Christmas with My Cowboy

by Diana Palmer

  Memory caught at her. The two of them together, she locked in her husband’s close, loving embrace.

  “Nothing will ever go wrong for you again, my darling. I won’t let it. For every problem there is a solution. We’ll find it together.”

  “According to your friend, he did,” Rachael retaliated like a woman who wanted to bring back public hangings. “Stranger things have happened. It was August. Remember, one of your panic attacks erupted. It landed you in hospital. They kept you in overnight. All three of us were at your bedside. Scott, Rebecca, and I. Scott offered to drive Rebecca home, don’t you remember? I had my car.”

  Darcey clenched her hands in case she lost it and pitched something at her aunt’s head. For years before she had met Scott she had lived her life on autopilot, working hard to block out her grief, completing her architectural degree. It was what her mother had wanted. Achievement gave some meaning to her life. She was older now. Stronger. A much loved married woman. She had toughened up. Nevertheless the cautionary voice in her head that never went away advised her to breathe in and out. It was an exercise her psychologist had suggested for whenever she thought one of her panic attacks could be imminent.

  Breathe . . . in . . . out.

  In . . . out . . .

  That’s it, Darcey.

  No hurry.

  It was exhausting.

  She thought of Scott, her strength, her sanctuary, her raison d’être.

  “How do you know all this, Aunt Rachael?” Her low, sweet tones had taken on a remarkable sharpness. “I can’t believe Becky would be fool enough to come running to you to confess, considering the scorn you have for her. You treat Becky ‘like shit.’ Her words, not mine.”

  “Vulgar creature! If the cap fits, wear it,” Rachael said, curling her thin lips disdainfully. “She didn’t confess. I would have slapped her face hard. How did I come to know? I followed them. I was worried on your account. I’m a very perceptive woman. It was all I could do not to go inside the building and knock on the door.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t.”

  Rachael was further taken aback by the tart tone. “Scott has tremendous sexual charisma. Even I can see that. You must know Rebecca was and still is strongly attracted to him.”

  Darcey couldn’t deny it. “What of it?” she whipped out. “Scott attracts a lot of women. It’s part of his natural aura. It’s quite unconscious. He’s not the man to get hung up on personal vanity.”

  “All the more potent for it.”

  “He certainly wasn’t attracted to Becky.” A white energy was moving through Darcey. She wanted her aunt to disappear. Vaporize. It shouldn’t be hard. She was as skinny as a broomstick.

  Rachael shrugged. “You know what men are,” she offered. “Men who radiate energy. The build-up of energy has to find release. Rebecca is a pretty girl. She would have invited Scott in for coffee. We had been hours at the hospital. You can be certain once inside, she gave Scott the come-on. One thing leads to another, as they say. I’m sure she doesn’t mean a thing to Scott, but you had something of a relapse at that time, my dear. Sadly they’re always waiting around the corner. Manlike Scott simply wanted sex.”

  Darcey pinned her aunt’s dark eyes. God knows what lay hidden behind them. She wanted her aunt out of the apartment before her sense of alienation was complete. “So my husband was desperate for sex with Becky when he could get it freely from me the next day?” She had never come into direct conflict with her aunt. Now could well be the day.

  Rachael compressed her lips, clearly rattled by the dramatic shift in Darcey’s manner. “I’ve no need to hear that, my dear,” she said with more than a hint of reproof. “Please don’t go biting my head off.”

  “Don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m not up to it, Aunt, especially when you attack my husband. Sex is a dirty word with you, is it? None of us would be here without it. Even you. You didn’t arrive in a Hermès handbag. You certainly know how to draw an exaggerated picture of my panic attacks. Erupted? Really?”

  “I see nothing wrong with that word, Darcey. I’m sorry if it offends you. “

  “It does. You need to promise me you won’t use that word again. I go quiet.” It was true. No moaning. No screaming. No crying out. Silence with a complete absence of calm. Just inner desolation. The last attack had come right out of the blue. Now she understood why. Her aunt, who had come into the world thinking clinically, had an unfortunate way with words. Words were weapons. They could blast holes in one’s self-confidence and self-esteem.

