The Billionaire's Colton Threat

by Geri Krotow

  “It is.” He couldn’t argue. The Southern charm mixed with Texas strength was reflected in each carved column, the rich wood paneling adding the gravitas necessary to emphasize that what happened in this building was significant. Life changing.

  They waited no more than five minutes before being ushered into the judge’s chambers. Two court-appointed witnesses stood on either side of them as the judge presided. They faced one another and held hands, as if they were a real couple getting married for a real, lifelong union, ’til death did they part.

  Halle looked up at him with complete trust and respect, and Alastair wished these were real vows. And decided in the moment between Halle’s blinks that for him, they were.

  As Alastair vowed to take her as his wife, a tear slipped from her eye as she thought of the one person she wished were here. Her father. As much as the wedding wasn’t traditional, the vows weren’t meant for each other but for their baby, she longed for Chancellor Ford’s bigger-than-life presence.

  “Halle, your hand.” Alastair’s voice was low and an anchor for her grief. She looked at him, then the judge.

  “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. I mean, I am paying attention, it’s just that—” She swiped at her tears with the lace handkerchief that had been her grandmother’s. “We don’t have rings.”

  “Indeed we do.” Alastair held two simple rings in his outstretched, open hand. The justice of the peace waited patiently as Halle stared at the burnished gold bands.

  She brushed away the last of her tears and held out her hand for Alastair to place her ring on. It was a Celtic knot wedding band—beautifully striking in its design—pale gold and definitely Scottish. Halle wondered if it were an antique. It had a heft to it that modern rings didn’t. And it fit her perfectly. “How did you know my size?”

  He gently smiled. “Your turn.” He handed her the remaining ring, a more masculine version of hers, and she placed it on Alastair’s strong, rugged yet elegant finger. On the hand that had stroked her to a fever pitch in the tent that night, more than once.

  The judge pronounced them married and Alastair must have been thinking of what his hands and fingers could do to her, too, as he took her face in said hands and laid on a full-tongue kiss in view of the judge and court recorder. Not that Halle minded. Like the rest of the day, it felt right, destined. Her mind wanted to fight the euphoria she was experiencing and she shoved the buzzkill away. Maybe they weren’t a “real” bride and groom, but they’d taken a big step for their baby. God willing they’d both be around to raise their child, and her baby would have a fuller family than she had. This was something to be celebrated.

  “Come on, Mrs. Buchanan.” He stood next to her, his hand palm up as he waited. Alastair’s calculating nature was undeniable and an asset to his career, but at this moment she saw beneath her initial judgment of him to what motivated his deliberate manner. Sincerity. Integrity. A quest for justice, no matter how messy.

  She took his hand and allowed his strength to flow through her as they left the courthouse hand in hand. As if they were starting the rest of their lives today.

  “That was a crazy rush.” She leaned up against him on the sidewalk and gave him a sound kiss on his cheek. “I’ve never been married before.”

  “Nor have I. Come on, I’ve got another surprise for you.”

  “The rings were enough of a surprise, Alastair. Are they family heirlooms?”

  “Something like that.” He used his favorite mysterious reply and she let it be. They had enough reality to deal with, having a baby on the way and being married after being intimate for such a short time in their lives.

  Would Alastair want to keep their sleeping arrangements apart the entire year? Did she?

  “And how did you know my ring size?” A much safer topic than her thoughts.

  “I didn’t. It seems you have the same size as Great-Grandmother Buchanan.”

  “Your great-grandmother? So you did have to tell someone in your family about us.”

  “No, as I said, only my sister. She had the family rings and I wanted them. My grandmother gave them to her when she got married and she never got around to giving them back to her. It’s only fitting that you have this one.” He fingered the ring with his thumb as they held hands, gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “If we decide to divorce in a year, we’ll save it for the baby’s future.”

  He’d silenced her, and not with the thought of his concern for his child’s future.

  With one word.

  If.

