Kitabı oku: «Colton Family Showdown»

Chapter 1

Evening was going toward dark and Fox Colton whistled as he pulled up to the big red barn that meant everything to him. The home he needed and the work he loved under one classic metal roof. He’d never tire of that sense of accomplishment. He’d made something out of nothing with more than forty good acres of the Crooked C ranch. A prime opportunity had become a thriving horse-breeding business.

There were days when it seemed too good to be true.

Against the deepening sky, the barn stood out in silhouette. Fox was weary, but in a way that filled him with immense satisfaction. It had been a long couple of days making sure things ran smoothly on both his brother’s side of the ranch and his own. Wyatt was rightly preoccupied with his wife, Bailey, as she delivered their new son, Hudson Earl Colton.

Once he’d finished the ranch work last night, he’d gone to the hospital and waited with the rest of the family, trying to cover his uneasiness with quiet confidence that his sister-in-law and the baby would be just fine. Turned out having been on hand for his mares through countless foals didn’t actually make waiting for a new niece or nephew less stressful. But seeing the stars in Wyatt’s eyes as he held his son made being there worth it.

Fox picked up his phone, intending to give his brother a text update on the day’s activities at the ranch before he went inside. There were a slew of emails waiting for his attention and as soon as he dipped a toe into that water, he’d be sunk for the night. It was one of the best perks of loving his work.

Instead, when he opened the messaging app, he found another baby picture from the proud daddy. Fox chuckled. He could hardly blame Wyatt. The newborn was unquestionably adorable. He sent back a quick aww in reply and then added the ranch update. The recent challenges of a murder victim, a dead bull and a barn fire on the Crooked C had left Wyatt and Fox, along with their hired crew and the Roaring Springs law enforcement, on high alert for anything out of the ordinary.

Pocketing his phone, Fox hopped out of the truck and started for the house. He had a thick burger on his mind for dinner, after a shower and a change of clothes. Inside the door, he pulled off his work boots and ducked into the office for his laptop. He could clear out his email in-box while the meat cooked.

A sticky note on the laptop keyboard caught his attention, and he sat down at his desk, scolding himself for forgetting. He quickly confirmed an interview appointment for tomorrow afternoon with an equine geneticist.

Fox wasn’t particularly in the market for an assistant, though business was booming and he was fielding inquiries from other ranchers looking for bloodstock advice. He leaned back in the chair and stretched his arms overhead, rereading the original query. Maybe it was time to think about expanding. Kelsey Lauder had presented a compelling argument for creating the position and her résumé in equine research impressed him. It never hurt business to extend a courtesy and frankly, he was eager to talk with someone who understood both the science and artistry of horse breeding.

Last season he’d lost three foals to premature delivery, well below the average considering the number of mares he’d bred. Risk of the job, of course, but it was never pleasant for the herd or the crew. Each time, they’d sent off the standard lab tests and worked through each layer of cleanup protocols and herd management. With breeding season done and the herd settled for fall, now was the time to dive deeper into the genetic material if he hoped to find something helpful there. Would Miss Lauder be interested in that sort of research?

His stomach rumbled loudly and Fox realized he’d spent nearly two hours at his desk and still needed that shower and dinner. Closing his laptop, he headed upstairs.

The two-bedroom house he’d built into the second story of the barn was simple and functional and suited him to a tee. When he looked around, he imagined his mom, Dana, beaming with pride at the relaxed and lived-in style. It was certainly easier to conjure that image after his little sister Sloane’s recent visit. She was the spitting image of their mom, though she had no real recollection of their parents. He and his sister had been raised as Coltons, formally adopted by Russ and Mara, Dana’s older sister, after a car crash left them orphans when they were young. Sloane only remembered their second family and there were times when her simpler memories made Fox a little jealous.

Leaving the laptop on the kitchen table, he went straight for the bathroom. He dumped his dirty clothes in the hamper and stepped into the shower, letting the hot spray wash the workday down the drain. Feeling better, he went to his room and pulled on flannel pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt.

Checking the clock, he decided it was too late for a heavy meal, so he heated up a bowl of leftover vegetable soup and sat down to finish clearing his email before turning in for the night. He fell down a rabbit hole of research, reading through a comprehensive report on an herbal supplement found to ease the adverse symptoms of hormonal swings in broodmares.