  “The attack did come on quite suddenly. That’s all I meant.” Rachael gave a tight smile that had no connection with warmth.

  “My panic attacks have been few and far between, Aunt Rachael. That was the only one I’ve had since I married Scott.”

  “I know, dear girl. I was there. I’m sorry.”

  But she’s not sorry.

  “I do have a tendency to be too explicit,” Rachael said with a rare show of self-criticism. “I know some people view me as a cold person. I’m not.”

  “Don’t let’s explore that. So while you’re parked on the street in your latest Mercedes, thinking dark thoughts about my husband and my friend, you surmised illicit sex was going on?”

  “Is that so amazing?” Rachael’s eyebrows joined up with her widow’s peak. Surely it had grown farther down her forehead? “Men have thoughts about sex umpteen times a day. They’re such unfaithful creatures. I never, never, never trust them. Please don’t be angry with me, Darcey. You mean more to me than anyone in the world. You bring out all of my protective instincts. I want you to be happy above everything else. I know the panic attacks go back to the unresolved issues you still have with your mother’s death.”

  Darcey felt the blood drain from her face. “You’re suggesting I’m neurotic?”

  “Good heavens, no!” Rachael said, not half convincingly enough. “That would be crossing the line.”

  “Yet you constantly dance around it?” Darcey realized of a sudden that was true.

  “Please calm down, dear,” Rachael urged. “I have issues myself, but I’m a strong woman. I wish I could say you are too, but we both know you’re not.” It was a diagnosis delivered with her aunt’s usual abrasive candour.

  If only she were a conjuror and could wave her hands and make her aunt disappear.

  Hey, hey, go away!

  “No one knows you better than I do, Darcey.” Rachael studied her niece’s face, the lithe nymph-like body as if seeking fault. “I’ve tried to help, but you’re always expecting hell around the corner.”

  True.

  “But then you’re young,” Rachael conceded generously. “I’m actually surprised how well you’ve done. You’re a beautiful, vulnerable young woman, just like your mother. You’re the image of her.”

  “I see her every time I look in the mirror.” Darcey’s thoughts had become like caged birds, banging away against her skull. She needed quiet. She needed Scott. This wasn’t real drama compared to the death of her mother. These were cruel, callous, lies. Was she supposed to take it without answering back? No way!

  “You need to live with trust, my dear,” Rachael insisted as though trust was a clause in a contract she was drawing up. “It takes trust every time. Not deceit. I finally got around to tackling Rebecca. After all, I wasn’t one hundred per cent sure. I was only going on a hunch, but I played it to the hilt. All in a day’s work for me. The stupid girl panicked. Blurted it all out. The whole mess.”

  Darcey thought she might just freak out. And for once be extremely noisy about it. “My God, Aunt Rachael, do you seriously believe I’m going to accept this? Becky was making it all up. She’s not a happy person. It’s fantasy. Becky has missed out on a lot. That was one of the reasons I asked her to be my bridesmaid. Her parents divorced. She doesn’t get on with her father. Her mother has married a man she loathes. She’s always short of money. I’ve helped her out on many an occasion.”

  “More fool you!”r />
  The question was out before she gave it thought. “Did you ever in your life love a man?”

  For a split second Rachael’s eyes turned hard, ruthless, black. “I’ve buried the past, Darcey.”

  “I believe you.”

  Rachael speared her hand through her hair again as though immensely irritated by the shift in the conversation.

  Only Darcey had caught a glimpse into her aunt’s soul. “Only the past is never past, as Faulkner once said. So you did love someone?” Unwittingly she had struck a nerve. God knows who it could have been. She pictured an obsessively dedicated scientist who one day would discover some mind-blowing drug. He and Aunt Rachael would be able to talk about it for hours on end. Even in their twin beds.

  “The question doesn’t require a reply. Let’s say I too know what betrayal is.” She reached for her niece’s hand across the table.

  Darcey withdrew it.

  A rare slight.

  “Do you seriously think I wanted to tell you this?”

  “You do like your dramas.”

  “What else could I do? It’s terrible, but you have to know. Scott has to admit his mistake up front.”

