The Pregnant Colton Bride

by Marie Ferrarella

  “That’s enough. I won’t tolerate any arguing at my table,” Whitney announced as if she were the soul of propriety and innocence.

  “Nice to know, Mother,” Zane said, the look on his face daring Whitney to go back on her word.

  Pressing her liberally painted Startlingly Red lips together, Whitney abruptly changed the subject and dedicated herself, for the rest of the meal, to ignoring her new daughter-in-law, an act for which Mirabella was eternally grateful.

  * * *

  Dinner seemed to drag on endlessly, going through a total of four courses, followed by an assortment of desserts. Mirabella was far too full to even contemplate sampling any of them, despite the fact that one of the desserts brought out was German chocolate cake, which was her special favorite.

  Fowler’s girlfriend had already left the table a few minutes ago, saying something about needing to walk off the calories. Mirabella suspected Tiffany was actually trying to get her anger under control. Apparently, in light of Zane’s announcement, the woman had felt slighted because she hadn’t gotten Fowler to the altar first.

  But at least Tiffany had paved the way for her to leave the table for a few minutes. She really needed to clear her head.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Mirabella said to Whitney, who was, after all, her hostess. “I think I’d like to go out to the garden to get a little air.”

  Forced to address her, Whitney’s sharp eyes took immediate measure of her new daughter-in-law. “You look a little pale, dear,” she observed coolly. “Why don’t you go lie down, instead?”

  “No, just a little air and I’ll be fine,” Mirabella assured the older woman.

  She saw Zane looking her way and begin to rise in his chair, preparing to come with her. She didn’t want to take him away from his family. Mirabella subtly moved her head from side to side, silently telling him to remain where he was. Right now, solitude and the night air would do her more good than anything else.

  The Coltons, Mirabella realized, were best taken in small doses, at least at first. And she was close to overdosing.

  As Zane began to rise anyway, Whitney clamped down her manicured hand over his, all but anchoring him at the table.

  “Let the girl go, Zane. She said she’d be fine.” Turning her attention back to his wife, Whitney instructed, “Go straight down that corridor all the way to the back. The terrace doors open to the patio. Take all the time you need.” It sounded more like an order than an invitation.

  “Thank you,” Mirabella said politely.

  And with that, she left the dining room.

  Thomas saw the concerned look that came over Zane’s face. They weren’t exactly close, but he saw his older half brother as an ally in this battlefield he called a family and felt compassion for what Zane had to be going through.

  Sitting next to him, Thomas leaned in and said, “Maybe she just needs to regroup.” When Zane looked at him quizzically, Thomas explained. “This has got to be a little overwhelming to take in all at once.”

  He was indicating the area in general, but the look he gave Zane told him they were of like mind. It was the rest of the family that was overwhelming, not the house itself.

  “But at least she survived the first encounter. You’ve got to take heart in that,” Thomas pointed out.

  Thomas was right, Zane thought. Mirabella had survived and survived well. It was, he told himself, a good sign.

  Chapter 19

  Considering the vastness of the house, Mirabella was rather surprised at how easily she found her way to the rear patio.

  Like a prisoner making good her escape, she opened the French doors and stepped outside. Closing the doors behind her, she took in a deep, long breath and willed herself to just appreciate the cooler night air, making her mind a blank.

  The silence compared to what she had just left behind was absolutely wonderful and for a moment, she forced herself to concentrate exclusively on that and nothing else.

  Because it was evening and she only had the aid of artificial light coming from the house, Mirabella could only see so far when she looked out.

  Even so, she still had the impression the Colton property went on clear to what appeared to be infinity. Squinting, she could just barely make out the outline of several buildings which, Zane would later tell her, amounted to five barns, the stables and an old barn that had been converted into apartments—living quarters for the ranch hands.

  Slowly, the sounds of the night seeped into her consciousness.

  And she became aware of one other sound totally out of place from the rest.

  Straining to make it out, Mirabella realized she was listening to someone talking.

  Tiffany. She was listening to Fowler’s girlfriend, Mirabella realized. The young woman was talking to someone. When she looked around, Mirabella couldn’t see the other person. Her vision was being blocked by a hedge that towered over her by perhaps a good foot and a half.

  Tiffany, Mirabella decided, had to be somewhere on the other side of the hedge.

  Fowler’s girlfriend was definitely talking to someone. Since Mirabella didn’t hear anyone’s voice answering her, she assumed Tiffany was on her cell phone.

  Tiffany was obviously unaware of her—which meant she was eavesdropping.

  For a second, Mirabella was undecided as to whether or not to make her presence known to the other woman. After all, Tiffany had been rather rude to her at dinner, talking down to her whenever she bothered to acknowledge her at all. Still, Mirabella had never been one to deliberately eavesdrop on anyone.

  The next moment, the decision whether or not to speak up was made for her. Tiffany, thinking she was alone, began to rant about the circumstances she felt she was forced to endure.

  “I am really, really sick of all these stupid family dinners that witch keeps holding. Every time I turn around, that idiotic woman is ordering everyone to attend another one of these mindless dinners. Everyone just sits there, pretending not to hate everyone else while Whitney Colton looks down on all of us like some kind of deranged queen.

