Colton's Christmas Baby (13 page)

“Not tonight,” he said, kissing her hard on the lips. “But I'll take a rain check, okay?”

She nodded, wishing she didn't feel so foolish.

Dressing hurriedly, he left, giving her one final kiss before breezing out the door.

Smiling to herself, she watched until his taillights disappeared. Then, locking the front door, she turned and made her way back to her bedroom, intent on trading her clothes for a comfortable pair of well-worn sweats. At the
last minute, she remembered she needed to let Max in, so she detoured to the back door.

Shaking off snow, the big dog bounded in. Laughing at her pet's antics, Eve finally gave him a bully stick to settle him down. The fire had burned down to embers and she banked these, yawning.

Damien had barely left and already she missed him. She could get used to having him around. Pulling herself up, she gave herself a sharp talking-to. She didn't love him—she couldn't love him. Having relationship hopes always led to disappointment and pain. She'd sworn she wouldn't do this again, not with him. Especially not with him.

Distracted, she prowled around her house, putting everything back in its place, rinsing out the wineglasses before placing them in the dishwasher.

Satisfied that her tidy little world was back in order—this was one of the few things she
could
control—she whistled for the dog and padded off to bed.

Max circled three times before settling into his dog bed. She pulled back the covers and got her own bed ready, before brushing her teeth and washing her face.

Abstractedly—for curiosity's sake only—she allowed herself to wonder what it would be like to climb into her bed at the end of a day with a warm and drowsy Damien waiting for her. Cutting off the thought because the rush of pleasure it brought alarmed and worried her, she climbed beneath the covers and turned off the light.

Sometime later, Max's low growling from his bed woke her. Instantly alert, she lay still in her bed and listened.

Max sprang to his feet, entire body tense. He took a step forward, lips lifted in a snarl.

“Wait,” she ordered softly. Sliding her feet into her slippers, she grabbed her robe from the end of the bed and
moved slowly toward the doorway. Honey Creek had been virtually crime-free her entire life. No robberies, break-ins or assaults. Certainly, other than the Mark Walsh case, no murders. Of course, there had been cases of various kinds of wildlife crashing into people's homes—deer, moose, bird, even the occasional mountain lion or bear.

She suspected this might be just such an instance.

Though she'd trained Max well and didn't think he'd disobey her commands, she closed the bedroom door, shutting him in. If the intruder was larger than her dog, she didn't want to take a chance that Max would be injured or killed.

Moving carefully, as any wild animal was sure to already be in panic mode, when she came to the curve in the staircase, she peered around the side to below. Eyes already adjusted to the darkness, she froze at the sight below.

A tall shadow, human rather than animal, stood silhouetted below. Male, stocky, wearing a black hoody. And holding something that looked like a crowbar or a baseball bat.

As she registered these details, the man lifted his weapon and swung, shattering her flat-screen TV. Heart pounding, she tried to catch her breath, cursing the fact that she hadn't grabbed a cordless phone or her cell. Moving back into the shadows, she watched as he took out her lamps next, then the Christmas tree, walloping the branches until he'd shattered just about every single ornament. Branches cracked and snapped and her beautiful tree looked whipped and beaten.

At some point it dawned on her that he wasn't taking any pains to be quiet or hide the fact that he was systematically destroying her home. Which meant he didn't care if she
caught him, in fact he'd probably welcome the chance to hurt or even kill her.

Why? Cradling her stomach protectively, Eve backtracked her steps, moving swiftly. Once in the relative safety of her bedroom, she locked her door and released Max from his stay, uncomfortably aware that her seventy-five-pound dog might be her—and her unborn child's—only protection.

Snarling louder, as if he sensed her distress, Max faced the doorway. With the hair on his back raised, he looked ready to attack. Keeping her eye on the door, Eve snatched up the phone and heard the dial tone with relief; part of her had assumed the intruder would have taken out the phone line. She punched the number for the sheriff's office.

A second later, Wes Colton's dispatcher came on the line. Speaking in a hushed voice, Eve urgently relayed the situation and begged them to hurry.

Once she'd hung up, still clutching the phone, she searched her bedroom for something to use as a weapon, pitifully aware of her shortcomings in the self-defense department. The best she could come up with was a large, heavy flashlight.

