Colton Christmas Rescue

by Beth Cornelison

  Mr. First Class continued to hold up the line, and Slade waited for the chance to pass, observing Amanda and...the man across the aisle who stood up to help her stow her bag. As he maneuvered out of his seat and into the congested aisle, the guy slyly put his hand on Amanda’s butt.

  Slade tensed. Mr. Across-the-Aisle smiled at Amanda, brushed against her again as he lifted the small suitcase and they exchanged a private laugh. Slade caught the up-and-down look the guy gave Amanda as she turned to take her seat, and when Mr. Across-the-Aisle leaned on his armrest, continuing to grin and chat Amanda up, Slade’s irritation peaked. He reached up and gave First Class’s too-big bag a push, jamming it in the bin at last, and once the First Class dude stepped aside, he strode stiffly down the aisle with Cheyenne.

  Amanda glanced up from her banter with Across-the-Aisle and gave Slade the same bright smile she’d just been giving the other guy, which made the smile feel less special. Which pissed Slade off for reasons he didn’t want to examine.

  “I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost,” she teased.

  Slade didn’t smile. Instead, he met Mr. Across-the-Aisle’s eyes and nailed him with the glare he used on uncooperative suspects. Hard, menacing, intimidating.

  Mr. Across-the-Aisle flicked a startled glance from Slade, to Cheyenne, to Amanda, then back to Slade before shifting back in his seat and losing his come-on grin.

  Satisfied that he’d made his point, Slade handed the baby carrier to Amanda and swung his backpack from his shoulder. “Not lost, just detained.”

  Amanda scooted to the window seat, leaving Slade more leg room on the aisle, and buckled the baby carrier between them.

  As Slade settled in, she leaned toward him and whispered, “I saw what you did there.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Next time you could just pee on me to mark your territory.”

  Slade jerked his gaze toward her. “What?”

  “That’s how most animals do it.”

  He frowned. “I know that. I mean I didn’t—”

  Slade snapped his mouth shut, knowing full well he had warned the other guy off with his icy stare. That Amanda recognized the move unsettled him almost as much as his instinctive possessiveness of her. He had no claim to Amanda. Yet the fact that they were traveling together, that they gave the appearance of being a family, that—yes—he was attracted to her, all gave him a sense of possessiveness toward her. A false sense of possessiveness, he reminded himself.

  Amanda Colton was the most self-confident, independent, headstrong woman he’d ever met. A case in point was that she was on this fact-finding excursion despite his efforts to exclude her.

  As the plane pushed back from the gate and taxied to the runway, Amanda talked softly to her cooing daughter, smiling and tickling Cheyenne. And reminding him too painfully of what he’d been denied.

  He closed his eyes and tried to relax, tried to sleep, tried to shut out Amanda’s obvious love for her baby and Cheyenne’s sweet innocence.

  Just do the job you came to do and get out.

  With a roar of engines, the plane took off, climbing into the gray winter sky. Within minutes of gaining altitude, Cheyenne’s gurgling turned cranky. Whines tuned up to cries, then ear-splitting wails.

  Slade watched uncomfortably from the corner of his eye as Amanda tried fruitlessly to calm her daughter and gave her drops of some over-the-counter decongestant. Around them, passengers grew restless, and Cheyenne’s tears chafed the raw part of his soul where memories of his loss resided. He squeezed the armrests, praying for the flight to end.

  “Hey,” Mr. Across-the-Aisle called, rousing Slade and drawing Amanda’s attention. “Can’t you make that kid shut up?”

  Slade saw red.

  “I’m sorry—” Amanda began.

  “You know, you’re right.” Slade unsnapped his seatbelt and whirled to face the jerk. “Hand me that pillow you’re using, and I’ll hold it over her face until she stops crying. Okay?”

  “Slade!”

  “What?” he barked.

  Amanda sent him a narrow-eyed look. “You’re being an ass.”

  “And he’s not?”

  Her warning look was her only reply before she divided an apologetic look among the nearby passengers. “It’s the altitude. She’s been congested, and the air pressure has to be hurting her. I’m sorry. I’m trying.”

