by Lara Lacombe
“She’s using the furniture to pull herself up, and she’s now able to stand unassisted for several seconds at a time.” He sounded like a proud father, as though she’d discovered the cure for cancer instead of her sense of balance.
“That is impressive!” She kissed Christina’s other cheek, feeling simultaneously joyful at her daughter’s new milestone and sad because she had missed it.
Matt put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I won’t let her start walking yet. We’ll wait for you.”
She nodded, not knowing what to say. Christina reached for him, and he scooped her up easily. “Shall we take another tour of Mommy’s room?” he asked. He began walking around, pointing out all the different things in her hospital room, from the IV pole to the telephone. Christina relaxed in his arms, enjoying his narration.
Emma watched them, her heart feeling torn. Matt was so good with her daughter, and it was clear her baby loved him. The longer he stayed, the more attached she was going to become. It wasn’t fair of him to do that to her child. She’d been through enough in the last few weeks—his leaving was going to be one more blow to her, one she didn’t deserve.
Matt caught her looking at them. Her thoughts must have shown on her face, because he paused in mid-sentence. “Everything okay?”
“What are you doing here?”
He frowned slightly, as if trying to assess her mental competence. “I’m giving Christina a tour of the room so she doesn’t get bored. Do you want to rest now? We can come back later.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.”
He tilted his head to the side. “Then what do you mean?”
“Why are you still here? My daughter loves you. Every moment you spend with her is going to make it that much harder on her when you finally say goodbye. I appreciate what you’re doing, but you’ve got to stop.”
He walked over to the chair and sat again, bouncing Christina on his knee to keep her from protesting. “What if I don’t want to stop?”
Now it was Emma’s turn to frown. “I don’t understand.”
“You’re worried about Christina’s reaction to me saying goodbye. Well, what if I don’t leave?”
“Don’t leave?” she echoed dumbly. “You mean stay with us?”
He took a deep breath, nodded. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
Emma tried to puzzle out what he was saying, but she felt three steps behind. Maybe the pain meds were making her fuzzy.
Matt leaned forward, his expression earnest. “I’ve been meaning to tell you this, but there was never a good time. Hell, this probably isn’t the best time, either, but I’m tired of waiting. I love you, Emma. And I want to be a part of your life. Yours and Christina’s.”
She felt a sudden rush of happiness at his words, but it fizzled out a heartbeat later. “You don’t mean that,” she said sadly.
“What?” Confusion swept over his face. “Why would you say that?”
“Fisher.”
He froze at the little boy’s name. “What does Fisher have to do with us?”
“You told me you left Jennifer because you couldn’t be a father to Fisher since he wasn’t yours. Well, Christina isn’t yours, either. What makes you think you want to be a father to her?”
He was quiet a moment. When he spoke, his tone was carefully neutral. “You think I left Jennifer because I didn’t want to raise a child that wasn’t mine by blood?”
“Didn’t you?” Frustration lent an edge to her voice. Why was he arguing with her when she was only repeating what he’d told her?
“No. I left because she lied to me. I wasn’t going to have a relationship with someone who would deceive me like that.”
His words hit her like hailstones, each one cold and hard. She sat very still, absorbing this revelation.
Wondering why she hadn’t realized it before.
How could she have been so blind?
Of course Matt wouldn’t have wanted to stay with a cheater. Who would? She scanned back through her memories, reexamining every conversation they’d had that featured Fisher. Matt’s love for the little boy had been clear every time. He hadn’t wanted to leave the baby. But he couldn’t stay with the boy’s mother. So he’d had to walk away from them both.
Hot shame flooded Emma’s system, making her skin flush. “Oh my God.” She’d misjudged him so badly. She’d misinterpreted everything he’d told her about his past, and she’d let that misunderstanding cloud her feelings for him.
“I’m so sorry.” She shook her head, unable to meet his eyes. “I don’t know why I didn’t see that before.”
“You were worried about Christina,” he said quietly.
He was trying to let her off the hook. It was better than she deserved. “That’s true. But it’s not an excuse. You’ve been nothing but good to me ever since we met. I shouldn’t have questioned your character like that. Your actions have shown me who you really are—I shouldn’t have ignored them.”
“It’s just a misunderstanding, Emma.”
Tears filled her eyes and made her voice quake. “Yes, but don’t you understand? I’m falling in love with you, too. Except I’ve been trying to stop, because I didn’t think you’d want to be there for my baby. I should have listened to my heart instead of my head.”
He placed Christina on her lap and moved to sit on the edge of her mattress. “Are you saying you’ve talked yourself out of loving me?”
