A Perfect Bride For Christmas (43 page)

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.

****

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

Alicia Dean

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

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A Knight Before Christmas

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

Alicia Dean

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 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 12

A Knight Before Christmas

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.”

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 the 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 13

Alicia Dean

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 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.

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.

He looked at the clock. Clint would be here soon and their little family circle would be complete, well, minus one member…Keeley Jacobs, the newest and, in Heath’s opinion, unwelcome one.

14

Turn the page

for an exciting preview of

Clint King’s Christmas homecoming

in the third
Three Kings
novel from

author Claire Ashgrove

A Christmas

to

Believe In

The Three Kings, Book III

Available from The Wild Rose Press

Snow crunched beneath the Chevy pickup’s tires

as Clint King navigated around a turn. In the silent dark, his blinker clicked a steady beat that tempered his nerves. In the rear-view mirror, he checked that the two-horse trailer on his bumper didn’t slip in the light sheen of ice. The last thing he needed was a wreck.

As if today wasn’t bad enough.

He mumbled as he glanced down at the gas

gauge. A few more miles and the warning light

would come on. Thank God Mom’s house lurked just around the next bend. He could finally get off the snow-covered highways between Brandenburg,

Kentucky and the Kansas City Northlands. Eight

hours of treacherous roads was enough strain to turn a saint into a sinner.

Then again, if his mother hadn’t dosed out a

heavy round of guilt, he’d be happily tucked into his couch, watching the latest DVD release. Even a

saint couldn’t stand up to Mom’s masterful

manipulation. He could still hear her heavy sigh.

The carefully chosen words echoed in his head.
But
Clint, you missed your father’s last Christmas.

He had. Certainly not intentionally, but he’d

missed it all the same. None of them had foreseen their father would die the following summer. This last summer. When Clint had been too busy

prepping for the track to come home for the Fourth of July.

Guilt rose up to curdle his stomach and

1

Claire Ashgrove

compressed his chest. He tightened his hands on the wheel. Damn, he didn’t want to do this. Coming back here stirred up all kinds of memories. Each mile he crossed brought pictures of the past. Dad taking him and his brothers sledding. Dad holding the camera as they all opened gifts. Even the last Christmas Clint had spent with his family his father had

maintained the specific role of photographer. Who would take the pictures this year—Alex?

Clint shook his head. No,
he
was the eldest.

That should be his responsibility. Alex had other things on his mind. More important things like a long-lost sister none of them had known about until a few weeks ago. Alex also had new triplet daughters to worry about. News Clint would have loved to see Alex’s high and mighty fiancée hear. That ought to be quite the twist to Alex’s Christmas Eve wedding.

Heath would be too caught up in the festivities.

Hell, for that matter, Heath probably hadn’t even thought to bring a camera. Even if Dad’s sat in the closet, Heath would be goofing off. He’d always gotten away with it too. As the peacemaker of the family, he’d never been on the receiving ends of Mom’s down-the-nose looks, or Dad’s stern, “I

expected more from you” frowns. No, Heath fixed everything with an innocent expression and humor.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Clint steered around a slow left hand curve. Up the hillside, pale blue lights dangled from high gables. White strands wound

around the porch beams. Even from this distance, the deep red glow of his mother’s Christmas wreath shone from the front door.

Home. Five years later, and he was home.

Further off in the distance, he observed the

festive red and green bulbs that always decorated Jesse Saurs’ folks’ barn. Some things never changed.