A Knight Before Christmas

by Alicia Dean

  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

  Nate 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 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?"

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  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.

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  "Tell her I said hello." A creepy chuckle issued 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 time, 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."

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  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 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.

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  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 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."

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  "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 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?"

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  "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 a few years

  older at the time. The 'E' in Heath was backwards. Alex had

  always been the 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

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  cider down his throat. He looked at Alex. "I thought your

  fiancee would be here."

  "She's out with friends." A scowl marred Alex's forehead,

  and he stared into space for a long 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 fiancee 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. Alex only recently learned he'd fathered

  triplets five years ago. Unfortunately, he was engaged to a

  woman other than the mother.

  Heath hadn't met the fiancee 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.

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  "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. A friend recommended her."

  Wow. As if there wasn't enough drama surrounding the

  holidays this year: a new sister, their first Christmas without

  their father, Alex learning he was a father, and now Alex's ex-

  wife catering his upcoming wedding.

  Throw in a teenage pregnancy and an evil twin, and the

  King family would have their own daytime soap opera.

  Heath's heart and mind were only half-involved in t
he

  discussion that followed as the group moved into the living

  room and turned on the television while they waited for Clint.

  He stood restlessly and paced, pausing by the photos on the

  mantel. There were a ton of them, a photographic montage of

  the King brothers' childhood. Most of them featured their

  father.

  Heath stopped in front of one that used to be his favorite.

  He and his dad at a Royals game. Clint and Alex weren't

  there. It was Heath's tenth birthday, and on each of the boys'

  birthdays, they got to pick a special thing to do with their

  father, just the birthday kid and his dad. Heath chose dinner

  at Gates Barbecue and a Royals game. They'd gotten George

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  Brett's autograph. It had been the happiest day of Heath's

  young life. Boy, had Clint and Alex been pissed.

  Heath smiled at the memory. His father's smiling face

  stared back, and Heath's smile faded. He wanted to ask his

  father why he'd done what he had, why he'd betrayed his

  mother and why he'd raised Heath to be upstanding and

  loyal, when he himself hadn't been.

  But he would never be able to ask him any of that.

  Although his father's transgression—if that was his only one,

  and Heath wasn't positive about that—had happened before

  any of his sons were born, they hadn't learned of it until after

  his death, when Frank King's love child burst onto the scene.

  Amelia had known about it all these years but kept it from her

  sons. Just a little, Heath resented her for not giving him the

  opportunity to confront his father, to get an answer to the

  questions that plagued him.

  A truck sounded outside, bringing Heath out of his reverie.

  After several moments, the front door opened, sending a

  blast of cold air into the room as the eldest King brother

  arrived. Clint's dark hair was dampened with snow. He

  towered over Heath, his broad shoulders filling the doorway.

  "Hey, bro," Heath greeted.

  A warm sense of homecoming swept through him. Now

  their little family circle would be complete, well, minus one

  member...Keeley Jacobs, the newest and, in Heath's opinion,

  unwelcome one.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

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  A Knight Before Christmas

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