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Authors: Karen Whiddon

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BOOK: Colton's Christmas Baby
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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

“D
arius.” 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.

“How long has this been going on?” Duke asked, dropping his large frame into a chair.

“You tell me.” Crossing his arms, Damien faced his twin.

“Hey, I don't live here. You do. I knew his mental stability appeared to be shaky, but I had no idea he was this bad. I've never seen him like this. I don't want to ever see him like this again.”

“He threatened to sell my horse,” Jeremy put in. “And made me eat an entire pack of cigarettes.”

“He did what?” Maisie, carrying her high heels and walking on stocking feet, entered the kitchen. “Where is that sorry sack of—”

“He's unconscious.” Damien cut her off. “Passed out. He was stone-cold drunk when I got here.”

“He attacked Sharon with the fire thingee,” Jeremy put in. “We had to stop him from bashing her head in.”

Maisie nodded, apparently unconcerned, then went to the cabinet, grabbed a glass and helped herself to some apple cider. “So where is he now?”

“Duke and I carried him to his room.”

“I hope you left him on the floor. That would serve him right for what he did.”

“Maise?” Damien leaned forward. “You're around here more than anyone. How long has he been this bad?”

Her angry smile faded. “A good while. But he seemed to get worse after you got out of prison.”

“Has he attacked you?” Duke sounded horrified. And Damien noticed the way Jeremy suddenly seemed to find the kitchen floor absolutely fascinating.

“Nothing I couldn't handle,” Maisie snapped. But her
heightened color told them all she was lying. Maisie always blushed when she wasn't telling the truth.

They all sat in silence for a moment, Damien trying to digest this sudden, radical shift in his world.

“You didn't know about this?” Duke directed his question at Damien.

“Hell, no. I spend as little time here at the house as possible. Most days I'm out riding herd on the cattle or checking the fences and pastures. What about you?”

“I don't live here. So no, I knew the old man seemed a little off, but not to this extent.”

“He must have had an iron grip on his control all this time and now it's slipping. I've seen men like that in prison.”

“We've got to do something,” Duke mused. “But what?”

Maisie rolled her eyes. “As long as he doesn't hurt anybody…”

“He nearly hurt Sharon. And he made Jeremy eat an entire pack of cigarettes.”

“True.” She rounded on her son. “I want you to stay away from him, you hear me?”

Instantly defensive at her sharp tone, Jeremy's expression changed into that sullen, bored look all teenagers master. Damien remembered it well from his own childhood.

“I'd like to run away from here,” Jeremy mumbled.

Perfect. “You know what?” Damien pushed to his feet. “Once I get the financial problem settled, I'm out of here. Maisie, Jeremy, you're both welcome to come with me.”

“Awesome!”

“Financial problem?” Maisie frowned. “Just get your inheritance. That should be enough.”

Damien exchanged a look with Duke. “Uh, yeah, about that. Maise, did you get your money?”

“No. Darius keeps it for me. He puts a monthly allowance
in my checking account so I can shop.” She glanced from one to the other, narrowing her eyes. “Why?”

Damien told her about his conversation with Darius, finishing with, “I'm trying to find out exactly what happened to the money.”

“Be careful,” she said darkly. “I have a feeling there are things about Darius that we're all better off not knowing.” She went to her son and put her arm around him, ignoring his sounds of protest.

“Come on, Jeremy. Time to go to bed. You've got school in the morning. As a matter of fact…” Her bright-aqua gaze pinned Damien and then Duke. “You two should turn in, too. Though the sun rises later this time of the year, you know how much work there will be in the morning.”

She left, dragging Jeremy with her. After she'd gone, Damien glanced at Duke. “What do you know? Our big sister actually sounded practical.”

“I know.” Duke grabbed his Stetson and crammed it back on his head. “And she's right. I'm heading home. I'll see you tomorrow morning at the barn.”

Locking the door behind him, Damien trudged up the stairs to his room, hoping the bone-deep exhaustion he felt would allow him finally to get a good night's sleep.

The next morning Damien woke pissed off and aroused. He needed a woman. Immediately, he thought of Eve. He'd been dreaming about her again. He couldn't help but hope that eventually, she might want him, too. Even if she had refused his offer to become his bedroom partner, he'd seen the desire in her beautiful blue eyes.

But for now, he'd leave her alone. As he'd done in the past, he'd find other outlets for his need. Meanwhile, he'd put in a call to his brother Wes, asking to meet him at the Corner Bar for lunch. He had several things he wanted to discuss with him, especially Darius's behavior.

Damien hurried through his morning preparations, showering and dressing in a hurry. On his way out, he stopped in the kitchen and picked up one of the sausage breakfast sandwiches the cook made for the ranch hands and a cup of hot coffee. Then he hurried outside, turning up the collar of his down jacket against the biting ice of the winter wind.

Walking to the barn, he finished the last bite of the sandwich, washing it down with the hot coffee. Fortified, he slipped on his gloves and went to saddle up his gelding. He'd ride out and join Duke and the other hands, aware they had to bring the cattle in from the pastures in the higher elevations before the forecasted blizzard.

They finished driving the cattle shortly before noon. Damien brushed down his horse and washed up in the barn washroom, before driving into town. He parallel-parked on Main Street and fed the meter, surprised that he'd managed to snag a primo parking spot, even if it was a block or two away from the Corner Bar. He didn't mind. Walking, especially in brisk, cold air like this, cleansed the spirit and cleared the mind.

Being in town wasn't so bad, he thought, feeling pretty upbeat for a change. Until he neared a group of Christmas shoppers and they crossed the street to avoid him.

Familiar anger filled him. Striding down Main Street, face lifted to the brisk December wind, he tried to pretend he didn't care, that he was just enjoying the invigorating winter day. It wasn't easy keeping his expression pleasant, trying not to notice how many people avoided his eyes, pretended not to see him or, worse, crossed to the other side of Main Street as the last group had, simply to avoid being in the same space as Damien Colton, ex-felon.

Going on four months out of prison and the citizens of Honey Creek, Montana, still treated him like a criminal.
Even though he'd known most of them all his life, to them he'd forever be branded Damien Colton, the murderer. It didn't matter to them that he'd been completely exonerated. Or that the body of the man he'd supposedly killed had turned up, really dead this time, fifteen years after his mockery of a trial. Now, even though the town was all abuzz while the authorities tried to find the real killer, all anyone around here saw when they looked at him was an ex-con.

He'd gone to prison a boy of twenty. Fifteen years later he'd emerged a man of thirty-five who might just as well have had a flashing scarlet letter—
K
for Killer—branded on his forehead.

Shrugging off the bitterness, he entered the Corner Bar, so different in the daytime, and looked around, helpless to keep from marking how many gazes slid past him the minute he looked their way. Every time he came to town, the reasons he needed to collect his inheritance and move far away became clearer and clearer.

His brother Wes waved him over from a booth in the back. Relieved to see at least one friendly face, Damien headed that way, head held high, shoulders back. In prison he'd learned many things, but the most important was the ability to present himself to others as full of self-confidence. It helped to behave as though his hometown's massive shunning of him didn't bother him at all.

BOOK: Colton's Christmas Baby
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