Through the closed bedroom door, she could still hear crashes, telling her the man was still savagely wrecking her belongings. Though the thought stung, better that he struck inanimate objects rather than her or Max. Still, why? What had she done to make someone that angry? This didn't make sense.

Suddenly conscious of the phone still gripped in her hand, Eve dialed Damien's cell. He answered on the second ring.

“Miss me already?” he teased.

Tersely, she told him what was going on. “I called 911 so Wes or one of his guys should be here soon.”

“I'm on my way. I'll be there in ten,” he told her. “Stay
put. Don't leave your bedroom, okay?” He hung up without waiting for an answer.

Knowing rescue was on the way didn't settle her nerves. She could still see the man in his black hoody swinging his crowbar, as if the image had been permanently burned on her eyeballs.

Why, why, why?
She rubbed her eyes.

A few seconds went by without any crashing sounds. Then a few more. Outside, a motor roared to life. Motorcycle? Hurrying to the window, Eve saw the taillights of some kind of big bike flash red before disappearing into the distance.

After that, everything seemed to happen at once. The sound of sirens growing closer, flashing lights—red and blue—as two Honey Creek squad cars pulled into her drive.

Voices yelling, a crash, a shout, Max barking wildly, all the while she stood in her darkened bedroom, unable to move except to tremble.

Downstairs, the police called her name, alternating between
Eve
and
Miss Kelley.
Still she could do nothing but clutch her flashlight so hard her hands hurt and stare at the door.

Max went into protective dog overdrive, launching himself at the door, snarling and growling. Still she stood frozen, a statue of shock. Only when she heard Damien's voice calling her name could she take a deep breath and move forward, moving Max back and putting him on the down command, then stay. Though the tension in the boxer's body showed he really didn't want to obey, he'd been well-trained and so he did.

Opening her door slowly, she peered out. Downstairs she could hear men's voices, recognizing Wes and one of his deputies, Charlie Calhoun. And Damien, calling her as he
ran for the stairs, taking them two at a time. As he rounded the curve, barreling up to the landing, she launched herself into his arms.

“Are you all right?” He smoothed back her hair, kissing her cheek and her neck and finally her mouth. “Jesus, Eve. Downstairs looks like a tornado went through it. Did he touch you?”

“No, no.” She hastened to reassure him, unable to stop her trembling even now. “I'm so glad you came.”

“There's something you need to see.”

Tempted to refuse, to hide her face and try to withdraw like a turtle seeking a shell, she nodded. Sooner or later she'd have to deal with what had happened, and she sure as heck would rather face this with Damien by her side.

With Damien holding her arm, she slowly descended the stairs. Stopping at the bottom to look up at him.

“This way,” he told her, steering her toward the living room.

Staring at the six-inch black letters written in marker on her living-room wall, Eve flinched. Only Damien's solid body behind her kept her steady on her feet.

“Any idea what that means?” Wes Colton asked, his voice gentle.

Speechless, Eve shook her head.

“What about you, Damien?” Wes pushed.

“No idea,” Damien answered, deadpan. Glancing up at him, Eve knew instantly he was lying. He knew exactly what this meant.

Following this thought, an image of Darius Colton and his malicious glare popped into her head. Had Damien's father had something to do with the break-in? The idea
seemed so ludicrous she nearly dismissed it, but a niggling seed of doubt told her she'd better discuss it with Damien later, when his brother the sheriff wasn't around.

“Take a look around, Eve,” Wes said gently. “See if anything is missing.”

Nothing was. Her belongings had been shredded and destroyed.

“Seems like it was personal,” Wes commented, watching her closely.

“Maybe, but I can't imagine who would do such a thing. I have no enemies.”

“That you know of.”

Looking around at the mess that had been her living room, Eve had to agree. “That I know of.”

Once the report had been written up and the scene processed, Wes and his deputy helped Damien tape up the back window while Eve vacuumed up pieces of glass. After one more circuit around the house looking for clues, Wes and his deputy climbed into their cars and left.

As soon as the police were gone, Damien pulled out his cell phone.

“What are you doing?” Eve asked, blinking.

“Calling that sorry SOB.” Expression furious, he punched in a number. Listening, he shook his head and disconnected the call. “It went straight to voice mail. I'll talk to him personally when I get home.”

She sighed, feeling stunned and strangely detached. Must be shock setting in. “You don't know for sure it was him.”

A muscle worked in his jaw. “Oh, yeah? Who else would have done this? He wants me out of here. But he should know that I can't leave without my money.”

