Colton Christmas Rescue

by Beth Cornelison

  “Tom!” Amanda screamed, stumbling as she hurried down the ladder. She missed a rung in her haste and fell, landing with a bone-jarring thump.

  Cheyenne let out a terrified wail. The gunman charged forward. Amanda scrambled, head throbbing, to reach her daughter.

  To no avail. Horrified, she watched the assailant scoop Cheyenne in his arms and race out of the storage building.

  “Noooo!” Her cry was a ragged sob, a howl of agony and numb disbelief. She staggered to her feet, ran through the door in pursuit. But the assailant had climbed on one of the ranch’s ATVs. Driving with one hand and holding Cheyenne in his other arm, the kidnapper drove away.

  Her feet slipping on the icy snow, Amanda raced after them, screaming for help. The ATV quickly outpaced her and disappeared over a hill into the north pasture.

  Legs quivering, Amanda dropped to her knees, racked by sobs and gasping for breath. “Nooo!”

  Seconds later, or minutes—time had no meaning anymore—Amanda rose on shaky legs and stumbled back to the storage building. She dropped beside Tom and rolled him to his back. His face was slack and blood stained his shirt. “Tom? Tom, can you hear me?”

  She felt for a pulse in his neck, even though his fixed gaze gave little doubt he was dead. Tipping her head back, Amanda let a loud keening moan pour from her shattered soul. Tom had died trying to save Cheyenne, and her daughter was in the hands of killers.

  Chapter 17

  A knock on his room door roused Slade as he changed out of a machine-grease-covered shirt. He’d spent the morning repairing a hay baler in the barn, and it felt good to shower and clean up. His pulse spiked, simultaneously hoping Amanda had forgiven him his outburst and also praying it wasn’t her. He needed to keep his distance from her, for her own good. He needed to put his investigation in high gear, solve his father’s murder and get the hell out of Dodge without hurting Amanda any more than he had.

  He pulled the door open and blinked his surprise. Jethro’s ex-wife Darla and her daughter, Tawny, who was a younger version of her mother, smiled at him with cattish grins. Both women were bottle-blonde, made up with a thick coat of makeup and about as warm-looking as a snowman. Though surprised to see the women who tended to keep to their suite and eschewed mingling with the hired help, according to Amanda, he had been meaning to interview Darla and her children. He’d been in a hurry to get out in the pasture to check on the hands, who were working in the south field, but figured he ought to seize this opportunity while he had it.

  “Afternoon, ladies. Can I help you?”

  “Hello, Mr. Kent. We need a few minutes of your time.”

  He noted it wasn’t a question, but rather a subtle demand. “All right. Shall we talk in the dining—” He stepped out of his room, but Darla stopped him with a hand planted firmly on his chest.

  “No.” She gave a none-too-gentle shove. “We’ll talk in here. It’s more private.”

  Tawny swept into his room behind her mother and closed the door.

  Darla let her hand linger a moment longer than necessary on his chest, and when she finally withdrew it, her fingers slid along his ribs.

  Slade’s skin crawled. Not only was the woman twice his age, the glint in her eyes told him she and Tawny were up to no good.

  “Well, well,” Tawny said, eyeing him like a tasty snack. “No one told me the new foreman was so...handsome. Had I known, I wouldn’t have taken so long to come down and meet you.”

  Darla strolled across his floor examining the things on his dresser and touching his personal items—his comb, his razor, his cell phone. Her uninvited familiarity rankled.

  “You wanted to talk?” he said coolly when she continued snooping without saying anything.

  “I do.” She faced him and tipped her head. “Rumor has it you’ve been asking a lot of questions since you arrived.”

  Slade said nothing, only stared at her blankly.

  “There have been a lot of snoops around here over the past few months. Employees who fancied themselves as spies, long-lost sons of Jethro’s coming out of the woodwork, even an investigative reporter pretending to be Cole.”

  When she picked up his picture of his father and studied it, Slade bristled and snatched the framed photo from her. “What’s your point?”

  Her back stiffened, and she lifted her obviously surgeon-sculpted nose. “My point is we don’t welcome outside interference and prying in our home.”

