by Jane Godman
“How did he hurt himself?” she asked.
“We took in a couple of porcupines before passing them on to a specialist rescue center,” Rylan explained. “Jekyll got into an argument with one of them.”
“Will he let me pet him?” Bree asked Dinah.
“Oh, yes. He loves people. Just hates other animals, especially dogs.”
“He has small-dog syndrome,” Rylan said. “His life would be a lot easier if he just got along with the other canines.”
“Poor little guy.” Bree tickled Jekyll’s ears. The dog, clearly sensing sympathy, shuffled forward until he could rest his chin on her knee.
“I have no sympathy for anyone who thinks they can win a fight with a porcupine by sitting on it,” Rylan told Jekyll in a scolding tone. “It took the veterinary nurse an hour to pull all the quills out of his butt.”
“It’s dinner time.” Dinah got to her feet. “The mob are in the exercise yard, but they’ll be getting hungry.”
Bree helped Dinah fill bowls with dried food, then went with her to the area behind the kennels. Although the dogs were allowed to roam free at various times of the day, Rylan had created a space to encourage socialization and problem-solving skills. With ramps, hoops, tunnels, steps and mounds, it provided the dogs with a different environment, and prevented them from becoming bored.
When they saw the two women, most of the dogs—and Merry the sheep—charged toward the gate. Rylan’s prediction was proved correct. Although they remained boisterous, the dogs were generally well behaved and responded to commands.
“Let’s do this nicely, shall we?” Dinah opened the gate and, to Bree’s surprise, the pack left the exercise yard in an orderly line.
As they reached the kennels, she sensed a change in their manner. A few of the leaders sniffed the air and started to hang back. When they got inside, the reason for their reluctance became obvious. Each of the dogs glanced in Jekyll’s direction, before skirting cautiously around his bed. They were definitely subdued as they headed toward their dinner.
“Wow.” Bree shook her head. “They really don’t like him, do they?”
“He doesn’t make it easy for them.” Rylan sighed as he stooped to stroke Jekyll. “Each one of them has been on the receiving end of his bullying tactics.”
“Why don’t we take Jekyll to the house to recover?” Bree asked.
“He has a self-inflicted sore butt,” Rylan said. “He’s not dying.”
“I know. But that way, the others will get a break from him. Maybe we could reintroduce him gradually and teach him some manners at the same time.”
He looked at the pitiful little dog. “I thought I was supposed to be the soft touch where animals are concerned?”
She grinned. “You just met your match.”
“Thanks for the warning.” He scooped up the dog bed with Jekyll inside it. “But I already knew.”
* * *
The following evening, Rylan was sitting on the porch, trying to complete some paperwork. Far too much of his attention was taken up with pausing to watch Bree as she fussed over Jekyll. The dog seemed much happier now that he was being treated like a royal baby instead of an ornery canine.
All three of them looked up in surprise when Rylan’s cell phone buzzed.
“It’s the app I use for the gate security.” He checked the image on the screen. “Hey, Trey.”
Rylan typed in the code to release the gates, watching on the screen of his cell as Bree’s brother drove through them. Since Trey had visited them once before to deliver Bree’s dress for the gala, he didn’t need directions to the house, and his car came into view a minute or two later.
The sheriff exited his vehicle and came to join them, sinking gratefully into one of the comfortable chairs.
“You sure have some weird pets.” He nodded toward Jekyll.
“Don’t be mean.” Bree covered the dog’s ears. “How are Mom and Dad?”
“Fine. They said hi.”
“Coffee or a cold drink?” Rylan asked.
“Just soda,” Trey said. He took off his Stetson and rubbed a hand over the top of his head. “I just stopped by for a chat, but I really need to get home and catch up on some sleep.”
Rylan went inside. When he returned with the drinks, they sat together around the porch table.
“Do you have any news on the case?” Bree asked.
“Not really.” Trey sounded frustrated. “Nothing that leads directly to the guy who’s been targeting you. The only thing I’ve heard—and this was from an informant who was speaking about an unrelated matter—is that there’s been some talk about sabotage of more Colton events. Specifically, at The Lodge and The Chateau.”
“By the person who threw the brick through the gallery window?” Rylan asked.
“My source didn’t have that information,” Trey said. “It’s possible it was a different group, or an individual, but is that likely?”
Rylan looked from him to Bree. “The Colton clan isn’t popular with some folks. There could be several people who are gunning for your family.”
It pained him to say it because he liked them both, but they needed to consider all possibilities.
Bree was obviously thinking it through. “I don’t see how that fits with someone threatening me personally. Yes, the first emails were about me as a member of the Colton family. But the tone changed and became a personal attack. You’ve both seen them. They were about what the person sending them wanted to do to hurt me.”
“It could still be the same person,” Rylan insisted. “You’re a Colton, Bree. Threatening you and sabotaging the family are not mutually exclusive. From a starting point of resentment, this guy’s tactics could have changed and become obsession.”
