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Colton's Surprise Family
Karen Whiddon






Colton’s

Surprise Family

Karen Whiddon












www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Table of Contents


Cover (#u9ad6552e-7154-567c-9183-65eaba4dd332)

Title Page (#uf8d4bb92-09ee-5cc5-acd0-3ed7424a534f)

About the Author (#uca33d8a1-5121-5587-b6a8-216c8f3617ab)

Dedication (#u9b63d7f4-c77f-51d2-826b-1e7b1119825c)

Chapter One (#u89449fdf-5d41-5a28-908d-c9d2ddd6ccb5)

Chapter Two (#u31a04ac5-898e-55b4-a962-caacb510f7d7)

Chapter Three (#ue032b310-ebe0-5483-8a5e-071631810e77)

Chapter Four (#u92e82ff4-d168-523a-a86c-0133f71143aa)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Dear Reader,

I’ve always wanted to travel to Montana, so I loved spending my time on the Colton family ranch in my imagination. Add the Christmas holiday into the mix, and you have this writer’s idea of heaven. Snow and mountains and Christmas trees—oh, my! And let’s not forget the most important part—family and friends and love. So much love.

Writing a hero as damaged as Damien Colton was a challenge. Imagining how much this man must have suffered while imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit, and realizing that the scope of his loss was so much more than just time, broke my heart. Like many of you, I can’t resist a gorgeous, damaged man. Luckily for him, Eve Kelley has always secretly had a thing for him, and her love just might be enough to save him.

It was a double blessing that I was able to write this story during the holiday season and many times I wrote sitting by my own decorated Christmas tree. Love makes such a wonderful Christmas gift, don’t you agree?

Karen Whiddon




About the Author


KAREN WHIDDON started weaving fanciful tales for her younger brothers at the age of eleven. Amidst the Catskill Mountains of New York, then the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, she fueled her imagination with the natural beauty of the rugged peaks and spun stories of love that captivated her family’s attention.

Karen now lives in North Texas, where she shares her life with her very own hero of a husband and three doting dogs. Also an entrepreneur, she divides her time between the business she started and writing the contemporary romantic suspense and paranormal romances that readers enjoy. You can e-mail Karen at K.Whiddon1@ aol.com or write to her at PO Box 820807, Fort Worth, TX76182, USA. Fans of her writing can also check out her website, www.KarenWhiddon.com.


To my three faithful writing companions, Daisy Mae, Mitchell Thomas and Mac Macadoo. These three dogs (two miniature schnauzers and one boxer) have kept me company through so many books, barely opening their eyes when I talk to myself or pace as I try to figure out a scene. I couldn’t do it without them.




Chapter 1


Reeking of whiskey, cigar smoke and some fast woman’s cheap perfume, Darius Colton barely resembled the dignified patriarch Damien Colton remembered from his youth. Glaring at his prodigal son with red-rimmed eyes, Darius’s upper lip curled in derision as he pondered Damien’s question.

It was a question that deserved to be answered. Cursing his bad timing, Damien elaborated. “I’d like to see the bank statements for my account.”

“Are you questioning my word?” Darius snarled, his consonants slightly slurred.

“No.” Damien crossed his arms. “But that money should have been earning interest the entire time I was in prison. Now you’re telling me there’s nothing left?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you, boy.” With a dismissive smile, Darius turned away, only to glance back over his shoulder. “You’ve got nothing.”

Damien checked his rising temper, one of the many neat tricks he’d learned while incarcerated. Who knew it would serve him so well here in the outside world?

He kept his voice level. “I never signed anything authorizing you—or anyone else—to touch that money. I need an explanation. Hell, I deserve an explanation.”

In response, his sixty-year-old, white-haired father let loose with a string of curses vile enough to make a sailor blush. Darius’s face went red, then purple as he glared at his son with rage-filled eyes.

So much anger. So much hate.

Fists clenched, Damien waited it out. When Darius finally ran out of steam, Damien stepped back. “We’ll talk about this again when you’re sober,” he said. “As soon as possible.”

In the act of pouring another glass of Scotch, Darius turned on him so fast the expensive liquor sloshed all over his sleeve. He didn’t appear to notice or care, so intent was he on giving his son what the Colton kids used to call the death stare. If looks could kill…

“You will not mention this to me again. The subject is closed.”

“Later,” Damien insisted. “I promise you we will discuss this later.” He’d been saying this for months now. Enough was enough.

Though Damien halfway believed if he persisted, Darius would haul off and slug him, he’d been through hell and back already. Since the day he’d been set free and the prison gates had disgorged him, he’d known that no event life might have in store for him could ever be as heinous as the day he’d been convicted of a crime he hadn’t committed.

None. Ever.

So Darius blustering and trying to tell him that he’d somehow lost a three-million-dollar inheritance didn’t even compare. Especially since Damien didn’t believe a word his dear old father said. He needed to talk to his brothers. And Maisie, he amended silently. All of them.

And quickly. Though he’d been home for three whole months, he hadn’t seen this coming. When had the old man become so…unstable and deceitful? Something had to be wrong. Darius didn’t need his son’s money—he had enough of his own. But why lie? Round and round Damien’s mind went, trying to adjust to what had just happened. Darius couldn’t have stolen his inheritance. The money had to be here somewhere. All Damien had to do was find it.

Watching as his father, whiskey glass in hand, staggered from his office to the master bedroom suites, Damien was left frustrated and empty-handed, wishing he could punch something.

Gradually, sounds from the great room penetrated his consciousness. Christmas carols, rustling and clinking and talking and laughter. He remembered now—the family was gathering for the annual Colton family Christmas-tree-decorating ceremony.

When he’d been in prison he’d dreamt of this event. Now, he wasn’t even sure he’d bother to attend. He really just wanted to head out to the barn and saddle up Duncan, his favorite quarter horse gelding, and ride out to the back pastures. As a matter of fact—

“Damien!” His sister Maisie, grinning like a gleeful small child, bounced into the room. “Come on! Hurry! Wes and Duke are bringing in the tree. Finn’s getting the stand ready and checking the lights. Even Perry, Brand and Joan are here along with their families! It’s picture-postcard perfect. Everyone wanted to be a part of decorating for your first Christmas back with the family!”

And just like that, Maisie had deftly lobbed the ball in his court. Now he had no choice but to join the others.

Nodding, he allowed her to grab his hand and lead him into the great room. Even with almost the entire family gathered, the huge room was cozy rather than crowded. A fire roared in the massive stone fireplace and box after box of glittering ornaments were spread all over the huge oak coffee table, along with numerous strands of white lights. The place looked like a scene from a holiday magazine. Homey, folksy and warm.

And he felt completely out of place.

As Damien entered, Maisie’s teenaged son Jeremy threw open the back door, letting in a gust of cold air. “Here they are!” he shouted, grinning broadly.

Covered in a light dusting of snow, Damien’s twin brother Duke appeared, half carrying, half dragging the bottom of a huge spruce tree. Wes Colton held up the top part of the tree, laughing and looking for his fiancée, Lily Masterson, who was helping Duke’s fiancée, Susan Kelley, organize ornaments. Even Finn Colton had driven in from town. Their youngest brother had gotten engaged to Rachel Grant, who was helping him check the light strands.

It was, Damien thought sourly, a regular love fest in here. Damien couldn’t help but notice how the three outside women took pains to try and include Maisie in their little group. To his surprise, Maisie seemed to be eating it up. A genuine smile of pure happiness lit up her face and put a sparkle in her aquamarine eyes.

Happy and festive, a perfect combination. Christmas carols played and there was homemade wassail simmering in a slow cooker on a table, along with various other goodies: Christmas cookies and fudge, dip and chips, and ribbon candy. Had they gone overboard for him? Damien wondered. Or was this the normal holiday celebration here at the Colton ranch these days?

Either way, they wanted to include him. He knew he should feel touched, but instead he only felt empty. Everyone had paired off, it seemed. Everyone except Damien. Oh, and their stepmother, Sharon, who appeared to be single-mindedly focused on drinking an entire bottle of wine by herself. No one seemed to notice or mind Darius Colton’s absence.

