“True.” That was the one rock-solid thing he’d hung on to while incarcerated. His family. Unlike most of the other inmates, he’d always have family. He’d known, despite their failure to win his freedom, that he could count on them. He knew they’d all tried to fight his conviction, knew they’d funneled money to various high-powered attorneys trying to force an appeal. They’d never doubted his innocence, or him. They’d had faith in him, which had given him faith in himself.
Everyone, that is, except his father. Though he’d harbored a bit of bitterness toward Darius Colton for not trying harder to get him free, Damien had emerged from prison ready to start over, forgive and forget and all that. But the passing years had not been kind to the patriarch of the Colton clan. Darius had grown colder, more autocratic, secretive and unreasonable. Of all the family, Damien felt, his father had become a stranger.
And after the incident last night, a mentally unsound stranger at that. Who might have stolen his own children’s inheritance.
“Stop being a grinch and enjoy the holiday. Now, what’s important today is getting your gifts,” she reiterated, fluffing the snowflakes out of her long, dark hair and grinning up at him. “Especially the one you’re buying me.”
“Buying?” he teased. “I was going to make you something.”
She pouted and he relented. Maisie knew he only had the small paycheck his father allotted him for working on the ranch.
“Just don’t be too extravagant, okay?”
“I won’t.” The mischief in her violet eyes told him she had something up her sleeve. “Though you could always charge it. That’s what makes plastic so fun.”
“You know I can’t.” He hadn’t even bothered to apply for a credit card, not seeing a point since he’d planned to pay cash for everything once he got his inheritance.
Again he wondered why his father had dodged questions about that.
“I’ve lost you again,” Maisie pouted. “Come on, Damien. It’s not like I get you all to myself very often. Can you at least try to pay attention?”
Pushing all troubling thoughts out of his head, Damien forced himself to relax. “Sorry, sis. It won’t happen again.”
“Good.”
Thirty minutes later, while the snow continued to fall in thick, wet flakes and pile up on the ground, Damien struggled to the car with his third load of parcels. Maisie’s, all of them. She’d gone a little crazy once she got started, though since a good portion of her gifts were for Jeremy, he couldn’t fault her.
He’d purchased exactly two things—a purple cashmere sweater that Maisie swore she couldn’t live without, and the latest video-game console with two games for Jeremy. He made sure there were two controllers so they could play together.
“You still have Duke and Susan, Finn, Wes and Lily, not to mention Darius and Sharon. And Perry, Joan and Brand, of course.”
“You’re right,” he said slowly. Though he was on the fence about Darius, he did need to get a gift for his father’s wife. Though he barely knew the woman, third or so in a long line of wraithlike females who allowed themselves to be totally domineered by Darius, she’d always been civil to him. “What do you think I should get Sharon?”
“She likes scarves,” Maisie pointed out. “What are you going to get Darius?”
“I’m not sure. I’m going to wait on getting him anything right now.”
To his relief, she accepted that. “Okay. Then what about our brothers?”
“For the guys, I figured the feed store would have everything I need.”
“The feed store?” Her expression mirrored her mock horror. “Surely you’re kidding.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You’d better be. Come on, you’ve got to get started. You’ve bought hardly anything,” Maisie complained.
He stopped in his tracks, tightening his grip on her arm to keep her from falling. “You want to know something? I’m not sure about even celebrating Christmas,” he teased. “Fifteen years in prison without the holiday made me kind of used to doing without it.”
She slapped his arm with her purse, a huge, gaudy thing that seemed comprised of fake rattlesnake dyed a rainbow of colors, some natural, some not. “You are definitely celebrating Christmas, and you’ll be happy about it. I insist. No arguing.”
He hid a smile. “Yes, ma’am,” he drawled.
“Here we are.” She stopped in front of the Honey Creek Mercantile. “Our next stop. You should be able to get a little something for everyone here.”