“But to give you a warning through me? How is that effective?”

Pulling her into his arms, he kissed the top of her head. “Because it's a barely veiled double threat, sweetheart. He's letting me know he's not above hurting the people I care about to get me to leave.”

“I don't understand.”

“My inheritance is missing and Darius is worried that the Feds are investigating him. He's even threatened to have me killed.”

Shocked, she gasped. “Your own father?”

“I think he's losing his grip on reality,” he said. “Though I hate making excuses for him, that's the only explanation that makes sense.”

“I can't stay here now,” she told him. “Will you wait while I grab a few things? I'm going to spend the night with my mother.”

“That's an excellent idea.” He hugged her again. “Though I don't think you're in any real danger now that the message has been given. I want you to be safe. Do you want me to drive you?”

“No.” She shook her head and pushed out of his arms. “I need to have my own vehicle. I'll be fine.”

Still, he followed her all the way over to Bonnie Gene's, driving off only once she'd stepped inside. Eve couldn't help but wonder what would happen once he got to the ranch. She had no doubt he meant to confront his father. Closing her eyes, she prayed he'd be safe.

O
n the drive back to the ranch, Damien struggled to get a grip on his rage. He believed he'd successfully hidden his fury from Eve. Somehow he'd kept his voice calm even when he'd wanted to explode.

Someone hurting Eve was a thousand times worse than anything Damien had ever imagined. He knew without a shred of doubt that Darius had been behind the break-in and the message. Threatening Eve. Pregnant, vulnerable, beautiful Eve.

How. Dare. He.

Pulling up fast, tires crunching on gravel, he parked under the barn light, strode to the house and threw open the front door.

“I know what you're thinking.” Materializing from the shadows, Wes stepped into his path. “But Darius isn't here. I've already checked.”

This stopped Damien in his tracks. “Where the hell is he?”

“Billings. He left right after the luncheon to go Christmas shopping.”

Damien swore. “How freakin' convenient for him.”

“Yeah.” Hunched against the cold, Wes accompanied his brother into the house.

“His cell phone goes directly to voice mail.”

“I know. I tried to call him, too. Sharon said he's probably visiting his mistress.”

Damien shook his head as the two men headed inside. “Now, why doesn't that surprise me?”

“What, that he has a mistress or that Sharon knows about her?”

“Both. Damn. Nothing about him should shock me. Anyone who'd threaten a pregnant woman—” Too late he realized his mistake.

“Eve's pregnant?” Wes cocked his head. “Yours?”

“I shouldn't have said that. As a matter of fact, forget I did.”

“You didn't answer the question.”

Swearing, Damien turned away. When he faced his brother again, he took a deep breath before speaking. “That wasn't my secret to tell. So no, I won't be answering the question. Can we get back to Darius and what the son of a bitch did?”

“You don't know that it was him.”

“Like hell I don't. You know as well as I do that he hired someone to do his dirty work for him. He conveniently left town to give himself an alibi.”

“Again, you have no proof.” Wes crossed his arms. “None of us needs to be jumping to hasty conclusions that have no basis in fact.”

“Oh, come on.” Damien rounded on his brother. “You know as well as I do that the old man's behind this.”

“No, I don't. Yes, I agree it seems probable—”

“Probable? Who else would have done such a thing?”

Ignoring him, Wes continued. “We can take hunches, guesses and probabilities under consideration. But that's all we can do. Until we have proof—cold hard facts—we can't go off half cocked.” Wes gave him a hard look. “Understand?”

Without agreeing, Damien relayed what had happened earlier at the Christmas luncheon. “He
threatened
you?” Wes sounded as if he didn't believe it.

“And Eve. What about your need for proof now?”

“It makes a difference. I will have to talk to him about this.”

“When?”

Wes shrugged. “When he gets back.”

“But—”

Rounding on him, Wes looked as if he wanted to take a swing at Damien's jaw. As furious as he felt now, Damien thought he'd probably welcome it.

“I'm not going up to Billings to hunt him down.” Wes swore. “Do you have any idea how it's going to feel, questioning my own father?”

“Do you have any idea how it feels being threatened by my own father?” Damien shot back.

They each took a deep breath, striving for calm. When Wes spoke again, he sounded curt and professional.

