Perfect Bride for Christmas, A

by Dyann Love Barr

  Now that the call had ended, though, the peace filtered away like smoke in a wind gust. The only thing left was silence. Unwelcome silence. Too much temptation to let his thoughts roam...to Nicolette and to the new sister he hadn’t known about and didn’t want.

  The DJ finally played an Elvis Christmas song, but it was “I’ll be Home for Christmas” and again, Heath shut off the radio.

  He’d be home for Christmas all right, but home 3

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  would never be the same again.

  ****

  Nicolette Morgan peered out the window, scanning the street. She couldn’t see the car now, but it had been behind her when she pulled into the neighborhood. The dark blue Crown Victoria had shadowed her, off and on, for nearly a year. The car didn’t belong to her blackmailer. For one, his calls hadn’t started until August, four months ago. Besides, as long as she did as he asked, as long as she made the payments on time, he had no reason to follow her.

  No. The occasional tail she’d glimpsed had to be the police. They wanted to monitor her activities and see if they could gather enough evidence to file charges. Even though they hadn’t bothered her much since their initial questioning almost a year ago, she was still the prime suspect in her husband’s murder.

  The thought seemed like such an abomination, especially here, at Louisa’s home where Rudy had grown up. Memories of Rudy were everywhere in this house. Rudy as a smiling infant. Rudy in a peewee football uniform. Rudy graduating from high school. Rudy and Nicolette on their wedding day, faces smiling with an assurance that their life together would be perfect, that nothing could touch them. Boy, what naïve fools they’d been.

  Leaving her post at the window, Nicolette retrieved the watering can from the utility room.

  After filling the can, she made her way through the house, watering plant after plant until she worked her way into the living room where Louisa sat glued to the TV screen.

  Nicolette’s heart warmed at the sight of the sweet old lady. Louisa was still lovely, even though the ravages of severe osteoporosis had taken a toll.

  The disease had engraved deep wrinkles in her once 4

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  flawless skin and caused her stately bearing to bow until she nearly doubled over. Most of Louisa’s waking hours were spent in a wheelchair.

  Louisa still had a sparkle in her eye, still had a zest for life, in spite of her condition and the fact that she’d lost her only child less than a year ago.

  Which brought up a question Nicolette hadn’t really thought about before. Was Louisa still considered her mother-in-law, when the connection, the tie that bound them, the son, was no longer living?

  All that mattered was what they felt in their hearts, and Louisa loved Nicolette as much as Nicolette loved her. They would always be family.

  However, being around Louisa was bittersweet, not only because of losing Rudy, but it reminded Nicolette of the other things she didn’t have.

  Her own mother died when she was a teen. She hadn’t seen her father since she’d gone off to college.

  She had no idea if he even lived in the same town. At the time, she’d wanted to forget about everything that happened, forget about the hell her family went through. Now she would give anything to have her family again, even if her father was all that was left of it. Nicolette smiled, infusing her voice with mock irritation. “If you had any more plants, your house could be declared a rainforest.”

  Louisa spoke without pulling her attention away from the episode of Dr. Lawrence, a talk show host/psychologist who Louisa watched religiously.

  “Since you kill a few of them a week, I thought I should keep back-ups on hand.”

  Nicolette laughed. Unfortunately, Louisa was right. A green thumb was not one of Nicolette’s attributes.

  “Be right back with your dinner,” Nicolette said.

  After returning the can to the utility room, she went into the kitchen where beef stew simmered in 5

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  the crockpot. She dished up a bowl and a slice of the cornbread she’d made from a Jiffy mix. In the living room, Louisa still watched her television show.

  “That Doctor Lawrence is one smart cookie,”

  Louisa said proudly. “They can’t pull the wool over his eyes, no siree.”

  “That’s for sure,” Nicolette agreed automatically.