The sound of a car engine nearby brought him back with a start. He ignored it. A few of the ranch hands had active social lives. As long as the work was done well, the crew could do as they pleased with their personal time. With a sigh, he realized it was after midnight and the horses needed him fresh in a few hours. He switched over from his emails to the breeding log for this season and confirmed which mares were slated for pregnancy verification tests this week.

At last, he closed the laptop and called it a day. Everything else would have to wait until morning. He turned out the lights in the kitchen and padded through the dark hallway to his bedroom.

His head barely touched the pillow when he heard tires on the gravel drive. That car was too close to be headed to the bunkhouse. Fox froze, listening as he reached for his cell phone. After the trouble of the previous months, he couldn’t help being on edge.

When he’d remodeled and repurposed the barn, he’d added a low porch to the front door. One of the wood planks on the second step had been squeaky from the start and when he heard that sound, he was up and out of bed.

Any of the ranch hands would’ve called to let him know about a problem, not just shown up. Phone in hand, he sprinted for the stairs and the front door, grabbing his shotgun on the way. He’d defend his property and let the sheriff sort it out later.

When Fox opened the door, the car was a blur in the night, driving away without headlights. Odds were good the driver would hit a tree or slide off into a ditch, making the sheriff’s work easier. He started out the door, shotgun to his shoulder, and nearly tripped over a bulky object on his welcome mat.

A bag. A baby’s diaper bag. He only recognized the gear because he’d seen plenty of it while Wyatt and Bailey prepared for their son. Next to that was a baby carrier, complete with a sleeping baby, the pacifier loose in his mouth.

Fox flipped the safety and lowered the shotgun. “What the hell?”

The baby gave a start, arms and legs going stiff and his eyes popping open to stare at Fox. His little mouth tugged the pacifier back in tight.

Fox looked around, dumbfounded. “Ha, ha,” he said. He had no idea why anyone would use a real baby in a prank, much less to prank him, but he was ready for the stunt to be over. “You got me,” he called a little louder.

No reply.

He rubbed one bare foot against his calf. Prank or not, the night was too cold to stand out here without warmer clothing.

“You can’t be here,” he said to the baby. The infant was bundled up, but he couldn’t just leave it out here. “You’re not mine.”

The baby didn’t care about Fox’s denial.

He hauled both baby and bag inside, out of the chill. The diaper bag and car seat contraption were in shades of blue, decorated with airplanes, trucks and trains in various bright colors.

“Safe bet is you’re a boy.” This wasn’t one of his foals, so it wasn’t his job to confirm or deny the fact. “You’re not mine,” he repeated. No way had he fathered a baby without knowing. Hell, he hadn’t even been with a woman in over a year. That was a hard fact to face, even in the privacy of his own head. So who would dump a child on his doorstep? “Are you Wyatt’s?” he wondered.

Naturally, the baby didn’t answer, just kept staring up at him. Fox studied the tiny face, unable to see any obvious resemblance between the baby and anyone he knew.

He’d just seen Wyatt’s newborn. This little guy was too big to be brand-new. Weren’t people supposed to abandon newborns at fire stations or orphanages? How old was the baby? And how had he wound up on Fox’s doorstep? He called the bunkhouse, but no one there had seen any vehicles that didn’t belong to the Crooked C.

“Whoever you belong to, you can’t stay here.” Fox had no intention of having fatherhood forced on him. Considering his troubled childhood, he’d ruled it out way back in college. Possibly even before that. Not that the baby cared.

He locked the front door again and started upstairs. Should he leave the little guy alone? His sister would know. He pulled out his phone and started to call and remembered she was out of town with her family. Checking the straps, Fox decided the baby was secure in the seat. It would only take him a minute to change. “Wait here.” He darted up the stairs, found a pair of jeans and came back to find the baby, eyes wide, calmly taking in the change of scenery.

What did babies see?

He knew how and when horses developed vision, but he’d never bothered to think about the same growth and development in humans.

He sat on the bench next to the door and pulled on his boots. “Come on.” He picked up the car seat. “Oof, you’ve got some heft. Good for you.” Slinging the diaper bag over his shoulder, he picked up his keys. “The police will know what to do with you.”

Tucking the diaper bag behind the front passenger seat, he wrestled the car seat into place in the back, securing it with the seat belt. He didn’t think he had it quite right, but it should do for the short, careful drive into town.

