Colton Family Rescue

by Justine Davis

  She gave a shocked little gasp. Her eyes widened as she stared at him, and the hurt he saw there almost made him regret his words. But the idea that she would have sex with him as payback—

  His own thought hit him as if he’d been head-butted by a longhorn. Followed by his own words echoing in his head.

  Maybe I do want that payback...

  “Damn,” he muttered. This whole thing had gone south damned fast.

  She stepped back from him. He saw her draw herself up straighter. She met his gaze levelly. “I swore I would never again live on charity,” she said, her voice as steely as her spine. “And it’s not like I have any other way to pay you back for your help.”

  “Jolie—”

  “But that has nothing to do with why I said yes, and there are no words for how much it hurts for you to think it did,” she said, ignoring his attempt to speak. “I said yes because, much to my dismay, I still—” her voice lost a little of its steeliness “—wanted you.”

  She ended it on a whisper that made his gut knot up all over again. And then she turned and walked back into the cabin, leaving him there in the darkness. And in that moment, it was more than just a figure of speech. The past tense of her last words echoed in his mind.

  He stood there on the porch for a while, reeling internally. He hadn’t felt like this since after she left, four years ago. A half dozen different emotions were battling for dominance in his head, and he hated the sensation. He remembered Piper telling him back then that women felt like that a lot of the time when dealing with men, and he’d grimaced and muttered, “Not worth it.”

  Maybe he’d been righter than he’d known.

  It built up inside him until he had to move, do something. He spun on his heel and left the porch, forgoing the steps in a jump. He strode across to the corral, where Flash was standing peacefully. The horse nickered at him; here he was welcomed at least.

  That decided it. He took the bridle that was looped over a fence post and pulled it over the horse’s head. The big paint took the bit eagerly; he’d had a quiet day and likely had some energy to burn. He didn’t bother with the saddle but grabbed the same hunk of mane Emma had been trying to braid and swung himself up on the horse’s back.

  The well-trained horse sidled up to the gate with the ease of long practice, and T.C. slid the latch free and it swung open. Flash sensed T.C.’s mood, and when he lifted the reins the horse took off like his name, hitting full stride in seconds.

  He hadn’t skipped the saddle in a while, but he’d wanted to now, wanting the extra effort and concentration it took to stay in tune with the horse, anticipating any quick moves or dodging of rocks or brush. He made a mental note to do it more often, for the closeness of horse and rider. He’d almost forgotten the power of that moment when the connection clicked and you were truly with your mount, savoring the power beneath you, and marveling at the willingness of a half ton of powerful animal to let you control him.

  Yes, riding bareback definitely needed to happen more often.

  And he swore at himself as other connotations of that phrase shot through his mind, catapulting him back into the morass of tangled thoughts he was trying to escape.

  He hoped Flash had a lot of that energy to burn.

  Chapter 22

  Jolie watched him ride off into the moonlight, aching inside even as she admired his seat, needing no saddle to keep him solidly aboard the big pinto horse.

  Her heart was still racing from the feel of his mouth, of his hands on her. She’d been sent straight back to four years ago and that wondrous sense of discovery, that sex could be more than just pleasurable, it could be incredible. With the right person. That having a partner that loved you, that was there for your pleasure, not just his own, made all the difference.

  And yet she had abandoned it, and him.

  No choice.

  It had been her mantra for every day of those four years. She’d been like a small creature caught in a steel-jawed trap, twisting, fighting, panicking. And in the end the only way to freedom was to gnaw off a part of herself. Him.

  She went to lie down beside Emma, but sleep eluded her. She knew it would, knew she would not rest until he was safely back. Not that she thought anything would happen to him; he was a Colton riding over his own domain. But as good as Flash was, there was always the chance of a snake or a gopher hole causing a problem.

  She cuddled Emma, who slipped even more deeply into sleep, and Jolie was glad she’d heard nothing of their discussion. She couldn’t call it an argument; there had been no shouting. T.C. had snapped once, but the rest had come in forcedly hushed tones, both of them aware of Emma sleeping just inside. She’d appreciated his caution even as she’d been hurt by his words.

  Did he really believe she’d said yes because she owed him?

  Then again, hadn’t she told herself—and him—that she’d pay any price to keep Emma safe?

  Finally she sat up, unable to stay still. Without waking the child she got up and walked back out to the porch. Her arms were wrapped around herself, but not because of any chill. She felt as if she needed to hold on, because her thoughts and emotions were whirling so fast she thought she might spin apart if it didn’t stop soon.

  Her adult life had been of her own making. Once free of the foster system, she’d gone at life a little recklessly, she knew that. Once she’d been cut loose, she spent the first four years of freedom careening around as if nothing else mattered. And then everything had changed with the appearance of a plus sign on a plastic stick.