  Darcey rose, unable to tolerate another word against her husband. Nothing felt right. Nothing. The man she loved body, heart, and soul would never betray her. Becky had been drunk. Dreamed it. “I know you mean well, Aunt Rachael, but I’d like you to leave.” She had always shown her aunt great respect. But this? “I need to be alone. I’m sure you have work to catch up on. I must cancel this evening. I’ll give you my ticket. You can take a friend.”

  “As if I would want to go now,” Rachael said, jerking angrily to her feet. There was an unattractive flush on her high cheekbones. She had always prided herself on controlling her motherless niece; now her niece was as good as ordering her out. “I’m your aunt, Darcey. Your dear mother’s only sibling. I’ve been instrumental in helping you recover from your grief. Try to remember that. I hated to have to tell you, but I have an obligation. That girl, Rebecca, is not of good character. She betrayed you. When you feel strong enough, I suggest you ask her. I can come with you for support.”

  “Thank you, Aunt, but I’ll do the talking to Becky. Maybe you intimidated her? You do intimidation well. She wouldn’t be the first person to confess to something that never happened. I assure you, I’ll get to the truth.”

  Rachael hefted her Hermès handbag as though it were a piece of heavy luggage. “Don’t let them get away with it. I know you will want to reconcile. You’re so dependent on Scott, but you may find his infidelity too much to live with. No one loves you more than I do. I’m the person your mother would have appointed to be your caretaker, your protector.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting my father?” Darcey asked in an ice-cool voice.

  “I’m surely not! I never forget Paul. But where is he, Darcey? I’ll tell you where. In London with Anne Matheson.”

  Now she knew for sure her aunt hated Anne. “It’s Anne Gilmore, Aunt Rachael. Dad and Anne live in London for their work.”

  “Believe you me, Anne Matheson was always after your father.”

  “Nonsense!”

  “What a child sees and what a grown woman sees are two entirely different things, Darcey.” Aunt Rachael’s grim expression implied there were some things Darcey would never know.

  She paused at the front door. No beauty, but a striking-looking woman, impeccably groomed from head to toe, though Darcey had always found it difficult to place her aunt’s style of dressing in time. 1920s? 1930s? “Every family has its secrets, Darcey,” Rachael said with the air of a woman who knew every last one. “What you need to do now is focus on resolving this issue as soon as you can. Or you can simply breathe it away like you do with your exercises. As your aunt, I had a duty to put the sorry facts before you. You’re the victim here, but only if you choose to be. Remember I’m always here for you. You are all I have left of my sister.”

  Were those tears that glittered in her aunt’s eyes?

  Gone in a blink.

  * * *

  Hours later, her so-called friend Becky greeted her with her game face on. That meant Becky had been psyching herself up for this encounter. In no time at all, shocked by the change in Darcey’s manner, she was in floods of tears, begging forgiveness.

  “It wasn’t really my fault.” Becky dashed a hand across her wet cheeks. “Scott dazzled me. He’s such a gorgeous man. It was an aberration, impossible to resist. I’d like to kill myself.”

  “Put it on your to-do list,” said Darcey. The bleaker the situation, the blacker the humour.

  “I’m so sorry.” Becky’s voice had dropped into her scruffy flatties. “I’m your friend. You’ve given me so much emotional support.”

  “Don’t forget the financial support. Four thousand dollars, off the top of my head.”

  Behind Beck’s drenched blue eyes something hostile flared. “Honestly, Darcey, I’ll pay you back when I can. Don’t think your generosity hasn’t worried me. I am just so grateful.”

  There was a dollop of poison somewhere in that.

  Jealousy? Envy?

  “Please stop!”

  Becky started to back up against the kitchen counter, strewn with a mountain of dirty dishes. Becky was no housekeeper. The flat was a mess. “I’m as good as alone in the world. I don’t have a rich father. I don’t have a rich aunt. Please don’t hate me.”

  Darcey’s inner voice spoke up.

  Get out.

  Out. Out. Out.

  She obeyed. She walked to the door, grasping the brass knob. “You’re not worth hating, Becky,” she said. “You’re an opportunist. I see that now.”