The baby was quiet on the ride and seemed happy enough when Fox carried him, seat and all, into the police department looking for his cousin, Sheriff Trey Colton. If this was a prank, someone was about to get busted.

“Is Trey around?” he asked the officer manning the front desk.

“Come on back, Fox.” Trey waved him into his office, then did a double take when he saw what his cousin was carrying. “Whoa. Who’s this?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.” Fox set the carrier on the sheriff’s desk and the diaper bag in the chair. “I found him on my porch.”

“When?”

“Less than half an hour ago. I loaded him up and came straight here.”

“Why?”

Why? Fox gawked at Trey. His cousin was clearly overtired if he couldn’t come to his own conclusions on that score. “So you could handle it. Bringing him here seemed better than calling you out to the ranch.”

Eyes trained on the baby, Trey rocked the baby seat. “No one’s reported a missing child.”

“Well, let me be the first,” Fox muttered, planting his hands on his hips. “He isn’t mine.”

The sheriff arched an eyebrow and pinned his cousin with a hard stare. “Why else would he be on your porch?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he retorted. “I haven’t been with anyone.” He could feel his cheeks burning with the admission. “Not in a time frame that would have this result.”

He should’ve just had that vasectomy a few years ago after his sister had gotten pregnant. Sure she was happy now, but all her talk of cousins and playdates had terrified him. He was not father material. Fox didn’t expect her to remember that part of their childhood. Better if she didn’t. If only he’d followed through then, he wouldn’t have to endure the judgment on Trey’s face now.

“It’s not my kid,” he insisted.

“He’s a cute little guy.” With a put-upon sigh, Trey unbuckled the baby and lifted him from the seat. “Look for a note,” he told Fox.

Why hadn’t he thought of that? “No note here.”

“Check the diaper bag,” Trey said patiently, cuddling the baby like a pro. That too was empty of anything as helpful as identification or a note. “Was there anything else with him?”

“No.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a real mystery on your hands,” the sheriff said.

“No.” Fox stepped back. “You do. He isn’t my kid. I can’t keep him.” Just the thought of having a child in his care made his palms sweat. “I can’t keep him,” he repeated.

The baby wriggled in Trey’s arms, making happy gurgling sounds that made the sheriff smile. “Your front doorstep isn’t exactly well-known or easy to get to,” he said.

“Oh, my.” Deputy Sheriff Daria Bloom walked in. “What a sweet face.”

Was everyone on the graveyard shift tonight? With her athletic grace, striking features and golden-brown eyes framed by a cap of short dark hair, she always struck Fox as more of a model than a law enforcement officer. Of course, her real career choice was more than evident since she’d taken the lead on the Avalanche Killer case.

She stepped closer to the baby. “You’re a cutie, aren’t you?” she crooned.

The baby smiled at her and his pacifier fell out of his mouth to the floor. She picked it up. “What’s his name?”

“I wish I knew,” Fox said.

“What are you talking about?” Daria frowned, but the expression melted into a smile when the baby reached for her. She let him catch her finger in his tiny hand.

“Fox found him on his doorstep and is certain he isn’t the father.”

“Your house isn’t exactly easy access,” Daria replied.

“I said the same thing,” the sheriff murmured. The baby’s attention went to the star on his navy blue uniform shirt. “Someone went out of their way for you to have him, Fox.”

“But he cannot possibly be mine,” Fox insisted. “Isn’t there someone you call when this happens?”

Daria backed toward the door, the pacifier clutched in her hand. “I’ll go wash this.”

“I can call child services,” Trey offered. “If you’re sure that’s the route you want to go.”

Child services. “Foster care?” Fox rolled his shoulders, trying to release the sudden pinch between his shoulder blades. “Is that the only option?”

“No note, no identification, no reported lost baby.” Trey shrugged as he nestled the baby back into the car seat. “I’m afraid that’s the best I can do,” he said. “It’s standard procedure.”

Fox stared at the baby. Standard procedure would have landed him and his sister in foster care after their parents died. At that time, his family had stepped up and his aunt and uncle adopted them, given them family roots and the Colton name.

He rubbed at his forehead. “No.” The sheriff was right, his house wasn’t easily accessible, which meant someone had gone to some trouble to leave the baby with him. And been careful enough not to be seen.

“No what?” Trey asked.

