Читать книгу Colton Family Rescue - Justine Davis - Страница 11

Chapter 4

T.C. tapped a finger on the steering wheel. He was accustomed to Dallas traffic, and used it to work through the things on his plate for the coming day so he could hit the ground running when he finally reached the office.

But today he was spending more time pondering his restless night. He’d gone to his rooms at about ten, planning to do a little reading before bed, but hadn’t been able to focus. He’d finally given up and headed for the kitchen and some of Mrs. Morely’s incredible pecan pie, hoping the rare indulgence would soothe his scattered mind, but he had veered off when he realized just thinking about the pie and its maker made him think of Jolie, and he didn’t want to go down that rabbit hole again. Then he’d had to dodge the dining room, where his mother was apparently deep into a late-night session—because of course she couldn’t do it in the clear light of day, he thought sourly—with another one of her psychics. He didn’t know if she was foolish enough to actually believe in them, or if she just thought it might throw off suspicion that she had had something to do with her husband’s disappearance.

And that’s a hell of a thing to think about your own mother.

He had pondered just going back to his rooms. He knew it wasn’t really food he was looking for, it was peace of mind—enough to sleep. And that seemed out of reach, as it had for most of the three months now that his father had been missing.

Besides, he’d been in no mood to walk past Fowler’s room, not when he and Tiffany had been having passionate and very noisy sex when he walked past their door coming downstairs. Hearing that again was something he’d prefer to avoid. Leave it to Fowler to be as loud as possible, as if he wanted everyone to know he was getting laid. But Tiffany was just as loud, although he suspected that was her flattering Fowler as much as anything.

He wondered if the woman would ever manage to harangue Fowler into a ring. He thought his brother truly cared for her, at least as much as he was capable of caring for anyone other than himself, but he kept holding her off. However, Tiffany had a plan, and becoming a Colton was the goal. Was she determined enough, cold-blooded enough, to pull off the old man’s disappearance in the hope that Fowler would be shaken enough to take the plunge? It was hard to believe Her Whininess, as he and his sister Piper often called her, could be that clever, but maybe...

He hated feeling this way about his own family. But he hated even more thinking about his brother’s noisy sex, because it made him think of Jolie, who had always been rather quiet about it. But her heated whispers, the expression on her face, the amazement in her beautiful eyes as they made love, had been all he’d needed.

“Stop it, damn it,” he muttered under his breath as heat and need shot through him, making his entire body clench. Only Jolie had ever done that to him, only she had had the power to send him into overdrive with a mere thought. He stared at the delivery truck ahead of him as if it held all the answers.

By the time he reached the Colton building, he’d managed to force his unruly mind to stay on the things he needed to deal with today. Once at his desk, he went quickly through the plan Hannah prepped for him every morning. The format she suggested had seemed odd to him at first, but now he didn’t think he could function without it. Her method of prioritizing, and noting in advance which items could be time-shifted and which could not, had increased his productivity markedly, and he rarely disagreed with how she had weighted things.

Well, except when she slid in something like suggesting he attend a dinner function, an evening at the symphony or some other formal affair. He’d rather spend a day doing the dirtiest of work in one of their oil fields than tux up for one of those things. He’d leave that to Fowler, who could con the feathers off a peacock and leave them glad he’d done it. At least, until reality set in.

He was midway through his email inbox when Hannah appeared in his doorway.

“Mr. Colton?”

Something in her voice, an undertone of...what, he wasn’t quite sure, made him look up quickly.

“What is it?” He stood up quickly. “Something about my father?”

She looked immediately apologetic. “No, I’m sorry, nothing about that. But there’s someone here asking to see you.”

He opened his mouth to say he didn’t have time for unscheduled appointments today, then shut it again. Hannah knew this perfectly well, since she’d drawn up his agenda for the day. He also knew she would normally smoothly redirect anyone who wanted to disrupt that schedule without what she deemed a good enough reason. And he’d rarely disagreed with her on that, either. So something had made her think this was worth making an exception for.

“All right,” he said, not even asking who it was.

He saw a glint in her eyes that told him she knew exactly what thought process he’d just gone through. “Thank you,” she said, and he knew it was for trusting her.