  “Now, Mother,” Tawny said with a false smile. She stepped closer to him and took her turn manhandling him. She put a hand on his arm and sidled close to him. “Let’s not be hasty. Perhaps Slade is just friendly and wanting to get to know all of the employees.” She sent him a wink. “I’m free tonight if you want to get to know me better, cutie.”

  Slade stepped away from Tawny, his back teeth grinding. “Sorry. I have plans.”

  Tawny flashed a comically disappointed pout. “Aw...”

  He sent a flat look to Darla. “I’m here to do a job. Nothing more. A job I need to get back to, if there’s nothing else.” He put a hand on the doorknob.

  “I know who you are, Mr. Kent,” Darla said with a smug grin. “The picture confirms it.” She nodded to the photo in Slade’s hand. “I recognized the name. Your father was the policeman killed here ten years ago.”

  Slade gritted his back teeth and placed the photo back on his dresser. “So?”

  She lifted overplucked eyebrows. “So I’m not stupid enough to think it is coincidence that you were hired as foreman. What sort of game are you playing, Mr. Kent?”

  “I don’t play games.”

  “Does Jethro know who you are?” Darla asked, her eyes narrowed.

  “You’d have to ask him.”

  “The man is dying, Mr. Kent. I’m sensitive enough to his illness not to upset him with troubling events from the past. I hope you’ll show him the same kindness.”

  “Why would—” He started when a popping noise filtered in through his window. “Did you hear that?”

  “Jethro can’t be bothered with—”

  “Quiet!” he ordered sharply, lifting a hand to echo his command.

  “Don’t tell me what to—”

  “Quiet!” he repeated, shouting down Darla’s complaint. “I hear something.”

  Everyone in the room stilled, straining their ears. A scream rang from outside, and Slade’s gut pitched, recognizing the voice. “That’s Amanda.”

  He turned and ripped open his door, even as Darla’s voice chased him.

  “Wait! We’re not finished!”

  He ignored Darla, his only thoughts of reaching Amanda. Fast. The first sound he’d heard, the noise that caught his attention, sounded far too much like a gunshot. If Amanda was hurt...

  Acid pooled in Slade’s gut as he sprinted down the stairs and out the back door. He swept his gaze around the ranch yard. The stable and pens were eerily empty and quiet. Because he’d sent the hands to the south field to do maintenance on the irrigation system. Damn!

  “Amanda!” He jogged toward the stable, still casting an encompassing glance around the yard. His heart tapped an anxious tattoo against his ribs. Where was she? “Amanda!”

  Bingo and Betsy trotted out of the stable wagging their tails, and he started that direction.

  “Slade!”

  He spun around, searching the area from which Amanda’s cry had come. The fear that vibrated in her cry sent a chill to his bones. “Amanda?”

  Finally he saw her stagger from the storage building, her steps unsteady as she stumbled drunkenly toward him. Heart in his throat, he bolted across the ranch yard toward her, his feet slipping in the snow.

  Before he reached her, she dropped to her knees.

  He skidded to a stop beside her, seizing her arms and quickly scanning her for injur
ies. “Amanda, what happened?” he panted, winded from his sprint.

  The eyes she lifted to his were so full of pain and distress that icy dread shot straight to his core. She shook from head to toe and was clearly suffering from shock.

  He gave her a shake. “Tell me what happened!”

  “Ch-Cheyenne...” she moaned and shuddered, staring blankly at the snow.

  Knowing she was in no shape to explain, he eased her down to the ground and stroked her hair. “Wait here.”

  Drawing his service weapon from his shoulder holster, Slade crept toward the storage building. He found ATV tracks in the snow by the door, and inhaling deeply, he could still smell exhaust, telling him the vehicle had been there recently. He pushed the storage building door open with one hand and led with his gun as he sidled inside. Between the long walls of shelves, he found a body sprawled on the ground.

  Tom Brooks. Cheyenne’s bodyguard.

  Rushing in, he checked Tom for signs of life. But found none. Slade bit out a scorching curse then ground his back teeth in frustration. Another pointless death at Jethro Colton’s ranch. If it was the last thing he did, he’d—

  Slade cut the thought off without finishing it as Amanda’s stuttered response replayed in his head. Ch-Cheyenne.

