The Pregnant Colton Bride

by Marie Ferrarella

  Zane nodded grimly. “Yes, except more lethal. He was planting my knife there.”

  “Oh.” Mirabella felt as if all the air had just left her lungs.

  “But now it’s all beginning to make sense,” he told Mirabella. “Fowler was doing it to throw suspicion away from Tiffany. He obviously thinks the way you do, that Tiffany had something to do with my father being kidnapped.”

  “Well, if he really does think that, maybe that’s why he hasn’t proposed to her. Because he’s not sure what she’s capable of.” It didn’t exactly make for a marriage made in heaven, Mirabella thought. She followed the thought further. “And if he feels that way, maybe Fowler should take his suspicions to the sheriff.”

  That, Zane thought, carried consequences with it. “And if he’s wrong, she’s never going to forgive him,” Zane pointed out.

  That could actually be a good thing for Fowler, Mirabella couldn’t help thinking. “She didn’t exactly sound like she was in all that forgiving of a mood when I heard her talking.” She laughed shortly. “I don’t blame him for not wanting to be on the wrong side of that woman.”

  Which in turn brought Zane to another thought, one of the reasons he had gone looking for her to begin with. “Speaking of which,” Zane said, “I’d like to apologize to you for my mother’s behavior tonight. And, while I’m at it, for Fowler’s, Marceline’s and Alanna’s behavior, as well.”

  Maybe he should have prepared her better than he had—or not brought her to dinner at all, just slipped quietly into the house after the fact. His mother would have been outraged, but her response was really not his main concern here. She could—and always would—look out for herself. Mirabella needed protecting.

  “I guess it was more like a gladiator battle than a spirited family dinner,” he admitted. “But, at least you’ve seen the worst of it.” A rueful smile curved his mouth. “I’m afraid my family gives the word dysfunctional a bad name.”

  She didn’t want him feeling this way. They were, after all, his family and she would make the best of it for as long as she had to put up with them. He’d married her to give her baby an established name and she owed him for that.

  “They’re a little rough around the edges,” Mirabella charitably allowed, “but it could have been worse.”

  He looked at her incredulously. To his way of thinking Mother Teresa would have had difficultly finding good things to say about some of the members of his family. “How?”

  “Give me a minute,” Mirabella deadpanned. “I’m working on it.”

  Zane laughed then. Laughed and without thinking, drew her into his arms and hugged her. “You’re a good sport, Belle,” he said with genuine feeling.

  She looked up at him, trying not to pay attention to how his embrace seemed to unravel her. She offered him a rueful smile. “I don’t exactly have much choice in the matter,” she reminded him.

  And neither, he realized as he slowly brought his mouth down to hers, did he.

  He’d been thinking about her all day. Flashes of last night and the way it had unexpectedly unfolded insisted on replaying in his head, causing him to vividly recall every single detail of the evening he’d spent with her, acquainting himself with an entirely new and different Mirabella than the one he had become used to and thought he knew.

  He’d discovered last night he’d been wrong. He didn’t know her.

  He’d been wrong, too, in thinking he knew himself inside and out, as well.

  He didn’t.

  And it had taken one night with Mirabella to make him realize that.

  Chapter 20

  Nearly three weeks had gone by since he’d brought Mirabella to meet his family en masse around the dining room table and in all that time, nothing had gone according to his plans.

  It still hadn’t.

  Despite the combined best efforts of Meyer, his IT team as well as himself, he still hadn’t managed to find out the identity of the person who’d sent the vicious emails, the one who had created the dummy bank account that had been set up in Mirabella’s name. However, at least there’d been some partial success. The money from Eldridge’s account was no longer being siphoned off for mysterious deposits.

  Also despite what seemed to be the best efforts of the sheriff’s department, not to mention his own deliberate searches, Zane was no closer to discovering who had abducted his stepfather than he had been on that first morning when Moira’s horrified scream had pierced the air and sent them all into an emotional tailspin.

  Zane found himself still suspecting members of his own family, first one, then another, unable to rule anyone out from the first tier at any given time.

  The only members of his family he didn’t suspect were Piper, Reid and Thomas. None of them harbored a secret grudge against Eldridge, nor did any of them have anything more to gain by either their father’s death or his prolonged absence than any other.

  As far as he could ascertain, there was no bad blood between his stepfather and any of them. Eldridge had been instrumental in arranging to adopt Piper when she was orphaned at seven, he’d made Thomas the vice president of Colton Incorporated, second only to Fowler, and he had given Reid his blessings when the latter had gone his own way to become a Dallas police detective. And although Reid was no longer on the force, the reason he wasn’t had nothing to do with Eldridge.

  However, Zane’s suspicions about Fowler, Alanna, Marceline, Tiffany and, to some extent, his own mother, remained. He was still trying his best to separate fact from fiction and get to the unvarnished truth about each of their dealings. Zane still wasn’t sure if any of them were capable of doing something as coldhearted as kidnapping Eldridge or, worse, murdering him.