  “But I’ve been coming to them, each and every freaking one of them, like a good little soldier, smiling at all of them as if I liked them instead of hating their guts. And where the hell has it gotten me?” she demanded heatedly.

  Mirabella almost felt sorry for whoever was on the other side of this call. What could they possibly say in an attempt to calm the raving woman down?

  “I’m doing everything right and I’m still not married to Fowler—I’m not even engaged to the guy,” she wailed. “And meanwhile, his stick-up-his-butt stepbrother, Zane, brings this bimbo to dinner with him and announces to everyone that she’s his wife. His freaking wife, can you believe it? Where’s the justice in this?” Tiffany retorted angrily. “This bimbo didn’t even come to one of these roundtable circuses and he makes her his wife! Somebody up there hates me,” she all but sobbed in frustration.

  Tiffany’s voice was almost sad as she went on. “I was really sure Fowler was going to pop the question when his weirdo father disappeared—Fowler was really upset about it. I was there for him, all caring and everything, telling him not to worry, thinking finally he was going to see how much he needed me—and still nothing!” Tiffany spat out the word in furious disgust.

  Mirabella heard her blow out a long-suffering breath. “I really love the man, but I swear he’s going to make me absolutely crazy. Obviously, I’m going to have to do something really drastic because everything I’ve already tried so far hasn’t gotten me anywhere.”

  Mirabella thought she could almost hear the other woman making up her mind.

  “It’s time to step up the ante. I am not going to spend one more minute than I have to waiting for that man to propose. He’s going to put a rock on my hand or else,” Tiffany threatened heatedly.

  Whoever she was talking to obviously must have asked, “Or else what?” because Tiffany shouted, “I don’t know what. But I’ll think of something, I can promise you that.”
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  Mirabella stood there, numbed by what she’d just heard.

  Tiffany continued talking to whoever was on the other end of the call, but the woman had moved on in her rant and was now almost viciously criticizing what Whitney had worn to dinner. From the sound of it, Tiffany was going to go on like that for a while.

  Mirabella stopped listening.

  Exactly what did Tiffany mean by “everything she’d tried”? Mirabella wondered. Just what had the other woman tried? And just how was she planning on upping the ante, the way she’d just declared?

  Had Fowler’s girlfriend engineered Eldridge’s kidnapping just to force Fowler to propose to her?

  That sounded nothing short of insane, like a B movie plot that couldn’t get off the drawing board, but the more Mirabella had listened to the woman’s mounting rants, the more likely that possibility became.

  She had to tell Zane.

  Contemplating this scenario, Mirabella bit her lower lip. If she told Zane about this, she would have to own up to eavesdropping.

  She was aware eavesdropping wasn’t exactly a recommendable trait and was undoubtedly something a man would have viewed as a character flaw in his wife, but these were extenuating circumstances and every tiny hint of a clue she stumbled across pertaining to his father’s disappearance had to be brought to light because it might just turn out to be the clue that led them to Eldridge’s whereabouts.

  Okay, she’d had more than enough “fresh air” for a while, Mirabella thought as she opened the French doors again and slowly eased herself back into the house—just in time to walk smack into Zane.

  She bumped into him so hard that had he been a small-built, thin man, she would have easily knocked him backward. Instead, thrown off balance, she almost caused herself to fall.

  Acting quickly, Zane caught hold of her shoulders and managed to steady her.

  “Whoa there,” Zane cautioned, the phrase rising to his lips automatically.

  He’d been raised on the ranch. Raised on chores. None of the Coltons were spared the discipline of working with any of the animals on the ranch, especially the horses. Horse ranching was, Eldridge had maintained, in their blood as well as their birthright.

  “You okay?” he asked. When she nodded her head, he dropped his hands from her shoulders. “I was just coming to look for you,” Zane told her. “I thought maybe the fresh air turned out to be so enticing, it tempted you to make a break for it.”

  Placing an arm around her shoulders, he steered her toward the interior of the mansion.

  Mirabella, thinking he was taking her back to the dining room, dug in her heels. She needed to tell him about the conversation she’d overheard and she didn’t want to risk being overheard herself while she was doing it, even though, in the ultimate scheme of things, it might seem like poetic justice.

  She wasn’t moving. He looked at her quizzically. “There is something wrong,” Zane concluded, noting the serious look on her face.

  Instead of answering him, she asked, “Where’s your room?” She was fairly certain they wouldn’t be overheard there—not unless someone had actually bugged his room.

  “It’s more of a suite,” Zane corrected. “And it’s on the second floor.” He searched her face, wondering what was going on. “Why?”

  Still not answering, filled with the urgency of the situation, Mirabella took his hand and tugged on it despite the fact that she hadn’t a clue which direction she should be going in. All she knew was she wanted to begin the process.

  “Take me there,” she urged.

  A small, knowing laugh escaped his lips. He thought he understood what was going on. “Had enough of my family for one day, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  The word seemed to explode from her lips of her own accord. And then she realized what it had to sound like to him. She didn’t want him thinking she was attacking his family. It would make him side with them and right now, she needed to have him open-minded.

