Unmasking Her Secret Valentine – Extended Epilogue

3 Years Later

It was amazing how time flew by, and yet things didn’t seem to change all that much. Heather contemplated this as she set up the winners’ rosettes on the prize table for what was now being called the Burridge-Parsons Cup.

From humble beginnings three years ago, the charity race she had organized with her now husband had gone from strength to strength. It always took place the Saturday closest to Valentine’s Day and preceded her family’s annual Valentine’s Day Ball. It was now the height of the social calendar, and racers were coming from as far as Utah and Wyoming to participate in the race.

Perhaps the increase in prizes had seen to that. The first year all the winners got was a rosette and a blanket for their horse, but now there were trophies and medals, and for the winner of the two main races, there was a cash prize as well. And best of all, the proceeds still went to her charity, where they were used to feed, clothe, and shelter those in need.

“Heather, don’t you think Kyle should have a nap before everything starts?” her mother asked her. She had Heather’s two-year-old son on her hip.

The child looked ready to collapse, but that didn’t fool Heather. Like his father Andrew, until his eyes were forcing themselves closed, there were no guarantees. Many a time, she had put the little tyke down for a nap only to find his eyes popping open and staring up at her with a big grin on his face.

“Try a few more minutes,” she said. “Maybe take him up to the box and let him play there. Then he’ll just fall asleep with his toys and be no bother to you.” That was another way to get him to sleep. Keeping him interested in his toys until the last moment, and then he would just keel over, and that would be all anyone wrote for Kyle for at least an hour or so.

Her mother sighed. “I’ll give it a try,” she said.

“Thanks, I appreciate all the help,” Heather said.

Her mother nodded. “I’ll see what Primrose is up to. Maybe Charlotte and Kyle can play for a while and get tired together.”

Heather thought that was a good plan. Charlotte was Heather’s older sister’s third-born and only about six months older than Kyle. Still, at that age, six months made a huge difference in their play styles and abilities. At least Kyle was mobile now and could run around, even if it was unsteadily on his chubby legs.

She kissed his tousled head, which was the same dark color as his father’s, and watched him go with his grandmother through the growing crowd.

“It looks like it will be quite the turnout,” Lavender said as she walked up the stairs. Heather’s younger sister had graduated from school the year before and was now working as the only female reporter on the local paper’s books. She was quite proud of it, and Heather knew that Lavender only had the position because their father had spoken sternly to the editor. That, and Lavender had consistently handed in articles worthy of the front page for the last two weeks. She had certainly begun to bloom.

“How can you tell when the gates have only just opened?” Heather asked her sister, moving a rosette, so it sat in line with the others. “We won’t know until they’re all in.”

“Well, I saw the line outside, and it’s long,” Lavender said. “I’ve been interviewing people while they wait. It’s the best time for it. They’ve got nothing else to do but stand there and talk.” She grinned. “Smart, huh?”

“Yes, very,” Heather agreed and wondered if Lavender had asked or bullied people into speaking to her.

Pulling her notebook and pencil from her pocket, Lavender perched on the edge of the prize table and said, “Tell me, what do you plan to do with all the money you raise today?”

“I’ve told you,” Heather said. She had had a long and in-depth discussion with her sister about that exact topic only last night.

“That was off the record,” Lavender said. “This is on it.”

“Can’t you just use what I said off the record?” Heather asked. “It’s not different from what I’ll say now. The money is always put back into the community. It helps to fund the soup kitchen at the church, it buys wool and fabric for the sewing and knitting circles to make blankets and warm clothing for those in need, it goes to the Christmas baskets which supply families with food through to February, and so on.”

“And you don’t keep any of it?” Lavender asked.

Heather raised a brow. “We cover expenses,” she said flatly, knowing all too well that Lavender wanted a scandal, an angle that she could use to turn the story from something lovely and uplifting but dull, to something juicy and worthy of that front page she so coveted.

“And how do we know that nothing goes missing?” Lavender asked.

“Mr. Wallace at the bank does all the accounting for me,” Heather said. “He has always said that the charity’s books are open for anyone to come and inspect who may wish to. Perhaps you should. Before you make me angry.”

The implication that her own sister might think she could steal or be dishonest when those in need were on the line was annoying. It was unfair and unjustified. Heather could feel her ire rising and glowered at her sister.

“Oh, all right, you’re a saint, and this story is going to be back-page news unless I find an interesting angle to come at it from,” Lavender moaned.

“Are you and Donna coming to the Valentine’s Day Ball later?” Heather asked. “You didn’t tell mother.”

“Sure,” Lavender said. “Donna has my dress picked out already. No one said that living with one of your best friends could be so annoying.”

“Try living with a husband,” Heather said, but there was no malice in her tone. She loved living with Andrew, even if it was on her parent’s property in a little cabin they had built for the couple.

“I heard that,” Andrew said, coming up the steps. He smiled and kissed her cheek. She turned, not satisfied with a mere peck, and kissed him long and hard on the lips.

