Holiday in Your Heart

by Susan Fox

  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.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “Long time ago.” Curious, he asked, “Brooke ever talk to you about our marriage?”

  “Not much. Except to take her own share of the blame for things being so bad.”

  “That’s good of her. I’m glad she got herself sorted around. Found herself a new life.” He reflected. “I’ve never seen her like that before. It’s like she’s calm inside herself.”

  “She’s found love, peace, joy.”

  Those were three mighty big words. Ones that Mo never expected to apply to himself. Yet Maribeth tossed them out as if they were no big thing. As if they were achievable.

  Brooke had achieved them. Back when he’d known her, Mo would have said that was impossible.

  “You didn’t answer my other question,” Maribeth said. “Have you ever been in love?”

  “Brooke was the closest. And that taught me my lesson.” He knew he wasn’t cut out for love, and in fact it was pretty amazing to even be dating. His life had sure changed since he walked back into Caribou Crossing.

  “Hmm.” Maribeth turned onto a smaller road marked by a wooden sign with horses on it that read RYLAND RIDING.

  Mo glanced back at the dog, who sat on the seat with his nose pressed up against the window. “Caruso, I figure it’s best that we leave you in the car until we get the lay of the land. Then when we head off for a ride, we’ll let you out and you can come with us. That sound okay?”

  The dog flicked him a glance that clearly conveyed skepticism.

  To Maribeth, Mo said, “When we get out, let’s be careful so he doesn’t escape. I don’t want to have to talk him down out of a tree.”

  She pulled the car into a parking lot and Mo gazed around, noting several other vehicles, mostly minivans and SUVs. Past the parking area were a couple of outdoor rings. One was empty, but in the other a barrel racing course was set up and a woman on horseback was rounding the barrels while another watched. Mo saw a large barn and, behind it, a big wooden structure. “Indoor arena?” he guessed.

  “Yes. Corrie’s probably teaching a children’s class in there now.”

  They both slipped out of the Mini and Caruso shot them a soulful gaze through the window.

  As Mo and Maribeth walked toward the barn, the woman who’d been racing around the barrels rode over to the fence. “Hey, MB,” she called.

  “Hi, Sally. This is my friend Mo.”

  He exchanged hellos with the pretty blonde who wore a cowboy hat and a denim jacket that was heavier than his. Her gaze was curious, but only mildly so. Probably she was used to Maribeth bringing male friends out to enjoy a ride.

  “Corrie told me you have a dog,” she said to Mo.

  “He’s in the car. I think he’s okay with horses. I figure Maribeth and I could ride out along the road we came in on and pick him up along the way. He knows both of us, so that’ll likely keep him calmer.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Sally said. “Corrie and I got the horses ready for you.” She turned to Maribeth. “It’s Campion and Daybreak. They’re in stalls in the barn. You’ll just need to tighten their cinches.” Addressing Mo again, she said, “You’ve ridden before?”

  “Yeah, a number of times.”

  “There’s a waiver of liability we ask people to sign the first time they come here. I left one in the office—Maribeth knows where that is—so please read it over and let me know if you have any questions.”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  He and Maribeth went to the barn and he breathed in the combined scents of hay, alfalfa, and horses. Much as Mo thrived on the machine-shop aroma he was familiar with, he had to admit that a well-maintained barn smelled pretty good, too.

  In the small office, he skimmed over a standard waiver form, and scrawled his signature and the date. Then he and Maribeth went to find their horses.

  The one he’d be riding, Daybreak, was a sturdy palomino gelding. Maribeth’s, called Campion, was a bay gelding. Maribeth greeted both horses by name and crooned to them as she stroked them. To Mo, she said, “They’re even-tempered. They won’t kick up a fuss as long as Caruso behaves himself.”

  Mo held out his hand to Da
ybreak, let the horse nose it, and then stroked him. “Hey there, fellow.”

  He and Maribeth led the horses out of the barn, tightened their cinches, and then mounted. It wasn’t half-bad being on top of a well-mannered horse, out in the country on a November afternoon, in the company of a fine-looking woman.

  They rode across the yard and through the parking lot. Caruso’s bright eyes peered at them through the back window of the Mini and he did that weird head-toss thing, looking eager and impatient. Mo swung out of the saddle and handed Daybreak’s reins to Maribeth. “How about you hold on to my horse while I get the dog out.”

  She took her keys from her jacket pocket and handed them over.

  Rather than press the button that would sound a beep, Mo unlocked the door manually. He eased it open a crack and Caruso’s nose was immediately there, scenting the air. “Remember, you gotta behave yourself,” Mo warned him.

  Really, what made him think that the dog would? He barely knew the creature, and singing dogs were, according to the girl from the shelter, a semi-wild breed, not one that had been domesticated for centuries. Knowing this could be a very big mistake, and yet also guessing that Caruso would consider the wide-open countryside to be the next thing to heaven, Mo eased the door farther open.

  The dog was out in one bound, but then he stopped, staring at the two horses. His furry, pointed ears cocked forward and then rotated, taking in the sounds in all directions.

  The horses stood still, their heads slightly down and their own ears cocked as they assessed Caruso. “He may look like a fox,” Maribeth murmured soothingly to the horses, “but he’s really a dog. You’ve seen lots of dogs before. You know they’re nothing to worry about.”

  To the dog, Mo said, “They won’t hurt you if you don’t yap at them or snap at their heels. Maybe best not to sing to them either, at least not until they get to know you. Come on over and meet them.” Mo took a step forward and tapped his left leg with his hand, encouraging Caruso to fall into place at his heel.