Wes, Duke and Finn lifted the huge tree into the stand while the women oohed and aahed. The children, belonging to various branches of the Coltons in town, chased each other and laughed. Damien took a step back, intent on beating a swift exit, but Maisie saw what he was up to.

“Come on.” Grabbing his hand, she pulled him closer to the tree. “I’m sure the guys need your help, right boys?”

Amid a chorus of agreement, she left him, bouncing over to help the women with the ornaments. As he helped secure the tree in the stand, Damien felt his twin’s gaze on him, though he refused to meet it.

This was no good. He planned to make a quick retreat as soon as humanly possible.

“What, not feeling too Christmassy?” His brother Wes, the town sheriff, punched him lightly in the shoulder. At Damien’s questioning look, he shrugged. “It’s written all over your face.”

“Yeah, well it’s been a long time.” Damien’s voice sounded raspy. Eyeing each of his brothers, he couldn’t help but wonder if Darius had stolen their inheritance, too.

Underneath the sparkle and tinsel, there was something rotten and foul here on the Colton ranch.

“I’ve got to go,” he told Duke, once the tree stood tall and straight and ready for the lights.

“Where to?” Glancing at his watch, his twin grimaced.

“I thought I’d ride out and check fences in the high pasture.”

“Now? It’s dark and snowing. That can wait for the morning.”

Feeling increasingly uncomfortable, Damien tugged the collar of his shirt. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

Instantly, Duke’s teasing smile faded. “Are you all right?” he asked, low-voiced. “You’re looking a little green.”

“Green?” Damien scowled. He forced himself not to bolt. “I’ll be fine as soon as I get some fresh air.”

Duke nodded, but Damien knew his twin didn’t understand. How could he, when he’d spent his entire life enveloped in the love of his family? It was Damien who was different, Damien who was the outsider.

A few steps and Damien stood in the foyer. Already, the sense of constriction had eased somewhat. But not enough. Since it was late and dark and snowing, instead of going for a ride, he’d head into town for a beer. His favorite watering hole, the Corner Bar, would be quiet and soothing.

The short drive took longer, due to the snow. But at least the streets were mostly deserted and his four-wheel-drive pickup handled the snow with ease. He parked, noting only two other vehicles in the lot.

Stepping into the Corner Bar, he glanced around the place appreciatively. Dark and quiet and mercifully short on holiday decorations, it was exactly what he needed after the festive frenzy at the family ranch.

Stepping up to the long, polished mahogany bar, he captured a barstool. “Kind of empty tonight.”

“Sure is.” Without being asked, Jake, the bartender, brought him a tall Coors Light.

“Business slow during the holidays?” Damien asked, taking a long drink, enjoying the light foamy head.

“Yeah, you’re my only drinking customer,” Jake said, wiping at the bar counter with a rag that once might have been white and now was a cross between gray and yellow. “Except for her, and all she’s drinking is a Shirley Temple.”

He pointed and for the first time Damien realized he wasn’t entirely alone in the place as he’d first supposed. Eve Kelley, her skin glowing softly in the dim light, occupied the corner booth, which sat mostly in shadows. With her head bent over a notebook, her long blond hair hung in silky curtains on each side of her face.

“Eve Kelley,” he mused, wondering why the girl who’d been the most popular in town was all alone.

“Yeah.” Leaning forward, the other man groused. “She’s been here an hour and she’s not even drinking alcohol. That’s her second Shirley Temple.”

Intrigued, Damien studied her, wondering why she’d come to a bar yet didn’t drink? A problem with alcohol? She’d certainly been a party girl back in the day. Back when he’d been a senior in high school, he and she had heated up the front seat of his Ford F150. She’d been pretty and popular and since she was a few years ahead of him in school, way out of his league.

Eve had been the only one in town who’d written him a letter while he’d been in prison. Though he’d never acknowledged it, he’d always wondered why.

“I’m going to join her,” Damien told the bartender.

Though the other man didn’t comment, he shook his head in disapproval. He probably thought, as did most of the people in Honey Creek, Montana, that Damien was tainted.

Crossing the room to where she sat, he willed her to look up and smile, or stare or something. Anything other than recoil in horror and disgust. Though he’d been back home almost three months, he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of people who didn’t act as though he was a leper.

He made it all the way to her table without her noticing.

“Enjoying your Shirley Temple?”

When she did raise her head and meet his gaze, he saw her eyes were still the same long-lashed, sapphire blue he remembered.

“It’s a seven and seven,” she said, making him wonder why she bothered to lie. What did she care what he thought?

“Mind if I join you?”

A flash of surprise crossed her face, and then she lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Suit yourself.”

He slid into the booth across from her, taking another long drink of his beer. “Good. I missed that while I was in prison.”

Stirring her drink absently, she nodded. “I imagine there are quite a few things you missed, aren’t there?”

Since she asked the question with a very real curiosity, he felt himself beginning to relax for the first time in what felt like ages. When he’d been in prison, he would have slugged anyone who tried to tell him it’d be a hundred times more tense back home than in the joint, but in reality he thought more about running away than anything else. Except sex. He thought about that a lot. Especially now. Eve Kelley, with her long blond hair and T-shirt, instantly made him think of sex.

No doubt she wouldn’t appreciate knowing that, so he kept his mouth shut, giving her a nod for an answer.

Leaning forward, she studied him. Her full lips parted, making him want to groan out loud. “What did you miss the most?”

A flash of anger passed and he answered truthfully. “The feel of a woman, soft and warm, under me, wrapped around me.”

Her face flamed, amusing him. But to give her credit, she didn’t look away. “I guess I sort of asked for that, didn’t I?”

“No, actually you didn’t.” Chagrined, he offered her a conciliatory smile. “I’m sorry. I think sometimes I’ve forgotten how to act in public.”

“I guess that’s understandable.”

Finishing his beer, he signaled for another one. The bartender brought it instantly, setting it on the table without comment and removing the empty glass.

“My turn.” He leaned forward. “Tell me, Eve Kelley. What are you doing all alone in a bar, nursing a Shirley Temple, with a snowstorm threatening?”

“I needed to get away.” For a moment, stark desperation flashed in her expressive eyes, an emotion he could definitely relate to.

“Holidays aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, are they?”

She shook her head, sending her large hoop earrings swinging in that mass of long straight hair.

Glancing at her left hand and seeing no ring, he took another drink. “I’m guessing you’re not married?”

“Nope.”

“Divorced, then?”

“Never married. I guess I just didn’t meet the right person.” She sighed. “I’ve never really minded before, but the holidays can be tough on anyone, and it’s worse when you’re nearly forty and still alone. My mother is now on a matchmaker tangent. She’s determined to marry me off or die trying.”

Her voice contained such disgust, he had to laugh.

Watching him, her lovely blue eyes widened. “You should do that more often,” she said softly. “It suits you.”

“Makes me look less frightening,” he replied, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. “Isn’t that what you mean?”

Now she was the one who laughed and when she did, her face went from pretty to drop-dead stunningly beautiful. He watched as the flickering light danced over her creamy skin, the hollows of her cheeks, the slender line of her throat, and ached. Damn, he’d been too long without a woman.

Talking to her had been a mistake.

Yet he couldn’t make himself leave this train wreck.

“You aren’t frightening. Not to me,” she said softly. “I forgot how funny you are. At least you kept your sense of humor.”

“Maybe,” he allowed, studying her. Time had been kind to her. He remembered her as a tall, elegant athletic girl, one of the popular ones that every guy lusted after. She’d been a few years out of school, but that hadn’t stopped them for getting together one hot August night at a party in someone’s newly harvested field. Maybe because his life had all but stopped when he’d been sent to prison, but he remembered that like it was yesterday.

Hell, for him it was yesterday. Sometimes he felt like a twenty-year-old kid walking around in the body of a thirty-five-year-old man. Other times he felt like he was a hundred.

Tonight, it was refreshing to be with someone who didn’t act as though he were fragile or dangerous, or both.

He lifted his glass, inviting her to make an impromptu toast. “To old friends.”

With a smile, she touched her glass to his. “To old friends.”

“You look good, Eve.”

To his disbelief, she blushed again. “Thanks. So do you. It’s surprising, but you’re easy to talk to.”

He laughed. “Do you always say exactly what you think?”

“No. Not always. I run a beauty shop here in town—Salon Allegra, have you seen it?”