She shook her head. “No. I tried, but it didn’t work.”
He reached up to wipe a tear from her cheek. “Then why are you crying?”
Emma thought about it for a second, realized she didn’t know. She was simply filled with emotions that needed a release, and crying seemed as good a way as any to ease the pressure inside her. “I guess I just need to.”
He chuckled, then leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. “Then go ahead. But I’m going to be here to wipe away your tears.”
She sniffed, nodded. They sat quietly together, Emma’s hand stroking Christina’s hair while Matt’s hand caressed her arm.
Love. Just the word made her feel warm inside.
Matt loved her. He loved Christina.
She stared at the two of them, watching them through her lashes. One blond head, one brown. They looked nothing alike. But that didn’t matter. Because when he looked at her baby, all she saw was love shining in his eyes.
“How are we going to make this work?” Practical considerations began to poke through her peaceful haze. “You work in Big Bend and live in Alpine, and we’re in El Paso. That’s too far away. We need to figure this out.”
“We will,” Matt said with a smile. “But first things first—you need to heal and get released from the hospital. Then we can start mapping out our future.”
Emma nodded, seeing the wisdom of his plan. “I can do that.”
“Good.” He leaned in for another kiss, cradling Christina between them. “Because we’ve got a lot of decisions to make. Together.”
“Together,” she agreed, meeting his lips with her own.
It didn’t get any better than that.
* * *
Don’t miss the previous volume in
Lara Lacombe’s thrilling
Rangers of Big Bend miniseries:
Ranger’s Justice
Available now from
Harlequin Romantic Suspense!
Keep reading for an excerpt from Colton’s Secret Bodyguard by Jane Godman.
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Colton’s Secret Bodyguard
by Jane Godman
Chapter 1
Bree Colton had stopped trying to reprogram herself. Some people were larks, others were owls. Larks were cheery rise-and-shine morning people, the sort who started yawning once darkness fell. Owls were the alarm-clock-smashing, dance-till-dawn types. Bree was a night person, at her best between midnight and 4:00 a.m.
Which meant that right now, at eight thirty in the morning, she was having trouble remembering her own name. Over the years, she had developed strategies for dealing with her daybreak intolerance. The first stage was caffeine. Rocket fuel strength, without a trace of cream or sugar. Bree had trained her assistant to keep the coffee coming until she was ready to face the world. Most mornings, it took a long time.
Her other tactic solved two problems. One of her most precious possessions was her digital recorder, which, as well as helping overcome the morning brain fog, was also an aid to coping with her dyslexia.
Every evening, before she left the gallery, she would record the following day’s to-do list. Her first task each morning was to link the recorder up to her laptop, so she could upload her list into her voice-activated diary. Then, of course, she had to get her newly caffeine-fueled body moving and do the things she had planned.
After taking a long slug of coffee, she pulled open the top left drawer of her desk and reached inside without looking. It was where she always placed her recorder and when her fingers didn’t automatically close around it, she frowned. A quick search through the contents of the drawer confirmed her worst fears. The recorder wasn’t there.
She bit back an exclamation. The forthcoming art show was taking up all her time, and she’d worked late the previous night. It had been almost nine o’clock when she’d finally left the office. Scrunching her forehead, she made an effort to remember. She could recall dictating her list. Then what?
I’m sure I put the recorder in the drawer.
If that was the case, where was it now? Bree had locked the gallery doors last night and opened them again this morning. No one else could have gotten into her office. No one had any reason to. Even if they had, why would they remove her device and not take anything else?
The answer was simple. It hadn’t happened. Her memory was just playing tricks on her, fooling her into thinking that, because she always followed a certain routine, she had done it again last night. Clearly, she had put the recorder somewhere else. The question was...where?
Huffing out a breath, she drank the rest of her coffee while emptying her purse onto the desktop in the hope that she might have picked up the recorder with her cell phone. Even as she did, she remembered that she’d been talking on her cell as she left the gallery.
Reassuring my mom that there haven’t been any more threatening emails.
Briefly, she rested her chin on her hand and gazed at the screensaver on her laptop. It was a view across the valley from the beautiful farmhouse where she had grown up. Evening sunlight glinted on the snow-covered fields of the CC Farm, while Pine Peak dominated the scene. The towering mountain provided the skiing and natural springs that made the resort such a popular tourist destination.
Normally, the tranquil scene soothed her. However, today, it made her feel restless. It was a reminder of her Colton heritage, and that was what the menacing emails had been about. Even though the anonymous sender had called her hateful names because of the color of her skin, the underlying message had gone deeper. You Coltons are only good for using and taking advantage of those who are less fortunate.