  “I mean no.” That wasn’t right, either. She closed her eyes for a second, trying to center her thoughts. “I mean that’s not it.”

  “Multiple choice.” Zane nodded his head, as if he was making sense of her response. “Do you get to choose the right answer, or do I?”

  He was aware he was teasing her and he shouldn’t be, not given her expression, but right now she struck him as being adorable. He hadn’t been aware of that about her before tonight.

  Zane felt all sorts of emotions stirring within him, all centered on Mirabella. His thinking, he realized, was a little off. Maybe he shouldn’t have had wine at dinner, he told himself.

  But it took more than a glass of wine to blur his thinking. More than several glasses when he came right down to it. He had an amazing tolerance for alcohol. There was something else at play here, but for now, he avoided any in-depth self-examination. That path, he had a feeling, would only lead to trouble.

  He turned his attention back to the intense-looking woman before him. “What’s this all about, Belle?” He wanted to know.

  “Just take me to your bedroom,” she insisted.

  Maybe he was overthinking this. Maybe she just wanted to be alone with him.

  If so, this was decidedly a far different Mirabella than he was accustomed to.

  Just what was in the meal she had consumed? he wondered, a bit amused. He’d never seen her behave quite this way.

  Without another word, he took her to his room.

  * * *

  “Okay,” Zane said several minutes later, closing the door behind him and then turning to face her. “We’re here. Now what?”

  “Here” was his bedroom suite which, she thought as she looked around, in size and scope was larger than her entire apartment—with room to spare.

  Taking a breath, Mirabella dove in. “When I went out to get some air, I thought I was alone, but I wasn’t,” she began, jumping into her narrative and hoping she made sense.

  Looking at her expression, Zane suddenly leaped to what, given the breathless way she was talking, he thought was a logical conclusion. “Did one of the ranch hands bother you?” he asked sharply. Anger creased his brow. “Can you point him out?”

  Fury was filling him to a level he had never experienced before when he thought of someone putting their hands on her.

  Realizing he had misunderstood her, Mirabella vehemently shook her head. “No—”

  He didn’t let her finish. “Then he came up from behind?”

  Although she wasn’t accustomed to raising her voice or talking over anyone, she did both now. “No, because there was no ranch hand. I wasn’t alone because I accidentally overheard Fowler’s girlfriend, Tiffany, talking to someone on her cell phone.”

  Was that all? Relieved and at the same time annoyed at the path his thoughts had taken, he snapped, “Fowler’s birdbrain of a girlfriend is always on that cell phone of hers.”

  “I’m not sure she’s that much of a birdbrain,” Mirabella contradicted.

  His eyebrows drew together in a puzzled look. Mirabella wasn’t making any sense to him. “What are you talking about?”

  Mirabella took another breath, trying to organize her thoughts. She felt this was serious and she didn’t want to make Zane impatient with her, causing him to stop listening.

  “I heard Tiffany tell whoever she was talking to that she was certain Fowler would propose to her when your stepfather was kidnapped because he was so upset about it.”

  Zane still didn’t see where she was going with this, but he was willing to give her some latitude. “All right, so?”

  Realizing this was all strictly speculation on her part, Mirabella struggled to have it come out right. “So it sounds like maybe Tiffany might have had something to do with engineering the kidnapping.” She saw a look she couldn’t fathom pass over Zane’s face. “You know, like maybe she was trying to light a fire under your stepbrother with this crisis. Tiffany obviously knew Fowler would be extremely upset about his father being kidnapped.”


  “We’re all upset about it,” Zane reminded her.

  At least, that was the impression he’d gotten from the rest of his family. Still, she might be on to something. Lord knew he’d harbored his own suspicions about the kidnapping.

  “Yes, I know,” Mirabella said quickly, not wanting him to think she was trying to insult his family, or cast them in a collective bad light. “Of course you are. I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t. It’s just that I really had the impression Tiffany was so desperate to get Fowler to propose that she was willing to do anything to make it happen. And maybe, feeling that way, she might not have stopped because she had to bend or break a few rules to make it happen.”

  Mirabella stopped and pressed her lips together. Maybe, even though her intentions were good, she had gone too far.

  “You have a funny look on your face,” she observed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like I was insulting your family—”

  “Tiffany isn’t part of my family,” he was quick to point out. And then he stopped to think as he recalled something. “And now that you’ve mentioned it, your take on this could just explain some things.”

  “Like what?” Mirabella asked before she could stop herself.

  This wasn’t, after all, actually her business since she really wasn’t part of the family—and the last thing she wanted was for Zane to think she was hunting for some sort of praise or acknowledgment. She was just trying to give him the information she had stumbled across, hoping it might lead to something.

  “I caught Fowler in Eldridge’s room earlier,” he told her.

  Mirabella’s eyes widened and for a split second, his thoughts were diverted. She definitely had a way of distracting him. With effort, he forced himself to refocus.

  “Fowler was trying to plant something of mine in Eldridge’s room.”

  Because it was so foreign from her own code of behavior, Mirabella struggled to understand what he was telling her.

  “You mean like with the cuff link?” Was he saying his stepbrother was trying to frame him? The idea seemed too odious to contemplate—and yet...