“No foster care,” he said, making the decision as the words left his mouth. “There’s been a mistake, clearly.” This was not his child. “But I’ll take care of him until I can track down the person he belongs to.” Maybe one of the hands at the Crooked C was the father and whoever had dropped off the baby chose Fox’s porch in an effort to be discreet. His red barn was certainly easier to find in the dark and fewer people would be around.

“We’ll keep an eye out here, too,” the sheriff promised.

Daria returned with the pacifier. “All clean. You should get one of those leash thingies for it. And maybe call a pediatrician in the morning. Just to make sure he’s okay.”

He figured there were a lot of “shoulds” in his immediate future. Fox would ask his sister about the pacifier leash and all the rest. He almost swore. Those questions would have to wait until Sloane and her family returned. For now, the internet would have to suffice.

“I’ll check into it,” he said, trying not to snap. The deputy sheriff was only trying to help. He started to leave and stopped short. “Can someone check the car seat thing? I may not have it installed right. I was in a hurry.”

“On it,” Daria volunteered. At the truck, she made the proper adjustments to the base and got the baby seat locked in for the ride back home. “It occurs to me you may have another problem, Fox.”

Super. “What’s that?”

She gently closed the door. “I admit the Avalanche Killer is foremost on my mind.”

As she was lead on the case, that made perfect sense to Fox. He knew what it was like to get lost in solving a problem, in the lab or on the ranch. Another reason not to add a baby to his list of responsibilities.

“Playing a dangerous ‘what if’ game here,” she began. “But if the baby’s mother has been taken, the killer might have dropped the baby on the nearest doorstep.”

Great. Like he didn’t have enough to worry about. “You’re welcome to come out and take a look around. I heard a car on the gravel and a squeak on my porch step.”

“That’s all?”

Her disappointment didn’t come close to matching his frustration.

“The driver drove off without lights. I didn’t hear a crash or see anything on my way into town, but that’s a hard road to navigate in the dark.”

“I’ll come by tomorrow.”

With a nod, Fox climbed into the driver’s seat and headed for home, with a baby. How on earth had this happened? Though his first run at fatherhood was definitely temporary, he found it utterly terrifying.

With sunset painting the horizon in vivid golds and deep indigo, Kelsey Lauder paused at the end of the gravel drive that led to the big red barn. Finally, she’d reached the offices of Foxworth Colton. Two hours late, but she was here.

Being late embarrassed her—so unprofessional—but showing up with her cheeks on fire would make it worse. Everyone who’d learned to drive understood car trouble was never convenient. She’d done all she could to keep Mr. Colton informed with a call to his office that went straight to voice mail and sending a quick email reiterating that she would arrive as soon as possible.

Leaving her car on the side of the road, hazard lights flashing, she’d taken only her purse, eager to move quickly, still hopeful she might be close to on time for her interview. A rideshare service wasn’t an option and although she’d caught a ride with a trucker heading into Roaring Springs with a load of produce, she’d had to hike the last couple of miles to the ranch.

Having made a practice of looking for life’s silver linings, she found the first hopeful glimmer in that sunset and the second in the long hike that led farther away from the town and main roads. She appreciated distance and privacy, having had so little of it in labs and dorms.

Her extended, up-close look at the southern acreage of the Crooked C ranch was even better than she’d expected. Kelsey had done her research online and been thoroughly impressed by the articles and professional pictures, but in person, the property was far more than photogenic spin. She soaked up layer after layer of beautiful views, gorgeous horses, fenced pastures, well-kept barns and buildings and wide-open fields framed by the rugged mountains.

For years she’d been on a quest to achieve her top personal goals of peace and safety. Those warm feelings enveloped her almost from her first step onto the property, as if the ranch itself was gladly accepting her, buffering her from anything untoward. Small fantasies like that buoyed her spirit from one endeavor to the next as she searched for the place where she could sink deep roots.

Would it be here in Roaring Springs breeding quarter horses at the renowned Crooked C? She was about to knock on her idol’s door and find out.

Her nerves jumping, Kelsey pressed her hand to her belly. She paused under the shade of a big tree and pulled out her hair tie. She brushed out her long strawberry-blond hair until the strands were tangle-free again, then she wound it back into a bun to keep it out of her face. She might be late, but she would nail this interview.

