Today had been another busy day and by five o’clock, Flint was ready to head out. As he drove home he tried not to think about how differently he’d be feeling right now if he was headed to the diner to pick up Nina. Instead he was headed into a silent, lonely house where he’d believed foolishly that love had blossomed.
He parked his car in the driveway and walked out to his mailbox to get his mail and as he headed back to the house, he reminded himself to close the window in the spare bedroom.
He’d opened it the night before when he’d come home to a silent house that smelled of vanilla and peaches. He’d needed to get her scent out of his house and out of his head, and he needed to figure out how to drive her completely out of his mind.
It had been another day of highs and lows. No signs of the fugitives, no further answers as to who had attacked Gemma or why. To make matters worse, the weather had made its final shift toward winter, with gray skies and a bitter, frigid wind that seemed to reflect his mood.
The high of the day had been a new optimism among everyone he spoke to in town due to Dr. Goodhue’s presence at the clinic. Her arrival had brought hope to the people of Dead River. Every place Flint had gone that day people had talked about the renowned doctor finally finding a cure and the quarantine being lifted.
Flint just hoped she managed to come up with something that would save Gram Dottie, who remained unconscious and barely clinging to life.
As he approached his front door, a sense of dread flew through him as he thought of Nina’s absence. She’d not only filled the house with warmth and laughter, but she’d filled his heart. And he thought he’d filled hers, but he’d obviously been so wrong.
He unlocked his front door and stepped inside, greeted by the scent of something delicious cooking. He stopped in his tracks, his heart banging against his ribs as he tried to figure out why she would be here cooking for him.
Was she cooking him a pity meal? A final thank-you dinner? Did she not realize having her here again was sheer torture? And how had she gotten inside anyway?
He took off his coat, hat and holster and set them on a chair and then moved on wooden feet toward the kitchen. One step inside and he saw her at the stove, stirring a big pot.
She didn’t appear to be aware of him, and he took a moment just to look at her, to notice how her jeans fit so neatly down her legs and cupped her buttocks and how the forest-green T-shirt showcased her beautiful auburn hair.
But instead of stirring any desire in him, her very presence whipped up more than a little anger. “What are you doing here?” he finally spoke.
She looked up at him, startled. “Oh, I didn’t hear you come in.” She gazed back at the pot on the stove. “It just felt like the perfect day to make a big pot of chili. Don’t you think so?”
He felt like he’d entered an alternate universe. “How did you get in here?” He still didn’t understand why she was here or what was going on, and that tinge of anger inside him hadn’t dissipated.
She set her big spoon down and turned to face him. “You had a window open. It was like an open invitation for some dummy to break into the chief of police’s house.” She paused a moment. “So, are you going to arrest me for breaking and entering, or are you going to eat chili?”
He moved to the table and sat down. “Right now I’m not inclined to do either,” he replied. “What I want to know is what kind of games you’re playing with me, Nina. You’ve been giving me mixed messages since the moment you moved in here. I thought we finished it all when you moved out and told me you want your life back.”
She turned down the burner under the pot of chili and then leaned against the counter and gazed at him with an expression he couldn’t begin to discern. “No games, Flint. The last thing I want to do is play games with your heart or with my own.”
She left the counter and moved to sit across from him at the table. “I went to bed last night on the cot in the back room of the diner, but instead of sleeping, I found myself doing a lot of soul searching.”
Flint remained silent. He’d said everything he had to say to her the morning before, when he’d professed the depth of his love for her, and she’d walked out.
She laced her fingers on top of the table and stared down at them. “I thought I’d put my childhood all behind me, that I’d endured my personal hell and had come out stronger on the other side with no scars to show for the experience.”
Her eyes darkened as she looked up at him. “The first hint I had that there might be a few scars was when I was so attracted to you when you first started coming into the diner, but was so put off by your uniform. I found myself wondering if you were like the lawmen of my youth, men who covered for my father’s crimes, who saw to it that he never faced any charges and always brought him back home to continue his abuse.”
“And so you worried that I was the same kind of dirty cop,” he replied, unable to hide his offense at her words.
She nodded miserably. “But it didn’t take me long to realize you were nothing like those men, that you were respected and trustworthy and honorable. That night in the woods, I saw a savage side to you, but I wasn’t afraid because I knew you were that way to protect and defend, not to abuse and hurt.”
Flint wondered where this conversation was going. Did she just need one final cathartic spilling of her past and her emotions?
Despite the chili scent that filled the air, he could smell the fragrance of vanilla and peaches. Did she not realize that having her in the house, sitting across from him, was a particular kind of torture?
She raised a hand up and shoved a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Yesterday when Billy came into the diner, he said that I was the bravest person on the face of the earth.”