“I don’t get to town much.”

“I see.” She nodded. “After high school, I was going to go to college, but ended up attending beauty school instead. I worked at The Cut ‘N’ Curl for a long time. When Irene died, she left me the place. I fixed it up and renamed it.”

“You never left Honey Creek?” he asked, letting his gaze sweep her face. “Didn’t you ever want to live somewhere else, to get away?”

“Not really. I’ve traveled a bit, but it’s so beautiful here. Where else can you have all this?” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “Mountains and valley and endless prairie. Big Sky Country.”

Despite the contentment ringing in her voice, something seemed off. He couldn’t put his finger on it, not exactly, but he’d bet dissatisfaction lurked underneath her complacent exterior. The Eve Kelley he’d known had been a bit of a wild child, not this staid, watered-down version sitting in front of him.

“But didn’t you ever feel like you were missing out?”

She regarded him curiously. “On what? I don’t like cities and crowds and pollution. I love the big open spaces. Honey Creek has all I need.”

“Really?”

She thought for a moment. “Okay, sometimes I have to head into Bozeman or Billings to shop, but most everything I could want I can get here in town.”

He dipped his chin, acknowledging her words but still watching her closely. “You don’t get bored?”

“How could I? I have my family and friends, my business and my family’s business. No other place could give me that. And the people are friendly.”

“Ah, friendly. Maybe to you. Not to me.”

“That both surprises me and doesn’t. Even though everyone in town knows you didn’t kill Mark Walsh, they’re afraid of you.”

She’d succeeded in shocking him. “Afraid of me? Why? I’ve done nothing to them.”

“You’ve been in prison for fifteen years. That’s bound to have changed you, made you…tough.”

She licked her lips and he could tell she was speaking carefully. “Some of the people in town are really scared. They don’t know what kind of person you are after all this time.”

Incredulous, he stared. “Are you serious? I’ve lived here my entire life. They know me.”

“They know who you used to be. Not the man you’ve become.”

“What about you?” Nerves jangling inside him, he leaned forward. “Do I frighten you? Are you afraid of me?”

She swallowed. “Though part of you is dark and dangerous, I’m not frightened. Actually, you intrigue me.”

As soon as she spoke, her face colored, making him grin. “I didn’t mean that like it sounded. It wasn’t a come-on, I swear.”

“Too bad,” he said lightly. Then, while she appeared to be still trying to absorb this, he raised his hand to signal the bartender.

“I’ll have another. And bring the lady another one, too, whatever she’s drinking.”

Appearing relieved, Eve settled back in her seat.

“What was it like?” she asked. “What was it like, being in jail all those years for a crime you didn’t commit?”

“What do you think it was like?” Though he kept his tone light, he could feel the darkness settling over his face. “Being there was no picnic.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He waved away her apology. “I’d wonder, too, if our situations were reversed.”

“And now? What are you going to do now?”

Their drinks arrived, saving him from answering her question right away. He waited until the bartender had moved away, drinking deeply before meeting her gaze.

“I’d like to buy my own spread. Maybe in Nevada or Idaho. I’m not sure. But I can’t stay with my family forever.”

“Why not? We’re going to be family soon, you know, since your brother Duke is engaged to my sister Susan. She said they’re moving to his place on the ranch.”

“She’s there at the main house right now, decorating the Colton family tree.”

“And you’re not.”

Instead of answering, he shrugged.

“You know, I don’t understand why you’d want to leave Honey Creek. Your life is here, your heritage. Why would you want to throw all that away?”

When she looked so passionate, her blue eyes glowing, he wanted to kiss her. Hell, he wanted to do much more than that, but he’d settle for a kiss for now.

“Kind of personal, isn’t it?” he drawled, leaning back in the booth.

“Come on, it’s not that personal. It’s not like we’re complete strangers. I’ve known you forever. I’ve always envied what you have, that connection to the land.”

He studied her. “You’re right about that. I do love the land, my family’s ranch. If I could stay there, out on the land, and never have to deal with my father or with the town, that’d be one thing.”

“You really dislike Honey Creek, don’t you?”

He noticed she let the reference to his father slide. Everyone must know about his father’s deterioration. Everyone but him.

“Honey Creek has nothing to hold me. You know what? You’re the only person in Honey Creek other than my family who ever bothered to try to make contact with me in prison, the only one who wrote me. I never thanked you for that. I’m doing it now. Thank you.”

As though she wasn’t sure how to respond, she simply nodded.

“About that letter…” Dragging his hand through his longish hair, he grimaced. “I appreciate you writing it and I’m sorry I didn’t answer.”

“That was a long time ago. I probably shouldn’t have written that.”

“No.” He laid his hand across the top of hers, unable to keep from noting the difference, his big and calloused while hers was slender, delicate and warm. “You probably shouldn’t. But I was glad you did. You let me know that at least one person in Honey Creek believed in my innocence.”

“If you felt that way, why didn’t you write back?”

“Because your belief, my knowledge, was all futile. No matter what I knew, no matter what you thought, I’d been convicted. I was going to do time. Hard time. For Christ’s sake, I was twenty when I went in there. I’m thirty-five now. I went in a kid and now…I’m a man. That does things to you. Prison does things to you.” He hardened his voice. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

Pity flooded her eyes. He hated that and would have gotten up and left if he hadn’t seen something more there too, something besides pity.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

“Yeah. Me, too.” Then, maybe because some demon drove him, he did what he’d been wanting to do since he’d seen her. He got up, crossed over to her side of the booth and kissed her.




Chapter 2


When Damien came around to her side of the booth and leaned over her, Eve’s heart skipped a beat. As he bent close, she froze, feeling the way she imagined a deer in the headlights of a hunter’s truck might feel.

And when his lips slanted over hers…she melted.

For a second, she allowed herself to revel in the feel of him, the taste and wonderful masculine scent of him, before gently pushing him away.

“Don’t do that,” she said, her voice shaky.

Damien leaned back, but didn’t move away. Dark eyes glittering, he gave her a slow smile. “Why not?”

“Because I can’t get involved with you.”

“But you want to.” Again he moved closer, making her pulse kick up once more.

“Yes,” she admitted, licking her lips. “But I can’t get involved with you or anyone right now. In any way, shape or form.”

Just like that, his expression shut down. Moving stiffly, he pushed himself to his feet. “I understand.”

He thought she was refusing him because he’d been in prison.

“No, you don’t. Believe me.”

“Whatever.” Draining the last of his beer, he set the mug back on the table with a thud. “I’ll go take care of the bill. You have a nice night, Eve.”

Watching him walk away, she knew she should just let him go. “Wait,” she called, causing both the bartender and Damien to look at her.

She shot the bartender a glare that had him turning away, suddenly busy with rearranging something behind the bar. Since Damien made no move to come back to her, she rose and walked to him instead. “If you’d just let me explain—”

“You don’t have to.” He cut her off, flashing her a twisted smile. Cramming his cowboy hat back on his head, he grabbed his coat from the coatrack and headed out the door.

Inexplicably close to tears, Eve watched him go. Then, avoiding the bartender’s gaze, she grabbed her coat from the booth and made her way outside into the swirling, blowing snow.

Outside, the snowstorm seemed to be gathering strength. She hurried to her vehicle, shivering against the blustering wind.

Her Ford Explorer was old, but she kept it well-maintained. There was no reason for it not to start, but when she turned the key in the ignition and got only a quiet click, she knew she was in trouble.

Just to be sure, she tried again.

Nothing.

Breath blowing plumes in the frozen air, she checked her watch. Ten o’clock. Nothing to do but go back inside the Corner Bar and see if the bartender would give her a ride home.

It was either that or call someone to come get her, and then she’d have to explain why she’d been at the bar drinking by herself.

Cursing under her breath, she pushed open the car door. The icy wind hit her like a slap to the face, making her raise the hood on her jacket as a shield. Hunched against the cold, she made her way back in the direction she’d come.

“Car trouble?” Damien Colton appeared out of the darkness, snow dusting his hair and shoulders.

Miserable, she nodded. “It won’t start.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

She handed over the car keys, watching as he attempted to start her car with the same results. “It’s either your battery or the alternator. Either way, it’s too cold and stormy to do anything about it tonight. I’ll give you a ride home and you can deal with your car later.”

