A Knight Before Christmas

by Alicia Dean

  remembered had been like that, before the Incident.

  Afterward, he'd been morose and withdrawn, especially once

  her mother died.

  She had no idea what kind of man he'd become. During

  her marriage to Rudy, she suggested more than once that

  they find her father. She wanted to reunite with him and

  make him a part of her life, but Rudy strongly discouraged

  the idea. Nicolette argued at first, but Rudy convinced her by

  pointing out that if her father wanted her to be a part of his

  life, he wouldn't have given up so easily when she stopped

  contacting him. Rudy suggested that perhaps, just as her

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  father was a reminder to her of the misery her family

  suffered, maybe she was a reminder to him.

  Nicolette eventually stopped bringing it up, but she never

  stopped thinking about it. Never forgot the man who'd

  bundled her up and taken her outside in the Wisconsin winter

  and scooped up snow to make snow ice cream. The same

  man whose face beamed with joy as he'd watched her

  struggle through her first piano recital. That performance had

  also been her last. Looking back, she knew it was a

  performance only a parent could have loved. She'd known,

  even then, how very much her father loved her.

  That had been before the murder. Before he'd been

  wrongly accused of killing a young girl who lived in their

  neighborhood. The police eventually found the real killer and

  dropped all charges against Nicolette's father, but the charges

  hadn't been dropped in the hearts and minds of the

  community. Nicolette—in junior high at the time—had been

  tormented and ridiculed daily. Her father lost his job on some

  trumped up excuse. He'd found work delivering pizzas and

  barely eked out a living, but for all practical purposes, their

  family died the day of her father's arrest. Her mom had done

  so literally a few years later, but that was just a formality.

  Nicolette knew what life was like for people suspected of

  doing something horrible. Using drugs wasn't quite on the

  scale with murder, but for a man in Rudy's position, it was

  enough to tear down everything he'd built. Everything

  Nicolette had helped him build, and she couldn't let that

  happen.

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  She didn't know exactly what the blackmailer would do if

  she didn't pay, but whatever it was, she couldn't take the

  chance. Nor could she continue to pay, not when the money

  was nearly depleted. She'd have to get help. In spite of the

  threats the unknown man had made, she could no longer do

  this on her own.

  She knew what she had to do. Before she could pick up the

  phone to call Heath, it rang. She gasped, then admonished

  herself for being so jumpy. She relaxed, recognizing Marla's

  number on the caller ID.

  "Hey, darling, how are you this morning?" Marla said.

  "Lovely event last night, wasn't it?"

  "Yes. I was so proud of Rudy."

  "He would have been touched. Listen, are we still planning

  to get together about the Christmas party this afternoon?"

  "Sure. I was going to meet you around two at the

  museum. Will that work?"

  "That will be perfect. I'm getting nails this morning, so I

  won't be free until later anyway."

  Getting nails meant having a set of long, meticulously

  painted, acrylic nails put on Marla's slim, elegant fingers.

  Nicolette held up her hand and looked at her own neglected,

  stubby-nailed fingers and cringed. Maybe before the party,

  she should get nails herself.

  "Okay. I'll see you at around two."

  In spite of her grief and fear, Nicolette was excited about

  the party. Nothing could compare to the joy she felt as she

  looked into the elated faces of the little children, some whose

  lives had no doubt been filled with untold despair. Even the

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  teenagers couldn't hide their excitement, no matter how cool

  they tried to act. All of them had been through the same kind

  of hell. Not knowing if Mom or Dad would keep their job, their

  home. Not knowing where their next meal would come from.

  And, probably worst of all, the hell they faced in school. She,

  of all people, knew what it was like to be bullied and ridiculed

  by classmates. But, at least the home life was more private,

  not as many witnesses to the humiliation and despair of their

  existence.

  Refilling her coffee cup, she glanced once more at the

  microwave clock. Eight a.m. Heath should be up by now. She

  couldn't wait any longer, even if it meant disturbing the entire

  household. If she didn't tell someone soon, she'd go nuts.

  Lifting the receiver, she dialed Amelia King's house.

  The phone in the next room rang. Heath's mother

  answered. Her voice lifted with excitement as she said, "Oh,

  my goodness, dear. So wonderful to hear from you. Yes. Yes,

  he's right here. Hold on." A brief pause, then, "Heath! Phone,

  for you."

  "For me?" he called as he left the kitchen.

  He found his mother at the foot of the stairs holding the

  cordless phone out to him. Before he could take it from her,

  she whispered loud enough for the person on the phone to

  hear, "It's Nicolette!"

  Blood rushed to his head, and Heath paused a moment. He

  tried to tamp down the pounding of his heart as he brought

  the phone to his ear. "Hello. Nicolette?"

