Colton Christmas Rescue

by Beth Cornelison

  She gave him a tight nod of understanding before pivoting on her heel and stalking stiffly toward the door. She gritted her teeth until her jaw ached. Was every man in her life a liar? Was honesty really so hard?

  “Amanda.”

  She stopped but didn’t turn. His boots thumped hollowly as he caught up to her, touched her sleeve. Even through her coat, the weight of his hand, the pressure of his fingers holding her arm sent a crackling awareness through her. Damn it, she didn’t want to be attracted to him!

  “I’m sorry.” His tone was quiet, sincere. “My intention was never to deceive you or your family, and certainly not to hurt anyone. Chief Peters and I believed I could accomplish more working undercover.”

  She said nothing, didn’t move.

  He sighed. “I still believe working undercover would be best. I need you to not say anything. To anyone. Including your sisters, Cheyenne’s guard, the hands...”

  “You want me to share in your deception?”

  The creases in his forehead and beside his eyes deepened. “If it will get to the bottom of the crimes that have been happening here for months, for years, then yes. I want to catch the person who is targeting your daughter. And I want the truth about what happened to Cole when he was kidnapped.”

  Amanda jerked her chin up. “Cole? What’s your interest in Cole’s kidnapping?”

  Slade’s mouth tightened. “I believe Cole’s kidnapper is the same person who killed my father.”

  Chapter 7

  Amanda shot him a stunned look. “Your father?”

  Slade rubbed the center of his chest when the acid burn kicked up again. He didn’t want to get into this conversation here, now, but he owed Amanda at least a cursory explanation. “Do you remember a police officer that was killed by the employees’ gate about ten years ago?”

  “I...” Her expression brightened with recognition. “Yeah. I was a senior in high school that year. Dad shielded us from most of what happened, unpleasant business that it was.” She scrunched her nose as she thought back. “His name was Ronald...no, Roland Kent.” The last name had barely passed her lips before her cheeks paled, and she met Slade’s gaze, wide-eyed. “Oh, my God.”

  He nodded tightly, jamming down the cold ball of grief that swelled inside him. “My dad.”

  Her eyebrows beetled as she glared at him. “So you’re here to what? Get revenge?”

  “Not revenge. Answers. Justice. The case was never solved.”

  She grunted. “Turns out Chief Drucker wasn’t on the up and up all the time.”

  “You think?” he asked, his tone heavily sarcastic.

  Cheyenne twisted and kicked in her mother’s arms, and Amanda shifted her from one hip to her other, murmuring softly to her child. “Just a minute, chickpea.”

  Cheyenne wasn’t the only one growing restless with the conversation. Slade itched to continue his search for the bullet fired at Amanda, head out into the pastures to search for evidence of where the assailant could have gone. Drawing a slow breath, he met Amanda’s inquiring gaze. “Now that Drucker’s gone I’ve finally been granted access to the files concerning my father’s death. I want his killer caught.”

  Amanda tipped her head, still rubbing her fussy daughter’s back. “And you think the killer is someone here on the ranch?”

  Slade shrugged and waved a hand toward the spot where she’d just been attacked. “Considering the events of the past few months, I’d say it’s a good possibility. Wouldn’t you?”

  “Then everything that’s been happening, the attacks, the kidnapping attempts...they’re connected to your father’s death?”

  “I don’t know that for a fact, but if you blow my cover, we may never know. I don’t want whoever’s behind the attack on you today and the murders here in recent months to go free for ten years the way my father’s murderer has.”

  She held his stare, her gold eyes wary, intelligent...piercingly beautiful. “All right. I hate lies and deception, but if it will help put an end to the threat against Cheyenne, help bring the mastermind behind the attacks this year to justice...I’ll keep your secret. But...” She squared her shoulders and stepped closer to him, poking him in the chest with a finger. “In exchange, I want you to swear to me that from here on out, you’ll play it straight with me. I want your complete honesty, no holding back information or softening the truth. I want you to be open with me about everything in your investigation.”