“Great.” She followed him to his pickup. At least now, he’d have no choice but to listen to her explanation.

The first thing she realized when she saw his truck was that it looked awfully familiar. “Is this the same—?”

“Truck I had back before I got convicted? Yes.” He unlocked the passenger-side door and opened it for her, waiting while she climbed up before closing it.

The cab of the older truck had a bench seat. Thoughts of what she and Damien had once done on that very same seat made her flush warmly.

Once he’d gotten in, she watched as he started the engine, waiting for him to elaborate.

When he didn’t, she sighed. “Look, about what I said earlier—”

“No need to explain.” He cut her off brusquely. “You of all people don’t owe me anything.”

“I owe you an explanation. I don’t want you thinking the reason I—”

Muttering a curse, he slammed on the brakes, sending the pickup into a spin on the snowy roads. They did a nearly perfect donut, ending up facing the same way they’d been going. Damien inched them forward, until they were on what appeared to be the shoulder of the road.

Then, while she still reeled with shock, he reached for her, yanking her up against him and capturing her mouth. He kissed her long and hard and deep. When he raised his head, Eve couldn’t find her breath.

“What was that?”

“Me proving to you that you want me.”

“I never said I didn’t.” She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “I said I couldn’t be in any sort of relationship with anyone right now.”

“Relationship? Hell, I don’t want a relationship.”

Confused, she looked at him, so brooding and dark and dangerous. “Then what do you want?”

“Sex,” he said, his tone harsh. “I just wanted to have sex with you.”

Stunned, she couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. “Sex?” she finally repeated. “Wow, you certainly don’t believe in sugarcoating it.”

“Why call a spade anything other than a spade? I want you, Eve. You want me, too, I can tell. Neither one of us is attached right now and we’re both adults. Why not?”

For a second she closed her eyes, tempted beyond belief. Massimo in Italy had wanted the same thing, just sex, though he’d prettied it up with honeyed words and candy-coated lies. In the end, she thought, it might have been better, at least for her, if he’d told the truth. Then maybe she wouldn’t have felt like such a fool when it ended the way it had.

“I appreciate your honesty,” she said slowly. “And yes, I do find you attractive. Very much so.”

He crossed his arms, watching her, waiting. She recognized the look she saw on his face. He was expecting to be hurt, wounded, as he’d been for the last fifteen years. He really didn’t believe she’d sleep with him, and any explanation she’d give him would reinforce his apparently deep-seated belief that he deserved to be treated poorly.

Any explanation that is, but the truth.

“Damien, I’m pregnant.”

This he hadn’t expected. “You’re…what?”

“This summer I went to Italy. I took the trip by myself, to celebrate the last year of my thirties. When I was there, I met a man. We had the kind of thing you just proposed, only I didn’t know it at the time.” To her chagrin, her throat closed up.

“You’re pregnant,” he repeated.

“I’m pregnant.”

“Does the father know?”

Now she hung her head. “This is the hardest part of my story. He disappeared. I looked for ten days, but I couldn’t find him.”

“You didn’t know his name.”

“He called himself Massimo. One word. Silly, but I thought it romantic.”

Damien let that one go, bless him. “Are you keeping the baby?”

“Oh, yes.” Cradling her stomach protectively, she nodded. “I want this baby very much. And you’re the only one who knows.”

Again she’d surprised him, judging from the look on his face. “You haven’t told your family?”

“No. I’m waiting as long as I can.” Oddly enough, telling him made her feel as though a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “You know how this town can be. My mom will be thrilled—she’s been wanting a grandbaby for forever. But I feel sort of foolish, goofing up so badly at thirty-nine years old.”

The truck heater started blasting, making them both laugh.

“I’d better get you home,” he said, putting the truck back into gear.

He drove slowly, the heavy vehicle making sure progress over the snowy roads. When they reached her house, he left the engine running as he walked her to the door.

“If you ever need someone to talk to,” he began, making her smile.

“Thank you. Ditto for you.” Then, unable to help herself, she reached up and kissed him on the cheek.

Unmoving, he watched until she opened the door and went inside, locking it behind her.

A moment later she heard his truck drive away outside. Eyes stinging with completely unreasonable tears, she listened as the sound faded, until all she could hear was the mournful howling of the wind as it heralded the approaching storm.

Arriving back at the ranch, Damien breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that most of the cars were gone, which meant most of the huge mess of family had gone home. Except for the resident ones.

Parking his truck, he puzzled over Eve Kelley. Of all the girls he’d grown up with, he would have expected her to be married with a bunch of kids by now. Large families were common around these parts—look at his own family. She’d been pretty, popular and fun. The guys had practically fought over the chance to date her back in the day, and now she was nearly forty, unmarried and pregnant.

Talk about the randomness of fate.

None of it, not circumstances or her pregnancy, did anything to dilute his desire. He still wanted her. He’d take her up on her offer to be friends, knowing if she’d give him a chance, he’d prove to her that they could be more. Friends with benefits. He grinned savagely, liking the sound of that.

The house felt settled as he walked in, shedding his coat and hanging it in the hall closet and placing his cowboy hat on the hat rack alongside all the others. Lights from the immense Christmas tree illuminated the great room. All of the earlier boxes and mess had been cleaned away and the decorated mantel combined with the tree to look festive and, oddly enough, holy. Damien couldn’t help but remember the way he’d felt as a small boy, awestruck and overwhelmed at the beautiful tree. He’d used to lie on his back underneath the branches and peer up through them, marveling.

To his surprise, a spark of that little boy still remained.

He wandered over and stood in front of the tree, still thinking of Eve, then eyed the hallway that led to his father’s office. Might as well do some poking around while the entire house slept. Darius never locked the door, believing his inviolable authority made him invulnerable.

Maybe so, but Damien had been screwed over enough.

Moving quietly, he slipped down the hallway and opened the door. Conveniently, Darius had left the desk lamp on.

Damien took a seat in the massive leather chair and started with the obvious—the desk drawers. A quick search turned up exactly nothing.

But, then, what had he expected? Darius was too shrewd to leave incriminating documents anywhere they could be easily read.

Which meant there had to be a safe.

He turned to begin searching for one when a movement from a shadowy corner made him spin around.

Duke stood watching him, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

“What are you doing?” Duke asked, “You know the old man’s going to be pissed when he finds out you went through his papers.”

“Maybe,” Damien allowed. “If he finds out. I’m not planning on telling him. I’m trying to figure out what happened to our inheritance.”

“What do you mean?”

Since Duke didn’t sound too perturbed, Damien figured his brother hadn’t been given the same unlikely story as he’d heard today. “I asked Darius about it earlier today. You know how I’ve been wanting to buy my own ranch, maybe in Nevada or Idaho?”

“Yeah.” Duke uncrossed his arms and came closer. “Don’t tell me he refused to give you your money. He might be conservator, but you’re well over the age of twenty-one. And you were in prison at the time you turned twenty-one.”

“No.” Damien watched his brother closely. “He didn’t refuse to give it to me. He said it was all gone.”

“What?” Duke’s casual air vanished. Shock filled his brown eyes, so like Damien’s. “How can three million be gone, just like that?”

“Exactly. Tell me, bro. Did you get your inheritance when you turned twenty-one like you were supposed to?”

“Hell, no. He offered to let me use it to buy a share in the ranch and I took it. Darius needed cash for some reason, and I wanted to make sure I’d always have my house and land. So I bought my hundred acres from him.”

“Damn.” Damien closed his eyes. When he reopened them, he saw his brother watching him, a worried expression on his handsome face.

“Are you okay?”

“No,” Damien exploded. “I’m not okay. The entire time I was in prison, I was counting on this money being there for me when I got out. The money the state’s going to pay me won’t buy even twenty acres. How the hell am I going to make a fresh start without any cash?”

“Surely there’s been a mistake.”

“I don’t think so.” Grimly, Damien resumed his search for a safe. “How good are you still at guessing lock combinations?”

“What? You mean to break into Darius’s safe?”

“Once I find it, yes.”

Duke narrowed his eyes. “Well, then, let me help you out. I know where it is. I’ve been in here often enough when Darius had to open it.” He crossed to the wall where a huge, ornately framed oil painting of the ranch hung. “It’s behind this.”