  Louisa’s worshipful attitude toward Saint Doctor Lawrence was the same every time she watched him, although the clichés changed a bit from day to day. Sometimes it was, “you have to get up pretty early in the morning to fool Dr. Lawrence,”

  or “that Dr. Lawrence is sharp as a tack,” or “Dr.

  Lawrence cuts right to the chase, doesn’t he?”

  Nicolette placed Louisa’s meal on the tray in front of her. Reaching an aged, spotted hand out, Louisa patted Nicolette’s arm. “Thank you. It looks delicious, but you do too much. You’re a godsend, my dear.”

  Nicolette bent and kissed Louisa’s cheek, smelling Jean Naté on her cool, dry skin. “So are you.”

  As Nicolette headed back into the kitchen to clean up the mess, the phone rang.

  “Would you get that, dear?” Louisa called.

  The caller ID wasn’t a familiar number; the name read ‘private.’ It sent a chill through her. The private calls she’d received lately had been less than pleasant. But, this was Louisa’s phone, so therefore safe. “Hello?” Nicolette bent to stick a bowl into the dishwasher as she spoke.

  “Next payment’s due Friday.”

  Nicolette’s hand stilled. She swallowed back the fear that rose to her throat.

  The voice was the same robotic, indistinguishable monotone, but in spite of its vapidity, her stomach lurched and her heart shot 6

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  into overdrive. “How did you get this number?” she hissed into the receiver, casting a glance at Louisa, who was thankfully glued adoringly to her hero.

  “You mean, how did I get the number for your mother-in-law, Louisa Jane Morgan, age sixty-three, address seven forty-two Willow Creek?”

  Nicolette’s insides quivered as the voice droned the stats on Louisa. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d quoted her bra size. The fear that had her in its grip for the past three months magnified. Not only was she in danger, Louisa was, too. Poor, frail, loving Louisa. The bastard better not lay a finger on her, but what Nicolette would do about it she had no idea. Obviously, if she could have stopped his sick game, she’d have done so with that first phone call seven months after Rudy’s death.

  “You said ten thousand a month,” Nicolette said quietly. “I gave you a payment two weeks ago. When is this going to end? I can’t keep doing this. I’m not a millionaire.”

  “I’ll let you know when you’ve paid enough.

  Until then, you’d be wise to do as I say. You don’t want the people you love to suffer, do you?”

  Nicolette gave a grim smile. Joke was on him.

  Since Rudy died, she had very few people in her life she loved. Right off hand, the only one who came to mind was Louisa.

  “I’ll have your money,” she told the stranger.

  “Yes. I’m sure you will.”

  “Nicolette, sweetie,” Louisa called from the living room. “Who is it?”

  “Just a telemarketer,” Nicolette answered, hoping her voice didn’t convey her fear.

  “Tell them we’re not interested and come back in here. Doctor Lawrence is about to give this cheating bastard the what-for.”

  “I have to go,” she said into the phone.

  “Tell her I said hello.” A creepy chuckle issued 7

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  from the receiver. “Hope you don’t force me to tell her myself.”

  Nicolette slammed the handset on the base and drew in deep breaths, trying to calm her nerves before Louisa saw her. The woman was shrewd.

  She’d know something was wrong.

  Not for the first t
ime, Nicolette wondered if she should go to the police about the blackmailer. There were a few problems with that, though. For one, the guy had told her—more than once—that if she went to the cops, he’d kill her, or someone close to her. For another, the charity Rudy founded, Renewed Hope, would suffer, probably fold altogether. The purpose of the charity was to help drug addicts get clean and give them a new start. If the contributors learned the founder himself was a drug user, donations would dry up. Once the police knew about Rudy’s drug use, there was no way Nicolette could keep it from the public, and then her whole purpose for caving to the blackmail would be defeated.

  There were also a few very good reasons to tell the police. One, maybe they could protect her and Louisa. Maybe they could find the guy and stop him.

  Two, if she told the cops her husband had been involved in drugs, they might investigate that angle.