  Even his resolve about his behavior toward Mirabella was not going the way he wanted it to. Each morning, as they traveled to work, he promised himself that he was going to adhere to his initial intent: this was to be a marriage of convenience existing on paper and in name only. Anything he felt for her otherwise was his problem and he was going to keep a tight rein on it.

  But then evening would come and all his promises to himself from hours ago would somehow break apart like soap bubbles blown into an autumn wind. When he found himself alone with her, all the yearning, all the desire he’d been trying so hard to bury would just work its way to the surface and before he knew it, instead of keeping her at a chaste arm’s length, he was promising himself “just one last time” and then, after that, he’d stick with the program.

  Except he didn’t.

  Each “one last time” laid the groundwork for the next time, paving the way with more unspent passion and desire even stronger than it had been the night before. Consequently, despite silent promises to himself, each night found him making love with Mirabella, unable to get his fill, but still vainly hoping this time would be the charm.

  It had been like that since the first night they’d spent together.

  * * *

  Zane woke up early and at first, instead of getting up and getting dressed the way he normally did, he propped his head up on his upturned hand and just watched Mirabella sleeping beside him.

  Looking at her sleeping like that, still retaining an aura of innocence about her even after all the lovemaking from the night before, slowly began to stir him all over again.

  The desire to touch Mirabella, to kiss her and hold her began to grow steadily more powerful, more demanding within him.

  Zane was completely mystified. He had no idea what was happening to him. He’d never been this way before, even when he had imagined himself to be in love—

  Love.

  The sudden realization came out of nowhere, striking him with all the force of a head-on gale traveling ninety miles an hour.

  It dawned on him why he couldn’t seem to exercise proper control over himself. He was falling in love with this pretend wife of his—and that was a bad thing. Bad because this was only a temporary, practical arrangement between them, something they had both agreed upon when they’d
first entered into it. He was a man of his word and that meant he would have to keep it, no matter how he felt about her.

  When this was over—and by this he guessed that meant her pregnancy, culminating in the baby’s birth—their arrangement, not to mention their cohabitation, would be over.

  He needed to get some air, not to mention some distance from Mirabella as well as some desperately needed perspective, he thought.

  Slipping out of bed as soundlessly as he could, Zane gathered together his clothes and carried them into the bathroom before getting dressed. He didn’t want to risk making any noise and waking Mirabella up. Because if he did and she asked him where he was going, he didn’t want to have to tell her “Away from you,” even though it was the truth.

  Zane was dressed and out of the suite in less than five minutes.

  Because it was a Saturday, there was no reason for him to leave for work—which was exactly why the temptation to spend the morning in bed, with Mirabella, would have been too much for him to resist. He needed to resist, before staying in bed and making love with her at all different hours became too much of a habit that he both looked forward to and cherished.

  Doing so would only make matters worse.

  He knew what he needed to do. He needed to go cold turkey, give up all physical contact with her. This was his first step.

  Not wanting to run into anyone—conversation was not high on his list—he decided to go for a ride. Before life had gotten so very complicated, he would sometimes go for a horseback ride just to clear his head.

  Zane headed for the stables.

  When he got there, he found the door slightly ajar. Wondering if someone else had the same idea as he did, Zane eased his way into the stables, making sure he left the door the same way he found it. Since almost everyone was still a suspect in his eyes, he wanted to see who else was in the stables before he called out to them.

  Zane had the answer to his question as soon as he walked in.

  Marceline was in the far end of the stable, her back to the door. His sister was facing one of the stalls and whispering, presumably to her mare, Queenie, who she doted on and rode frequently.

  Memories of their childhood, when the two of them only had one another for comfort, came flooding back to him. He found himself experiencing a softening of resolve toward his sister. Maybe they could go out for a ride together, relive some of the old times, he thought, warming to the idea.

  Zane was about to call out to her when he realized his sister wasn’t whispering to her horse. Marceline was talking in a low voice to a man inside the stall. Zane frowned. He couldn’t tell who it was or what was being said without giving himself away.

  All he could actually make out was the man’s dirty work boots. Marceline was talking to one of the ranch hands.

  For a second, the secrecy and the covert whispers had Zane thinking perhaps Marceline, who’d told him dozens of times how much she hated Eldridge, was meeting with a fellow conspirator, plotting their next move—or maybe even discussing how they would get rid of Eldridge’s body.

  Hold it, get a grip. She might hate the guy, but Marceline isn’t some violent, psychotic person. She certainly isn’t a cold-blooded killer.

  Maybe not, but then what was she doing in the stables so early, whispering with a ranch hand?

  If this had been anyone else except for Marceline, he would have said she was in the stables for an early morning assignation with the ranch hand. At this hour, nobody would think to look for her here—and there was something exciting about making love with the threat of discovery. He knew Marceline definitely had her wilder moments.

  However, the next moment, common sense prevailed, shooting down his little theory about love amid the horse stalls. Zane loved his sister, but he’d be the first to admit life as a Colton had turned her into an out-and-out snob. She would no sooner be caught in a compromising position with a ranch hand than she’d shave her head and run away to join a cult that had taken a vow of abstinence and poverty.