Since it was either that or listen to her complain, Damien nodded and pulled open the door, holding it for his sister and trying like hell not to notice how everyone in the store suddenly became busy doing something else. Something that made it impossible for him to catch their eyes.
Once again he stopped in his tracks, forgetting Maisie still clutched his arm and nearly causing her to fall.
“What’s wrong now?” she asked.
Gesturing around the place, he shook his head. “I know you claim it doesn’t bother you, but it does me.”
“What does?” she asked, appearing honestly perplexed.
“This.” Gesturing toward the packed store, he shook his head. “The way they act like I have a communicable disease.”
“You’ll be fine.” Her firm, no-nonsense voice told him if she willed him to be fine, then he would. “Honestly, don’t let them bother you.”
“Easy for you to say. Coming to town makes me feel more like a criminal than prison did.”
Maisie shot him a sideways glance. “It’s not going to change any time soon, so get used to it.”
He stopped, staring down at her. “That’s where you’re wrong, Maisie. I don’t have to get used to it. And, like I’ve told you before, I’m leaving and you’re welcome to come with me when I go.”
Shaking her head, she only smiled and continued shopping.
After she’d finished her lunch with her mother, Eve switched her truck to four-wheel drive, glad she already had her snow chains on, and headed home, reveling in the bright white silence of the falling snow. Soon, if the storm gathered the strength the weathermen predicted, there’d be whiteout conditions, and no one would be going anywhere. But for now, it was a pretty typical Montana snowfall. Pretty, but nothing to get excited about.
At the house, she let Max, her boxer, out, smiling as the big, goofy fawn-colored dog bounded about, trying to catch the flakes in his mouth, whirling and bouncing and rolling in the snow. Watching him, with her gloved hands cradled protectively over her stomach, her worries fell away as if they’d never existed.
She smiled, her heart full. This dog was good for her soul.
The snowfall, now just a normal winter storm, was supposed to intensify as the night went on, eventually becoming a full-out blizzard, what the locals called a blue norther. A common enough occurrence in Montana in December. She had plenty of firewood, a pantry stocked full of food, and she wouldn’t have to worry if she couldn’t get into town to replenish her supplies.
Max bounded up, tail wagging, reminding her with a soft woof that it was his supper time.
“Come on, boy.”
Inside, she poured the big dog a bowl of kibble. She kept an extra thirty-pound bag for occasions like this.
While her dog feasted, she found herself again thinking about Damien Colton. His aloof loneliness acted like an invisible lure, making her want to get closer.
Bad, bad Eve.
Still, she knew he had no friends. Everyone could use a friend and she was lonely. What would be the harm in that?
So she decided later to head into town and stop by the Corner Bar for a drink, despite the impending blizzard. Weather forecasts were often wrong and if they weren’t, any Montana native worth their salt could drive in a snowstorm. If Damien was there, she’d join him.
She chose to ignore the fact that her heart rate accelerated at the thought.
“You’re going back into town?” Maisie sounded incredulous. “We’ve only
been back a few hours and you bitched the entire time we were there.”
Before Damien could answer, Jeremy jumped up.
“Can I go with you, Uncle Damien?”
Gazing down into his nephew’s bright eyes, Damien Colton glanced at his sister, Maisie. Her intense aqua gaze unfocused, she shrugged, in her own careless way giving permission.
Unfortunately, no way in hell he was bringing his fourteen-year-old nephew to a bar, even one like the Corner Bar and Grill.
“Not this time,” Damien said. “Snow’s on the way.”
“So?” Maisie drawled. “Since when do we let a little snow stop us?”
“Maybe next time.” Damien felt guilty disappointing his nephew, but he had no choice.
“Why not?” Jeremy challenged. “Mom gave me some money. I’ve got to get my Christmas shopping done, too.”
“I’m not going shopping,” Damien answered. “Sorry.”
Maisie perked up at that. “Then where are you going?”