Removing the picture revealed a small wall safe, black, with a touch-pad combination. The entire thing was maybe two feet square.

Damien stood back. “Have at it, bro.” As teens, Duke had exhibited an exceptional skill for picking locks and determining combinations. Within five minutes, he had the safe open.

“There you go,” he said, stepping back.

Reaching inside, Damien extracted a leather-bound notebook and a sheaf of manila folders, held together by a rubber band. There was also a tiny metal box, like the kind used for petty cash. He removed everything and placed it on the desk.

“I’m out of here, man,” Duke said.

“Will you just stand guard for me? I just need a few minutes.” He started with the leather book. “Surely there’s something in here that will tell what happened to my inheritance.”

Inside the book were receipts for wire transfers. All of them were withdrawals from his account made over a period of three years. “Bingo,” he said softly. “My money.”

Though clearly reluctant, Duke moved over to take a look.

“How do you know it was yours?” Duke asked. “You know when Grandfather died he left all of our money in the same account. I authorized Darius to take mine, and maybe Wes, Finn, Maisie and the others did the same.”

“But I didn’t authorize anything. Yet Darius claims the account has been closed and there’s nothing there.”

“Did you see the bank statement?”

“He wouldn’t let me.” Damien flashed him a grim smile, reaching for the manila folders. “Oh, damn.”

“That looks like a second set of accounting records for the Colton ranch.” Duke scratched his head. “Why would he have that? Unless…”

Without answering, Damien continued digging. “Look here. A list of some sort of vendors and receipts for transactions.”

“Transactions of what?”

“I don’t know.” But he had a good idea. The FBI had approached him shortly after he’d been released from prison, intimating they were investigating Darius. Damien, still smarting from his father’s refusal even to visit him in prison, had agreed to act as their insider, an informant of sorts. This was exactly the sort of thing they’d expect him to report.

“I think our father has been running a little business on the side.”

Duke cursed. “What are you going to do? You can’t be thinking of turning him in?”

“I don’t know.”

“Damien, you know how the old man is. I doubt he’d survive a year being locked up. I’m not sure I could do that to him.”

“But then again, he didn’t steal your money, did he? You handed it over to him, lock, stock and barrel.”

“Please, think about this before you do anything rash.”

Flipping through the last of the folders, Damien reached for the metal box. Duke reached for his hand to stop him. “Hold up.”

“What?”

“You’ve found enough. Put it back. I think we need to talk to Wes and Finn before we do anything.”

Clenching his jaw, Damien stared at his twin. “I’m not asking you to do anything.”

“This is a family matter.” Moving with purpose, Duke took the metal box, folder and notebook and placed them back in the safe, exactly the way they’d been. “We—or you—aren’t doing anything until we talk to the others.”

“What about Maisie?” Damien asked. “She has a right to be involved, too.”

Duke shot him a hard glance. “If you can trust her to keep her mouth shut, fine. But you know, she’s been contacting that TV show, trying to get them out here to do an exposé on the town.”

“She’s been talking about that, but I don’t think anyone there took her seriously.”

“I know. Let’s keep it that way, okay?”

Reluctantly, Damien agreed, watching as Duke resecured the safe and replaced the painting.

“Come on,” his brother said, putting a hand on Damien’s shoulder. “Let’s go to the kitchen and see if we can rustle up a late-night snack. There are bound to be some of those hot wings left.”

Feeling both disgruntled and slightly relieved, Damien agreed. A decision needed to be made about Darius, but he wouldn’t have to make it alone.

The next morning the snowplows worked the roads bright and early. Eve woke to the peculiar blinding whiteness of sun on snow. As she padded to the kitchen to make a pot of decaf and get the hearth fire going before letting Max out, she couldn’t stop thinking of Damien and his offer.

Just looking at the man made her mouth go dry. What he proposed was very, very tempting. The fact that she could even think like this should have made her angry with herself, but she was pragmatic at heart and believed in calling a spade a spade.

Damien Colton made her go weak in the knees. Always had, always would.

The knowledge unsettled her. So much so that after she’d finished her first cup of coffee, she started cleaning her kitchen. She knew she’d find comfort in the physical work and satisfaction in the finished results.

About ninety minutes into her cleaning binge, when she’d finished the kitchen and the two bathrooms and started on the den, Max’s barking alerted her that a car had pulled up into the drive. Her mother. Perspiring and grungy, and knowing she could use a break, Eve went to the front door and opened it wide.

“You’re out bright and early on a snowy morning,” she said brightly.

Bonnie Gene’s gaze swept over her daughter. “It’s not morning. It’s well after noon.”

“Well, good afternoon then.” Eve wiped her hands on her sweats. “You caught me in the middle of cleaning. What’s going on?” Moving aside, she waited until her mother entered before closing the door.

“I have fantastic news!” Bonnie Gene gushed the moment she stepped inside. Sweeping into the foyer in her usual dramatic fashion, she eyed Eve’s pitiful attempts at Christmas decorating before focusing back on her daughter.

“You are not going to believe this. Guess what I’ve arranged?”

“I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“Can the sarcasm.” Too excited to note—or care about—Eve’s less-than-enthusiastic reaction, Bonnie Gene clapped her gloved hands together. “I’ve set you up on a blind date.”

“Not another blind date,” Eve protested.

“This is not an ordinary blind date—it’s the coup de grâce of all blind dates! You are going out with Gary Jackson!”

“Who?”

“You know, Gary Jackson the attorney? He just moved here a few months ago and I know for a fact all the single girls want to go out with him. He’s tall, handsome and—”

“Full of himself.” Eve dragged her hand through her hair. “Mother, we agreed. No more blind dates.”

“You agreed. I said nothing. And listen, this one is too good to be true. You can’t pass this up.”

“Does he even know?”

Bonnie blinked. “What?”

“Does this Gary Jackson even know he has a blind date with me? Remember, the last guy you set me up with and forced me to go on a date with had no idea. I was never so embarrassed in my life.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Bonnie Gene rolled her eyes. “It all worked out, if I remember correctly.”

“No, it didn’t. He was a stalker, mother. I had to get Wes Colton involved. Thank goodness that guy left town.”

Removing her coat, Bonnie Gene wandered into the great room, standing in front of the fire. “Ahhh. That feels so good. Listen, both Gary’s mother and I went through a lot of work to arrange this. I’d really appreciate you going on this date. As a favor to me.”

The old guilt trick. Eve refused to fall for it. “No.”

“Come on. What else do you have to do?”

Eve crossed her arms. “Do you really want a list?”

Dropping down onto the couch, her mother sighed, removing her gloves and scarf and loosening her coat. “You know I only want what’s best for you.”

“Yes, but you’ve got to stop this obsessive trolling to find me a husband. I’m nearly forty. I can find my own man.”

“Oh, can you?” Bonnie Gene pounced. “Then tell me, what have you been doing to try and meet someone?”

“Here we go again. Mother, don’t start.”

“Fine. But you know I want grandchildren.”

If ever Eve had been tempted to reveal her pregnancy, now would be the time. But her mother would broadcast the news all over town and right now, with the Mark Walsh fiasco in full swing, the last thing Honey Creek needed was more scandal. Nope, Eve just wanted to get through the holidays before dropping her bombshell.

“I know you want grandchildren, Mother. You’ve informed me of that nonstop for the last ten years.”

“Well, then,” Bonnie said brightly. “Since I’ve already arranged this date, will you please go?”

Bonnie Gene looked so contrite, Eve softened. As she always did. Sucker. “I’ll go, but only if you give me your absolute word that this is the last blind date you arrange for me.”

Grinning, Bonnie Gene nodded. “Do you want me to pinky swear?”

“Just give me your word, Mother.”

“Fine.” Huffing, Bonnie Gene grimaced. “You have my word. No more blind dates.”

“Ever.”

“Fine. No more blind dates ever.” Her frown faded and she grinned. “Maybe this date with Gary Jackson will lead to something permanent and you won’t need another blind date.”

Oh geez. “Maybe. Who knows?” Sighing, Eve went into the kitchen. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“I’d love one. Do you want my help picking out an outfit for your date?”