  Most likely, Zane decided, Marceline was just asking the guy to saddle her horse—or even more likely, she was ordering the ranch hand to saddle her horse and also complaining about the neatness—or lack thereof—of the stable. Knowing Marceline, she was making the poor guy’s life miserable.

  Zane stepped back into the shadows before she could look his way and discover his presence.

  Now that he thought about it, he recalled recently seeing Marceline coming out to the stables a couple of times before, always at an early hour, always smiling a little self-satisfied smile. Was it that she enjoyed making this particular ranch hand’s life miserable, or didn’t it matter to her who was on the receiving end of her sharp tongue?

  Unless there was another reason for her being out here...

  If he came right out and asked her, Zane knew how his sister would react. Marceline would accuse him of stalking her and that wouldn’t get him anywhere. It definitely wouldn’t answer his question or alleviate any of his suspicions.

  But Zane promised himself that he’d keep an eye on Marceline, just in case there was more going on here than it appeared.

  It was the same promise he’d made himself when it came to the others on his active suspects list.

  This was, he decided, going to get tricky.

  He regretted not having more people he could trust.

  * * *

  Stymied in both fields he was looking into and pursuing, and making far more headway in the one area where he had promised to hold himself in check, Zane was not in the best of moods when it came to dealing with some of the less likable members of his family. His temper, he found, had become almost alarmingly short.

  The next evening, long after dinner was over, his path unexpectedly crossed Fowler’s when he was looking for a book in Eldridge’s library.

  Fowler looked at him with a condescending smirk and asked, “So, how’s that little number you hooked up with performing in bed? Did she turn out to be a huge disappointment, or is she a case of still waters running deeper than a mud puddle?”

  Walking past him, Zane chose to simply ignore his stepbrother—or at least he tried to. But Fowler was not above regressing to behavior he’d displayed while they’d grown up: bullying his younger stepbrother for his own perverse satisfaction.

  Hitting Zane’s shoulder with the flat of his hand, Fowler’s tone was nothing short of belligerent as he angrily said, “Hey, I’m talking to you! Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me.”

  Fowler went to hit his shoulder harder, only to have Zane block the blow and deliver one of his own. Startled and unprepared for the counterassault, Fowler stumbled backward.

  “I was trying to ignore you because if I didn’t, I was going to wind up doing this.”

  Before Fowler could respond, Zane swung his fist back and then made contact with his stepbrother again, this time hitting Fowler square on the jaw. Fowler grabbed hold of the shelves behind him to steady himself.

  “Now back off,” Zane warned ominously, “or I’m going to sic the sheriff on your girlfriend.”

  Fowler’s head snapped up, his eyes instantly alert as they searched his stepbrother’s face. He took care to keep his distance, staying out of the range of Zane’s arms as he glared at him.

  “What the hell are you talking about, Zane?” he demanded.

  Was Fowler serious? “You didn’t think I’d figure out why you planted that cuff link outside your father’s bedroom window? Or why you were trying to plant my knife in his room when I walked in on you? You were trying to make the sheriff think I had something to do with your father’s kidnapping so he wouldn’t look too closely at your little gold-digging, vapid girlfriend for the crime.”

  If it hadn’t been a physical impossibility, Zane would have said there was steam coming out of Fowler’s ears.

  “You’re crazy!” Fowler cried.

  “Am I?” Zane asked calmly. It did his heart good to see Fowler’s agitation growing the quieter his tone became. “
Tell me you haven’t thought about it yourself,” he accused. “Tell me you don’t think Tiffany’s capable of kidnapping your father, maybe even killing him, just to get you to do what she wants you to do.”

  Fury colored Fowler’s complexion, making it a bright red. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Fowler protested heatedly. “Tiffany wouldn’t do anything like that.”

  “If you really believe that—and you didn’t do anything to Eldridge yourself—” Zane qualified as he began to lay out his theory.

  “You’re a lunatic!” Fowler yelled, cutting in. He turned the argument around, pointing a finger at Zane. “Maybe you’re the one trying to frame other people. Maybe you’re the one who kidnapped Dad, maybe even killed him, and now you’re trying to blame someone else.”

  The only thing Zane was sure of at this point was he hadn’t kidnapped or harmed his stepfather, but given the pronounced agitation on Fowler’s face, maybe accusing him and that annoying girlfriend of his was going a bit too far. Fowler really looked as if he was becoming unhinged. To be completely honest, he had no idea what Fowler was ultimately capable of in a distressed, devolved state.

  So Zane decided, at least for the time being, he’d let the matter drop. Getting into a shouting match with Fowler wasn’t going to solve anything, nor was it going to lead to any productive conclusions. It might even wind up being harmful.

  Not for the first time, Zane thoroughly regretted his mother had ever gotten involved with Eldridge Colton and married the man. That one act wound up effectively joining him as well as Marceline with these unbalanced, insane people, namely his stepbrother and stepsister.

  Forgetting about the book he had set out to find, he felt he had no choice but to go up to his suite...and Mirabella. He’d been stalling, hoping she would be asleep by the time he got up there, but at this point, he didn’t want to wind up running into anyone else. He just wanted to get some sleep and forget his last name was legally Colton, thanks to Eldridge having adopted him—and Marceline—when the man married his mother.