“Ugh! For the love of decency, stop!” Lavender moaned.

“One day, you will find a young man who turns your head, and you will want to kiss him all the time,” Andrew said.

Lavender regarded him skeptically. “I don’t think so. Husbands and kisses lead to babies, and there’s a real possibility of dying in childbirth. I don’t think I’d like to risk it. I have too much to do.”

“You can do it all,” Heather said, releasing Andrew from her hug but taking hold of his hand instead. He beamed at her, and she at him. Was it possible to love someone too much? She thought it was. Her little family was perfect, and she couldn’t wish for anything, even if someone dropped a bottle with a genie in it in her lap.

“Oh, no,” Lavender moaned. “Look, it’s Mr. Potter from New York. He must get sick of coming here every year to write about this race.”

“You would think so,” Heather agreed.

“Oh, please, our fathers show him such a good time. I think Mr. Potter considers this his annual paid vacation,” Andrew said.

Mr. Potter was a reporter who had helped Heather’s father set the record straight about who had found the Goose Egg diamond thirty years ago. At first, he had claimed it was only him, but three years ago, Mr. Burridge had seen the error of his ways and had included Andrew’s father in the tale as well. Mr. Potter had published an exclusive interview with Mr. Burridge regarding it and the race which Heather and Andrew had started that year. Funny to think that he was here again.

“Well, I have to go,” Andrew said. “Peter and Mr. Hendrix have things well in hand at the stables, but I want to make sure we get all the kids lined up properly this year.”

“We can’t have Mrs. Reynolds complaining again,” Heather said, nodding.

Her husband left the podium, which stood in the open area in the middle of the field with the track running around it. Andrew was swiftly intercepted by Mr. Potter, and Heather chuckled as he was forced to spend a couple of minutes speaking to the reporter before being allowed to go on his way.

“What did Mrs. Reynolds complain about?” Lavender asked, her pencil poised over her notebook.

“Only that her son Patrick’s pony wasn’t in line with all the others. He was slightly behind, and that is why he came stone last,” Heather said. “She never seems to notice that Patrick is petrified of riding and hardly manages to do anything on the pony but hold on.”

“Poor kid,” Lavender said in a rare display of sympathy. “I feel for him.”

“As do I, but we can’t tell Mrs. Reynolds anything. She thinks her child is the bee’s knees and the cat’s elbows.”

“Cats have elbows?” Lavender asked.

Heather shook her head. “Go, interview people. Earn your keep.”

Lavender saluted badly and left the podium. Heather was alone now and took the time to look over her speech. She’d gotten better at them now. Being the public face of everything was exhausting and often daunting. She found she was always judging herself. Why, just this morning, she had woken up and thrown up in almost the same breath. She had only just managed to get the chamber pot from under the bed before all of her stomach contents came bursting out.

Nerves. It was definitely nerves. Though why she should have such a violent case of them was beyond her.

“Good morning, Mrs. Parsons,” Mr. Potter said. He had made his way to her. Tall, stick thin, and looking grayer and more tired than last year, Heather smiled at the man.

“Good morning, Mr. Potter,” she said.

“Do you have time for a little word or two?” he asked, hopefully.

“Yes,” she said, slipping the paper with her speech on it into her pocket.

“Wonderful,” Mr. Potter said. “Can we sit?” he motioned to the chairs lined up on the podium.

“Of course,” Heather said. She should have invited him to sit. Where were her manners?

Mr. Potter, unlike Lavender, was a professional reporter. He had been at it a long time, and he spent a couple of minutes speaking to Heather just as a friend catching up. Only once they were reacquainted did he begin with the interview itself.

“I see that the museum has been built,” Mr. Potter said.

Heather had quite forgotten about it. It was dedicated to her and Andrew’s fathers finding the Goose Egg Diamond all those years ago. There were pictures of it, the original article, the revised article that credited Mr. Parsons with the discovery as well, and so on, on display. Even the diamond itself and some of the others that they had found at the time were there too.

The exhibit also included pictures of the two families and a write-up about their history and their lives. None of it impressed Heather. She considered it a prideful horror of a building that straddled the two farms, but the fathers, as she called them, were happy as could be with it.

“I don’t care for it much,” she said. “The only good thing about it is that it has stopped my father and my father-in-law from bickering at Sunday lunch over who gets to keep the diamond for the week.”

“Yes, I should imagine that grew tiresome,” Mr. Potter said with a wry twinkle in his eye. “But I see that your race day has taken off like an eagle. It’s soaring up the events list, some say.”

“Do they?” she asked. This was the first she’d heard of it.

“Oh, yes,” Mr. Potter said. “Folks in New York have heard of it now and not in the way that they hear about these things, you know, where they think of them as local trash. They’ve heard good things and are taking an interest.”

“Really?” she asked, feeling her breakfast wanting to make a reappearance. Why was this making her nervous? Perhaps it was just aggravating an already unstable situation.