Midway to the kitchen, Eve paused. Turning, she eyed her mother, dreading the answer yet knowing she had to ask.

“When is this date with Gary Jackson, by the way?”

“Tonight.”




Chapter 3


Eve nearly said a curse word in front of her mother. “Tonight? How could you do this to me?”

“Please,” Bonnie scoffed. “You’ve got over six hours to get ready. It’s not like you have to be there for lunch or anything.”

“Where’s there?”

“You’re meeting him for drinks and dinner at the Corner Bar and Grill.”

Of course. Her mother knew that was Eve’s favorite place, as well as the second-most popular place in town, Kelley’s Cookhouse being first.

Putting the kettle on the stove, Eve got out two mugs and two teabags of orange pekoe tea.

“Everyone will see me there,” she groused, secretly glad her mother hadn’t chosen to have her meet Gary at the family’s barbecue restaurant. She’d done that before and Eve had spent the entire evening answering questions about what it was like to be part of the family that owned a famous franchised restaurant. Worse, her date had expected free food and had ordered one of everything on the menu. He’d been shocked, then angry, when Eve had informed him they still had to pay.

“Exactly! There’s a live band tonight, the High Rollers, I think. So you know the place will be packed. Everyone will see you there with Gary,” Bonnie enthused. “That man is quite a catch. The town will be talking about it for days!”

A catch? Mentally, she rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Mom. I’m not exactly fishing.”

“No, you’re not,” her mother said with a wry twist of her mouth. “Which is why I have to help you. You’ve got me baiting the hook and casting for you. Now all you’ve got to do is reel him in.”

Reel him in. Had they been mysteriously teleported back to the fifties when she hadn’t been looking? Deciding to ignore the phrase, as she always did when Bonnie Gene started on this subject, Eve stared at the teakettle, willing it to whistle. A good cup of tea went far to sooth frazzled nerves.

Taking her silence for assent, Bonnie Gene came closer. “What are you going to wear? If you’d like, I could pick out your outfit.”

“Oh, for—” Biting off the words, Eve forced a smile. “Mom, don’t worry about that. I’ve got it covered.”

Six hours later, standing in front of the mirror, Eve wondered why she’d agreed to this. She couldn’t help but wonder if Gary Jackson wondered the same thing. If he was such a “catch,” as her mother put it, she doubted he needed to be set up on a blind date.

But, heavens knows, Bonnie Gene Kelley could be pretty persistent when she wanted to be.

For her dinner date, Eve had chosen a thick sweaterdress with a cowl neckline in flattering shades of brown, cream and gold. Brown leggings and soft suede knee-length boots completed her outfit. She brushed her shoulder-length blond hair until it shone, swiped a tube of lip gloss over her lips, and told herself she was ready.

In fact, she’d rather be doing almost anything else. Even pooper-scooping Max’s poo seemed preferable to yet another blind date set up by her own mother. How pathetic was that?

Still, she reminded herself, slipping on her parka and snagging her purse and car keys on her way out, none of this was Gary Jackson’s fault. He could be a nice guy. She should give him a chance.

Thirty minutes later, covertly checking her watch, she knew she’d been wrong. From the instant she’d walked into the Corner Bar and taken a seat in the booth across from him, Gary Jackson had talked nonstop. About his law practice, what kind of car he drove, what stocks he’d invested in, where he lived and what kind of furniture graced his abode, blah, blah, blah. Every single time she thought he might be winding down, he’d start on another tangent. About himself, of course.

No wonder the guy couldn’t find a date. She’d be willing to bet he’d jumped on the chance when her mother had offered her as the sacrificial lamb.

Poker-faced, she sipped her soft drink and tried to keep from yawning. Even on a weekend date, the man wore a button-up shirt and tie, along with a wool sport jacket and slacks.

“Anyway, when they asked me to help out with the Mark Walsh investigation…”

Finally, something interesting. “You’re helping out with that? How? You’re a lawyer, not a criminal investigator.”

She’d barely got the words out before Gary was off and running. Not about the Mark Walsh case, which she might have been interested in hearing, instead, he rambled on about how anyone, even the lowliest criminal, needed an attorney and how lucky the people of backwater Honey Creek, Montana, were to have him. Because he was the best, the brightest, the most like a shark, etc.

While she sat, steaming and wishing she could drink alcohol. Since she couldn’t, she practiced scathing remarks she’d like to say but couldn’t.

Finally, she’d had enough. “Excuse me,” she tried to interrupt. Either Gary had gone hard of hearing or was so involved in what he was saying that she had to repeat herself three times. In the end, she simply got to her feet, waved her hand at him, and headed toward the restroom. She could have sworn he continued talking to the air after she’d left.

This was a disaster. If it weren’t that her mother would find out, she’d sneak out the back and leave him talking to himself.

The hallway to the restrooms was long and blessedly deserted. She took her time, aware that every second away from Gary was a second of peace and quiet. Finally she had no choice but to make her way back.

“Eve?” a deep familiar voice called her name.

Looking up, her heart skipped a beat. Her body, numbed by Gary’s endless rambling, came gloriously, fully awake and alive. “Damien.” She tried to sound casual. “What are you doing here?”

“Hoping to run into you,” he answered, making her blush. “And here you are.” He sounded so pleased, she had to smile. “Do you want to join me for a drink and a snack? Just to talk.”

Talk about tempting. She had a brilliant idea. “I can’t join you, because I’m here with someone.” Quickly she told him about her mother’s scheme and Gary Jackson. “I want out of this, but I can’t get him to shut up long enough to tell him so. Please, join us for dinner. Maybe then he’ll get the hint.”

Expression serious, he studied her face. “This is the second time I’ve helped you out, you know. After this, you’ll owe me a date, just the two of us.”

“Done.” She’d have agreed to almost anything to end the torture of Gary, but a date with Damien seemed more like a reward than a payment of a debt. “So that means you’ll help me out? I hate to ask, but…”

His smile took her breath away. “Sure, I will. But first, come here.”

Pulse kicking back up, she didn’t move. “No.”

“Chicken.”

“Maybe,” she acknowledged. “But I need to know what you mean.”

“A simple kiss. That’s all I want.”

“Here?”

He glanced around. “Sure, why not? We’re in a dark hallway and unless someone comes down this way, no one will see.”

Temptation. She realized suddenly that there was nothing she wanted more than to kiss him. But not the kind of kiss she could do here, standing in a hallway in the Corner Bar.

“My kiss,” he reminded her. “Yes or no? Your call.”

Moving closer, but standing far enough back that no part of their bodies touched, she leaned in, intent on making this a quick, touch-her-lips-to-his, peck-type kiss.

Instead, he yanked her up to him. “Real kiss,” he growled. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about our last one. Now lay it on me.”

At first she couldn’t move. Paralyzed by indecision and the knowledge that the blind date from hell waited in the other room, she let panic immobilize her. For maybe all of three seconds.

Then she reached up and pulled him down to her. Slanting her mouth over his, she kissed him like they were alone in her bedroom, kissed him like she’d secretly been longing to do ever since she’d seen him, kissed him openmouthed and insistent and full of pent-up longing and desire.

When she finally raised her head, they were both breathing hard.

“There,” she said, trying for a light teasing tone. “Now will you join me for dinner?”

Eyes dark and glittering, he nodded.

“Come on then.” She took his arm. “Let me introduce you two. My date thinks he’s an expert on the Mark Walsh investigation, though for the life of me I don’t know what he has to do with it.”

From the sudden tension in Damien’s body, she judged she’d said the wrong thing. But there was no time to fix it since they’d almost reached the table.

Gary stood, appearing comically surprised that she’d already returned. Or, she surmised, watching his eyes widen as he saw Damien, shocked that she’d brought back an escort, especially one as big and muscular and male as Damien.

Speaking briskly, she made the introductions. “Gary Jackson, Damien Colton. Damien, Gary.”

The two men shook hands. Then Damien pulled out a chair and, instead of taking a seat, turned it around and straddled it. “Let me buy you both a drink. What are you drinking, Gary?”

“Scotch on the rocks, neat,” Gary responded. Since Eve knew he’d been drinking a beer, she shot him a look, which he promptly ignored.

