by Dana Nussio
“Or she could move here.” She smiled. “And Ted’s looking for another partner at Casey’s, so...”
“So, you could bake, just like you dreamed.”
“And Aiden’s just going to hate this news.”
She was laughing as she said it, but Jamie suddenly became serious.
“You know I love your son like he’s my own, and if he wants me to adopt him, I will. I would love it.”
“He would, too,” she said with a smile. “But we don’t have to decide everything right now. Not when we have this place to ourselves...all afternoon.”
“What can we do? Oh. Right. More packing.”
He drew her into his arms and started something wonderful that wasn’t at all like packing.
“Oh, one more thing we need to decide,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers.
“Today?”
He nodded. “We need to decide what your name will be.”
“Maria? Sarah?” She shook her head. “I don’t care as long as it ends in Donovan.”
“You, my love, will always be Sarah to me.”
* * *
Don’t miss Dana Nussio’s next
Harlequin Romantic Suspense romance from her
True Blue series, fall 2019.
Keep reading for an excerpt from Colton Under Fire by Cindy Dees.
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Colton Under Fire
by Cindy Dees
Chapter 1
Her cell phone flashed.
Incoming text for Sloane Colton Durant from Ivan Durant.
She scowled at the screen. Ivan could keep his last name. She would rather go back to being a Colton, even with all of its notorious implications in Roaring Springs.
This isn’t over.
The cell phone flashed another incoming message. Irritated at being disturbed at dinnertime by her ex-husband, she nonetheless touched the screen to see the next message.
She gulped.
I WILL expose what you did and get her back.
A frisson of terror skittered down Sloane’s spine. Her ex, a high-powered corporate attorney, didn’t make threats idly in court and he wasn’t making any now. The custody battle over their daughter had been a bloodbath, and she’d had to resort to blackmailing Ivan with his infidelities and gambling to get him to back off. Her own divorce lawyer had warned her that Ivan probably wasn’t done trying to take Chloe from her.
Sloane’s gaze hardened. Her ex would get custody of Chloe over her dead body. He didn’t care about their daughter at all. Ivan merely saw her as a trophy. The spoils of war.
Sloane winced as two-year-old Chloe let out a piercing squeal, and heads across the dining room turned to glare. It hadn’t been her idea to bring a toddler to a family supper at the upscale Del Aggio steak house at Roaring Springs, or The Lodge, as locals called it. She’d tried to talk her adoptive father, Russ Colton, out of this particular restaurant, but the man was a born-again bull in a china shop.
He didn’t listen to anyone.
“Is Chloe all right?” Sloane’s biological brother, Fox, asked in concern. “She looks flushed.”
“Kids always turn red in the face when they’re winding up for a tactical nuclear meltdown,” she muttered.
“That sounds serious,” Fox responded, eyeing his niece warily.
She and Chloe had spent a few weeks at the Crooked C Ranch while she looked for a permanent place to live. Her adoptive brother, Wyatt Colton, owned the ranch and lived there with his fiancée, Bailey. Fox also had a house on the property and helped manage the spread. They all had a healthy respect for the temper of a tired, hungry two-year-old.
Sloane scooped Chloe out of the wooden high chair, which was probably half the problem. The log contraption might be considered rustic chic, but it looked uncomfortable.
Of course, the other half of the problem was that Little Bug’s bedtime had come and gone, and still, there was no sign of dinner.
“Let’s go for a walk, sweetie, and look at the skiers.”
Chloe felt warm in her arms. And her cheeks were rosier than usual. Poor thing had really had a time of it, getting ripped out of the only home she’d ever known and being dragged to this new town full of strangers who thought they could walk right up to a baby and get in her face or pick her up because they shared the same last name.
Sloane almost hadn’t come back to Roaring Springs, Colorado for that exact same reason. She didn’t need her entire loud, nosy, raucous family getting in her face, either. It had been hard enough getting through the divorce without the interference of the whole Colton clan.
“Mama. Pitty!” Chloe exclaimed, pointing at one of the floor-to-ceiling glass windows on either side of the thirty-foot-tall stone fireplace in the main lodge.
Sloane looked outside at the white stripes of ski runs between stands of fluffy black pines, the slopes bathed in brilliant light for night skiing. Hundreds of skiers dressed in bright colors zigzagged across the snow like a moving dance of jeweled butterflies.
It was pretty. She’d forgotten how much she loved this time of year in Roaring Springs. Ski season was at its peak, The Lodge bursting at the seams with wealthy patrons who’d come in from all over for the world-class ski runs and five-star facilities. She’d missed the laughter and ruddy cheeks, the scent of hot buttered rum, and wood fires burning cheerily. She’d even missed the funny hitch-step rhythm of skiers tromping around The Lodge in their ski boots.