  Becky dropped to her knees like a penitent. “And you’re too bloody good to be true. Beautiful and clever. You shouldn’t be both. It’s not fair. I couldn’t help it.”

  “Sounds like betrayal to me.” Darcey could taste humiliation on her tongue. “I don’t need negative feelings in my life, Becky. I will check this out with my husband.”

  “Oh, do!” Becky invited, springing nimbly to her feet. “He’ll deny it, of course. They all do.”

  “You say that like you know all about it.”

  Becky looked as if she didn’t need a lecture about how she spent her time. “Most women have to live with infidelity at some point in their lives, Darcey. Try to view it realistically. It was just a moment of madness. A one-off. Scott wanted it. Or rather he wanted to be served. You know how sexy Scott is? I’m never needier than when I’m around him. I can’t describe my feelings. Maybe they’re abnormal?”

  “Let’s stick to worthless. I never want to hear from you or see you again, Becky. I don’t wish you ill, but I can’t stomach your treachery.”

  “I’ll go away?” Becky offered.

  “Make it Outer Mongolia.”

  “Damn bitch!” Becky muttered.

  “I beg your pardon?” Darcey whirled, adrenalin flushing through her blood. She wasn’t about to tolerate profanity from this traitor.

  Only an expression of utter wretchedness was moving across Becky’s pretty wet face. “Not you, Darcey,” she said. “You’re a true innocent, God help you. I meant your vulture of an aunt.”

  Then she started laughing. A crescendo of hysteria.

  Darcey had to escape at all costs.

  Nothing turns out as we expect. Sometimes things get better. Most often they get worse.

  That night she had another troubling dream about her mother. As always she wanted to run to her, throw her arms around her, but she couldn’t. In her dream state she was paralysed. She could only watch on. Only this time her mother didn’t walk away from her. She faced her, mouthing words one could not hear in dreams. Only on her mother’s face was an unmistakeable message.

  Be warned.

  Chapter One

  Two years later

  A splendid Christmas tree of jubilant forest green soared into the double-height entrance hall of the homestead, commanding the entire space. The
branches were lavishly decked with all manner of glittering baubles, the traditional red and green, the silver and gold, interspersed with ribbons of tinsel and exquisite little Christmas ornaments that had been in the family since forever and lovingly taken out of their boxes year after year. This year there were more additions in the form of hand-painted porcelain Alessi Christmas bells and some beautiful silver Georg Jensen collectables. Decorating the tree was important and hugely enjoyable.

  “Silent Night” was being wafted through the house over the state-of-the-art sound system. It was being sung by a boy soprano whose celestial voice had the power to move the two women to tears.

  Samantha MacArthur, daughter of the house, was up the tall ladder. Her mother, Sophie, was on a shorter ladder on the other side of the tree busy tying little winged Cupids to the lower pendulous branches. Samantha, a beautiful young woman with the MacArthur glorious russet hair and intensely blue eyes, was working her way to the top of the tree which would be adorned with an antique white porcelain Christmas angel with 18 karat gold-tipped wings.

  “I’ve something to tell you, Sam,” Sophie whispered, from behind her hand.

  Samantha had to smile. Her mother had long established herself as a character.“You have my full attention, Mumma,” she said indulgently.

  “Please come down off the ladder, darling,” Sophie begged, sounding unexpectedly serious. “I don’t want you to fall.”

  “Fall? For crying out loud, Mum. I’m not going to fall. What’s the problem?”

  “Please do as I ask.”

  Samantha obeyed. She had no idea what her mother was going on about. Her mother was full of surprises. “Okay.” Swiftly she descended the ladder, the Christmas angel in hand. She took a moment to put it down on the hall console.

  The words came tumbling out of Sophie’s mouth. “I’ve invited Darcey for Christmas.”

  Whatever Samantha had been expecting, it was never that. The admission went off like a bomb, striking her dumb.

  “You’ve what?” she finally asked, her voice lifting alarmingly.

  “No need to shout, darling.” Sophie glanced quickly over her shoulder in case someone would come running. “You’ll bring down the tree.”