  * * *

  Alastair helped Halle climb up into the passenger seat of her truck, relishing his role as a new husband. He chalked it up to his success at convincing her to marry him. He slid into the driver’s seat but instead of starting the vehicle right away he faced her. When their eyes met the now familiar sense of coming home hit him. Not ready to deal with that, he studied her features, and thought how Botticelli’s Venus didn’t come close to the beauty Halle radiated. Pleased that she was relaxed, he wanted to give her the moon. Until he noticed that she was starting to get that heathery-green tinge on her skin again.

  “Halle, I’d planned to take you into Austin for dinner at Wink. But I want to make sure it’s what you want to do. It’s the bride’s day, or so I’m told. As much as we’re not traditional, I’d like to keep some things that way. How are you feeling? Are you up to a drive after the ceremony?”

  “I’m so sorry, Alastair, but I’m not really up for a big, fancy meal. I’d much rather be able to enjoy it, and right now, I know I won’t. You have to be tired from the jet lag, too.”

  “I’m not growing our child in my belly. Is there anyplace around here I can take you?” He tried not to grimace at the few choices he’d seen on the highway from Austin to Shadow Creek—all fast-food joints. As much as he enjoyed American drive-through fare, his bride deserved better today. His bride. He hoped she didn’t see the stark awe he experienced toward this day. Toward Halle. All of it had thrown his carefully constructed plan to marry her for the sake of the baby on its rear end. He’d never expected the extreme depth of their bond. And he didn’t think it was one-sided.

  “Honestly?” She tilted her head, a tiny smile on her face. “I’m craving the chicken tortilla soup at El Torero’s.”

  “Then chicken tortilla soup is what you’ll have.” He had no idea what that was, but he was about to find out.

  Ten minutes later they sat together in a cracked red leather booth seat in front of a large side window. It looked nothing like the upscale Austin restaurant websites he’d browsed. In fact, it was definitely unromantic. Cars were lined up in a neat row on the other side of the glass and the low din of other diners made it all but impossible to clearly hear the strains of the background music. A tune that Alastair associated with sexy Latin dancing.

  It wasn’t how he’d ever thought his wedding day would be celebrated, in a restaurant in Shadow Creek, Texas. But as the sun streamed in and lit up Halle’s face, and she put away a large bowl of soup along with a buttered tortilla, he knew this was the right place to be.

  “Do you like it?” She held her tablespoon halfway between her bowl and lips, her steady gaze on him.

  “It’s very good. I wasn’t sure what to expect—maybe a nacho-cheesy kind of soup.”

  “Um, no. That would be called ‘fondue’ and that’s not very Tex-Mex.” She nodded toward the cash register before sipping from her spoon. “They have the best tortillas in the entire area, not only Shadow Creek. Sometimes I come up here and get a bunch to take back for my ranch hands. I make my own fillings if I have time, but I could never duplicate the tortillas.”

  “I have to admit these don’t even compare to what we pass as tortillas in the UK. I guess naan bread would come closest, and I do have a favorite place for that in Glasgow.”

  “We have a few re
ally great Indian places in Austin if you’re interested.” She put her spoon down. “I’m sorry, Alastair. You wanted today to be a little fancier, and I made us come here.”

  “We’ll make up for it.” And they would. He’d take her to the best places in Glasgow—hell, the world. They had a year of being together. For the baby’s sake, of course. “When you’re feeling better.”

  “About that—the doctor said this could go on for the rest of the pregnancy. Usually most women are sick in the beginning, and the nausea wears off by this time. But mine started up only over the past month and it’s not showing any signs of easing up.”

  “Whatever you need, I’ll make it happen.”

  Her hand, soft and light on his, said more than her explanation. “I don’t want you thinking you can throw money at everything to fix it, Alastair. This is just the way it is. The baby needs to throw out whatever hormones to thrive, and they happen to make me very ill.” She slurped another spoonful of broth. “Except right now I feel like I could eat a vat of this!”