  Slade tugged out his pack of gum, unwrapped another stick and added it to the one already in his mouth. The gnawing in his chest was growing by the minute, outpacing the effectiveness of the natural remedy.

  With a scowl fixed on her, he weighed Amanda’s ultimatum. He’d never been able to open himself to people, and more recently, he’d found shutting his emotions down; avoiding certain truths about his life was the only way he got through the day. But she’d qualified her last statement with “everything in your investigation.” Facts of a case he could share. Facts were impersonal.

  He stuck his hand out. “Deal.”

  She gave his hand a quick shake, but even that brief contact stirred something in the pit of his stomach. Her hand was small, her skin cold in the raw morning air, and though he knew she’d hate the characterization, vulnerable filtered through his brain. Cheyenne wasn’t the only one who needed protection. The attacker today could have killed Amanda.

  Slade vowed silently to make sure the assailant didn’t get a second chance.

  * * *

  Slade escorted Amanda inside, despite her assurances to him that she didn’t need his assistance. But when the flood of adrenaline that had fueled her fight wore off and the full impact of what had happened hit her, Amanda’s knees turned to cooked pasta, buckling as she climbed the steps to the employee wing back door. Slade caught her with a strong arm around her waist and sent her a concerned look.

  “I’m okay,” she said, but her tone was unconvincing even to her own ears. She clutched Cheyenne to her chest tighter and stumbled through the door he opened for her.

  Slade flagged Hilda down as he helped Amanda to the bench along the trestle table. “Amanda’s been hurt. Can someone help?”

  “Oh, dear lord! Amanda?” Hilda swooped in to fuss over her and Cheyenne.

  “I’ll be all right. I just need a minute to rest. Calm my nerves...” She stopped as another shudder rolled through her.

  “She needs an ice pack for her jaw,” Slade told Hilda. “And something hot to drink to warm her up.”

  “Miss Amanda? What happened?” Fiona appeared from the back hall and hurried over to check on her.

  “I was—” Amanda started but stopped when Slade gave her a stern look and shook his head subtly. “I slipped on the ice. But I’m okay.” That much was true, at least.

  “I’ll get Dr. Colton,” Fiona said. “He should check you.”

  “No, don’t bother Levi. I’m—”

  But Fiona had hurried up the stairs to the family quarters before Amanda could stop her.

  A moment later, Mathilda arrived from the staff wing, carrying an armload of dirty sheets. She took one look at Amanda and Cheyenne, Slade and Hilda huddled around them, and a frown dented her forehead. “Miss Amanda, what’s the matter?”

  Soon most of the household staff buzzed around her. Amanda did her best to smile and reassure them she and Cheyenne were essentially unharmed. Whenever someone offered to hold Cheyenne for her, she pulled her daughter closer and refused to let go. Someone on the ranch had tried to kill her, had tried to kidnap Cheyenne. That truth was difficult to process. The staff was like her second family. She couldn’t comprehend how one of the people she’d grown up trusting, loving, confiding in could be trying to hurt her and Cheyenne.

  For several minutes, Slade stayed at her side, and despite the lies he’d told her family about
who he was and why he was at their ranch, his strong and stalwart presence gave her comfort, made her feel safe. She watched his keen gaze flick from one face to another as staff members passed through the dining area. When it dawned on her what he was doing, a chill rippled through her. He was looking for scratches on someone’s face.

  With a sick swirling in her stomach, Amanda sent her own gaze around the room, searching out her attacker.

  The whoop of a siren and strobe of colored lights out the dining room window alerted them to the arrival of the police.

  Hilda glanced out the window and frowned. “Why are the police here?”

  “There was an incident earlier,” Slade said cryptically. “The officers will want to talk to each of you in case you heard or saw anything that might be useful.”

  The gathered staff members glanced at each other then to Amanda with fresh concern and suspicion in their eyes.

  “I’ll talk to them, take them through the scene of the attack,” Slade said quietly as he rose to meet the officers. “They’ll want a statement from you.”

