Tracy Wolff - A Christmas Wedding

His hand clenched involuntarily, crumpling the paper into a ball before he could think better of it. Part of him wanted to keep the article so that he could hurl it at her later when the inevitable confrontation came. But that was a childish desire, one he knew he wouldn’t give in to—no matter how angry she made him.

Besides, what was the use? The damage was done, and he didn’t think he’d ever be able to forgive her her duplicity.

With a sigh Jesse tossed the crumpled article at the nearest trash can—one of at least forty Desiree had had placed around the grounds for the upcoming ceremony and reception. Though he wanted nothing more than to sit in his study and brood, there was work to be done. His time at the Triple H was clearly coming to an end, but for now the horses were still his responsibility. He wouldn’t let them down.

As he headed away from the house, he couldn’t stop himself from turning and staring up at their bedroom window. Had she signed the papers? What would he do if she refused?

What would he do if she didn’t?

DESIREE GAVE HERSELF A few more minutes to cry, but she was a Hawthorne through and through—her father had drilled the pride and responsibility of the name into her from an early age. In a little more than seven hours, three hundred people would be here, expecting the wedding of the year. She’d be damned if she’d greet them with puffy eyes.

She took a moment to get herself together. Though the wedding had been planned in meticulous detail—Willow really had missed her calling as an army general—there were a few small tasks that still needed to be done. She had to get out of this room, keep moving, hold things together for another twelve hours or so.

Climbing to her feet, she crossed the room, then threw open the balcony doors and let the cool air flow over her as she surveyed the ranch that had been in her family for generations. This land was hers—as far as the eye could see and beyond. Passed from her great-grandfather to her grandfather to her father to her. The first woman to inherit in four generations. Had she worked so hard to be worthy of the name that she’d neglected the only man she’d ever loved? Had she somehow let what she felt for the ranch negate what she felt for Jesse?

She pushed the questions to the back of her mind, knowing that she’d have to deal with them eventually. Just not today. She fought to focus on the details to be attended to instead of the headache behind her eyes. She still had to check on the caterer, talk with the florist, make sure the ballroom was in order for the reception. But first she needed to get a couple of things.

Something borrowed.

She crossed to her jewelry box, pulled out the string of pearls she’d worn to her own wedding, just as her mother had done before her. Willow, so enthralled with the past that she had made plans to wear them almost as soon as she’d told James yes, had picked her gown because it looked best with the necklace.

Desiree could only hope they would bring her daughter more luck then they’d obviously brought her. Slipping the pearls into her pocket, she made a wish for her daughter’s happiness. Wished that Willow would never feel the rage and fear that pounded through her mother at this very moment.

Something blue.

Turning slightly, she stared at the bookcase near the door that held the many volumes that chronicled her life. Big John had been a huge stickler for details and an even bigger one for recording history. From childhood he’d drilled into her the importance of her place on the ranch, and from there, her place in history. It had become second nature to spend a few minutes every couple of days recording the events of her daily life in all their glory and monotony.

She’d promised Willow that her something blue could be her first journal—the one that told the story of Jesse’s and her relationship. As a teenager Willow had pored over the book, and Desiree had known, even before Willow ever gave voice to it, that she’d wanted to be swept off her feet as her mother had been so many years before. It had finally happened—later than it had for Desiree—but Willow had gotten her heart’s desire.

Desiree steeled herself as she reached for the lapis-blue journal Jesse had given her years before, told herself it was just a book. Still, her hand shook as she grasped the journal, and though she was determined not to open it, in the end she couldn’t help herself.

She turned the cover with trembling hands, read the dedication Jesse had written on the inside of the front cover. But before she could work up the nerve to read the first entry, a knock sounded and her daughter’s voice carried through the heavy wood door.

“Mom?”

Desiree opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a low-pitched croak. Clearing her throat, she took a deep breath and tried again. “Come on in, honey.”

Willow entered, looking so beautiful it nearly broke her heart. She was still dressed in her robe, her hair and makeup not yet done for the wedding. But she was tall and elegant, her nails done to perfection and her brown eyes so full of hope.

Had Desiree looked like that once? Had the mere thought of Jesse brought a similar glow to her face? Of course it had—from the moment she’d first laid eyes on him until…

Until when? When had the glow faded? When had the small irritations of daily life worn away the joy and passion, the hope and anticipation, until all that was left was pain? And love—even as the glow of youth faded, her love for Jesse had endured. It had endured more than three decades, would have endured at least three more, if he hadn’t done this. If he hadn’t…

“Mom, are you okay?”

Desiree jerked. “I’m fine, baby.” She reached out a hand, ran it softly down Willow’s cheek. “Just thinking about how things are changing.”

“I love you, Mama.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” Desiree answered as Willow threw her arms around her. The fuzziness that had clutched at her since Jesse had tossed down the divorce papers finally cleared as the strain in her daughter’s voice registered.

Desiree pulled back, stared into her daughter’s eyes. “What’s going on, Will?”

“I’m just happy.” Willow raised an unsteady hand to wipe at her eyes, but her smile trembled at the corners.

Eyebrows lifted, Desiree stared at her youngest child. “That’s a pretty pathetic smile for someone who’s crying from joy.”

“Mama, don’t.” The request was almost a wail as Willow pulled away.

“Don’t be concerned when my only daughter comes in here looking devastated on what should be the happiest day of her life?” Desiree grasped Willow’s hands in her own.

“I’m scared,” Willow blurted. “I’m really scared.”

“Of course you are. That’s perfectly normal—”

“No, it’s not. Not like this.” She turned away abruptly, strode to the balcony and stared out at the ranch.

Desiree sighed, ran a hand through her own short, disheveled crop of hair as she searched for the right words. Yesterday they would have been right there, waiting for her to speak them. But today…today only emptiness remained.

“What if I’m making a mistake?” Willow’s voice was soft and trembly, so unlike her youngest child that Desiree had a moment of alarm.

“Do you think you are?”

“I don’t know! That’s why I’m here, talking to you.”

“Oh.” Desiree nodded. “I see.”

“What do you see? Tell me, Mama.” Willow’s movements were agitated. “I’m not like you—I’ve never been like you.”

Desiree snorted. “Of course you aren’t. Why should you be like anyone but yourself?

“Come sit with me, baby,” she murmured when her daughter didn’t answer, drawing Willow to the small love seat by the window. “Now what is this all about?”