  He laughed and dug back into his. The broth provided the best gastronomic vehicle for the roasted chicken, fresh corn kernels and what he thought was some kind of milder green jalapeño. Crisp fried tortilla strips, from day-old tortillas, according to Halle, were generously sprinkled atop the soup along with some kind of soft white cheese. Manchego, Halle had said. The soup was unlike anything he’d had before, and with his global business travels he’d honestly thought there was little he hadn’t sampled.

  He’d thought the same about women but Halle Ford had come barreling out of nowhere three months ago. And now she was bearing his child. Their son or daughter. The heir to the Clyde Whiskey fortune, the next in the long line of Buchanans.

  “You look so serious. Cold feet?” Halle giggled at her own joke.

  “A little late for that, isn’t it?” As her expression deflated, it was his turn to reach for her. He grasped her forearm and gave what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze. “No, not at all. Admittedly it’s not the first option either of us considered for marriage, or a wedding, but it’s not so bad, is it?”

  “No, it’s not.” She took her plastic glass of carbonated water with a twist of lime and held it up to him. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers.” He toasted with his sweetened iced tea.

  “Well, look-y here. How the hell are you, Halle? I haven’t seen you since, well...” Lydia Wyatt, a grade school classmate of Halle’s and part-time waitress, stopped at their table.

  “Since my father died? It’s okay. I haven’t been out much. The ranch is taking up my time. You don’t happen to know anyone who’d like a tour of Texas trail country, do you?” Halle’s charm came through and Alastair’s belief in her stamina increased.

  Lydia looked at Halle, then Alastair. “No, I don’t but you can bet I’ll pass that on. Have you thought of advertising on the place mats?”

  “That is a great idea!” Halle asked Lydia about herself and her family, and Alastair was content to observe his wife in her local town. One thing was clear, the town loved the Fords and had all suffered when Chancellor died at the hands of that madwoman named Livia Colton.

  As he listened he absentmindedly noticed that there was an alert on his phone. A stock alert—he clicked on the notice and read that the concerns he’d had of a corporate buyout weren’t only his imagination. Some unknown buyer named SullaXS had begun a hostile takeover of his company. It was too close to his arrival in Texas to be coincidence. Intuition came to Alastair by way of his neck, and at the moment the hairs on his nape were standing straight up. He immediately fired off a text to his chief corporate digital securities officer.

  “How do you two know one another?” Lydia’s bright smile belied the stormy clouds haunting his business.

  He forced his attention away from his phone screen and onto Halle. Alastair’s stomach stopped plummeting and he didn’t have to force his smile quite so much. He’d deal with whomever SullaXS was later. Today was his wedding day.

  “Halle?” Let Halle explain as much or little as she wanted.

  His bride blushed. “Alastair’s my husband. We were just married in the courthouse. I’m sure you’ll see it in Everything’s Blogger in Texas before tomorrow.”

  “What’s that?” Alastair was almost afraid to ask.

  “The local gossip rag, except it’s online and instant.” Halle’s meaningful look let him know all he needed. Their nuptials were as good as globally broadcasted.

  “Oh my goodness, how wonderful! Congratulations. You aren’t from here, are you?” Lydia’s eyes narrowed and Alastair shifted in his seat.

  “I’m from Scotland.”

  “How romantic!” Lydia appeared ready to stay and give them the Texan inquisition but to Alastair’s relief one of her customers waved their hand at her.

  “I’m so sorry, you two. I’ve got to take care of this. Enjoy your day and don’t do anything I wouldn’t!” She winked at them as if Halle and he were going to go back to Bluewood and spend the rest of the day in bed.

  Something he’d love to do. Something his instant erection agreed with. Even the threat of a buyout that put his entire corporation at risk couldn’t put a damper on his desire for Halle. Being married to her was a simple legal connection, minor compared to the invisible bonds he felt growing stronger each time he looked at her.

  His heart was in danger of being bought out by Halle Ford.

  * * *

  Halle couldn’t stop the traitorous sparks of attraction that arced over her arm and across her breasts when Alastair touched her after Lydia walked away.