  Huffing his frustration, Slade shot the jerk another glare as he resettled in his seat. Amanda climbed over his legs with Cheyenne and soothed her baby by walking up and down the aisle, bouncing the baby on her hip, patting her back and distracting her with some success.

  Slade turned to look out the window, working to ease the knot of resentment for the guy across the aisle, trying to understand why the guy’s callousness toward Cheyenne had pushed his buttons...and dreading the rest of this trip. The plane hadn’t even landed, and already Amanda and Cheyenne had him rattled, distracted and as ornery as a rodeo bull. He swiped a hand over his face and heaved a deep sigh. He had to get himself in hand and refocused on the investigation. Scottie Breen could have facts that would blow the lid off any number of cold cases haunting the Colton ranch. Scandalous information. Sinister truths. If so, how would Amanda react to such devastating news?

  * * *

  The taxi ride from the airport to the hotel took thirty minutes thanks to an accident on the freeway. By the time they reached their rooms—adjoining rooms at Amanda’s insistence—Slade was chomping at the bit. He’d told Breen he’d be by that afternoon to interview him, and the day was quickly escaping.

  Slade sat on the bed with his laptop on his legs and logged on to the hotel’s wifi. He’d started a search for directions to Brookdale Hospice when Amanda knocked on the door between their rooms. “Yeah?”

  “I feel grimy from the plane and would really like a shower before we go talk to Scottie Breen.”

  “Go ahead,” he said without looking up from his laptop, “We have a little time while I check out a few things.”

  “Then...you don’t mind watching Cheyenne for me for a while?”

  Slade’s heart kicked, and he jerked his gaze to Amanda. “Excuse me?”

  “She shouldn’t be any trouble. I just changed her diaper, her decongestant has kicked in and she’s had that catnap in the taxi, so she should be in a good mood.”

  Slade’s gut knotted, and when he realized he was gaping at her slack-jawed, he snapped his mouth closed with a click of teeth. Babysit the kid? Traveling with a baby was bad enough without being forced to take charge of her. “I, uh...”

  Amanda laughed, a melodious sound that caught Slade off-guard and seeped into his soul. The tension inside him loosened a bit.

  She tipped her head, still grinning broadly. “Don’t tell me the big bad WBI agent and ranch foreman is scared of a little eight-month-old girl?”

  He scoffed. “Of course not. I just...” haven’t held a baby since Emily died. “I just have a lot of prep work to do before we talk to Breen.”

  Amanda rolled her eyes. “I’ll tell Cheyenne to keep the conversation to a minimum then, so you can work.”

  “Amanda, I—” But she’d already disappeared back into her room, only to reappear a moment later with Cheyenne, the diaper bag and Cheyenne’s baby seat.

  Slade scrubbed a hand over his face. Buck up, man. You can do this. Still, an icy shiver slid through him, and his lungs tightened. He set the laptop aside and stood. How long could Amanda’s shower take? Five minutes? He could handle five minutes alone with the kid.

  Amanda dropped the diaper bag and baby seat on the end of the bed and held Cheyenne out to him. “Don’t look at her like that. She doesn’t bite.”

  Slade hadn’t been aware his expression gave anything away, but he quickly schooled his face. He placed his hands under Cheyenne’s arm
pits and held her, legs dangling, away from his body.

  Amanda tipped her head, studying his I’m-holding-a-bomb grip. “Really?”

  “Just...go. And hurry.” When she turned to leave, shaking her head, he added, “We need to get to Brookdale before visiting hours are over.”

  Amanda left him with Cheyenne, giving a little finger wave as she ducked into her room.

  Slade turned his attention to the bomb in his hands. Cheyenne kicked her legs and gurgled, her blue eyes flashing. Well, as bombs went, Cheyenne was pretty cute. He sighed and looked around the room. He didn’t dare put her down on this floor. God knew what kind of germs were on the floor. And she could roll off the bed and get hurt. But he couldn’t keep standing there, holding her bomb-style, either.

  He checked his watch. How long had it been? Maybe only four minutes left? Except that he hadn’t heard the shower even turn on yet. He muttered a curse, then jerked his gaze to Cheyenne’s. “Oh...sorry. You didn’t hear that. Don’t ever repeat that word. Got it?”