“You were very brave in those woods with Brett,” Flint agreed.
She shook her head as if to dismiss his words. “Billy’s words kept playing again and again in my head and what I couldn’t figure out was if I was so brave, then why was I willing to turn my back on your love, to turn my back on the love I have for you in my heart?”
“Did you come up with any answers?” he asked and tried to ignore the sudden acceleration of his heartbeat.
“Enough answers to have an epiphany of sorts,” she replied. “It was on the day that my father murdered my mother that I made two promises to myself. The first was that I’d never celebrate a holiday again, and the second was that I would never marry or have a family of my own. I managed to go a long time before I broke my first promise, and we both saw how my plans for a perfect holiday were ruined.”
“Nina, there are no perfect holidays,” Flint replied. “No matter how well you plan, a drink gets spilled or a bowl gets overturned. An uncle gets drunk or an argument breaks out.”
“But you had perfect holidays with your family when you were young,” she protested.
“I didn’t tell you about the Easter that Theo ate so much candy he threw up for two hours, or the Christmas when Gemma didn’t get a doll that wet her diapers and threw a massive temper tantrum. I can’t tell you how many fights Theo and I had about who got the wishbone from the turkey. Nothing is perfect, Nina. We just try to make everything as perfect as possible.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve been scared about celebrating holidays and then when I finally decided it was time, it all fell apart so badly. I was afraid that if I took a chance on my second commitment to myself and allowed myself to believe that home and family were truly possible for me, it would all be ruined like my holidays.”
Tears misted her eyes. “I appreciate you explaining all of this to me,” Flint replied, unsure what else to say.
“I’m not finished,” she said and quickly swiped at her eyes. “And then all I could think about was my time here with you, and how I’ve never known such happiness before in my entire life. I thought about how much I loved B
illy and that I could easily love a child of my own...a child of yours.”
Joy flooded Flint’s heart at her words. “So, you’re willing to give us a chance?” he asked tentatively, not wanting to misunderstand exactly what she was saying.
“I’m willing to go all in,” she replied, a shimmering light filling her eyes. “I love you, Flint Colton, and I want to build my life with yours. I want to share my morning coffee with you across from me and the last thought I have before I go to sleep with you.”
She looked at him expectantly, and then continued, “And if you don’t get out of that chair and come and hug and kiss me and tell me that you still want those things with me, I’m going to scream.”
Flint was up and out of his chair and had her in his arms before she could take another breath. He kissed her long and hard, with every ounce of love he harbored in his heart.
When he finally stopped the kiss, he gazed down at her soberly. “I can’t promise you perfect, Nina.”
“Perfection was a childhood fantasy, but I’m not a child anymore, and I don’t want to live my life alone without love, without family. I want it all, Flint. I want it all with you.”
He kissed her again and knew that he had found his special woman, the one who would bring laughter and love to him for the rest of his life.
Epilogue
Flint sat at his desk and stared out the window where snow flurries whirled in the air. He felt ridiculously optimistic despite the fact that it was the beginning of a new month and nothing had changed.
Well, that wasn’t exactly true. What had changed was that the night before he and Nina had eaten chili and talked about their pasts, but more important, had talked about their future together here in Dead River.
Any thought he’d had of giving up his position was gone, for Nina had given him the confidence to continue his work.
They hadn’t talked about weddings and babies in the near future. Instead they’d agreed to take things slow and steady. She would continue to live with him, and he knew they would only build on their love for each other.
Afterward they had gone to bed together in his master suite and made love and had fallen asleep in each other’s arms. He’d been greeted that morning by her cheerful smile across the table, and that had definitely started his day off right.
The icing on the cake had been a phone call from Gemma that morning telling him that Gram Dottie had regained consciousness, although they weren’t allowing any visitors at the moment. Still, the knowledge that she was better had filled his heart and soul with an additional layer of happiness.
He stared at the stack of files next to him, and his thoughts turned somber. Hank Bittard remained on the loose, as did Jimmy Johnson. They had come to dead ends when it came to the attack on Gemma.
His personal life might be finally in order, but he still faced a number of professional issues. With Dr. Colleen Goodhue now in town, a cure for the Dead River virus could happen sooner rather than later and that would end the quarantine that kept Hank and Jimmy trapped within the town’s limits.
At least with Brett behind bars, he’d managed to clear up Jolene’s murder and free Nina from fear. More than anything, he wanted to get Bittard behind bars before the quarantine was lifted, but he no longer feared the murderer would stick around town when that happened.
Hank had no reason to stick around Dead River when the quarantine was lifted. He’d run as fast and as far away as he could in an attempt to elude the scene of his crimes. If that happened then Flint would just have to live with the fact that a criminal got out of his jurisdiction.