“You’ve never made me sorry.”

She smiled. “I’ll bring them in.”

Them? he wondered as she turned to go. He reached down and closed out his email program, because he’d had a confidential communication open. He looked up when he heard footsteps in the doorway. Didn’t even hear Hannah quietly close the door. Could look at nothing else but the woman with the little girl in her arms.

Jolie.

He only realized how long it had been, and that he’d forgotten to breathe, when he at last had to suck in a long, audible gulp of air. Crazily he could hear Fowler’s voice in his head, chanting as he always did, “Never let ’em see you sweat.”

In this case a cold sweat, rising not out of exertion but pure, emotional reaction. Fowler had forewarned him, and yet he was still stunned.

Jolie.

And Emma? Could that girl with the tousled blond hair and the finger caught between white, even teeth as she stared at him really be her? Could this be the baby he’d held, made laugh, thought would be his daughter?

Of course it was. Look at her eyes—they were Jolie’s eyes, wide and thickly lashed and that gray shade that could go from silver to stormy in the space of a moment. She was wearing jeans embroidered with a cartoon character he didn’t recognize—not his forte at all—and a T-shirt that matched the bright green thread in the design. She had a small Band-Aid on her neck, and he nearly smiled when he saw it had the same cartoon character on it.

“I’m sorry,” Jolie whispered.

His gaze snapped back to the woman. God, her voice. That same husky, low voice that always sent a shiver down his spine and had once had the power to stir him no matter how distracted or tired he was.

Judging by his body’s instant response, it still did.

“What?” Oh, brilliant, Colton.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated quietly. “We didn’t have any place else to go.”

His brow furrowed. She’d managed to stay completely gone for four years, but now she showed up saying she —and Emma—had nowhere else to go? This made no sense.

“I would never have dared to come to you, but it’s for Emma.”

His gaze shifted to the child, who was staring at him with what appeared to be fascination. He knew she couldn’t possibly remember him. She’d been barely six months old when Jolie vanished out of his life, but she was looking at him now much as she had done then, although with more awareness.

“What?” he said again, almost blankly, aware no one who’d ever dealt with him in the business world would ever believe this was really T. C. Colton, the man with the reputation for quick, incisive thinking.

He saw her glance at Emma, then back at him, without speaking. It took him a moment, but then he realized she didn’t want to talk in front of the girl. He felt an odd reluctance to do anything about that, but finally he reached for the office intercom. “Hannah? Do you feel up to a little babysitting?”

“That cutie? I’ll be right in.”

Jolie hesitated, looked doubtful. He guessed she was reluctant to let the child out of her sight with a stranger. He said the only thing he could think of to reassure her of Hannah’s utter reliability. “She has three grandsons. I think time with a girl would delight her.”

Somehow they were the right words. Jolie nodded. Hannah came in, and Emma went to her willingly enough, after an encouraging nod from her mother.

“We’ll be right outside, not a step beyond my desk,” his assistant assured Jolie. “And in that desk,” she said to Emma, “there are some very interesting things. Would you like to see?”

When the door closed after them, T.C. looked at Jolie again. “Afraid you’ll have a sugar high to deal with. Hannah has quite the candy stash.”

“She deserves a treat. It’s been a horrible couple of days.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, but she didn’t go on. For a moment, he was torn between wanting to know why she was here now and why she’d left then. He scoffed inwardly at himself, still a fool, wishing there was a valid reason beyond a check with a lot of zeros on it.

He waited, letting the silence pressure her. And finally, without the diversion of the little girl, he was able to look at her more carefully.

She looked exhausted. Her eyes were reddened, whether from a sleepless night or tears or both, he couldn’t know. She looked thinner than she had, the sweet curves he’d so lusted for slightly lessened, and he felt a sudden urge to feed her to get them back.

“I thought about going to the ranch,” she finally said, “but I know your mother would try to throw me out under the best of circumstances, and this is hardly that. I’m sorry about your father.”

As a Colton, he was used to everything about the family being general knowledge, and something like the disappearance of the family patriarch was still headline news, even after three months.