“True.” Trey drained his drink. “But I think we have to keep an open mind. We could be dealing with a stalker who is fixated with Bree and someone else who has a grudge against the family. Or they could be the same person.” He cleared his throat. “By the way, I stopped by the gallery this morning to follow up on a few interviews. David, your security guard, said he needs to speak to you. After the damage to your pictures, he’s come up with a plan for improving the storage systems, including access to the exhibits. He was keen to run it by you.”
“You didn’t tell him where she is, did you?” Rylan asked.
“Yeah, of course I did. I posted a notice on the gallery door with a map showing where your ranch is.” Trey’s tone dripped sarcasm. “Come on, Rylan, obviously I have no intention of telling anyone where Bree is. You are not the only one around here who has my sister’s welfare at heart. Although David Swanson isn’t a suspect, is he? He was attacked as he tried to stop the stalker getting to Bree.”
“I know, but the fewer people who have the details of her whereabouts, the better. Anyone can slip up and give information away.”
Trey nodded his agreement. “By the way, you caused quite a stir at the gala.”
Rylan’s attention was focused on Bree, as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve had a few calls and messages from different family members asking me about Bree’s new guy.”
“I hope you told them to mind their own business.” Bree sank back in her chair with her arms folded over her chest.
Before Trey could say anything more, Bree’s cell phone, which was on the table, vibrated and lit up. She glanced at Rylan as she reached for it, and he could tell what she was thinking. Him.
Sure enough, she scanned the screen quickly, then looked up. “It’s an email.” He could see the nerves kicking in as she converted the text to speech.
Your skin looks like silk. So delicate. A blade will tear right through it. Take care. Even Colton cash can’t hide you forever.
* * *
“He’s right, isn’t he?” Bree crossed her arms over he
r body, gripping her upper arms as she tried to still the trembling. “I can’t hide forever.”
She had held it together while Trey was there, sitting quietly and listening as the two men furiously dissected the latest message for clues. Now, her brother had left, and her control had gone with him. Thoughts whirled wildly inside her head, and she had trouble holding on to them. Her breath came in gasps, and dark spots danced at the edges of her vision. Inside her chest, her heart took on its own life, leaping like a wild animal trying to escape from a prey.
The porch began to spin, and she sank into a squat, trying to slow her brain and body. Before she reached the floor, Rylan’s strong arms were around her. “Shhh...it’s okay. I got you.”
With one hand under her knees and the other supporting her waist, he carried her into the house. Lowering her gently onto a sofa, he knelt on the floor at her side. Jekyll followed them and lay on the rug nearby, his gaze fixed worriedly on Bree’s face.
“Do you want some water?”
Bree shook her head, clutching his hand. “Stay with me. Please.”
Moving to sit on the sofa, he drew her close, cushioning her head on his thighs. “Better?”
The warmth of his body was exactly what she needed. “Yes...much.”
She closed her eyes. After a moment or two, he began to gently stroke her hair.
“I wish we could stay like this. Just shut everything else out.” She didn’t care what had happened in the past, didn’t care if she was making herself vulnerable again. There was that moment, and the comfort only he could give her.
“My mom used to say, when you stop wishing you may as well be dead.” Rylan’s voice was soft and soothing.
“That’s the first time you’ve mentioned your mom.”
His hand paused for a second before resuming its caressing motion. “She was a nice lady who got dealt a bad hand in life.”
“Was the bad hand your dad?” Bree opened her eyes. Her position, with her head in his lap, gave her a distorted view, but she saw his jaw muscles tense. “I’m sorry. If you don’t want to talk about it—”
“I’ve spent my whole life not talking about it. Maybe it’s time to start.” He tilted his head so he could look at her. “My dad was an alcoholic. Mom would never use that word. She’d say he liked a drink, or he had a drink problem. After his death, she admitted he had an addiction. But the stigma of the word alcoholic was too strong for her. My mom told me that my father grew up incredibly poor. He was badly bullied at school because he wore used clothes and never had any money. His father, my grandfather, was physically abusive to his wife and kids. I guess that’s where my dad learned his ways.”
“He struck you?” Bree was shocked.
“Sober, he was the most mild-mannered man you could wish to meet. But when he hit the bottle? He was a nasty drunk. I was a sensitive kid, and my mom would try to protect me, but he loved to torment me. While I dodged the blows, he’d call me weak, a wimp, mommy’s boy...anything to make me feel worthless.”
Tears stung Bree’s eyes as she listened to him calmly recount the story of his nightmarish childhood. She thought of her own dad. Of his steady presence, his calm patience, his warm protection. All the things she’d had that Rylan hadn’t. It was so clear to her now. Rylan’s whole life had been about proving his cruel father wrong, showing he was stronger, harder and better than those around him. Underneath the tough guy exterior, the sweet, sensitive person was still there. That was the man she had fallen for.
“When I was twelve, he had a heart attack and died in his sleep. Isn’t that known as a millionaire’s death? Ironic, because he never had a cent to his name while he was alive. After he passed, Mom juggled a series of jobs to keep a roof over our heads. When she fell ill, I took over and cared for her. She died when I was eighteen and... Well, I guess you know the rest.”
She turned, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face against his torso. They stayed that way for a long time.
