Full Hart, page 2
Joy’s gaze turned hard as she let it fall on her oldest, most stubborn son. “I hadn’t planned on introducing him to you today. You all let yourselves into my house.”
“Because you said you had an appointment and couldn’t come to the tree farm with us,” Rex protested, having been the quietest of the bunch up until now. “We figured we’d drop your tree off, but when we saw your car in the driveway, we figured you were home and would want to see your grandchildren.” He glanced at Grant. “We didn’t expect that you would be entertaining. Did you even have an appointment?”
Their mother’s cheeks turned an even brighter red.
Grant’s lip twitched.
“Don’t you play the guilt trip on me, Rex Barry. I see all of my grandchildren and children, and their wives, multiple times a week. Whether I had an actual appointment or not is none of your beeswax.”
Oh, Krista was sure Joy “had an appointment,” all right. An appointment for orgasms from the sexy hunk behind her. Krista bet Joy put that in her planner multiple times a week. Probably just circled the whole little square on the calendar with a big promising O.
Rex cleared his throat, which prompted all the other Hart men to start clearing their throats. She rolled her eyes.
“We’ll leave you be, Joy,” Krista said, turning to her husband and applying some pressure to the side of his arm to get Brock to start moving toward the door. “We’re sorry to have bugged you. There’s your tree, and we’ll touch base in a day or two about going to the gingerbread house display downtown with the kids.”
“But we just got to Nana’s,” Zoe protested. “Nana, did you bake any cookies today?”
“I didn’t, sweetheart,” Joy said. “Nana was busy—”
“I bet she was,” Brock grumbled.
Krista elbowed him hard in the gut.
Joy’s blue eyes filled with fire.
One of the many babies that belonged to their ever-growing family made a warbly noise, which did a great job at breaking the heavy awkwardness and tension in the room.
“She’s hungry,” Rayma said. “My boobs don’t work that way.”
Pasha rolled her eyes. “I’ll go feed her in the truck where there is less distraction.” She handed Raze back to Heath and took Eve from her sister, then rested her hand on Heath’s shoulder. “We should go.”
Just like the rest of the Hart boys, Heath’s expression was stony, but when Raze shoved his finger in Heath’s ear, the man was forced to snap out of his trance. His blond hair swished as he shook his head and gently swatted away his son’s hand. He blinked, nodded once, and followed his wife and their infant daughter outside.
Stacey tugged Chase and the kids out, Lydia dragged Rex out with Maeve, and Zoe and Zane seemed to understand they were not getting to raid Nana’s cookie jar—since that was what Grant was doing today—and took off outside after their cousins.
That left Krista and her brooding husband.
“A heads-up would have been nice,” Brock said, the tautness of his body reminding her of a cable pulled so tight you could bounce a coin off it.
Joy shrugged. “I’ll give you one now, then. Grant and I are seeing each other. It’s serious, and I’ve invited him to Christmas dinner. How’s that for a heads-up?”
If she didn’t know him so well, Krista would have thought steam would have started spilling out of her husband’s ears. His nostrils flared, and the muscle along his chiseled jaw bounced and pulsed. That vein in his neck and the way it was protruding out was starting to worry her though. He needed to take a serious chill pill before he dropped dead from high blood pressure or an aneurysm or something.
Joy turned to Krista. “I look forward to hearing from you later in the week, honey. I’ve heard the gingerbread houses this year are something special.” She smiled at Krista, avoiding her son’s heated stare.
Krista shoved Brock’s arm as a way to tell him to get moving. “We’ll leave you two be. It was nice to meet you, Grant.”
Grant nodded once. “Nice to meet you, too, Krista. Hope to see you again real soon.”
Brock was near twice her weight, and if he didn’t want to move, no amount of her shoving or nudging would have made him budge. But he knew she meant business and that his mother wasn’t going to give an inch—not right now.
So thankfully, Brock mustered up the decency to leave, and Krista closed the front door behind them.