  They might think Rudy’s suspicious death was drug related. They might stop suspecting Nicolette of murdering him. But then again, maybe not. If Rudy’s murder had nothing to do with drugs, then all she would accomplish by revealing his drug use would be to destroy a lot of lives.

  “You shouldn’t waste your time on those people,”

  Louisa said. “You’re about to miss the best part.”

  Louisa loved it when Dr. Lawrence ripped cheaters a new one. Her own husband had been a cheater, and Louisa was extremely proud Rudy hadn’t turned out like his father. She was proud of his faithfulness as a husband, his giving nature, his 8

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  service to the community, and his devotion as a son.

  Nicolette agreed her deceased husband had all those wonderful qualities, and she was proud to have been his wife, proud to have even known a man as good as Rudy Morgan. But she hadn’t learned until after his death that there were things about Rudy that she nor his mother had known.

  Now, those things were coming around to haunt her and she’d have to figure out a solution soon. She had to protect Rudy’s memory, his reputation. For the sake of his loving mother, and all the people who benefited from the charity, she’d do her best to keep the truth from leaking to the public.

  Even if it meant losing everything she owned to a greedy, sinister blackmailer.

  ****

  Half a mile from his family home of Hollyfield, Heath saw his mother’s Christmas lights. The closer he drew, the more details he could make out—bright red bulbs lining the roof, the wraparound porch, the stair railings. A glow hovered above the front yard, fallout from the display of Santa in his sleigh, complete with reindeer. Next to it, but no less spotlighted, was the life-sized nativity scene. He and his brothers had been raised to appreciate both the commercial and religious aspect of Christmas. His mother must have heard his Tahoe because he’d no sooner pulled into the driveway than the front door flew open. Amidst the still-falling snow, he saw her standing anxiously in the doorway, the light from behind spilling over her.

  He slammed the truck door and crunched up the porch steps into her waiting embrace, which was only slightly encumbered by a pair of crutches.

  “Heath!” she cried. “I’ve missed you.”

  Whether it had been ten months or ten minutes since he’d seen or spoken to her, it was the same refrain, as if just the fact that he now lived 360 miles 9

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  away would initiate her motherly longing to be near her middle child. But then, she acted the exact same way with his brothers.

  “Hey, Mom. I’ve missed you, too.” They finished the hug, and he looked down at her cast. “How’s the ankle? You in much pain?”

  “Nah.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “Just feeling a little foolish.”

  “You tripped over cats in the garage. Those things happen. It’s not like you tried sky-diving.”

  She laughed and playfully slapped his shoulder.

  “As if! At my age.”

  “Nothing you decided to try would surprise me.”

  She chuckled as she ushered him into the living room where Alex and Jesse were chatting in front of the fire. Jesse got up from her seat in the recliner and threw her arms around Heath’s neck, hugging him long and tight.

  When she released him, Alex shook his hand, then pulled him into a manly, shoulder pound, brother hug. “How’s it going, bro?”

  “Not bad. Glad to have the drive over with.”

  “Yeah. It’s a bitch, and I live near the Plaza.”

  Alex stood a few inches taller than Heath’s stocky, 5’11” frame. Where Heath was more of a blue jeans,

  country music, jock type, Alex was sophisticated and refined. Alex wouldn’t be caught dead with his hair looking like Heath’s shaggy mane. Alex’s dark hair was styled and clipped short.

  Hell, his haircut had probably cost more than everything Heath wore.

  “Hey Mom,” Alex said, a devilish glint in his eye.

  “What do you say about cutting into that apple pie?”

  Heath inwardly cringed. Apple pie?

  “We’ll wait until Clint gets here.” She turned to Heath. “You’re chilled to the bone. This ought to warm you up.”

  Without asking if he wanted it, she handed him 10

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  a large mug of steaming cider she’d plucked off a tray. He’d never had the heart to tell her he hated cider. Hated apples, for that matter. She’d been forcing the vile beverage and desserts on him during the holidays ever since he remembered. He’d suffered through it quietly.