“Actually, no, I don't. Darius has never threatened me or, to my knowledge, anyone else in our family before this. But I do know we can only operate on facts, not on guesswork.”

Damien managed a small smile. “That's the law-enforcement officer in you.”

“Yes, but that's also the realist in me. Come on, Damien. This is your
father.
You got sent to prison based on circum
stantial evidence. You of all people should know how it feels to be wrongfully convicted.”

This brought Damien up short. He started to argue, changed his mind then shook his head. “What can I say? Darius has all but admitted he's behind this.”

“Has he? Has our father admitted to breaking and entering and terrorizing your girlfriend?”

“No, but—”

Relentlessly, Wes cut him off. “Has Darius admitted to stealing your inheritance or laundering money?”

“Not in so many words.”

“Then you have nothing. Without proof, it's all just as circumstantial as the evidence they used to convict you of a crime you didn't commit.”

With that parting shot, Wes grabbed his coat, lifted his hand in farewell and left, leaving Damien sitting alone in front of the Christmas tree.

 

The next morning Maisie confronted Damien in the kitchen, catching him as he was pouring his first cup of coffee. Today she was wearing a soft brown sweaterdress and over-the-knee, high-heeled boots. Without her makeup, she looked like a cross between a Victoria's Secret model and the big sister he remembered from their childhood.

“What's going on with you and Eve Kelley?” she demanded.

He rolled his eyes. “Nosy, aren't you? How's Gary Jackson?”

“Touché.”

He grinned, watching as she poured herself a cup of coffee, liberally spooning sugar and cream into it before stirring and taking a sip.

“However,” she said, slowly raising her gaze to meet his, “I didn't invite Gary to sit at our table at the Christmas
luncheon. You know what that means. The entire town will be talking.”

Confused, he frowned. “She sat with me because we're together. We like each other. Nothing more than that.”

“Have you bought her a ring?”

“What?” Damien let his mouth fall open. “Of course not.”

“Well, you've just proved to the entire town that you're serious about her. No Colton invites a woman to sit at the family table for the Christmas luncheon unless they're engaged or married. You know that.”

Did he? “Maybe that rule came into place while I was locked up,” he finally said. “Why didn't she tell me?”

Maisie looked at him for a long second. “I don't know. Maybe she's hoping for a ring.”

The thought sucked the breath from his chest and made him dizzy. He took a drink from his coffee mug to steady himself. Remembering Eve's attempt to tell him why she didn't want to sit with him, and his own reaction, he knew that wasn't the case.

Before he could summon up something to say, Maisie dropped another bombshell. “Damien, I need your help with something. You know I had an affair with Mark Walsh fifteen years ago? Should I tell Jeremy that he's Mark's son?”

Damien could only stare. Sometimes he felt as though he'd been dropped into a carnival fun house filled with twists and turns. “You and Mark Walsh?”

“Yes. It went on for over a year, right before he was supposedly murdered. I thought he loved me. He said I was irresistible but he was scared of my craziness, as he called it. Turns out he also had another lover in Costa Rica.”

A horrible thought occurred to Damien. “Did you know
he wasn't really dead?” The depths of such a betrayal would destroy him.

“Of course not.” Maisie looked at him as if he'd suddenly grown horns and a tail. “Do you honestly think I could have known that and let you rot in prison for fifteen years?”

Relief flooding him, Damien managed a shaky smile. “No. Sorry. I had to ask.” Then another thought occurred to him. “That son of a bitch knew you were expecting his child and he still faked his own death?”

“No. I didn't find out I was pregnant until after his supposed murder.

“What about Darius? I'm guessing he was not too supportive.”

“He was furious. It would have been ten times worse if he'd known who the father was. He wanted me to give up the baby. That's the only time in my life I've ever really stood up to him.”

“You never told him Mark Walsh was Jeremy's father?”

“Nope. And Jeremy doesn't know either.”

“Surely he's asked by now.”

“Oh, yes.” She gave him a wistful smile. “Many times. I keep telling him I don't want to talk about it.”

“But now you want to tell him? Why?”

When she met his gaze, hers was direct and clear and honest. “Because I think he has the right to know. He's fourteen, old enough to handle it.”

“But there's more, isn't there?”

“Maybe.” She gave him a wistful smile. “I've been told that secrets are like poison to people like me.”

“True enough.” Damien didn't know if he should congratulate her on her insight or ask for specifics on who was advising her.