All the Hart boys, Krista’s sisters-in-law, and the kids were having a little tailgate party on the street out front.
Krista rubbed her hands together and blew on them, watching her heated breath rise up and disappear into the gray sky above.
“Well, that was a Christmas surprise,” Rayma said. “Nana Joy is getting her stocking stuffed a little early this year.”
All four brothers growled.
“You guys can’t be serious?” Lydia asked, bouncing Maeve on her hip. “Are you all pouting right now?”
“We’re not pouting,” Rex said to his wife, crossing his arms over his chest. He had a black knit cap on to protect his bald head from the cold. The other bald brother, Chase, had a similar gray knit cap on, and his son Connor wore a matching one.
“Looks like pouting to me,” Stacey replied, pulling gloves out of her pockets and helping Thea and Connor put them on their hands.
“You wanna think about your mom getting plowed right now?” Rex asked his wife, a glint of frustration in his eyes. His trademark deep twin dimples could not be farther from his cheeks.
“If it makes her happy, yeah,” Lydia said. “My dad’s been dead for over twenty years. I hope she’s getting some. Do I want to hear about it? No. But I hope she’s getting her bell rung by a man that treats her right.”
Krista, Pasha, Rayma, and Stacey all nodded in agreement.
“Fucker’s in our father’s home, in our father’s bed. Shouldn’t be ringing anyone’s damn bell. Not here, anyway,” Brock grumbled.
Krista drew in a deep, lung-tickling cold breath and patted her husband’s hard chest. “Well, that’s not up for you to decide. It’s not your house, your bed or your body. Your mother has control over all of it, and it seems to me, she’s doing just fine.”
More grumbles and growls from the behemoth peanut gallery.
More eye rolls from the wives.
“I’m cold, Mama,” Zoe said, sliding her hand into Krista’s. “Can we go home?”
“Zane cold too. Zane go home and have hot chocolate with seven hundred nineteen fifteen five marshmallows.” Krista’s son shivered a little before stepping up to his father and shoving his hands under Brock’s T-shirt.
“Jesus, little man,” Brock said. “Your hands are like ice cubes. Okay, everybody in the truck. Let’s go home.” He scooped their redheaded son up and carried him to the back door of the truck. Krista exchanged glances with her sisters-in-law.
“Drinks at Mickey’s later?” Pasha asked.
“I’m in!” Rayma cheered.
Stacey, Lydia, and Krista nodded.
“I’ll drive, of course,” Lydia said with a small smile.
“And I’ll drink,” Stacey added.
“Me too,” Pasha agreed.
“Me three, obviously,” Rayma chimed in.
They all had a lot to discuss, and chances were once their husbands got over the shock of seeing their mother with another man, they’d be pissed and ranty and their wives would have to hear about it.
In Krista’s opinion, there wasn’t enough wine in the world to numb the brain pounding she developed when Brock got in one of his little snits.
Good thing Mickey kept his tequila reserves stocked, because wine just wasn’t going to cut it.
Chapter 2
Grant & Joy
Grant blew out a breath and raked his fingers through his short salt-and-pepper hair as he watched Joy close the door behind her enormous family.
“Well, that was …”
Joy spun around, her dark blue eyes suddenly appearing very tired. “Really exhausting.”
He grinned and encouraged her to come into his arms. She didn’t hesitate, and he kissed the top of her head when she pressed her body to his and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I was going to say, not how you were hoping to introduce me to your family.”
“Yeah, that, too.” She slumped into him, then glanced up the length of his body into his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
Her eyes went wild for a moment, then she narrowed her brows and pointed to the front of the house. “For all of that. I love those boys, but they can be such buffoons sometimes. Did they not think to knock?”
His lips twisted. “I think they did. We just didn’t hear them.”
Her cheeks turned a gorgeous shade of pink, and a small smile tugged at the corner of her very kissable mouth. “Oh yeah …”
“The women and kids seem great, and so do your boys.”
