A Bramble House Christmas (Carrigans of the Circle C Book 6) (16 page)

T
he stage was perfectly set for an English afternoon tea in the library. Aunt Mable sat in the best chair by the window, dressed in a high-necked lace blouse, a string of pearls and a flowing gray skirt.

She accepted kisses from her great nieces with perfect politeness. “Good afternoon, Sage.” Then, with slightly less approval in her tone. “Callan, dear, so good of you to come.”

“We’ve invited Willa to join us,” Eliza said. “Isn’t that fun?”

Aunt Mable’s eyebrows rose at the word “fun,” but she offered no comment, other than, “Interesting footwear. Your socks look very...comfortable.”

“Don’t mind her,” mouthed Sage from a vantage point behind her aunt.

Aunt Mable assigned them chairs around a linen-covered, circular table that had been set with exquisite china for four.

Eliza excused herself and came back with a tray containing an extra place setting for Willa, as well as a silver teapot, creamer, sugar bowl and lemon slices.

A three tiered plate stand containing tiny, crustless sandwiches on the bottom layer, miniatures quiches on the second, and lemon-flecked pound cake slices on the top, had already been placed at the center of the table.

It was all quite grand, like tea at the Ritz, Willa thought, as Mable did the pouring with an arm that was impressively steady for a woman in her eighties. At least, Willa assumed Mable was in her eighties. She certainly wasn’t about to ask. Now or ever.

In grande dame fashion, Mable controlled the conversation, asking about the welfare of her nieces’ husbands, then about Sage’s children. Once those questions had been perfunctorily answered, she turned to Callan.

“And the ranch, dear. Are you still spending your days outside like a common cowhand? Or has that sensible husband of yours convinced you your duties lie elsewhere?”

“Court values his life too much to ever suggest I belong anywhere but where I want to be. Which is generally either riding a horse, or looking after one.”

Mable shook her head, sadly. “Your dear mother would be so appalled. You’re nothing like her.”

“Actually Callan—and Dani—look a lot like our mother,” Sage said, injecting a note of cheerfulness into the conversation. “But Aunt Mable’s right about one thing. Mom intensely disliked living on a ranch.”

Sage had told Willa a little about her parents, so she knew Beverly Bramble had been killed in a ranching accident when Sage was a young teenager, and that their father, Hawksley, had died just last year.

“Please everyone, help yourself to the food,” Eliza encouraged, looking like she couldn’t wait for this occasion to be over.

As Willa reached for one of the quiches, Callan let out a quiet gasp.

“Oh, my gosh. Where did you get that ring?”

Callan was talking about the sapphire. Of course. Willa wondered why she hadn’t put the darn thing in the bottom of her suitcase. She was so tired of all the attention it was attracting.

Before she could explain about the ring and all she and Finn had learned from the local jeweler, Aunt Mable said, “I’m surprised you noticed, Callan. It’s just like the one my great grandmother—May Bell, for whom I’m named—is wearing in the portrait Eliza has hanging on our tree.”

“Is it? It’s also exactly like a ring of Mom’s Dad gave me after she died.”

“Really?” Eliza’s eyes sharpened. “But when I was doing my family history research, I asked about heirlooms. You and your sisters told me there were none.”

“I didn’t know the ring was an heirloom. Honestly, I’ve never worn it. I’m not much for jewelry.” Callan held out her hands which were adorned with only one simple gold wedding band. “Court tried to buy me a rock when we got engaged. I told him I’d rather have a new saddle.”

“Well, that explains where two of the rings are,” Willa noted.

“Two?” Aunt Mable asked. “You mean there are more?”

Willa glanced at Eliza, waiting for her nod, before she explained about taking her ring to be appraised by local jeweler, J. P. Pendleton. “He’s almost certain this ring was made by his grandfather for Henry Bramble. Apparently there were four rings made. Plus a necklace.”

Willa removed her ring and showed them the faint inscription. “This one says
May Bell
if you hold it under a good light.”

“And—how did you come to own this ring?” Callan asked.

Willa sighed, but before she could recount the story, Eliza stepped in on her behalf, telling them about her patient and his odd, but generous gift.

“At the time I didn’t realize how valuable this ring was. Or that it was a family heirloom.”

Callan shrugged. “Maybe the ring was pawned at some point.”

“That’s probably what happened,” Sage agreed. “We certainly don’t want to give you the impression that we resent you owning that ring, Willa.” She turned to her sister. “Is there an inscription on your ring?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never looked.”

“Well, would you?” Eliza said. “This is precisely the sort of stuff that should have been in my family history.”

“I’m afraid you published your book too soon dear.” Mable set her tea cup precisely on its saucer. “It seems there are still a few secrets hiding in this family tree of ours.”

F
inn got a kick out of spending time with Scout. The kid really was something else. Besides being naturally athletic, with boundless energy, he also had a sensitive, mature side that surfaced regularly and never failed to impress the hell out of Finn when it did.

Like when Scout came to him asking for his help in making a Christmas present for his mom. When Scout told him his idea, Finn knew Willa would love it.

For about a week he and Scout made a pretense of going outside for snowball fights every afternoon. In actual fact they would walk out the front door, only to slip in the back, where Eliza had permitted Finn to set up his art supplies on the breakfast table.