He still wanted Jimmy Johnson and the Colton heirloom ring back where it belonged, but he couldn’t be sure that would happen before the quarantine was lifted.
Just as he’d finally come to peace with the fact that the tragedy in Cheyenne hadn’t been his own personal failure, he knew he couldn’t control the circumstances of when a cure for the virus might be discovered.
There were still many challenges ahead for the people of Dead River and for Flint, but he knew he could meet each one as they came along, especially with Nina by his side.
* * * * *
THE COLTONS: RETURN TO WYOMING
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Chapter 1
Anabelle Izzolo looked around at the gorgeous young women waiting their turn to go out on the mat and wrestle with a stuntman. At barely five foot two, she noticed how her eyes were at chest height to the mob of leggy, boobtacular, Hollywood-starlet-wannabes who’d shown up for this audition. Crud. She had no business being there. It had seemed like a good idea when she’d signed up for it. But now that the moment was upon her, she felt a giant humiliation coming on.
Thing was, the write-up on the open casting call had been specific in saying that a fight sequence would be auditioned. She was trying to break into the business as a stuntwoman, so a fight was right up her alley. Of course, she wasn’t going to get the acting part, but she was hoping to catch the casting director’s eye and nab a bit part for some stunt work.
Yet another blonde bombshell went out onto the green gym mats and prissied her way through the fight sequence. God, none of the girls could even make a proper fist, let alone throw a decent punch. You had to drive through the elbow and down the arm into the knuckles. Put your weight behind it. Of course, this fight sequence was more about grappling and falling than throwing punches. Still, Ana was embarrassed on behalf of all women to watch the other girls muff their way through fake fighting.
The stuntman and casting director looked bored out of their minds. Whenever a superhot blonde with impressive cleavage came along, they perked up a little. But that was the extent of it.
“Next!” an assistant with a clipboard called.
“Hold up,” the stuntman complained. “I need to piss.”
The casting director huffed. “Make it fast.”
A male voice, familiar to her from movie theaters, piped up. “I’ll take over fighting until he gets back.”
Ana turned, gaping. OMG. Jackson Prescott in the flesh. The star of the movie being cast stepped out of the shadows beyond the stage lights. He was a muscular, bronzed god of a man with sun-bleached hair and golden-hazel eyes that leaped off a movie screen and melted hearts all over the movie-going world. And in person...well, he was even hotter. Squeals, followed by an audible series of sighs, went up from the crowd of starlets. Ana was a little ashamed to realize she’d contributed to the collective swoon.
“Who’s next?” Jackson asked the clipboard girl.
“That would be Number 127.”
Oh. Crap. That was her. Ana lurched forward. She caught her foot on the edge of the raised stage and narrowly avoided face-planting as she stumbled into the wash of down lighting.
“You sure you want to try fighting?” Jackson joked. “Maybe you should master walking first?”
A titter of laughter went up from the Barbie doll brigade, and her face erupted in heat. She o
pened her mouth to make a clever quip back, but no sound came out. Instead, she raised her hands defensively in front of her and settled into a fighting stance.
“Okay, then,” Jackson murmured. He stepped up to her, and she was abruptly struck by how much taller and more muscular than her he was. The guy had to be pushing six foot four. And he was so pretty she had trouble tearing her stare away from his face. The combination of boyish charm and masculine confidence was mesmerizing, and his eyes were a warm golden-green that almost seemed lit from within.
“Let’s do this,” he rumbled low and sexy.
Her insides twisted with shocking lust that distracted her just as he pounced. She barely dodged in time as his fist flew at her face. Wow, he was fast. The swiftness of the leg that swept her feet to the side caught her by surprise, too, and she slammed to the ground on her back as he jumped on top of her.
Her breath whooshed out on a grunt of shock and pain as she fought to draw the next one. Jackson straddled her stomach, pinning her down with his superior weight.
A brief look of disappointment crossed his face. She was supposed to have swung back at him with her fists and rolled aside before he could land on top of her, but she’d blown the move and let him pin her arms. He looked like he’d already mentally checked her off the list and moved on to the next starlet in the audition. In fact, seeming supremely bored, he went off script and reached down to wrap his hands around her neck as if to punctuate her failure.
But as his fingers tightened around her larynx, panic roared to the fore. Black night closed in on her, and she gasped for air as other big hands tightened around her neck. Dying. She was dying. Helplessness washed over her. She had to find a way to fight off her would-be killer. Had to live—
Fight, Ana. Live. She kicked her right leg up frantically, jamming her toes into the back of his head sharply enough to make him turn her neck loose and block her next kick with his forearm. She dragged in a rasping breath.
Her Colton Lawman Page 23
