Colton's Christmas Baby (2 page)

“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.

W
hen 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.