  Now that he thought about it, since she’d shared the earth-shattering news of his father’s infidelity, maybe it would be acceptable for him to share his distaste for apples.

  “Drink up, bro. Mom made it especially for you.

  I’m having plain old coffee,” Alex said, making Heath want to hit him.

  “Are you going to the ceremony for Rudy?” Jesse asked.

  “I plan to.”

  “Expect quite a turn-out,” Jesse said. “Around here, Rudy was second only to Jesus.”

  Heath smiled. “So, nothing’s changed, huh?” He grimaced as he sipped the cider. “Has anyone talked to Clint?”

  “I did a little while ago,” Alex said. “He’s about an hour out.”

  “The three Kings will be reunited once more.”

  Jesse grinned, raising her coffee cup in a toast.

  Heath gazed enviously at the mug, wondering why his mother hadn’t given him coffee, too.

  Behind Jesse on the fireplace mantel were four stockings that had hung there every Christmas for as long as Heath could remember. One for each of the brothers and one for Jesse, who’d been like a sister. Would a fifth stocking bearing the name, Keeley, be added?

  They’d each put their own names on the stockings with glue and glitter when Heath was four or five. Clint’s name was neat and spelled correctly, but then he’d been seven or eight at the time. The ‘E’

  in Heath was backwards. Alex had always been the 11

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  smart one and the letters on his were correct, although they were out of alignment, with the ‘L’

  sitting almost on top of the ‘A.’ Jesse’s was only slightly neater. Part of the glitter on all four had fallen off over the years, but other than that, they were in pretty good shape.

  Amelia lowered herself to the chair next to the hearth and leaned her crutches on the wall nearby.

  Heath squatted down in front of her and searched her face. “You gave us quite a scare. Clint and I ripped Alex a new one when he called after the surgery.”

  “That was my doing. I didn’t want to worry you.”

  “I’m allowed to worry about you, so get used to it.” He kissed her cheek. “I’m just glad you’re all right.” He rose and settled into a chair near her and forced another drink of the cider down his throat. He looked at Alex. “I thought your fiancée would be here.”

  “She’s out with friends.” A scowl marred Alex’s forehead, and he stared into space for a lon
g moment.

  Heath waited for Alex to elaborate, but there was nothing other than that blank stare. “Yo, Alex, where’d you go?”

  Alex seemed to snap back. He kept the scowl as he said, “Nowhere, just thinking.”

  Whatever his brother was thinking, it didn’t seem happy. “Wedding jitters?”

  Alex shrugged. “You could say that. It’s a big step. The last two times didn’t work out so well.”

  Heath lifted his cup in a toast. “Well, here’s hoping the third time’s the charm. Hey, speaking of three, when do I get to meet my nieces? And Sydney,” he added belatedly.

  “Soon,” Alex said, but the reply was short and clipped, like he wasn’t quite thrilled about the meeting. Heath guessed it had more to do with his 12

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  fiancée than his daughters.

  Amelia clapped her hands together and pressed them to her heart. “Very soon, I hope. I can’t wait for you to meet them.” Pride beamed from her features, giving her a youthful glow in spite of her sixty years.

  Heath shot a look at Alex and saw the same glow of pride coming from him. He only recently learned that five years ago, he’d fathered triplets.

  Unfortunately, he was engaged to a woman other than the mother. Heath hadn’t met the fiancée yet, but if the information he’d gotten from his mother about his future sister-in-law was accurate, he wasn’t looking forward to it.

  “They’re adorable,” his mother went on. “They look just like your brother. Zoe is bringing them by in a couple of days. She’s doing the catering for the reception.”

  Heath had difficulty hiding his surprise. “Isn’t that a little weird—the ex-wife catering the new wife’s wedding reception?”

  Alex shrugged. “Ask Mom, she’s the one who hired Zoe.”

  “When I first hired Classic Kitchen, I didn’t know Zoe owned the business. She was recommended by a friend.”