  Cheyenne loosed a long, loud squeal. Slade panicked. The squeal sounded happy, but what if it meant the kid was in pain?

  He drew her closer to his chest, balancing her on one hip, so he could rub her back with a free hand. “Easy, kid. Quiet down.”

  Cheyenne reached for his face, and soft hands patted his cheeks.

  Startled, he jerked his head back and frowned at her. “Whoa. What the—?”

  Cheyenne took one look at his beetled brow and twisted mouth...and released a peal of laughter. If possible, the sound of Cheyenne’s innocent laugh was even sweeter and more musical than her mother’s.

  Slade felt an odd catch in his chest. What would Emily’s laugh have sounded like?

  Squealing again, Cheyenne grabbed Slade’s nose and squeezed. Untrimmed fingernails scratched his face.

  “Ow.”

  More baby chuckles. More strange warmth centered around his heart. More knots in his stomach.

  Slade looked around the room, spied the baby seat and hurried to retrieve it. He laid Cheyenne in the seat and buckled her in so she couldn’t wiggle free and climb out. “There. You’ll be safe there until your mom gets back.”

  Cheyenne twisted, fighting the restraints. Raising her baby blues to him, Amanda’s daughter gave Slade a look of pure betrayal and hurt that slammed into his gut like a fist. Color flushed her face, and her bottom lip poked out.

  “No, no, no. Don’t start crying again!”

  Cheyenne’s face crumpled, and a sad little squeak hiccupped from her.

  He used both hands to rake his hair as the squeaks grew to pitiful whimpers. “You’re dirt, Slade Kent. Worse. You’re horse crap.”

  In Amanda’s room, he heard the shower turn on.

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, he mumbled, “Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.” But an image of Amanda, naked, water streaming down her skin, flashed in his mind’s eye. This time he only thought the curse word. Hey, progress.

  “All right, here’s the deal. I’ll hold you, but you can’t cry. Got it?” Huffing out a deep breath, he unbuckled Cheyenne, lifted her from the seat and sat down with his back against the bed’s headboard. He propped the baby against his bent knees and gave her a stern look. “I have work to do, you know.”

  The baby sobered and blinked at him, her nose running. He used his thumb to wipe one fat tear off her cheek, and a fast-food napkin to clean her nose. “You are a master manipulator, missy.”

  He pulled his laptop closer and typed with one hand to finish pulling up the map and directions to Scottie Breen’s hospice.

  “Ba.”

  He slanted a wary look at Cheyenne. The infant’s face was pure innocence and wide-eyed wonder. Tug went his heart. Knot went his gut.

  He glanced back at the computer. Enlarged the map.

  “Ba!”

  “What?” he said, facing Cheyenne.

  The imp grinned, showing off two bottom teeth and at least a quart of slobber. “Ba!”

  “I’m trying to work here.” He turned back to the laptop, and Cheyenne kicked her feet, thumping his chest.

  “Ba!”

  He faced her again, growling under his breath.

  Cheyenne growled back. Sort of. Then chuckled.

  Slade arched an eyebrow, intrigued. He growled again and wrinkled his face in a scowl.

  Cheyenne mimicked the growl, then laughed harder.

  He snorted and tugged up a cheek in amusement. “I’ll be damned.”

  Cheyenne’s eyes twinkled as she gazed up at him with complete trust and childlike mirth.

  He stared back at the baby and battled down a kamikaze attack of emotion that grabbed him by the throat. Damn it, this should be his daughter! He should be discovering goofy games and marveling over his own baby’s innocent laugh.

  His hand fisted in the bedspread, and he swallowed hard, fighting the swell of grief.

  Cheyenne growled again, then kicked her feet in joy and giggled.

  Releasing the bedcover, Slade raised a shaking hand to the baby’s silky hair. He stroked her head, dragged a finger along her soft cheek and exhaled slowly. Emily was gone, and he could do nothing about that.

  But he’d be damned before he let anyone hurt this precious girl.

  Chapter 11

  She’d taken longer in the shower than she intended, but she’d really needed to shave her legs, wintertime or not. And the hot water and pounding spray had been so gloriously relaxing after the tense plane trip....