This was why she’d come home with Chloe. To give her daughter stability. Family. A little joy in her life for a change.
From the first moment Sloane had announced her pregnancy to Ivan, he’d been furious about it. Marriage to him had been great provided she gave her undivided attention to him and brought him status and a fat paycheck. But as soon as those were threatened with the imminent arrival of a baby and parenthood, he’d turned on her.
They’d argued constantly through her entire pregnancy. After Chloe had been born, he’d been gone more than he’d been home—betraying his marriage vows and gambling, as it turned out. But when he was home, there’d been only shouting and fuming silences from him.
By the time Chloe was a few months old, she had become withdrawn and silent anytime mercurial Ivan was in the house. It was uncanny how quickly she’d learned to hide from her own father.
But then, Sloane had learned to hide from him as well. His temper was uncertain at best and violent at worst. He’d never struck her or Chloe, but she was certain it was only a matter o
f time. The morning after he smashed every single piece of her mother’s china—one of the few things she had that had belonged to her—Sloane had filed for divorce. She wasn’t sticking around until she or her daughter got hurt. Or worse.
She shuddered and hugged Chloe tightly. Lord, she’d hoped she was done with that nightmare and never had to deal with Ivan Durant again. But apparently, he wasn’t done torturing her.
Her brain kicked into lawyer gear. She would save his texts. Collect pieces of evidence to build a case against him, and then she would ask for a restraining order. The Colton name should hold a little extra weight in the local court, at any rate. If she had to live with the negative implications of the name, she supposed she should benefit from its power, too.
“I go, Mama,” Chloe declared, pointing again at the ski slopes.
“Would you like to learn how to ski? I can ask about some lessons for you if you’d like.”
Chloe bounced up and down so eagerly that Sloane had trouble hanging on to her. She would take that as a yes. Struck again by how warm Chloe felt, she asked, “Hey, Bug, how’s your tummy feeling?”
“Rumbwy tumbwy.”
Rats. They’d been reading Winnie the Pooh, and Chloe might just be repeating that.
“Do you feel sick?” Sloane asked.
Chloe stuffed her thumb in her mouth and twisted to look out the window, seemingly disinterested in the current discussion. She had mostly given up thumb sucking in Denver. But with the move to Roaring Springs, she’d reverted to the habit. She’d also reverted to bed-wetting and temper tantrums.
Sloane figured Chloe had some pent-up anger to act out and wasn’t too concerned about the regressive behavior. It wasn’t as if she could blame her daughter for it when she had at least as much anger at her ex to work through.
She’d been boxing at a local gym for the past few weeks, and she’d been amazed at how much fury rose up in her belly whenever she envisioned Ivan’s face on a punching bag.
Sloane laid her palm on Chloe’s forehead. The velvet baby skin was burning hot. “I think you’re coming down with something, sweetheart. How about you and I go home and climb into our jammies, have a nice grilled cheese sandwich, and I’ll read you a bedtime story—your choice.”
“Pooh Bea-uh?”
“Sure. Winnie the Pooh.”
Sloane ducked into the restaurant to grab the baby bag, which doubled as her purse, briefcase, gym bag and zombie apocalypse survival kit.
“You’re leaving? But the steaks are just about to come out,” her biological aunt, Mara Colton, protested. They’d adopted her and Fox after their own parents had died in a car accident. Sloane had been five and Fox seven at the time. She loved them for it, but truth be told, she’d never felt like a real part of their family of three boys and two girls of their own.
“I think Chloe’s sick,” Sloane explained. “I don’t want to share her baby germs with any of you.”
Her brother Decker, general manager of The Lodge, stood up. “I’ll have the chef put your steak in a to-go box and have the valet pull your car around.”
Wyatt and Bailey expressed regret that she had to go and promised to come see her new house soon.
Bailey was awesome. She was a veterinarian who’d recently reconciled with Wyatt after six years of an on-again, off-again relationship and was about to marry him for a second time. Furthermore, Bailey was expecting their first child. She and Sloane had hit it off from the first moment they’d met. Maybe it had something to do with feeling like outsiders in the middle of the loud, overbearing Colton clan.
Sloane followed Decker to the spacious covered portico out front with its huge timbered roof soaring overhead. Stone-clad columns rose to support the roof, and slate slabs stretched away underfoot. This place was solid. Permanent. Safe. The Lodge really was a remarkable resort.
Decker said, “You’re sure I can’t talk you into coming to work for me here, Sloane? That is why Dad paid for your law school.”
“I’ve told Russ over and over that I have no training for nor interest in corporate law.”
“Training or not, you’re smart as hell. I need someone I can trust in my legal department.” He lowered his voice. “We’ve had some cancellations after last month’s murder, and we’ve got a big film festival coming up this summer. I could really use your help managing our corporate image and distancing The Lodge from any unpleasantness.”