Since graduating from college and defending her master’s thesis in equine genetics, she’d been bumping along from one internship or short-term study to the next. Not a bad system and it had given her time to figure out which facets of her degrees she wanted to put to use. She enjoyed lab work, but missed the hands-on, day-to-day interaction with the horses. It had been years since she’d been present for foaling. With a little luck and some quick talking, she’d be assisting Mr. Colton with that very thing come springtime.

As ready as ever, she marched toward the big barn and up onto the porch, under the sign with the Crooked C Quarter Horses logo. Drawing in a deep breath, she rang the doorbell. Waited several long moments. There was no answer. He could be out, working directly with his mares or just tending to the needs of a forty-acre ranch. Horses didn’t keep the same cushy hours as those of the labs she’d been working in.

She knocked, determined to reschedule if he didn’t have time to speak with her this evening. In all of the pictures and interviews she’d read, Fox struck her as a decent, kind man. She’d studied recordings of talks he’d given at various program events. The man came across as focused and purposeful, smart as a whip and humble about it. Genuine. If he couldn’t speak with her tonight, surely he could recommend a towing service and repair shop. And maybe, in the way of many communities, the repair shop would point her toward an affordable motel.

Roaring Springs was known for excellent skiing, a summer film festival, the resort atmosphere and the spa that catered to A-list celebrities. Kelsey didn’t have that kind of money to toss around. Not even for one night.

She rang the doorbell one last time, her mind spinning with new plans and possibilities. If Mr. Colton didn’t answer, she’d write a note and tuck it into the door and head down to the nearest barn. Was it better to go in search of someone who could help her or sit here like a lost puppy awaiting his return?

Suddenly, her spiraling thoughts were interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a baby crying. Oh, no. Had all her ringing and knocking woken up the child? One of the first life rules she’d learned was never to wake a sleeping baby.

Way to make a good first impression.

The sounds of wailing increased, as if someone was slowly turning up the volume on a baby monitor. Then the door swung opened and a frazzled cowboy with glazed blue eyes and a miserable baby in his arms stared blankly at her.

Mr. Foxworth Colton. He was taller than she’d anticipated, making her feel shorter than ever. His brown hair, highlighted by hours out in the sun, fell into his eyes and his chambray shirt, half-untucked, was wrinkled and damp in places from the baby’s tears or worse. Either he’d grown a beard since the last photo she’d seen or he hadn’t shaved in several days. Nothing in his bio had mentioned a wife or children. He had several siblings, though he didn’t look anything like a content uncle at the moment.

When her gaze collided with his, she thought the man might burst into tears, too. The baby, a little boy she assumed based on the red airplanes on his sleeper, stared at her with big blue eyes in a wet red face. He hiccupped, then dropped his head to the cowboy’s shoulder and resumed his protest. Sympathy welled up within her for both of them.

“Mr. Colton?” She pitched her voice just loud enough to be heard over the squalling.

“Yes.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt. I’m Kelsey Lauder. We had an interview—”

He closed his eyes. His lips moved, in prayer or curse, she couldn’t know. Shifting the baby to his left arm, he offered her his right hand, but the baby’s displeasure continued. “I forgot all about it.” He winced as the baby arched and screeched louder still.

“I’d invite you in, but the smart move is to come back another day. Can you email me with a few options?”

Technically, yes. “Um...is your wife out?” she asked instead. The idea of hiking back to her car in the dark held zero appeal.

“Not married. This is...” His voice trailed off as he gently rocked the baby in his arm in a fruitless attempt to settle him. “Well, there isn’t an easy explanation.”

She’d come prepared to prove herself an asset to his horse breeding program. How to offer help with the baby without overstepping or offending? “I’ve had some experience with kids.” His dark eyebrows lifted. Skepticism or hope? “Lots of younger siblings,” she explained.

“There were a couple of stints as a nanny on your résumé,” he recalled.

“You’re right.” Babysitting and child care were the jobs she’d been most qualified for during her high school and college years. She moved back and invited him onto the porch. “It’s cooler out here,” she said.

“Aren’t babies supposed to be kept warm?” he asked, stepping out.

The squirming baby had lost a sock and if the blanket was meant to do anything, it was too twisted and bunched between them to be effective. “I think a few minutes in the cooler air might be more help to both of you,” she told him. “May I, Mr. Colton?” she asked, reaching for the baby.