  "Heath, hi. I'm so sorry to bother you. Is this a bad time?"

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  "No, not at all. Glad you called," he said, uttering the

  world's biggest understatement. "What's up?"

  A long silence, then in a voice so soft he had to strain to

  make out the words, she said, "You know last night when you

  said you knew there was something wrong with me?"

  "Yes."

  "You were right, Heath. There's something terribly wrong."

  A ball of worry tightened in his throat. "What is it? Are you

  okay?"

  "I am. Right now, that is. But, I don't know... I'm not sure

  what's going to happen and..." She took a deep breath.

  "Heath, I need you."

  God, how he'd wanted to hear her say that, although she

  most likely didn't mean it sexually. It was a nice fantasy, but

  this was something serious. Something was wrong with

  Nicolette.

  "Sure, what is it?"

  "I'm in trouble. I need your help."

  Right. I got that part. "With what, Nicolette?"

  Heath looked at his mother. She'd been staring at him

  curiously, but turned away as if she hadn't.

  "I can't tell you over the phone," Nic said. "Can you come

  here? To my house? I'm not sure if I should even..." Another

  deep breath. "Never mind. I'm sorry. Just forget I called."

  "The hell I will!" His voice was harsher than he intended,

 
; and he caught his mother's disapproving frown before he

  turned his back to her and said more quietly, "If you're in

  trouble, I want to help."

  "Are you sure?"

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  "Of course. What are friends for?"

  Her voice now held a wealth of relief. "Thank you, Heath.

  Thank you so much."

  "Be there in half an hour." He hung up the phone, the

  happiness welling in his chest inappropriate considering a

  friend was in trouble.

  "What is it, Heath?" Amelia asked.

  "Nothing I can talk about right now, Mom."

  The doorbell rang, saving him from further explanation.

  Amelia's face lit up, the phone call forgotten. "That must

  be Zoe and the girls!" She scrambled for her crutches.

  "I'll get it," Heath offered. "By the time you trudge over

  there, they'll be in high school."

  "Oh, you. Watch your tongue, young man."

  Heath grinned and made himself walk to the door at a

  normal pace. As much as he wanted to meet his nieces,

  instinct demanded he speed to Nicolette's and rescue his

  damsel. For that, he'd need a white horse, right? He

  wondered what color Clint's horse was. Probably not white.

  He'd have to settle for a burgundy Tahoe as his trusty steed.

  When he opened the door, three little figures rushed past

  him so fast, he barely caught a blur of dark hair and fuzzy,

  blue hooded coats. He bit down a curse as a tiny shoulder

  came frighteningly close to his groin.

  Looking up, he found an attractive woman—nah, attractive

  wasn't the right word, she was a knockout—standing at the

  door. A woman who, although his brain knew it to be true, his

  eyes told him it couldn't be Zoe Hillman. Zoe had weighed

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  more than twice what this woman standing before him did. In

  spite of her weight, though, Zoe had always been pretty.

  "Heath?"

  He realized then that he was staring like a dumbstruck

  moron. "Yes. Sorry, Zoe. Come in."

  He reached out to give her a peck on the cheek as she

  entered. Deftly, she corralled the three miniature cyclones

  who were now swirling around their grandmother. "Girls,

  come meet your Uncle Heath."

  They stilled, and he wondered how long the lull would last.

  "Hello," he said, not knowing whether to offer his hand to

  shake or to hug them. He wasn't used to kids, and he didn't

  want to scare them off, although he had a feeling not much

  could scare these little rascals. Mischief glinted in the three

  pairs of blue eyes that looked up at him.

  "This is Macy, this is Michaela, and this is Mia." Zoe

  touched each of the tiny, dark heads as she introduced them.

  Heath peered down at the three little replicas of his baby

  brother and felt a sudden rush of warmth, an invisible bond

  and a fierce compulsion to protect. Before he could get all

  misty, he said, "Well, they're Kings all right." Then, realizing

  how that sounded, he turned to Zoe. "Oh, sorry. I didn't

  mean that like it came out."

  She smiled, her eyes sparking with humor. "Not a

  problem. I know what you meant."

  "They're beautiful."

  "Thank you. They're a handful."

  Heath shook his head. "I can't even imagine taking care of

  one, let alone three. You deserve some kind of medal."

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  She laughed. "I'm sure just being their mother is reward

  enough, although I'll admit there are times I question that

  theory."

  One of the girls, Michaela, if he remembered right, said,

  "You're our uncle?" with the doubt of a prosecutor questioning

  a defense witness.

  "I am," Heath said, squatting in front of them.

  "He's my little boy," Amelia said.