Furthermore, the sender had said that if she had any sense, she would pack her bags and head back to her life of privilege on her parents’ farm. If she didn’t? The most recent emails had included some sickening images of what would happen to her if she ignored the warnings.
Small wonder she had lost concentration and mislaid her recorder. It was a minor lapse, unimportant and only slightly inconvenient. She could remember what she needed to do today. It was just...
What did I do with it?
Pushing her chair back from the desk, she went through to her assistant’s office. The two rooms were separated by a short corridor that included a private bathroom and a small kitchen. Inside Kasey Spencer’s office, the floor on three sides was piled high with programs for the forthcoming show.
“Have you seen my digital recorder?”
Kasey looked up from the pile of papers she was collating. “No, but I can leave this and help you look for it.”
Bree shook her head. “It’s okay. I probably took it up to the loft without thinking.” Her apartment was above the gallery. “I’ll check when I grab some lunch later.”
She turned toward the door that led to the main gallery, only to be halted by Kasey’s voice. “Since you’re here...”
“Yes?”
“Rylan Bennet asked if you could spare him a few minutes,” her assistant said. “He’s in the promotions office.”
“That man spends more time here than all the other artists’ managers put together.” Bree was aware that her smile was slightly self-conscious. “He sure is dedicated.”
“Dedicated?” Kasey raised an eyebrow. “That’s a new name for it.”
Bree was tempted to ask the other woman what she meant, but it was fairly obvious, particularly since Kasey gave her a teasing look before returning to her task. So much for Bree’s speculation about whether the attraction between her and Rylan was real or just a pleasant daydream. Kasey’s words implied that her assistant had noticed it, which meant it existed outside of Bree’s imagination. The thought sent a pleasurable shiver down her spine.
* * *
The promotions office of the Wise Gal Gallery was a long, narrow room at the rear of the reception desk. Rylan Bennet didn’t know much about the art world, but he had soon learned that it was a luxury for visiting artists and their managers to be provided with an area of their own in which to work. He figured it was because this gallery was located in a former warehouse, where space wasn’t an issue.
Rylan seemed to be the only person involved in the prospective show who was interested in taking advantage of the hospitality provided by Bree Colton, the gallery owner. Most of the time, he had the office to himself. The situation suited him just fine, although he was aware of the curious glances directed his way by the gallery staff. They were obviously wondering what he found to do there all day, every day.
If he was going to be convincing in his role as a manager and promoter for a group of local artists, he clearly needed to work harder on his disguise. His initial goal had been to get through the door and establish contact with Bree. After all, she was the only reason he was here. But now that he had gotten to know her, he needed to maintain her trust.
Deceiving her didn’t feel comfortable to Rylan, but his old army buddy
Blaine Colton had been resolute. He’d told Rylan that his kid cousin was in danger, and he needed someone he could count on to watch over her. While Blaine was in DC, getting his discharge finalized, his uncle Calvin and aunt Audrey, Bree’s parents, had contacted him.
A week ago, a gallery show at Wise Gal had been interrupted by someone throwing a brick through the full-length front window. Kendall, who was married to Decker Colton, another of Bree’s cousins, was hit in the face and seriously injured. Shaken by the incident, Bree admitted to her parents, and her brother, Trey, who was Bradford County’s sheriff, that she had been getting threatening emails. Instead of taking action, she had apparently been ignoring the problem, hoping it would go away.
Calvin and Audrey were going crazy with worry about their daughter, but according to Blaine, Bree had refused their requests to return home and stay holed up at their farm. In desperation, they had asked her cousin to find a bodyguard, someone he trusted to keep her safe. The only problem? Rylan, the person Blaine had selected to be her protector, was sworn to secrecy about his role. If Bree found out, she would point-blank refuse to let the situation continue.
Reluctantly, Rylan had agreed. Although he’d recently sold the private security consultancy he’d been running since he left the army, he had the skills and experience to watch over Bree. He also lived close to Roaring Springs. Add in the fact that he owed Blaine a few favors from their time together in Afghanistan...
The only minor difficulty had been his cover story. Fortunately, Bree’s mom had helped him out with that. Audrey Douglas Colton was an attractive African American woman, whose love for her daughter and fighting spirit shone through in equal measures. The day after Rylan had expressed his doubts about his ability to blend into an artistic setting, Audrey had called him with a solution.
“Bree’s next show is called Spirit. It’s a celebration of African American art. A friend of mine is a professor at the University of North Colorado School of Art and Design. She has a group of graduates who are looking for someone to promote their work.”