“Out for a drink.” He squeezed his nephew’s shoulder. Though he’d rather be dragged over broken glass than go shopping again, he had to do something to wipe the disappointment from the kid’s face. “I’ll take you tomorrow after school, okay?”
Jeremy nodded. “That’ll work. I’ve got homework to do tonight anyway.” Pushing back his chair, he got up and wandered off.
“He idolizes you, you know,” Maisie pointed out, still absorbed in painting her fingernails a bright scarlet, apparently to match the cashmere sweater she wore. “Ever since you got out of prison, all he ever talks about is you.”
Damien frowned. “He has better examples in Duke, Wes and Finn.”
Smiling, Maisie glanced toward the den at the twelve-foot-tall Christmas tree. Decked out all in silver and white with twinkling lights, the tree appeared to glow. “I don’t know about that. I trust my son’s judgment. Just don’t disappoint him, okay?”
“I won’t.” Of all the family, Jeremy was the person Damien most enjoyed being with.
“Now tell me.” Maisie cocked her head, eyeing him with interest. “Do you actually have a date or are you going trolling?”
“Trolling?”
“As in fishing. For a woman.”
For half a second he thought of Wes saying he should ask Maisie to set him up. Just as quickly, he discounted that plan. Bad idea.
“Neither,” he lied. “I’m simply going to town to have a drink. The Rollaboys are playing at the Corner Bar tonight.”
“Oooh!” Maisie clapped her hands. “I can’t believe I forgot that. I may go up there myself later.”
Damn. Now he felt obligated to offer. “Do you want to go with me?”
She grinned. “No, but thanks for asking. I wouldn’t want to cramp your style. Plus I want to make sure Darius isn’t on the warpath. No way I’m leaving Jeremy here to fend for himself if our father is working into a good drunk.”
“Smart move.” He touched her arm. “Then I guess I’ll be going.”
“You’d stand a better chance of getting lucky if you drove up to Bozeman.”
“I know.” He raised a brow. “The question is, how did you know?”
Lifting one shoulder, she smiled. “You’re not the only one with needs. None of the men in this town will date me.”
“You seemed to be doing all right with that Gary Jackson.”
“Oh, him.” Her smile widened. “He’s new in town and apparently doesn’t believe all he hears. He and I have a date this Friday.”
“Good for you.”
“Yeah.” Her smile tinged with sadness, she put the cap back on the bottle of nail polish. “I’ll make it last as long as I can. Until I freak out over something and he takes off running.”
“Maise.” He touched the back of her hand. “Have you considered getting some help?”
Maisie’s gaze slid away. “I don’t need help,” she muttered. “I’m a little moody, that’s all. Leave me alone.”
Before he could respond, she turned and stalked off.
Stalemate. Again.
He reminded himself he couldn't fix the world. Hell, he couldn't even repair his own problems—why did he think he could help anyone else?
Chapter 7
This Friday night was clear, crisp and cold. Eve drove into town feeling oddly reluctant, restless and not sure why. Since Damien Colton’s handsome face kept popping into her mind, she figured the restlessness had a lot to do with her unfulfilled desire for him.
The parking lot was full. She lucked out into a spot near the entrance and parked, glad she’d taken extra care with her appearance.
At the door, she paused and surveyed the packed bar. Because she’d called ahead, the bartender had put a reserved sign on her regular booth and she headed for it, blowing him a kiss on her way.
Once he brought her Shirley Temple, Eve sat back and surveyed the scene. She waved at a family she knew as they snagged one of the last empty tables remaining. Unlike the other night, the bar was crowded. Even at 8:00 p.m., when the dinner rush would be beginning to die down, people milled in both the restaurant and around the bar area, elbow to elbow.
Tables were filling up fast. Tonight, the Rollaboys were playing. A local country-and-western band that had made good in Nashville, they’d returned home to visit family for the holidays and, following Honey Creek tradition, would play a free concert at the Corner Bar.