  “You okay?”

  “Yes, but are you? Maybe you wanted to keep our arrangement quiet?”

  “Not in the least. Nothing is private in the world of digital commerce, including an elopement of sorts.” He smiled and she loved the crinkles at his eyes. But did Alastair think this was nothing more than a contractual “elopement”? Of course he did. He was a billionaire CEO. Something she had to remind herself if she didn’t want him to break her heart. This was a business arrangement between them, not a romantic ending or beginning.

  It was her wedding day, however, and she couldn’t squash the growing anticipation in her belly. It was enough to shove the nausea away, at least for now.

  In broad daylight, during a Saturday lunch in the town’s bustling restaurant, the man’s pure ruggedness had her psychically keening for him to kiss her again. To do more than kiss her, to make love to her. The undeniable attraction she had to him wasn’t going away anytime soon.

  She focused on her meal to keep her mind’s erotic wanderings at bay. The green gills she’d had earlier were at bay, thanks to the medicinal qualities of her favorite childhood soup. The sodium levels probably had a lot to do with it, too.

  “Whenever I was sick my dad would order this exact soup, to-go. He’d get a quesadilla for us, too—that’s our local Tex-Mex version of grilled cheese. Two tortillas melted together with cheese. It was so good. He said it used to be my mother’s favorite.”

  “You don’t talk about your mother much.” Alastair’s eyes were thoughtful, watching.

  “She died when I was five. I remember a few things—her hugs, her laughter, her smell. She smelled like clean laundry drying in the sun, macaroni and cheese, and honeysuckle.” Laughter bubbled over. “Crazy kid mash-up, I know. I’m sure I’ve blended them all together when in reality I associated those smells with different events. But I don’t have the sadness over her dying that my dad carried. I was too young.”

  “What did she die of?”

  Funny how an event she didn’t remember still clawed at her heart. “It was a stupid ranching accident. She’d gone out to make sure the animals were safely put away in the barn when a storm was coming in. She slipped and hit her head on the corner of a paddock, right here.” She held her hand t
o her temple. “You may have seen the reports in the news over the last few years about how it’s the most dangerous spot for soccer players to get hit, on the goalposts. There’s a lot of promotion about it, to make parents more aware. You call soccer ‘football,’ right?”

  He nodded, quiet and unreadable.

  “Yes, well, my father wasn’t home—he’d gone out to repair the fences and was fighting against the storm himself. By the time he got home, when he found my mother, she was gone. I was at school.”

  “He found her dead?”

  Halle nodded. “Yes, lying in the corral. He never forgave himself, even though the doctors told him that there was little he could have done. Now we have more advanced treatment, but she bled out from an internal brain injury on the spot. Nothing would have saved her.”

  “Were there any witnesses?”

  Halle paused, a sick twist in her gut at his words. “Witnesses? It wasn’t a murder, for God’s sake, Alastair. Ranching, farming—it’s all hard work. People get hurt and have freak accidents more often than you might expect.” She pictured him living in some huge castle with a drawbridge, said contraption drawn and keeping his clan safe from marauders.

  “I’m sorry, Halle. That’s no way for a little girl to lose her mother.”

  “Yeah, well, like I said, I don’t have any memory of it.”

  “Except for your father’s reaction?” So soft, so tender, as if he expected her to shatter with his questioning.

  “Yes, Dad’s reaction. That was awful. At first I was surrounded by a lot of love from both sets of grandparents, and my father’s sister, Aunt Betsy. My grandparents had all passed away by the time I hit high school, and that left Dad and Aunt Betsy. She is still a rock to me and in fact I was going to ask her to come with us today, but...”

  “But?”

  “I haven’t told her I’m pregnant yet. She’ll be concerned about me, too much so, and she’s got her hands full with my cousins and her grandkids. I don’t want her worrying about me.”

  “It seems to me she’d be thrilled to see your father’s legacy continue.”