  Emma had changed everything. Her father—Bio Dad, Jolie called him, since he’d had no interest at all in becoming an actual dad—had vanished practically before the plus sign had fully shown up on the pregnancy test. She hadn’t been surprised; she’d known Kevin wasn’t much for responsibility. But neither had she been at the time, and they’d gotten along well in their brief, carefree relationship, Jolie thinking she was making up for all she’d missed while in the system.

  She’d pondered her options, but the thought of having someone she would forever be connected to, someone who would ever and always be her child, was a lure she could not resist. And for the first time she looked more seriously at her freedom from the system, and finally realized freedom meant little if you didn’t do anything with it.

  She’d reveled in knowing it was now up to her, that she would make it or not based on her own efforts, intelligence and drive. She would build a life for herself and her child, alone if she had to. And it would be a better life than she had had after the day her parents were killed. And, in an unexpected aspect, she’d realized this also meant she had to take better care of herself, not for her own sake but for Emma’s. Not for anything would she have her baby girl end up in the same situation.

  So she’d cleaned up her attitude and her life; she’d found something she enjoyed and was good at, went to school to learn it, had accepted help until she didn’t need it anymore, then stood on her own. She was proud of what she’d accomplished, but by no means did she think she was through. She had plans, to move up to a job on Mrs. Amaro’s level one day, then maybe higher still. She didn’t just cook. She had a knack for organization and presentation as well, and she wanted to parlay that into something bigger. And she would, once Emma started school and she had more time to plan out the next stage.

  She’d been so certain of that. Had felt in charge of her life at last. Until those moments outside the day care, when everything had careened out of control. The moments that had driven her to the only refuge she’d been able to think of in those panicked hours after she’d truly realized what had happened, that someone was trying to kill her baby girl.

  She wouldn’t second-guess that anymore, she told herself as she paced the small wooden porch, staring out into the moonlit night. It was done. They were here and safe, which meant she’d made a good choice,
didn’t it? And if she had to pay for that with some uncomfortable conversations and memories—and a lot of heated, shockingly arousing feelings—then so be it.

  She wouldn’t have said she was waiting for him to return until the moment she saw Flash in the distance, and realized she’d been doing exactly that. At first she’d thought an unfelt breeze had rippled the brush, making the shadows shift, but then she realized it was indeed the black-and-white horse she was seeing, stark in the silver light. Just as she was certain the animal slowed from an easy canter to a walk, and she guessed he needed to cool out. Which meant they’d had a good long run. Which meant T.C. had needed it. It was what he’d always done, when he’d needed to work something out.

  She wondered, with some trepidation, what conclusion he’d reached.

  He was going to need to take care of the horse when he got here, she realized. And it was already late. She left the porch and walked to the corral and shed. The as-yet-unused stall—Flash hadn’t had any need or desire for shelter yet—held the box on one wall where she’d seen T.C. get the brush he’d given Emma to use. She went to it and got out a currycomb, brush and hoof pick. She also saw the water trough was low, and walked over to it. There was a classic old pump handle beside it. She wasn’t sure it even still worked. Perhaps he filled it with a bucket from inside. But she tried it anyway, and was rewarded with a light but steady stream of clear water. She filled it to where she could see the waterline usually was. Wondered idly if other creatures visited this man-made water hole when T.C. wasn’t here. Or perhaps even when he was; as long as they didn’t bother his horses, T.C. was pretty much a live-and-let-live kind of guy when it came to other animals.

  It hit her then that she could add Emma to that. If anything ever threatened her, she knew on a gut-deep level that live and let live would go out the window.

  And then he was there, sliding down from Flash’s back and landing with a lightness that belied his size. He might be an inch over six feet, but T.C. had always been light on his feet. Graceful, although he’d scoff at the term.

  She saw him look at the tools she’d gathered, then at the water. And then at her.

  “Thank you,” he said. And she couldn’t tell a thing from his level tone, except that he was calmer than when he’d left.

  He went about caring for the animal, first the currycomb, then leaning hard into the brushing, which told her the horse had indeed worked up a sweat, which had dried on the long, slow walk back. Less than he would have under saddle, but still, it needed some attention.

  “Can I help?” she asked quietly.

  He looked across Flash’s withers at her. It was a moment before he said, “Remember how to use that hoof pick?”

  “Of course,” she said, picking up the small metal hook.

  Flash was as docile about this as he was about the rest, and let her pick up all four feet in turn. She found a small stone in one. Too small to have caused a problem right away, and likely would have fallen out on its own soon, but she levered it out anyway.

  “He’s so calm,” she said, patting him when she was done.

  “Hard to believe how explosive he is when you point him at a calf,” T.C. said.

  She remembered the change that came over the animal when he went into real action. “He knows when it’s business.”

  “Yes.”

  “And he’s quite the ambassador for your horses.”

  “He’s built our rep,” T.C. agreed as he finished, slipped off the bridle, gave the horse an affectionate slap on the rump and sent him off into the corral. Flash went to a spot in the far corner, then looked back at T.C., who laughed. “Go ahead, y’old mule. I know you’re going to do it anyway.”