Since entertainment in their little town was pretty much limited to church nativity plays, ranchers and townspeople alike filled the room. The Rollaboys played an upbeat mix of country and rock that was enjoyed by all.
As the fifth person stopped by to chat with her, remarking excitedly on the band, Eve wondered if she should leave. She’d actually managed to forget the band was playing and would probably have stayed home if she’d remembered. She’d dated Ian Murphy, the Rollaboys’ lead singer, on and off for two years a while back. The relationship had ended badly, with Eve refusing Ian’s marriage proposal. She’d liked him well enough, and they were certainly compatible, but his lifestyle was the opposite of what she wanted for herself. She’d thought she’d been perfectly realistic, though Ian hadn’t taken the breakup well.
She wondered if she should leave before Ian saw her. But the contrast between her big, empty house and the packed, boisterous bar was dramatic and she decided to stay. After all, it had been eighteen months since the breakup. Surely Ian had moved on by now. Deciding to stay, she settled back in her booth, hoping the shadows would keep her out of view of the stage.
Used to Eve’s solitary ways, everyone waved and continued on to meet their group. A few people stopped by to chat briefly, but no one asked if they could join her.
Glad to be seated alone, Eve couldn’t help but watch the door for Damien.
The waitress brought her another Shirley Temple. Eve found ordering them amusing since she associated them with Christmas. As a child, Bonnie Gene had served them to the Kelley kids in crystal wineglasses, always with a cherry as garnish. Eve planned to continue this tradition with her child when he or she was old enough.
The thought was enough to make her misty-eyed. Looking down at the table, she dabbed her eyes with her napkin, knowing she had to regain her composure quickly before someone noticed.
“Enjoying your Shirley Temple?”
The deep voice jolted Eve right out of her melancholy. She looked up and met Damien Colton’s velvet-brown eyes. To her disbelief, she blushed and her heart skipped a beat.
“It’s a seven and seven,” she corrected out of habit, then realized as his smile widened that she’d said exactly the same thing the last time they’d met. Now he knew the truth. Had it been only yesterday?
“Mind if I join you?” he asked.
Her insides fluttered as she seriously considered his question. She glanced around, aware that the second he sat down the gossip would start. Finally, she shrugged. “Sure, why not?”
“Worried someone will see you talking to me?” He remained standi
ng, balanced on the balls of his feet as though he meant to flee.
“Maybe.” She owed him honesty, at least. “But not for the reason you think. Sit.”
He studied her face for a moment, then slid into the booth across from her. “You really don’t care?”
“They’re going to gossip no matter what, so why not give them something to talk about?” Finding herself smiling, she leaned back in the booth. She realized she liked the way he made her feel. The sizzle of desire combined with a comforting sense of connection.
He smiled back, warming her down to the soles of her feet. “Aren’t you worried about what they’ll say?”
“Not really. Besides, even if you were Maisie, they’d talk. Because you’re a Colton and I’m a Kelley, you know? Though I confess, I never actually bought into that whole feud thing like your sister did.”
His smile dimmed. “Not only that. They’re not going to like you sitting with me.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m an ex-con.”
Incredulous, she could only stare. “Everyone knows you were exonerated. Mark Walsh wasn’t even really dead.”
“Someone was,” he said grimly. “And though they used circumstantial evidence to convict me of a crime I didn’t commit, no one seems to care about who the actual dead guy was or who killed him.”
“Ah.” She leaned forward, her earlier discomfort completely forgotten. “But you want to know.”
“You’d better believe I do.” Signaling the waitress, he held up his empty beer bottle. “I can’t help but wonder if Mark Walsh himself set up the killing so he could disappear.”
“That makes sense.” Fascinated, she leaned forward. “But why? And now that Mark Walsh really is dead—fifteen years later—everyone is wondering who killed him this time.”
“At least they can’t pin it on me this time. I was already behind bars.”
Impulsively, she reached across the table and laid her hand over his. “I’m so sorry. That must have been awful.”
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