“That's why I've been trying to get that TV show,
Dr.
Sophie,
to get a camera crew out to Honey Creek. They need to reveal all the secrets.”

“Are you still obsessed with that?” he asked.

“No. I've finally realized that they're only going to continue to ignore me. Apparently TV-watching America isn't interested in the goings-on of a small town in Montana.”

“You're probably right,” he agreed. “I've got to tell you, sis, I'm really glad you gave that one up.”

“Whatever.” She shrugged. “So I'm asking your opinion,” Maisie continued. “What would be the best way to tell Jeremy the truth about his father?”

“Wait until he asks. Don't rush it, make him sit down and tell him slowly, but talk to him like he's a man.”

“He is. My little man.” She laughed. “Will you tell him for me?”

Only Maisie could ask such a thing and be serious.

“No.” Reaching out, Damien touched her shoulder. “That's between the two of you. I can't be involved.”

“I thought you'd say that.” She sipped her coffee. “But it was worth a shot.”

Time to change the subject.

“Wes said Darius is gone. When did he leave?” he asked as casually as he could manage.

“Right after the Christmas luncheon. He said he was going to do all of his Christmas shopping in Billings. Why?”

“Somebody broke into Eve's place last night while she was asleep in bed. They trashed it pretty good and left a message on her wall.”

Maisie's jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly serious.”

She closed her mouth. “What kind of message?”

He told her.

“And you think Darius is behind it.”

Instead of answering right away, he refilled his coffee mug. “Yeah, I do. Don't you?”

She shrugged. “I don't know. It all seems kind of pointless. I mean, you and Eve aren't serious or anything, so why threaten her?” Narrowing her eyes, she studied him. “Unless Darius knows something I don't.”

“Darius knows nothing about me or my life.” He thought of something else Eve had said. “Wes said he talked to Sharon last night, and she said something about Darius being with his mistress. Do you know anything about that?”

Making an inelegant snorting noise, Maisie made a face at him. “Looking for something to use against him? Don't waste your time. Everyone knows about Darius's little ‘indiscretions,' as he calls them. He
always
has a mistress, though none of them lasts long. He'll have a new one by February.”

“Have you seen Sharon lately?”

“No, why?”

He relayed what Eve had told him Sharon had mentioned while having her hair done.

“Damien,” Maisie said with exaggerated patience. “You saw him attack her with a fireplace poker. Of course she'd say he's trying to kill her.”

“But that was an isolated incident, wasn't it? He was drunk. So was she.”

“Like that excuses it?” Maisie huffed. “And for your information, that was not an isolated incident.”

Damien stared. “You've seen others?”

“Not that violent, but yes. I've witnessed a thousand small cruelties. So has Jeremy. And remember the cigarette thing, how Darius made my son eat an entire pack of cigarettes.”

“So Darius is off his rocker,” Damien said glumly. “Finn's supposed to get him to allow tests. Until then, that doesn't mean we have to excuse his behavior.”

“No, of course not.” A tinge of bitterness colored Maisie's tone. “No one excuses mine.”

Gently, he put his arm around her slender shoulders. “Maise, I know you don't think you need it, but have you thought about getting help?”

This time, instead of automatically shaking her head or getting angry, Maisie nodded. “I talked to Finn. He doesn't think I'm bipolar.”

Careful to hide his surprise, Damien waited for her to say more.

“Of course, he isn't ruling that out. Apparently, diagnosing that sort of thing is pretty complicated. But he did say he leans more toward Borderline Personality Disorder.”

“He didn't mention anything about this.”

“Finn? Of course not. There's this little issue called doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“Did he recommend any course of treatment?”

“Yep. He referred me to a psychologist up in Bozeman. I go once a week. I've gone twice so far.”

He hugged her. “Did he give you any medicine?”

“Yep.” Looking up at her brother, she smiled. “It took it a while to work, but I feel better now than I have my entire life.” She made a motion with her hand, mimicking a mountain and a valley. “The ups and downs aren't as dramatic.”

“Good for you, Maise. I'm really happy for you.”

Moving toward the coffeepot, she glanced at Damien over her shoulder. “Now, you've just got to get your life in order, bro. Once you do, all the Coltons will be happy.”

“Except for Darius,” he reminded her.

“Except for Darius,” she echoed. Looking sad. “I just wish things could be different for him.”