Trying not to watch Damien, trying not to think about that kiss and what else she wanted to do with him, she watched Gary instead. For once, eying Damien, her formerly talkative date appeared at a loss for words.

Signaling the waitress, Damien ordered. “Scotch for him, Coors Light for me, and a Shirley Temple for the lady.”

“How’d you know that’s what she was drinking?” Gary asked.

Damien shrugged. “Eve and I go way back. She was telling me you’re involved in the Mark Walsh murder investigation? How so?”

“Part of my job dictates that I occasionally have to do pro bono work as a public defender. When—and if—the police find any suspects, I’m on call in case they can’t afford an attorney.” He spread his hands. “They won’t even realize how lucky they are. I was the best criminal attorney in Fargo before I moved here and switched to private practice.”

Eve glared at him. “So you’re actually not working on the case then. You’re just prepared to help if they need you?”

Before he could answer, Damien stood, waving. “Maisie. Over here.”

Wearing a full-length fake fur and stiletto-heeled boots, Maisie Colton looked like a glamorous movie star. She breezed up to their table, giving Damien a quick hug before turning to face Eve and Gary.

“Hi, Eve,” she said dismissively, turning to Gary, eyeing his clean-cut features and business attire. “Who are you? I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Maisie Colton, meet Gary Jackson. Gary, this is Maisie, Damien’s sister.”

To Eve’s amazement, Gary’s face turned beet-red as he took Maisie’s perfectly manicured hand. “My pleasure,” he murmured, kissing her hand.

It took every bit of Eve’s self-restraint to keep from rolling her eyes. She didn’t dare glance at Damien to see his reaction.

For her part, Maisie appeared to be eating it up. Fluttering her long lashes, she took a seat, perching on the end of the bench. “I can’t believe I haven’t met you. Have you been in town long?”

Gary had to lean across the table to hear her breathy question, jabbing Eve with his elbow in the process.

“You know what?” Eve said, pushing to her feet. “I think I’m going to have to call it a night. It was nice to meet you, Gary.”

“Likewise,” he said, never tearing his gaze away from Maisie’s perfect features. “Have a nice night.”

“Excuse me.” Damien nudged Maisie to get up so he could get out. “I need to be going, too.”

Maisie slid out without protest, taking her seat back immediately after Damien stood. As Eve turned to go she saw Maisie reach across the table and capture Gary’s hand.

“They deserve each other,” Damien said, helping Eve on with her coat. “Let me walk you to your truck.”

“This will be all over town by morning.” Glancing around, Eve saw half of the place watching her and Damien and the other half staring at Gary and Maisie.

“Gossip. Don’t worry about it.”

“Easy for you to say. You forget, I run a beauty shop, aka gossip central. I will hear about this on Tuesday, both from my customers and from my mother.” She brightened. “Though at least I can blame Maisie for the failed date. That way I don’t have to tell my mother that I thought Gary was a jerk.”

One hand on the door handle, Damien stopped and studied Eve’s face. “You seem to spend a lot of time pretending to be something you’re not. That’s not the Eve Kelley I remember.”

Stunned, she could only retort with the first thing that came to her. “Maybe your memory’s faulty.”

Brushing past him, she slipped out the door.

She should have known he wouldn’t give up that easily.

“Eve, wait.”

“Oh, won’t this give them something to talk about,” she groused.

“Why are you so worried about what people think?”

“I’m not.” With a sigh, she acknowledged her lie. “Okay, maybe I am. A little. But you have to understand what will happen when I open the salon tomorrow. Every one of my customers, whether or not they have an appointment, will be stopping by to ask about this.”

“Are you sure you’re not exaggerating?”

Tilting her head, she thought for a second. “I’m sure.”

“What about him?” He jerked his head toward the bar. “Is he all right to leave with Maisie?”

“Oh, sure.” Unable to suppress a grin, she shook her head. “Who knows? Maybe they’re perfect for each other.”

“Maybe. Eve, I—”

Suddenly skittish, Eve took a step back. “Damien, I’ve got to go.”

One corner of his mouth lifted in an amused smile. “Have a nice night. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

This stopped her short. “Tomorrow? For what?”

“Our date. Remember?”

Her stomach rolled. “You didn’t say it would be so soon.”

He took a step toward her, causing her to move back. “Eve, what are you so afraid of? Is it me?”

Oh, God, did he really think she was like some of the other people in town, frightened of him because he’d been in prison?

“It’s not that. I told you, I don’t want or need to get involved with anyone right now.”

“We don’t have to get involved.” He held out his hand. “Just friends.”

Blood humming, she stared at him. Then, slowly, she took his hand. “Friends,” she said. Because the feel of his large, calloused hand enveloping hers made her want to touch more of him, she jerked her hand free. Moving so quickly she slid on the snow-covered ice, she headed for her car with the sound of his very male laughter following her.

Watching Eve drive away, Damien debated returning to the Corner Bar and finishing his beer. Finally, he decided against it, not wanting to interfere with Maisie and her apparent fascination with Eve’s blind date. Still, he had to see if his sister wanted a ride home.

Entering the bar’s warmth, he headed for the booth. Maisie and Gary were so engrossed in conversation that neither noticed his approach.

“Maisie, I’m about to head home.”

“Oh.” She pouted, slanting a look of invitation at Gary under her long eyelashes. “Then I guess I have to go.”

“I can drive you home later,” Gary gallantly offered.

In response, her brilliant smile was designed to blind. Tongue in cheek, Damien watched as the other man fell for it, hook, line and sinker. Poor guy could barely form a coherent thought, he was so taken with Maisie.

Kind of the way Damien felt about Eve.

Saying his goodbyes, Damien headed back into the cold and climbed into his pickup.

On the way home, acting completely on impulse, he turned down the road that led toward Eve’s place. Yellow light beamed from the windows, warm and inviting. Cruising to a stop in front of her house, he eyed the beautiful log home. What would she do if he went up and rang the doorbell? Would she let him in or turn him away?

Debating, he finally put the truck in Drive and turned around, this time heading back to the Colton ranch.

Arriving at home, he parked and went around to the back door, knowing this way he had a better chance of avoiding Darius if he were skulking around and drinking. Coming in through the mudroom, off the back downstairs bathroom, he opened the door quietly, trying to make as little noise as possible, and just about ran into Jeremy, Maisie’s fourteen-year-old son.

Even with the lights off, Damien could see the boy had been crying. Tears still glittered on his adolescent cheeks.

“Are you okay?” Damien asked, hating the inane question, but not sure if his nephew would welcome his intrusion.

“No.” Jeremy sniffed, swiping at his face. “I’m not okay.”

Which meant either Darius or Maisie had done something. And, since Maisie was still in town with Gary Jackson, his money was on Darius.

“What’s the matter?”

“Darius,” Jeremy snarled. “Darius is what’s the matter.”

The first time Damien had heard his nephew address his grandfather by his given name, he’d been startled, but Maisie had told him Darius had forbidden the use of any name relating to grandfather. Figured. He’d always refused to allow his own children to call him Dad or even Father.

“What about Darius?” Damien asked cautiously. “What’s he done now?”

“What hasn’t he done? He makes my mother look like a saint. He’s crazy.”

Instantly wary, since he’d thought pretty much the same thing, Damien scratched his head. “Maybe so,” he allowed. “But you still haven’t told me what happened.”

About to speak, Jeremy made a gagging sound and jerked away. He ran for the toilet and hunched over it while he threw up.

Alcohol? Food poisoning? Damien tried to remember all the crazy stunts he himself had tried at fourteen. He’d only been home a few months, but from what he’d seen of Jeremy, the kid appeared to be a real straight arrow.

Waiting patiently, Damien handed his nephew a paper towel to wipe his mouth.

“You’ve got to help me,” the boy blurted. “Darius said he’s selling my horse.”

“What?” Damien drew back. “Why? What’d you do?”

Selling someone’s horse was the worst possible punishment for a cowboy on a ranch. A horrible suspicion occurred to him. “Were you drinking or using drugs?”

“No.” Now Jeremy appeared shocked. “Of course not. Darius caught me smoking cigarettes out by the barn.”

Cigarettes? “When did you start smoking?”

“I didn’t. I just wanted to try them to see what they were like.”

“Ah, I see. I’m guessing he took them away?”