  Amanda nodded. “I know.”

  He gave her shoulder a firm squeeze before he left, and a chill settled over her as he strode away. What would she have done without him this morning? Not only did he stop the attacker from killing her and stealing her daughter, but his level-headed thinking, his reassuring strength and support had kept her from falling apart.

  * * *

  Slade strode back out into the biting winter air to meet Chief Peters and his officers. The worry that had filled Amanda’s eyes as he left her tugged inside him. Although she’d worn a brave face for the household staff as they fussed over her, he’d seen the underlying tension in her face, her protectiveness toward Cheyenne, her uncertainty and doubt in the face of the threat hanging over her. And despite the attack and her rattled nerves, Amanda had treated every member of the staff with warmth and affection and genuine gratitude for their concern.

  He shook his head, silently admitting his surprise. He’d imagined a wealthy daughter of Jethro Colton would be aloof and pampered, treating her staff with detached disinterest. But Amanda Colton continued to surprise and impress him.

  “Another attack?” Chief Peters asked as he rounded the front bumper of his cruiser.

  Slade nodded. “Came after the baby again. Took a shot at Amanda.”

  Peters gave a low whistle. “The guy’s getting brazen, going after the kid when she’s with her mother.”

  “Exactly. Brazen is one word for it. Desperate is what I’d say. And, therefore, more dangerous.” Slade gritted his back teeth at the implication. Amanda and Cheyenne were not safe. But how did he protect them and still have time to conduct his personal investigation into his father’s murder?

  Peters tugged up his coat collar. “Show me the scene.”

  Slade led the officers to the holding pen and found Cal Clark squatting beside the squeeze chute.

  “Hey!” Slade shouted. “What are you doing?”

  Cal looked up, and his expression darkened when he saw the police officers. “Just checking on the cow. Where’s Amanda? Why’d she leave the cow in the chute like this?”

  “This area is a crime scene.” Peters leveled a hard look on Cal. “We’re going to need a statement from you.”

  “From me?” Cal’s eyes widened. “What did I do?”

  As they walked closer to Cal, Slade noticed a dark smear on the man’s chin. He narrowed his gaze, studying the streak as he crossed the holding pen. “Is that blood?”

  “What?” Cal frowned.

  Chief Peters caught Cal’s jaw between his fingers, tipping his face toward the sunlight. “Sure looks like it to me. Harriman, get a swab of this.”

  Slade caught Cal’s wrist when he tried to touch his chin. “How’d you get blood on your face, Clark?”

  “I don’t know,” Cal said, his eyes shifting from Chief Peters to Slade. Then his face brightened. “Wait, I pricked my thumb on the barbed wire when I was fixing the fence. It was bleeding, so I stuck it in my mouth. Must have smeared some of the blood on my chin then.”

  Slade sent him a hooded glare. “You sure about that?”

  “See for yourself.” Cal yanked off his glove and held up his thumb. A fresh puncture wound was obvious on the tip. “What happened here? What are you accusing me of?”

  “Easy, pal. No one’s accusing you of anything.” Chief Peters stepped back so his officer could take a sample of the blood on Cal’s chin. “Just covering all the bases. Officer Harriman here is going to get your statement.”

  Cal followed the young policeman to the stable, but Slade’s gut told him the ranch hand was innocent. He’d left the hand in the pasture shortly before the attack, and Cal had been expecting Slade to return, meaning his disappearance at the time of the attack would have been noticed. He hadn’t had the sort of outerwear with him that the assailant had worn, and Slade had interviewed enough witnesses to know real shock and honest denial when he saw it.

  But he also knew better than to rule out any suspect too soon. Until the assailant was caught, everyone at Dead River Ranch was a suspect in Slade’s book.