She chuckled slightly, which caused her whole small frame to shake. “Oh, they are. And they’re saintly—the women and kids, that is—for putting up with my boys and loving them as hard as they do. I mean we all are. They’re a lot of work and require a lot of patience and wine to deal with them.”
He snorted. “They’re looking out for their mum. It’s sweet.”
“It’s annoying. I’m sixty-six goddamn years old. I can take care of myself.”
“Good kids don’t see it like that, though, and something tells me you raised good kids, if not a little—”
“Bullheaded? Stubborn?”
“I was going to say overprotective, but you know them better than I do.” Tracing his fingers gently down her spine, he cupped her butt. It wasn’t the most comfortable position for them to stand in since she was so much shorter than he was and he had to bend his old man back in a way that kind of twinged to grab her. But he’d risk the dislocation for a handful of the ass he knew she worked hard to keep tight.
“They’re beyond overprotective,” she said with frustration in her tone as she broke out of their embrace and headed toward the kitchen. He followed her.
He’d follow this woman anywhere.
She filled the electric kettle with water, then plugged it in. “I just had this perfect plan, you know. I was going to invite the boys over for lunch, just the four of them, then introduce you to them. Do it gently. Tell them how much we care about each other, how long we’ve been seeing each other, and let them know that I have invited you to Christmas dinner.”
“And instead, they barged into your house, drew a gun, and practically caught us in the bedroom.” He leaned against the counter and faced her where she leaned against her stove, arms crossed in front of her chest, chin tucked.
“The look on Brock’s face …” She shook her head. “It was like he’d caught me cheating on his father or something. The level of betrayal in his eyes. And eyes that are exactly the same as Zane’s to boot. It … was gutting.”
“But you’re not cheating. Neither of us is. There’s no betrayal.”
She slowly lifted her gaze from where she’d been staring at the tile floor. “I know that. And you know that. And deep down, my buffoon son knows that. But the look on his face said otherwise. And it really, really doesn’t help that he’s nearly the spitting image of his father. I had to catch myself for a moment there, remind myself that I am the parent. That I am HIS mother, not his wife, not his child. Because I was going to let his gaze make me feel something I have no reason to feel.”
“Like you’re betraying Zane?”
She nodded. “But I’m not betraying anybody. Not Zane, not my kids. Not anybody.”
He stepped towards her, boxing her in against the stove. “You’re not. And you need to keep reminding yourself of that. It might take your boys a little bit to come around to the idea of us, but even though they seemed a little impulsive, they have you as a mother, and you’re very level-headed. We’ll just give them some time.”
The kettle clicked off, and steam rose from the spout.
He stepped away from her, pulled two mugs down from the cupboard, along with a canister of chamomile tea bags. He tossed a bag into each mug, then poured hot water over them. They’d been together six months, and he’d come to know his way around her kitchen pretty well. And not that she stressed out too often, because his woman had a very calm way about her, but when she was feeling a little overwhelmed, he knew she reached for her chamomile tea.
He handed her a mug, and she thanked him for it with a murmur before cradling it in her small hands and pressing it against her chest.
“I don’t have to come to Christmas dinner if it’s going to be too much, too soon,” he said. “Your family comes first, and I’ve had many a Christmas alone. I do just fine.”
Her eyes flashed up to his, pain swirling in the blue. “No. That’s not happening. You are coming. End of story.”
He struggled to hide his smirk at her insistence. He was also really glad she hadn’t agreed with him.
He was one hundred percent serious in his offer but had she said yes, it would have really fucking sucked. This was their first Christmas together, and the last thing he wanted was for Joy to not get what she wanted for Christmas. And he knew she wanted him there.
