reconnect with the maverick who’d roped his heart.
He’d rolled into Nowhere, a man intent on courting the mother of his child.
What have you done?
He was off to a rocky start.
He glanced in the rearview mirror for the hundredth time, breathing easier when he spied her headlights through the veil of thick flurries. She hadn’t veered off. She hadn’t spun out. He had to keep reminding himself that she was alert and used to driving in dicey weather. Just because his gut was tied in knots, that didn’t mean disaster loomed.
The night Jimmy had spun out and wrapped his car around a pole, his judgment and reflexes had been impaired. Even if it hadn’t been raining buckets, his chances of surviving that drunken joy ride unscathed had been remote.
“What a frickin’ waste.”
“Mind your own ass, Slick,” he could hear his brother saying.
“Right. Thanks.” Mason flexed his hands on the wheel and focused on his surroundings. He’d been pissed when Chrissy had called him while driving, but daydreaming was equally dangerous.
The narrow country road cut through miles of snowy plain, a vast stretch of frozen tundra peppered with the occasional ranch, random buttes, and clumps of snow-laden trees. A frosty wonderland that led to a warm, cozy house. A pricey three-bedroom home recently vacated by Chrissy’s friend, Angel. Perfect for now and maybe even the future.
By the time he turned into the long driveway, he had to roll through five inches of newly fallen snow. Chrissy was right on his bumper.
He knew he was about to get an earful, but no amount of bracing prepared him for her fury.
She flew out of the car, mittened-fists pumping at her side as she stomped through mid-shin snow. “What do you mean you rented this place? Why? So you can blow in and out of Nowhere on a whim? Play daddy for the weekend? Once a month? Just because you have more money than God—”
“Not quite that much.”
“—that doesn’t entitle you to test us like a piece of intriguing audio equipment. If you like us, you invest more time and energy. If not, you kick us to the curb. I—”
He kissed her.
Fueled by white-hot emotion—again—Mason held Chrissy close and unleashed his passion. Frustration and longing mingled and burned. She tasted as sweet as she smelled. And—thank you, Jesus—after a moment’s hesitation, she kissed him back with mutual enthusiasm. Passion ignited, she melted in his arms.
Heaven.
Or Napa.
At one time they’d been the same.
Reverting five years, Mason took familiar liberties, sliding his hands down her back and cupping her bottom. He finessed her against his car, pressing into her, losing himself in the wonder of brain-warping love. They burned—exactly as before. Before they’d parted. Before Jimmy’s death. Before Mason had been sucked into the life he didn’t want. Chrissy reminded him of who he’d been and who he could be.
She, this, they, meshed like the lyrics and music of a soul-stirring song. The perfect blend. A classic hit.
Magic.
But then she stiffened, breaking the spell with a soft push and startled expression. “Why did you do that? Why did you kiss me?”
Because I’m crazy about you. “Because I want you to remember who I am. Not the two-faced villain you’ve imagined me to be.”
She averted her gaze and his pulse pounded with a dozen volatile thoughts. Nine freaking degrees and he was on fire. Physically. Emotionally.
“Yes, I come from money,” he said, still gripping her shoulders. “Yes, I’m loaded and set for life. But that doesn’t make me heartless or selfish. My dad is a controlling bastard. I’m not. My mom is pretentious. She’s also a neat freak. I’m not. I still play guitar. I still like beer. I’m still looking to land that dream gig and—as you can tell—I’m still attracted to you.”
She sleeved snow from her cheeks. Or were those tears? “We can’t just pick up where we left off.”
“That kiss said otherwise.”
She looked at him then.
Tears.
Damn.
“Maybe you haven’t changed,” she said over the howling wind, “but I have. I have a child now.”
“We have a child.”
“What if you don’t like her? What if she’s too much of a challenge?”
“I won’t dignify that with an answer.” Mason thumbed away her tears, his heart cracking and swelling at the same time. God, how he ached to see his daughter. Her smile lingered on his soul like a cheery Christmas song. He knew he needed to take this slow. For Chrissy. For Melod
y. But that didn’t make the waiting easier. “Come inside and let’s talk.”
Chrissy wiggled out of his arms. “No kissing.”
The order lacked sting. Just like Rush. All bark, no bite. Mason’s lip twitched. “Not unless you kiss me first.”
“Dream on,” she said while plowing through drifts to get to the porch.
“You can count on it.” Smiling, he nabbed a shopping bag and his overnighter from the rear seat and then hurried ahead to unlock the door.
“I don’t have much time,” she said, moving inside the foyer ahead of him.
“I’ll make this fast. Take off your coat. Make yourself at home. That’s part of the reason I pushed so hard to get this place,” he said while tweaking the thermostat. “It’s familiar to both you and Melody.”
She cast him an enigmatic glance while they hung up their coats and stomped snow from their boots. Was she intrigued? Touched? Creeped out and feeling stalked?
“How about some hot tea?” Heart pounding, Mason hurried into the kitchen, grabbing a kettle from the stove and filling it with water. Another perk. Angel had left the house partially furnished. According to her, the bulk of what remained had been purchased by her late husband. It wasn’t really her style. It was also part of a life she wanted to leave behind. Mason had been in Angel’s company for less than an hour, but long enough to learn a slice of her history. Long enough to reinforce what he’d suspected in Denver. Chrissy’s close circle of friends was fiercely loyal. Which meant Chrissy was as special as he remembered.
“I thought Angel put this house up for sale,” she said as she entered the kitchen.
She looked adorable. Those tight jeans and scrunched boots. The fitted tee and that fuzzy yellow cap. All she was missing was the apron. He had a sudden and erotic vision of Chrissy making cookies in this kitchen…wearing nothing but that frilly yellow apron. “Uh. She did. But she wouldn’t sell it to me without speaking with you first. I pushed and she agreed to rent on a month-by-month basis.”