“Hey.” When Bree lifted her head, Rylan ran his thumb down her cheek, brushing away the wetness. “What’s this?”
“I’m so sorry for everything you went through.”
“It’s in the past.” His tone was gruff.
“Are you sure?” She sat up, but didn’t move away, remaining half reclined in his lap. It didn’t feel wrong. They were sharing the role of comforter. “Don’t you ever think about it?”
He was silent for so long she thought he wasn’t going to answer. When he did speak, his voice was low. “I try not to, but the memories intrude every now and then. When my dad started shouting, my mom used to send me to my room. I knew it was because he was getting close to hitting one of us, and she wanted to make sure it was her. Sometimes, I’d hear her cries and I’d—” he dug his knuckles into his eyes “—I’d pee my pants. Brave, huh?”
“You were a child.”
“This one time—I must have been about eight—I decided I’d had enough. When I heard my dad beating my mom, I left my room and tried to drag him off her. I was yelling at him, punching him as hard as I could. He knocked me across the room. I blacked out.” He gave a shaky laugh. “I remember coming to and hearing him telling my mom she’d have to say I fell. I still dream about that punch.”
He drew her tight against him again, holding on to her as if he would never let go. After a few minutes, Jekyll jumped onto the sofa, his cone making him clumsy. Determinedly, the little dog pushed his way between them and settled on Bree’s knee. With a heavy sigh, he shoved his head under her hand.
Rylan laughed. “I think that message is fairly clear.”
“Yes. Let’s not get things out of proportion by letting our human problems intrude on the important dog stuff.”
Bree felt unaccountably cold as she shifted position to sit at Rylan’s side. Their embrace had been about consoling each other, nothing more. She was still wildly attracted to him, but the days of anything else between them were over. That was what she kept telling herself. Although, at times like this, when he was up close, with that smile in his eyes, she had a hard time believing it.
It was getting late, but a glance at the darkness beyond the window brought her fears crashing back down. It wasn’t the full-on panic attack of earlier. Just a shivery reminder that he was out there, somewhere, thinking about her.
“Will you be okay?” Rylan followed the direction of her gaze. “I could bring Papadum in to sleep in your room.” He nodded at Jekyll, who was sprawled on his back across Bree’s legs. “But I don’t think that would be a popular move.”
“I don’t want to be alone.” Her gaze caught on his and held. “I’m not ready to go back to where we were, but...”
His smile was sad and charming in equal measures. “I will never stop wanting you, Bree.” She opened her mouth to speak, and he held up his hand. “But I can sleep in your room without spontaneously bursting into flames.” The smile deepened. “I think.”
What about me? For an instant, the words hovered on her lips. She wondered if they showed in her eyes. Fear. It could make you think the strangest things.
“Thank you.” It seemed the safest thing to say.
Chapter 13
“Um, so how do you want to do this?” Bree looked utterly adorable in pale blue pajamas, with her hair tumbling loose about her shoulders.
Rylan almost groaned aloud. How did he want to do this? What sort of question was that? If she was offering him a genuine choice, he would start by kissing her until she was weak at the knees...
Focus.
“There’s a folding bed in one of the other rooms. I could bring it in here.”
She smiled. “That’s a big bed. We’re both grown-ups. I’ll keep to my side if you stay on yours.”
He held out his hand. “Deal.”
Since just touching her fingertips sent flames scorching through him, he wasn’t ove
rly optimistic about his ability to get a good night’s sleep. His hopes sank even further when a pitiful howl echoed through the house.
“What the actual...?” Rylan scratched his head. “He was fine on his own last night.”
“I think he can sense we’re both in here together. He must be feeling left out.” As Bree clasped her hands under her chin, another volley of canine cries reached them.
“Left out?” Rylan growled. “He’s spent his whole life feeling left out, the little—” He caught her eye. “You want me to see if I can settle him?”
“Thank you.” The glowing smile she gave him didn’t quite compensate for having to dog-sit tonight, but it did put a spring in his step.
Ten minutes later, Jekyll and his dog-bed had been transported into Bree’s bedroom. Jekyll, having barked with delight when he saw Bree, developed an overwhelming desire to curl up on the mattress next to her. His tiny legs, coupled with the cone around his neck, meant jumping wasn’t easy for him. Not one to be deterred, he persisted.
“No, darling.” Bree lifted him from his chosen position on her legs for the fifth time and placed him in his own bed.
“I could take him back to the kennels,” Rylan said tersely.
Something in his tone must have gotten through to the dog because, after leveling him with a resentful look, Jekyll finally curled up in his dog-bed.
“At last.” Rylan, who preferred to sleep in the minimum amount of clothing, had decided to respect the situation and wear shorts and a T-shirt. Sliding under the bed covers, he switched off the light on his bedside table.
“Good night, Bree.”
Before she could answer, a sound like a metal roll shutter being pulled down filled the room. Jekyll was snoring.
Rylan groaned. “No wonder the other dogs hate him.”
Bree laughed so hard, the bed shook. “This is a sanctuary for all animals, remember? Even the troublesome ones.”
“That little stinker takes troublesome to a whole new level,” he grumbled.