Her expression turned frustrated. “What about me? I’m part of this loud, obnoxious, crazy family, too. Why do they all get to have their partners and happiness, but I’m just expected to sit alone by myself and watch them all together just because my husband died too soon? I’m just supposed to be alone. How is that fair? How is that right? And how is it right that you have to sit home alone on Christmas, both of us miserable without the other, just to make my idiot sons feel more comfortable?”
It wasn’t right at all. But he wasn’t going to say that to her.
He knew a lot about Joy, so he knew how important her family was to her, which meant he wasn’t quite sure if he could voice such thoughts just yet. She seemed to slowly be coming around to the notions herself, though, that sometimes, she needed to put herself first. To do what made her happy.
She took a cautious sip of her tea, then let out a weighted sigh. “Maybe we left it too late? Maybe I should have introduced you to them sooner so they had more time to adjust and come around to you coming to Christmas dinner.”
He didn’t have anything to say.
He didn’t have any kids of his own, so he didn’t know how to handle them. He was completely taking her lead on this.
“I just thought that maybe if I waited until a week or so before Christmas to introduce you to them, then they’d be all caught up in the Christmas spirit with their kids and be more open to another person at the table.” She blew on the top of her mug. “That backfired.”
He leaned back against the counter and blew on his mug before taking a sip. The tea was still really fucking hot, but he liked it that way. He’d never been big into tea before meeting Joy, he’d always been a black coffee guy, but she drank a lot of tea, and over the last few months, she’d turned him into a tea enthusiast, too.
She seemed to be lost in her own thoughts as she stared into her mug with scrunched brows.
So he just took the opportunity to study her.
Fuck almighty, she was a looker.
He’d gone on a couple of dates over the last few years, but nothing amounted to anything serious, then one day he walked toward the lane he’d reserved at the pool, and there she was. She had her bright yellow swim cap on, her blue goggles, and that black racer-back one-piece suit that showed off her fit figure. She’d already set her water bottle down on the edge of the pool, along with her neatly folded towel, and was getting ready to climb in.
He almost thought about just turning around and going to the weight room rather than bother her and tell her she was about to jump in and swim laps in the lane that he had reserved.
But when she turned to him, smiled, and said, “Good morning,” he was a fucking goner.
Then he had to say something.
Only what he said was really stupid. “Uh, you’re in my lane.”
He would forever berate himself for such a stupid first line to this incredible, intelligent, beautiful woman.
She’d flipped the goggles off her eyes and leveled him with a gaze so striking, he nearly fell into the deep end—literally.
“Excuse me?” she’d said. Her tone hadn’t been harsh, but she also wasn’t some shrinking violet.
“I’ve booked this lane from seven until eight.”
She shook her head. “No, I have.”
At a public pool, they’d just have to grin and bear it, both dive in and dodge each other for an hour. But one of the perks of paying extra for a private club pool was that when you reserved a lane, you got the whole dang thing yourself.
She glanced at the sandwich board that had the lane number on it. “Number four.”
He nodded. “Yes, I booked number four from seven until eight.”
Her swim cap impeded her brow from lifting too high on her forehead.
“Well, then, let’s go check with Marjorie at the desk.” Then before he could argue, not that he planned to, she was pushing past him toward the desk where Marjorie sat.
As it turned out, poor Marjorie had double-booked the lane and they were both on the schedule.
Grant sent Marjorie flowers two weeks later for her wonderful blunder.
“I guess we can share,” Joy said, not bothering to hide her approval of his body with the way she let her gaze slowly travel from his toes to the top of his head. He was in a pair of skin-tight swim trunks that fell to his knees. It wasn’t a Speedo, because he just couldn’t go there, but it still left very little to the imagination. And he also took care of himself. He worked out every morning, ate right, got lots of sleep.
Over the last few years, his health scares had helped set him right. Not that he didn’t live a healthy lifestyle before, but he knew he was no spring chicken anymore and needed to take better care of his body.
“I’m Joy,” she said, sticking out her hand after scoping him out.
He grinned and took her dainty hand in his. “Grant.”