  Amanda combed out her wet hair, dried off quickly and wrapped a towel around herself before heading out of the bathroom. She was digging clean clothes out of her suitcase when a curious noise drifted in from the next room. A low rumbling followed by high-pitched squeals and giggles. Cheyenne’s laugh.

  Amanda smiled and, tucking the towel more snugly around her, tiptoed to the door to peek into the next room.

  Slade sat on his bed, his back to the wall, Cheyenne propped on his lap. His Stetson in his hand, he used the hat to cover Cheyenne’s face. Cheyenne grew quiet. Then with a bearlike growl, he snatched the hat away and made a comically scowling face. Cheyenne loved it and gave a hearty belly laugh.

  Amanda bit her lip and covered her mouth to avoid making a sound that would give her presence away.

  Slade returned the hat over Cheyenne’s face and repeated the game, this time making a face that was completely cornball as he buzzed his lips. If Cheyenne had been older, Amanda would swear her daughter was laughing hard enough to wet her pants. Slade the comedian. Who knew?

  A tender ache burrowed to her core, and bittersweet longing filled her chest. She’d suspected Slade had a soft side, a sweet gooey middle, and that his gruffness was an armor he wore in self-defense. Somewhere along the line, someone had hurt Slade, deeply, and he still bore the scars. But with Cheyenne, when he thought no one was looking, he let that guard down. And Amanda lost a little piece of her heart to him. Was Slade someone she could trust her future to, open her heart to?

  As she watched them, she thought about the sultry turn her visit to his room had taken two nights ago. Her heart thumped harder remembering the heated look in his eyes as he’d brushed his body close to hers, touched her face and...hadn’t kissed her. She’d been so sure he was about to kiss her, and her body had vibrated with longing and expectation. What had stopped him? Or had his advances been a ploy? Had Slade been manipulating her attraction to him? That possibility hurt.

  On the bed, Slade went through the motions of the game again, his expression even sillier this time, and Amanda couldn’t cover her own laugh any longer. “What are you doing?”

  Slade sobered so fast she was surprised he didn’t hurt himself. A red flush spread up his neck and into his cheeks. Clearing his throat, he scooped Cheyenne up and
swung his legs off the bed. “I didn’t see... I just...”

  “I haven’t heard her laugh that hard in weeks. You have the magic touch, cowboy.”

  He held Cheyenne out to her. “You took long enough. Most men can shower in about five minutes.”

  “Hmmm.” She secured the towel again when it slipped. “Most men don’t condition their hair or shave their legs.”

  Slade’s gaze traveled to her legs as if on cue, then slid back over her in a sultry perusal. The heat in his eyes when they connected with hers again stirred a heady quiver deep inside her. Maybe the electricity between them the other night had been real after all.

  “So here.” He took a step toward her, holding Cheyenne under her arms again as if she were a bag of flour. “Take her.”

  “In a minute. Let me dress. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your game of peek-a-boo.”

  His brow furrowed. “It wasn’t peek-a-boo.” When she grinned skeptically, he firmed his mouth. “It wasn’t. I never said peek-a-boo.”

  Amanda chuckled as she turned back to her room. “Semantics, tough guy. I’ll just be another minute.”

  Scooting back into her own room, Amanda hurried to the bed where she’d left her selection of clothes and quickly dressed in the khaki slacks and blue blouse. In the adjoining room, more baby giggles spilled through the open crack at the connecting door. Amanda smiled. Plenty of men at the ranch had fawned politely over Cheyenne, but none had touched her as much as Slade’s silliness did. Perhaps because most of the time he seemed so serious, so dour...a little sad even. Knowing her daughter had found a way past Slade’s gruff exterior filled her with a special sort of maternal pride and joy.

  As she buttoned her blouse, a low-pitched rumble joined Cheyenne’s baby laugh—a male chuckle, the sound so rich and deep and sexy her skin tingled and warmth spread through her. She stilled, listening to Slade’s low voice and remembering the fire in his eyes when he’d studied her moments ago. The raw desire in his gaze had been obvious, and even now her pulse fluttered in a flustered rhythm. She tried to push aside thoughts of his sensual stare, the implicit invitation in his eyes, but her fingers still trembled as she finished buttoning her shirt and putting in her earrings.