  He lurched to his feet. Swept another glance around the storage room. And froze.

  Beside a man’s coat, which had been spread on the floor, lay the small stuffed killer whale he’d bought Cheyenne in the San Diego airport.

  She loves that thing. It’s her new favorite toy.

  Grief slammed Slade with the force of a wrecking ball. His breath whooshed from his lungs, and he had to brace a hand on the nearest shelf to stay on his wobbly legs. Closing his eyes, he fought for control, battled to keep his emotions locked down. Cheyenne had been taken, a good man had been murdered and Amanda was, understandably, in shock. He had to hold it together for her sake. He had to keep his head and do his job.

  He reholstered his weapon, then pulled out his cell phone to call Trevor Garth. While he waited for the head of ranch security to answer, Slade took a step toward the stuffed killer whale, then stopped. The toy was part of the crime scene, and he couldn’t touch it. Fisting his hand, he turned and headed back out to Amanda.

  “Tom Brooks has been murdered, and the killer took Cheyenne,” he said without preamble when Trevor answered. Hearing the strain in his voice, he paused only long enough to pull in a deep breath. “Get Chief Peters up here, then radio to the hands to organize a search of the property. They’re in the south field, so they can fan out from there. The killer has about a five-minute lead. We need to hurry.”

  Trevor’s only response was a mumbled curse that echoed Slade’s feelings.

  Amanda was still huddled in the snow, shivering violently. As he approached her, she raised a hollow, stricken gaze to him that caused a wrenching in his chest. “M-my baby...”

  He nodded somberly. “I’ve called Trevor. The cops are on their way.”

  With a hiccup and jerk of her shoulders, Amanda dissolved in plaintive sobs. Sobs so deep and pained she could barely catch her breath. “She’s...my world....”

  Slade dropped to his knees and scooped her into his arms. “I know, honey.”

  Amanda clutched at his back, holding him as if her life depended on it. At that moment, Slade was sure her sanity did. He knew how dark and hopeless the well of grief could be when fearing for your child’s life.

  He held her tightly, pressing her head to his chest and fighting the sting of tears that burned his sinuses. He absorbed the guttural sobs and spasms of anguish that racked her body, sharing her heartbreak.

  Moments later, when he heard footsteps crunching through the snow, he glanced up to find Gabriella and Trevor leading a small crowd hurrying toward them.

  “Amanda!” Gabriella rushed to her sister’s side. “I heard...I—I’m so sorry!”

  Slade levered Amanda back and framed her wet face with his hands. He swiped at the tears on her cheeks with his thumbs as he drilled her with a penetrating stare. “I have to go now, but your sister is here. Trevor and I are going start searching for her.”

  Amanda’s face crumpled, and her hands gripped his sleeves. “Find her. You h-have to f-find her.”

  Slade pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, then met her eyes again. “I will bring her back to you. I promise.” As he pulled away from Amanda, he faced Gabriella. “Get her inside. Have Levi check her. She’s in shock.” Then jerking his chin toward Trevor, he rose to his feet and headed to the stable. “The assailant’s on an ATV. We can follow the tracks in the snow. Tell the hands we’re headed to the north pasture.”

  Trevor lifted a two-way radio to his mouth and conveyed the message to Cal.

  Slade pulled out his gun, double-checked that it was fully loaded then clicked the magazine back in place. “Let’s catch the sonofabitch.”

  * * *

  “I should be out there looking for her,” Amanda said as she paced the nursery, biting fingernails that were already down to a nub.

  Catherine sent her a worried look. “No, you shouldn’t. I know it’s hard to wait for news, but the whole police department and every available person on the ranch is out searching. Gabby, Levi, the hands...even some of the cooks and maids.”

  “But she’s my daughter.”

  Cath wrapped an arm around her sister’s shoulders and guided her back to the rocking chair for the umpteenth time that evening. “And you were understandably in no condition to ride out with the search party when they left.”