When he wasn’t helping Scout with his project, he was looking for ways to spend time with his mother. Finn had a good idea what was happening to him. He was falling in love.

Maybe it was his fear of turning into his father, or maybe he’d just never met the right girl before, but this was a first for him. And the rush of endorphins was doing crazy things to his head.

It certainly impaired his good judgment when it came to telling Willa about his father. It seemed every time he found the perfect opening they were either interrupted, or Willa changed the subject before he could find the right words.

After a while, the urge to come clean, like any unwelcome task, became easier and easier to push aside.

It almost seemed like it no longer mattered. His feelings for Willa were becoming so all-encompassing that all he cared about was spending time with her and her son. In fact, he was so distracted that when the call came from UPS about a letter he needed to pick up, he put the task off for over a week, even though he knew this had to be the results of his and Eliza’s DNA testing.

Even when he did finally pick it up, he didn’t bother to open it. He told himself it was because he no longer cared whether he was related to the Brambles anymore. Even the prospect of secret treasure no longer seemed tantalizing.

The real reason he was afraid to open the letter, however, was out of fear that real life might be on a collision course with his newfound love. If it came to facing the truth about his father, the Brambles and himself, or spending time with Willa, well, he chose the latter.

The last ten days leading up to Christmas were filled with fun family activities with Willa and Scout. They went skating almost every day, occasionally joined by Sage’s daughter Savannah and some of her friends. Scout’s skill developed with exponential speed. It was exhilarating to watch him master skating backward after only a week on blades.

After chaotic, action packed days, Finn looked forward to a quiet hour or two alone with Willa after Scout fell asleep. They often began with a ritual Scrabble game, followed by quiet conversation and passionate, if frustrated, kisses.

He longed to make proper love with Willa, but finding the right moment and place was tricky. He’d checked the lock on his door, just in case, and had discovered it did work.

What he needed next was the right opportunity.

Five days before Christmas, Sage’s mother-in-law, Patricia Anderson, an uber-groomed woman with big hair, fake nails and painted-on eyebrows, checked into the second suite on the third floor of the B&B along with a man about a decade younger than her, whom she introduced as Mike, her fiancé.

Via Willa, Finn learned that Patricia had been married about six times and had dragged Dawson all over the country when he was growing up. Relations between mother and son had gone through a fair amount of ups and downs, but she had come to spend Christmas with him and his family, hoping especially to bond with her brand new grandson.

Judging by the mountain of packages she had Mike carry up to their room, some of that bonding would take place by way of numerous Christmas gifts.

“Neither Sage nor Dawson are thrilled she showed up,” Willa confided. “But what can they do? It’s Christmas.”

Hearing her say that, Finn was reminded of his own family and the fact that he hadn’t heard from them for a few weeks. He’d sent a message to his mom and sisters explaining about Scout’s cancer and Willa’s medical bills. He’d told them that the matter was closed. As far as he was concerned, Willa had more than deserved everything their father gave them.

He hoped they agreed.

But they’d been suspiciously quiet since then. He’d only received one text and that had been from Keelin, quietly informing him she was thinking of quitting her job.

Immediately he’d tried phoning her back, but she hadn’t answered then, or any of the other times he tried.

He wasn’t opposed to her quitting, if that was what she wanted. He just hoped she wasn’t still carrying a load of guilt about the patient who had committed suicide.

As for his work, it seemed every time he opened his laptop or his sketchbook, something happened to distract him.

Usually, it involved Willa.

He was desperate to spend time with her, but suddenly there were people coming and going at all hours. The addition of Patricia and Mike changed the dynamics at the breakfast table, and also in the sitting room in the evening. Usually Patricia and Mike would have dinner with Sage and Dawson, ending up back at the B&B around nine—the time he and Willa had become accustomed to spending alone.

“I wish I could whisk you and Scout to my chalet in Boulder,” Finn told Willa one night, when they were saying goodnight in front of their respective doors.

For a moment, she almost looked tempted.

“But we’re prepaid at the B&B. And Scout is so happy here.”

It was true, Scout was no longer the pale, quiet boy he’d been those first few days in Marietta. His color was better, he seemed stronger and even looked taller. All the fresh air and activity was bringing him back to life.

“Besides,” Willa continued, “didn’t you come here to work? I’m afraid we’ve been a distraction for you.”

Finn held out his arms. “Distract me some more, why don’t you?”

“R
emember when I took you to visit Santa Claus?” Willa couldn’t believe it was the night before Christmas Eve already. This holiday was flying by much too quickly.

“You mean at that big, fancy hotel?” Scout had just finished his shower, and was now standing patiently, wrapped in a towel, while she used a second one to dry his hair.

“Yes.” So much had happened since that day. Most of it wonderful. Not only was Scout reveling in his newfound health and all the outdoor activities in Marietta, but she was beginning to believe she’d found true love with Finn.

After a rough beginning, when she hadn’t been sure if he really liked her, or just wanted to use her son for his illustrations, they were progressing into a love affair that felt like something from the movies. Not only did she adore being with Finn, but she admired him as an artist and as a man. So far their lovemaking had only extended to kisses, but she had no doubt that when they did come together, it would be fabulous.

But when would that be? Finn had let out some broad hints that he wanted her and Scout to visit him in Boulder for New Year’s Eve. Willa was tempted to take him up on that.