“No.” The teenager gagged again, staggering back to the commode and retching. This started him crying again. Through his sobs, he glared up at Damien. “Darius made me eat them.”

“Eat them? I don’t understand.”

“He fed me the cigarettes. One by one. Made me chew and swallow each and every one of them, even the one I’d started to smoke.” The kid started looking green again. He swallowed hard. “And now I’m sick.”

Stunned, Damien couldn’t understand his father’s logic. “That’s…”

“Crazy. I know, right?”

“Yeah.” Damien, too, had tried cigarettes around that age. He hadn’t liked it, and had never picked up a pack again, even in prison, where there were so little pleasures that men took whatever they could get.

He waited until Jeremy seemed all right.

“How long ago did this happen?”

“Half an hour. Why?”

“Just wondering where Darius is.”

Anger flashed again in the teenager’s eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Where’s everyone else?”

Lifting one thin shoulder in a shrug, Jeremy gagged again. “Dunno.”

Which meant no one else was around. Duke was probably out with Susan and Wes and Finn had long ago gone home. Damien and Maisie had both been in town.

Jeremy had been left on his own with Darius. Sure, Sharon had probably been here, but the woman stayed in her room ninety percent of the time.

Damn. Damien wanted to punch something. Or someone. He really didn’t want another confrontation with Darius right now.

“If he sells Charger, I’m going to run away,” Jeremy vowed. “I’ve raised that gelding from a colt.”

“I know you have,” Damien soothed. “I’ve heard he’s a fine stock horse, too.”

“He ought to be.” Jeremy lifted his chin, furiously wiping at his tear-streaked cheeks. “I’ve spent the better part of three years working with him.”

“That long?”

“Yep. Darius gave him to me for my eleventh birthday.”

“That settles it. You can’t take back a birthday present.”

“I know. But you know what he said? If he gives, he can sure as hell take away.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Damien heard himself promise. “I won’t let him sell Charger.”

Jeremy lifted his head. Hope flashed in his young face. “You mean it?” Then, before Damien could answer, the fourteen-year-old launched himself at his uncle, barreling into him and wrapping his arms around him tightly.

“I’ll try,” Damien choked out.

“Thank you, thank you,” the boy muttered fervently. “I can’t let anything happen to Charger. He’s all I’ve got.”

Something in the kid’s broken tone reminded Damien of himself. Except Jeremy at least had a horse. Damien had nothing and no one. But then, he didn’t need anyone. Jeremy plainly did.

“You have your mother,” Damien pointed out. “She might have her problems, but she loves you.”

“I guess.”

Ruffling the kid’s hair, Damien slung his arm across his shoulders. “No guessing about it. I know. Now come on. Let’s see if I can rustle us up any of the mulled apple cider they were drinking the other day.”

Jeremy nodded.

As they started walking toward the kitchen, they heard a scream. Loud, feminine and terrified.

“Wait here.” Pushing the kid back, Damien rushed into the great room. There, cowering in a corner near the fireplace, crouched Sharon, Darius’s wife. Darius stood over her holding a fire poker.




Chapter 4


“Darius.” Damien spoke in a calm, measured voice. “What are you doing?”

When the older man swung his head around and attempted to focus his bloodshot eyes on his son, Damien realized his father was once again drunk.

Smashed, plastered, blotto.

Behind him, he heard a gasp. Jeremy had ignored his request to stay behind.

“Jeremy, go back in the kitchen.”

“No.” The fourteen-year-old’s voice wavered, but he stood his ground.

Damien returned his attention to his father. “Put the poker down.”

“This is a family matter,” Darius snarled. “Nothing to do with you.”

The inference being that he wasn’t family. Used to his father’s jabs, Damien ignored that, aware he had to steer Darius away from Sharon. Redirecting his anger might be the only way to accomplish that. But first, he had to make sure Jeremy was out of the way.

“What are you doing, Darius?” Damien moved closer, praying his nephew had the good sense to stay back. “Sharon’s your wife. Surely you don’t mean to hurt her?”

Confusion briefly flashed across Darius’s mottled face, before the alcohol-inspired rage replaced it. “She belongs to me, boy. I’ll do whatever I damn well please.”

Sharon made a soft moan of pain, drawing Darius’s attention.

“Darius,” Damien barked, taking another step forward. “Like hell you will. You’ll have to go through me first.”

“Fine,” Darius snarled. “I will.”

He swung the poker at Damien at the same moment as Damien kicked out his leg. The old man fell, the poker went flying into the bricks with a clatter, and Sharon Colton crumpled to the rug, unconscious.

Narrowly missing hitting his head on the hearth, Darius let out a bellow of fury and frustration and pain as he climbed toward his feet, starting for his wife.

After kicking the fireplace tool over to Jeremy, Damien grabbed his father, afraid Darius would start whaling on Sharon with his fists next.

Instead, as Damien wrapped him in a bear hug, the elder Colton folded up into himself, wrapping his arms around his own middle and rocking. Crying great sobs, he mumbled under his breath to himself, tears streaming down his face, all the while shooting an occasional death glare up at his son.

Not sure how to take this bizarre behavior, Damien glanced at Jeremy. The teen appeared flabbergasted and shell-shocked. Not good. He needed something to do.

“Jeremy, check on Sharon.” Barking out the order, he saw his nephew jump. “Make sure she’s breathing.”

While Jeremy hurried over, Damien slowly let go of his father, who had hunched over and was now making a soft keening sound, like a wounded animal.

Obviously, he had more going on than a problem with alcohol.

“She’s breathing,” Jeremy said, checking his stepmother’s pulse. “I think she just fainted.”

“Okay, good.” Trying to think what to do, Damien fished his cell phone out of his pocket and called his twin brother.

“Be right there,” Duke said, after Damien explained the situation.

Darius’s keening grew louder.

“What’s wrong with him?” Wide-eyed, Jeremy stared at his grandfather. “Is he having a stroke?”

“I don’t know. He’s having something. Let’s see if we can get Sharon to wake up. I want to make sure she didn’t hit her head or injure herself in any way.”

As soon as he got close to Sharon, Damien smelled the strong scent of alcohol. “She’s been drinking,” he said flatly.

“Maybe she and Darius were drinking together.”

“Maybe.” But in his experience, Darius’s wife did as little as possible with her husband. In fact, she seemed to go out of her way to avoid him. His brothers had already begun taking bets as to how long she could hold out.

During his time home with Darius, Damien couldn’t blame her. If he were in her shoes, he’d have hightailed it out of Honey Creek a long time ago.

Maybe she was like him. He took another look at her, still out of it and now snoring peacefully. Maybe she had nowhere else to go and no money of her own to make a new life. As with both his previous wives, Darius had most likely made her sign a prenup, ensuring she got nothing if she left.

“Hey, guys. What happened?” The tension seemed to dissipate slightly as Duke strode into the room. Ignoring their father, who’d gone silent and appeared to have passed out, he crossed to Damien and Jeremy.

Briefly, Damien relayed the night’s events, letting Jeremy interject with his story. When they’d finished, Duke shook his head. “You know, Maisie’s been trying to tell me things were getting bad here. I thought she was being her usual melodramatic self.”

“If Maisie’s been dealing with stuff like this, why the hell is she leaving Jeremy here alone?”

Duke looked directly at Jeremy. “Have you witnessed this sort of behavior much before now?”

“No, sir, not this bad. Lot’s of yellin’ and name-callin’. But nothing physical. Not like this at all. Darius hasn’t ever acted so crazy.”

“He’s drunk,” Damien said. “Not that being soused excused him acting like this, but it sure helps explain it.”

“How do you know he’s drunk?” Duke asked.

“Go take a whiff of him. He smells like he’s taken a bath in Scotch.”

“And Sharon’s drunk, too,” Jeremy added. “But she smells more like wine than hard stuff.”

“I’ll take your word for it. That’s all the proof I need.” Duke didn’t even bother walking over to Darius. “Will you help me get Sharon to her room?”

“Sure,” Damien nodded. “But what about him?”

“We’ll come back and get him next.”

Once they had both Darius and his wife safely in their separate beds, they all trooped in to the kitchen. Rummaging in the refrigerator, Damien located the jug of apple cider and poured them each a glass.




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