“Then you need a publicist, not a criminal defense attorney. Honestly, Decker. Hiring me would raise more questions, not less.”
“You’re a Colton. And this is a family business.”
Chloe fretted, giving Sloane a convenient excuse to end the conversation. She struggled to put the fussy toddler into a snowsuit, and Chloe kept pushing the hood off her head. As a result, her daughter’s fine blond hair stood up in a halo of static. Sloane tried to smooth it down, but Little Bug was having no part of that and threw her head back and forth, shouting, “No way! No way! No way!”
What had gotten into her? She was usually a sweet baby, cuddly and happy when Ivan wasn’t around.
“Terrible twos?” Decker asked sympathetically.
“That and she’s not feeling well. A deadly combination,” Sloane answered.
As her mini-SUV pulled up, Chloe swan-dived off the emotional cliff into a full-blown tantrum and screamed bloody murder.
Women nearby, obviously mothers, threw Sloane sympathetic looks. Everyone else winced and hurried inside to escape the earsplitting screams.
With a sigh, she put Chloe into her car seat and buckled her in around flailing fists and feet. Ahh, parenthood. And she’d thought being a lawyer had been hard. Ha.
Tonight was one of those nights when she wished to be back at the Crooked C with Fox. The adult moral support would help her get through the challenge of dealing with a cranky baby, and her brother would pour her a glass of wine when Chloe finally wound down and crashed.
She’d had no illusion that being a single parent would be hard, but sometimes it was harder than others. Like tonight.
Finally pulling into the garage of the cute craftsman bungalow she’d just bought with a piece of her divorce settlement, she sighed with relief. But the feeling was short-lived because once she extracted Chloe from her car seat, her daughter had gone from rage to even more alarming listlessness. Which was totally unlike her high-energy child.
It took Sloane several minutes to find the box, not yet unpacked, with the baby thermometer in it. She ran the device across Chloe’s forehead.
102 degrees.
Oh, my gosh!
After giving Chloe a quick cool bath and putting her into her footie jammies, then getting into her own pajamas, Sloane made a grilled cheese sandwich, Chloe’s all-time favorite food, but Chloe wouldn’t take even the first bite.
She measured out the recommended medications for a baby with this high of a fever and convinced Chloe to swallow them. Honestly, her Little Bug should have put up more of a fight than she did at taking the medicine. Sloane’s alarm spiked a little more.
She made up a bottle—which Chloe hadn’t used for months—with an electrolyte drink and rocked Chloe like an infant to feed her the bottle.
Sloane desperately missed baby moments like this, but she hated that her child was sick enough to need one. Chloe fell asleep in her arms, and Sloane dozed with her in the big recliner chair that had been her first purchase for her new house.
Sloane woke with a jerk as Chloe whimpered in her sleep.
Good grief. She might as well be holding a furnace in her arms. Chloe was still burning up. Carrying her carefully into the kitchen, Sloane ran the thermometer across her little girl’s forehead again.
103.6.
Oh, no.
She transferred Chloe’s head to her shoulder, grabbed the baby bag, stuffed her feet into fleece boots and headed for her car
. Chloe didn’t fully wake up as she got her buckled into her car seat and tucked a blanket around her. Trying to stay calm, Sloane quickly climbed behind the wheel and pulled out of the driveway.
She breathed a sigh of relief when the emergency room was empty as she carried Chloe inside. A nurse showed her to an examining room and agreed to stay with Chloe while Sloane went out front to fill in paperwork and hand over insurance information.
She rushed through a pair of swinging doors that led back to the check-in station...and plowed face-first into a man’s chest. He must have been standing just beyond the doors. Sloane, at five-foot-three and not much over a hundred ten pounds, barely budged the much larger person.
She inhaled sharply, and the scent of pine trees and fresh air filled her lungs. It was as rugged as the Rockies, as big as the endless skies, as free as a bald eagle soaring. She inhaled again, relishing the scent.
Powerful, gentle hands grabbed her upper arms and steadied her. Which was just as well. Suddenly, she was feeling a tiny bit dizzy.
“Sloane? Sloane Colton?” the man murmured in shock.
She looked up into a pair of familiar aspen-green eyes.
“Liam?” she blurted, equally shocked to have bumped into Fox’s childhood best friend.
Bookish, but charming. Smart, but self-deprecating. A good skier on the high school ski team. More handsome than he realized... All the girls had loved Liam. But he’d been oblivious. Suppressing a sigh, Sloane’s eyes drifted over him. He had been tall and skinny in high school but had grown taller since she’d last seen him. And had filled out. A lot. In all the right places. My goodness.
“Liam Kastor, at your service. I was friends with...”
“Fox. I remember. You two tortured me incessantly in junior high and high school.”
“We did not! We just were looking out for you.”
She snorted. “You two drove me crazy.”