  On cue, the big horse lowered himself to the ground and rolled in the dirt, making all the effort seem pointless. Except Jolie knew it wasn’t; it would have been a much bigger job in the morning if he’d rolled while still sweaty. And it still made her laugh to watch. It always had.

  T.C. looked at her. Tentatively she smiled at him. He smiled back.

  “I’m sorry,” they chorused, and both stopped.

  T.C.’s mouth quirked, and he let out a short chuckle. That was one of the things she’d most loved about him; Colton or not, he wasn’t above apologizing, unlike a few other members of his family.

  “I shouldn’t have made such a big deal out of a passing comment,” she said.

  “And I shouldn’t have accused you of...what I did.”

  She nodded, accepting the sincerity she heard in his voice. “I guess the past isn’t so far behind that it can’t jump up and bite.”

  For a long, silent moment T.C. watched the horse, who was back on his feet now, and shaking in that twitching way horses had to get rid of the dust he’d picked up in his rolling.

  Then, without looking at her, he asked quietly, “Did you mean it? About...wanting me?”

  Honesty was the very least of the things she owed him. “I’ve never, ever stopped wanting you.”

  His eyes closed. The silvery light made his lashes stand out as a dark, thick sweep above his cheeks. He turned then. Looked at her straight-on. “You’d better get inside, Jolie. Or we’re going to start this dance again.”

  She saw it all in his face, in his eyes, the old heat, the need, the promise of that incredible pleasure, the union she had found nowhere else in her life.

  She wasn’t sure why he would still want her, after what she’d done. Perhaps it was to prove to himself that he was over her. Or that it hadn’t been as incredible as he might remember. She wasn’t sure why she was even thinking about this. But she wasn’t sure thinking was the right word, either, since she had the feeling some part of her had already decided, from the moment he’d kissed her.

  “Then let the music begin,” she whispered.

  And this time, she kissed him.

  Chapter 23

  “Flash won’t mind,” T.C. said, his voice sounding low and thick over the rustle of the straw beneath their feet. It sent a shiver down Jolie’s spine, a delightful shudder of anticipation. Now that her mind had allowed it, her body seemed to have slipped the leash and was running free, already halfway to the peak they were about to climb.

  “It won’t be the first time we’ve used the nearest stall.”

  The moment she said it she regretted the words; she didn’t want to think about before, because she didn’t want to think about how it had ended. More important, she didn’t want him thinking about how it had ended. So she did the only thing she could think of to keep his mind from veering in that direction. She kissed him again.

  He responded fiercely, as if he was as hungry as she was after all this time. His hands were on her, caressing, searching, and hers on him, seeking all the places that thrilled her, the strong cord of his neck, the broad expanse of his chest, the flat, ridged belly, the lean hips.

  And then one of his hands was on hers, urging her downward to the swell of his erection, pressing her palm against him. She stroked him through the denim of his jeans, heard him make that low sound in his throat that had haunted her dreams ever since that awful night when she realized that, for Emma’s sake, she had to leave.

  She didn’t realize she’d gone still until he did in turn.

  “Second thoughts?” he asked gruffly.

  She shook her head. “Emma. If she wakes up,” she began, even knowing it was unlikely; after her busy day, the child was soundly asleep.

  “She’ll call out for you.”

  Of course she would, she thought.

  “Besides,” he added, his voice only slightly rueful, “this is going to be quick, I’m afraid.”

  She looked up at him, and even in the moonlight she could see the need and urgency in his face. She suspected it echoed her own.

  She let out a harsh breath. “Oh, I hope so.”

&n
bsp; He groaned then, grabbed her and pulled them both down to the fresh straw he’d spread just last night. She wondered if he’d thought of this when he did it, if he’d remembered all the times when they had done this before, at the stable or at the big barn, when things were new and joyous and they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

  She knew she was letting herself in for more painful memories, knew she would likely regret this decision.

  But she would regret not doing this more. Just once more, to remind her what it could be like, should be like, for those times when she thought she might settle. For she had had chances, over the years, men who had seemed genuinely interested. She had always declined, citing her total focus on Emma, which was true. But there had been another reason, as well; she knew nothing could compare to what she’d had with this man, and anyone else would be lacking in comparison. So she didn’t even begin.

  And this was why, she thought as his strong hands cupped her breasts, because no one else had ever made her feel like this. And then he moved his fingers to her nipples, catching them, plucking them, and even through her shirt and bra the fire sparked. She arched to him, silently pleading for more. If she’d still been standing her knees would have gone weak.

  She tugged his shirt free, needing the feel of his skin more than her next breath. He was still lean, strong and solid, and her hands traced the lines of his body as if they had never forgotten. She fumbled with the button and then the zipper of his jeans. Realized he was doing the same to hers. The urgency built with every movement, every contact between them, until they were merely shoving the inconvenient clothing out of the way.

  He touched her, traced every curve, probed every bend, until she was shaking with need and ready to beg him to finish it.

  And then he paused, holding her hands still, looking down at her. “Jolie,” he began.