  Chapter 8

  Once Chief Peters and his officers had finished collecting evidence and headed back to the station, Slade went upstairs to check on Amanda and Cheyenne. As he made his way through the lavishly appointed family home, he goggled at the expensive decor. One room of the Colton mansion was bigger than his apartment in Jackson, and the furnishings surely cost more than he earned in a year. Somehow the opulent house didn’t match the feisty veterinarian he’d gotten to know in the stable. Amanda Colton was an enigma to him. Wealthy beyond his dreams, yet as down-to-earth and unpretentious as any ranch hand he’d ever known.

  He climbed the wide staircase, admiring the dark polished-wood hand rail and ornately carved newel posts. At the top of the stairs, he found a sitting area where three hallways to separate wings converged. Hearing soft music down the hall to his left, he headed that direction first. When he found the partially open door where the lullaby music was playing, he knocked softly.

  “What are you doing?”

  He turned to find the head maid he’d met his first day holding a stack of folded laundry and glaring at him.

  “I wanted to check on Amanda. She was—”

  “The family quarters are strictly off-limits to ranch hands and kitchen workers.” The woman—Mathilda, if he remembered correctly—squared her shoulders. “You shouldn’t be up here. There is a proper protocol to be followed if you want to speak to a member of the family.”

  Slade arched an amused eyebrow. Was she for real? “Protocol?”

  Her starched, high-collared uniform dress and pursed mouth added to the air of disapproval she projected. “You heard me.”

  “Slade?” Amanda called from inside the room. “Is that you?”

  He pushed the door farther open, despite Mathilda’s sniff of disdain. Amanda was seated in a rocking chair with Cheyenne asleep in her arms. “Hey,” he said quietly, “how are you doing?”

  Amanda looked past him. “It’s okay, Mathilda. I want to talk to him.”

  The woman looked worried and flattened one hand against her starched bodice. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Can I get you anything? Would you like to have your lunch in your room?” Mathilda asked.

  Slade didn’t miss the much more ingratiating tone the maid had when addressing Amanda.

  “No, thank you. I’ll be down in a little while.”

  Mathilda sent Slade another warning glare before heading down the hall to another room.

  With a grunt of disbelief, Slade stepped into the nursery and removed his Stetson. “Didn’t know you had a watchdog.”

  Amanda grinned. “She means well. She’s
always been protective of our family and her staff, but with all that’s been happening in recent months, she’s been more on edge.” She tipped her head. “What brings you up here?”

  A fuzzy orange cat with no tail sauntered over to sniff his boots and rub against his legs. He bent over and gave the cat a cursory scratch behind the ears. “Just making sure you’re okay.”

  “That’s sweet of you.” She smiled. “I’m a little sore, but I’ll live.”

  Slade cast an uneasy glance around the frilly room, where pastel accents and a mural of flowers and fairies predominated. He forcefully shut out the memory of a yellow nursery and wallpaper with dancing bunnies. When the familiar burn gnawed his gut, he took his gum from his pocket and offered her a stick.

  “No, thanks.” She glanced down at her sleeping daughter, and the warmth that filled her expression stirred a bittersweet ache in his chest. She drew a fingertip along Cheyenne’s cheek. “I’ve got everything I need right here.”

  Slade shifted his feet uncomfortably, and after putting the gum in his mouth, he put away the pack. “Chief Peters questioned Cal.”

  She raised a worried look. “Cal? Why? Wasn’t he in the pasture fixing that downed fence?”

  “Probably. But he had time to get back to the stable and has no proof he was in the field when the attack happened.”

  “But Cal’s worked for us for years. I can’t imagine he’d—”

  “Amanda, I know you want to believe the best of all of your employees and family, but the fact remains that someone on the ranch is behind these attacks. Someone is leading a double life and conspiring behind your back. You need to be careful whom you trust.”

  He hated the shadows that filled her eyes, but she had to face reality for her own safety. “I know. That’s probably the hardest part of this whole mess. It seems crazy to me to think Cal could want to hurt me or Cheyenne, but it’s just as ludicrous that it’s Jared or George or any of the hands.”

  Slade fingered the brim of his hat. “Amanda, how sure are you that it was a man that attacked you?”