  Amanda perched on the edge of the chair, nausea swirling in her gut every time her thoughts replayed the kidnapping, Tom’s murder, her helpless scramble to reach her daughter as the attacker fled. Levi had wanted to give her a sedative and she’d refused. She wanted her mind sharp and fully able to help Slade and the police identify and locate the person who’d stolen her baby.

  Only Cath had stayed behind, partly to take care of Amanda when she’d been in shock, and partly because a cold, bumpy ride into the pastures was not advisable for a pregnant mother.

  “Besides,” her sister said, rubbing Amanda’s icy fingers between her warm palms, “if the kidnapper holds to form from this summer when Avery was taken, you should be getting a ransom call soon. You need to stay by the phone.”

  A ransom. Amanda launched herself from the rocking chair again, unable to sit still. She’d gladly empty her account and sell all her possessions for the safe return of her daughter. After what she’d learned from Breen about how the Colton fortune had been created, she wanted no part of the tainted money, anyway. Knowing that the same ill-gotten riches were the reason Cheyenne had been targeted made her all the more furious and disgusted.

  “Do you think Jethro will help with the ransom if I can’t pay it all?”

  Cath blinked, her expression stricken. “Cheyenne’s his granddaughter. He has to!”

  “He wouldn’t help Trevor get Avery back.” A fact Amanda found unforgivable, and judging from Cath’s expression, her sister shared the opinion.

  “This is different. Cheyenne’s family.”

  “But Avery will be family in another few days.” Amanda stalked across the floor and back, her hands fisted and pent-up adrenaline coursing through her. “He knew how Gabby felt about Avery...”

  Cath stepped in front of her and chafed Amanda’s arms. “Hon, you’re dwelling. Take a deep breath and come sit down. Everything’s going to be fine. I know it will.”

  “I can’t sit. I should be out there looking for her.”

  Cath gave her a sad smile as the conversation came full circle...again.

  Amanda stepped over to the window where Reyna sat looking out, watching stray snowflakes drift down from a darkening gray sky. She stroked her cat’s fur, trying to find solace in the simple act,
but her nerves were frayed. “It’ll be dark soon. What if they don’t find her by then?”

  “Then they’ll shift gears and do other things to find her, like making fliers to put up in town, or going house to house knocking on doors, talking to the FBI and Center for Missing Children.”

  For several moments after that, Amanda simply stared out the window at the deepening dusk and repeating silent prayers for Cheyenne’s safe return.

  When a knock sounded on the nursery door, she spun around, holding her breath. Slade pushed open the door and walked in, his weary gaze finding hers. Amanda’s heart rose to her throat.

  But he removed his Stetson and slowly shook his head. “Nothing yet. I’m sorry.”

  Amanda covered her mouth with one hand as fresh tears stung her eyes and disappointment crushed her chest, making it difficult to breathe.

  Slade crossed the room to her and folded her into his embrace. As he held her, the chill of outdoors still on his clothes, he spoke to Cath. “Gray just arrived. He’s looking for you.”

  Amanda lifted her head and sent Cath a startled look. “Gray came back from the police academy?”

  Her sister smiled. “Of course he did. He loves Cheyenne, too. He wanted to help.”

  Amanda sniffed, touched by the outpouring of love from her family and friends. “Thank him for me.”

  Cath nodded, then disappeared into the hall, clearly eager to see her fiancé.

  Slade pulled her close again, pressing her head against his chest and holding her tightly. “Have you gotten a ransom call yet?”

  “No.” She clutched the back of Slade’s shirt as if it were a lifeline. His arms soothed her when she thought nothing could, keeping her from falling apart. “What did you find? Anything?”

  He heaved a burdened sigh. “No. We followed the ATV tracks in the snow out into the pasture, but they got mixed with a dozen other tracks farther out, where the hands had been working earlier today. We lost the trail. There was no sign of her or the kidnapper anywhere on the property.”

  Amanda heard his frustration in the dark rumble underlying his tone. She tipped her head back and met his gaze. Slade’s eyes were framed by creases and shot with red as if he’d been crying. Her pulse stumbled at the notion of the tough, stoic WBI agent and ranch foreman ceding to his emotions. And that Cheyenne’s kidnapping would be the catalyst.