  Macy scowled. "But he's not even little."

  "Not anymore," his mother said, her voice sounding

  younger than he'd heard it in years. "But he used to be as

  little as you. Even littler."

  "Was he in your stomach like we was in our mom's?" Macy

  asked.

  Amelia guffawed. "Yes. I suppose he was."

  Zoe's face turned pink. "Come on, girls, let's go into the

  kitchen."

  "Yes, let's," Amelia said. "Gramma made breakfast. You

  like pancakes?"

  A cacophony of squeals rose, and Heath just had time to

  ruffle their soft hair before they ran into the kitchen.

  His heart felt light as he headed to his truck. This trip was

  starting to improve. He'd met his adorable nieces and was

  already half in love with them, and he would soon see

  Nicolette. Never mind that she was in some kind of trouble.

  Last night, he'd gone to bed thinking those few moments with

  her at the ceremony were all he'd have. Now, he would steal

  at least a few precious more.

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  During Nicolette's third stint of peering out the window,

  her efforts were rewarded. Heath finally pulled into the drive.

  She watched him climb out of the car, watched the wind toss

  his dark hair into a sexy mess. But when he squinted toward

  the house, she let the blinds drop.

  Her heart raced when the bell rang, and her hands shook

  as she swung the door open.

  Beneath his wind-tousled hair Heath's golden eyes

  searched her face. "Hey, are you all right?" He spoke before

  she had a chance to.

  "Come in. Please." She stepped back, catching a whiff of

  some kind of woodsy, masculine aftershave as he brushed

  past her. "I'm glad you came."

  "You sounded like you needed me."

  She led him to the living room and took his coat, a brown

  suede, still warm from his body heat. He wore jeans and a

  white knit pullover. Although his reasons for being there were

  not the most pleasant, it felt good to have him in her home.

  Odd, but good. Like, sexy good, and she wanted to lean into

  his warmth, his strength.

  To keep from doing just that, she dropped her gaze and

  made herself busy with hanging his jacket on the coat rack.

  "Have a seat. Coffee?" she offered.

  "No, thanks. I'm good."

  "I'll just go get mine, then. Be right back."

  When she returned, Heath stood next to the fireplace,

  looking at a photo of Donovan, Marla, herself, and Rudy at

  one of the many benefits the four of them had attended

  together.

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  "This is that couple I met last night?"

  "Yes. Donovan works at the charity. Marla is an up and

  coming politician. She's on the city council and plans to run

  for mayor in the next election."

  "Impressive. So, the four of you were pretty close? I never

  really heard you or Rudy mention them."

  She took a sip from the large red coffee mug. "We've

  grown closer in the past couple of years. They've been great
<
br />   since Rudy died."

  Heath moved over to stand in front of her, staring down

  into her face.

  "So, why don't you tell me what's got you so upset?"

  He was so close she could see the stress lines around his

  eyes. What had put them there? Maybe she shouldn't burden

  him with her problems. Not when he might have plenty of his

  own.

  So that she'd have time to think—and doing that with him

  so near was proving to be impossible—she stepped back and

  headed toward the couch. Stopping beside it, she took

  another swallow of the coffee, its warmth and strong flavor

  helping settle her nerves.

  "Why don't we sit?" she suggested.

  Heath settled onto one end of the sofa and Nicolette

  perched on the chair caddy-cornered to it.

  "You want to tell me what's going on?" His eyes narrowed

  as they once more searched hers.

  That was the third time he'd asked without her revealing

  anything and she wondered how many more chances she

  had. Would he finally grow impatient, say to hell with her and

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  leave? Maybe that would be the best thing, but it wasn't what

  she wanted.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened her mouth to speak,

  then looked away, shaking her head. "I don't know if I can..."

  Heath scooted to the edge of the couch and placed a hand

  on her knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Don't worry.

  Whatever it is, you can trust me."

  "I know I can."

  "You said you needed my help."

  "I just don't know. I shouldn't drag you into this." She

  stared down at his hand on her knee. Having it there felt

  right, although a little unsettling. Tiny surges of electricity

  moved over her skin, even though her jeans barred him from

  actually touching her flesh. Suddenly, all she could

  concentrate on was the odd wonder of having Heath here.

  This intimate setting. The desire racing through her. She

  sighed and shook her head, tried to push those thoughts

  away. "I shouldn't drag anyone into this."

  Hooking a knuckle under her chin, Heath lifted her face

  until she looked at him. "If you're in trouble, if you need help,

  you should tell me. You know I'll do whatever I can."

  She stared into his eyes, once more losing her breath.

  Pulling away, she stood and paced, pausing to take sips of

  coffee as she did. Heath rose, but stayed beside the couch