“Yes. I’ve been interviewing the competitors, and they say it’s a very well-organized race. The competition is stiff. I hear that Titus is running again.”

“Yes,” Heather said. “He’s doing well. He’s stronger than before and looking good.”

“Good, I can’t wait to see him do well,” Mr. Potter said.

“When you’re at the farm, you should ask my father to show you Titus’ first foal he sired. His name is Titan.”

“Titan? Well now. Does he have his father’s form?” Mr. Potter asked.

“He’s little, so he looks like he’s all knees,” Heather said. “But I suspect, since Lady is the mother, that Titan will be a very good runner.”

“Excellent,” Mr. Potter said, looking truly excited. “I might have a little wager on today’s races. Yes, I might just.”

“Well, don’t count Tornado out. He’s also running well,” Heather said.

“Oh, dear,” Mr. Potter said. “And the out-of-town competition?”

“It’s fierce,” she said, not wanting to lie. “We have horses from Kentucky this year.”

“Yes. Perhaps I need to rethink this,” Mr. Potter said, scratching his head. “Well, thank you for your time. You obviously have a lot to do. I’ll be seeing you later.”

And off he went. Heather watched him go, chuckling. What an odd man he was.

She reread her speech and then had to go and greet a long line of people who wanted a word with her. They were owners and breeders and race aficionados, and she had to hobnob with them all. Luckily, Andrew appeared soon and told them all the races were about to begin.

This was it, Heather’s moment that she had been dreading. Swallowing down the burning in her throat that could only be bile on the way up, she stood and gave the opening speech. It didn’t differ from the one she had given the year before. How could it be when the event was essentially the same every year?

She found some things to comment on, the wonderful turnout, the enthusiasm, and the wonderful prizes that had been donated, including the cash for the winner. She spoke about the money for the tickets and how it would be funneled back into the community by helping those who were so desperately in need. And then she thanked everyone for coming and was finally allowed to take her seat on the podium to uproarious applause.

From her high seat, she could see Andrew at the starting line give her a thumbs up. He was always so proud of her no matter what she did. Heather thought that if she had thrown up over the podium, he might not have been as proud. Her stomach was not settling. She thought it would once the speech was over, but as the first of the three pony races in various age groups began, Heather found she had to leave the podium immediately.

Rushing past her father, John, Andrew’s father, and some special guests, she hurtled down the steps and just got behind a large bush before everything inside her came out. Heather felt a wave of dizziness come over her and sank to her haunches.

All around her, she could hear the screaming of the crowd, the thud of the ponies’ hooves on the packed earth of the track.

After being sick again, she felt everything subside, and a little bell began to ring in her mind. She froze, looking up at the partly cloudy sky. Could it be? After a short calculation, she realized that it very well could be. It probably was.

With all the crazy running around getting things ready for today, she had lost count of her cycle days. She was well overdue. Something like two weeks, wasn’t it? Oh, well then. Thoughts zipped through her mind in a muddle, and she was sick again.

When it seemed that her stomach had done all it could for now, Heather made her way to the pump at the stables and rinsed out her mouth. Then she went to find Andrew.

He was standing with Peter and Mr. Hendrix, consulting a clipboard.

“Yes, get Mrs. Reynold’s child closest to me. I’ll give the pony a tap on the backside to get it going if he doesn’t,” Andrew said.

“The other parents will complain,” Peter said.

Andrew shrugged. Then spying her, he smiled and walked over.

“Hi, are you okay? Is it your stomach? You look pale,” he said.

Heather nodded. “I’m fine. I have something to tell you.” Standing on tiptoes, she whispered her news into his ear. Was this the right time? Oh, who knew? She couldn’t keep this to herself any more than she had been able to the moment she realized Kyle was on the way.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

She shook her head. “But it’s the most likely explanation. I’m two weeks late.”

“Ah,” he said. And the smile spread over his face.

If there was one thing that Andrew could do that made Heather love him more than ever, it was his ability to take anything life threw at him in his stride. Nothing derailed him for long. And the idea of having another baby seemed to excite and thrill him, which made her feel a lot happier.

They hadn’t had a conversation as such about having children before Kyle was on the way. He had been a surprise, and Heather had assumed she would have time before falling pregnant again. It seemed that in her distracted state, she had completely missed days, and so here she was, knocked up and feeling happy, but ill.

“This is wonderful news,” Andrew said. He kissed her on the cheek and hugged her to him. “It’s the best news ever.”

“You think so?” she asked.

He nodded. “Definitely. Kyle can have a little brother or sister to keep him busy. What a joy.”

They both sighed at that thought.

The first pony race ended, and a winner was announced.

“I should get back,” Heather said.

Andrew nodded. “Don’t tell the grandparents until I can be there too.”

She nodded.

And at that moment, Heather knew that she was the luckiest person alive. To have so much good in her life and so much wonder was a blessing that many didn’t know. She couldn’t ask for more, and yet she kept getting it. Life was good, and it was only going to get better.

THE END

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