“Try to?” He gave himself an inward shake; why, of all things, had he fastened on that?

Jolie’s mouth—that wonderful, soft mouth—curved up at one end in a soft, almost pleased smile. “She might not find it quite so easy to bully me and send me packing this time.”

His eyebrows shot downward. And suddenly his brain kicked into gear.

She’s back for more money, of course.

He’d barely heard his brother’s gleeful words. He’d been too startled by his news that Jolie was here. But he would have discounted them anyway; Fowler was desperate to get the spotlight off Tiffany, and if doing so meant throwing someone else—anyone else—to the wolves, then so be it.

“She’s a gold digger, Thomas. All she wants is Colton money.”

His mother’s words echoed in his head.

Maybe it takes one to know one?

Yes, she had stuck it out, but that didn’t necessarily mean it hadn’t started as a strictly mercenary arrangement. He had few illusions left about his mother.

“I would hardly call a payoff in six figures bullying,” he finally said.

Her gaze shot to his face, and he saw some of the old fire in her eyes. “What would you call threatening a baby?”

“What?” She’d startled it out of him this time.

She started to pace the office, and when she spoke it came out as if rehearsed. Or as if she’d been thinking what she would say to him for a very long time.

“It wasn’t enough for your parents to tell me I was ruining your life, that I had no place in it, that I would never, ever be good enough to be a Colton. I already knew that anyway. And I knew you knew that, and you wanted me anyway.”

“I never thought that.” The words came out sharply, because they were true. He’d known that because of her past Jolie carried around some pretty strong feelings of worthlessness. He’d had it all figured out, how he would help her get past that, that one day she would really, truly believe how crazy in love with her he was. But she vanished before he ever had the chance.

She kept pacing, the words coming out in a rush. “I’m not talking about what you believed. I’m talking about what I believed. And deep down I believed every word they said was true. But I still said no. I told them I loved you, and I was staying.”

He drew back slightly. “You did?”

“Yes.” Her mouth tightened. She stopped, turned, looked at him. “That’s when your mother brought out the big guns.”

“She has them,” he said neutrally, although it was difficult under the steady gaze of those gray eyes. But he knew well enough, his mother used her weapons on him often enough, imperiously wielding her power as the Colton matriarch to get her way.

“She told me if I stayed, she would make my life a living hell. With a few potent examples.”

He hadn’t actually thought about that. He’d known his mother didn’t approve, didn’t think Jolie was good enough—although he’d never been certain if she’d meant good enough for him, or good enough to be a Colton—but he hadn’t thought it through to how she might express that disapproval had Jolie stayed. He knew too much of his mother’s ways to take that lightly now.

“And then,” Jolie said, stopping in front of him, a mere two feet away, meeting his gaze levelly, “she promised to do the same to Emma. To make her life hell, to make sure she always knew she didn’t belong, she wasn’t welcome, she was unworthy and despised.”

T.C. went very still.

“And to top it all off, she dropped some very pointed hints about children having accidents on ranches all the time.”

He couldn’t imagine even his mother threatening that. Emma had been a baby, helpless, innocent.

And your father’s a frail old man, and you’re wondering if she killed him.

“She wouldn’t have done it,” he said, but there was enough uncertainty in him to make the words less than convincing.

“I couldn’t take that risk. Not with Emma.”

He was shaken, he couldn’t deny that. Told this way, what his parents had done seemed much more nefarious. And the threat to Emma, then only months old, was more than a little disturbing. And made him wonder again, just how far would his mother go to get what she wanted?

“And the money?” Jolie said, her voice fierce now. “I took it so Emma would have chances I never did. It’s in a trust fund, for her. I’ve never touched a penny of it, and I never will.”

T.C. stared at her, a little awed at that ferocity, of the depth of her love for her daughter. He’d known it before, or thought he had, but at this moment she took his breath away.

But then Jolie Peters had always taken his breath away.

His own reaction, the swiftness of his response to her, as if the last four years had never happened, unsettled him. And that made his voice sharp when he grasped at something—anything—as distraction. “Why are you here now?”

Something flashed in her eyes, and her expression went from fierce to frightened in the space of a split second. He saw her take in a deep breath, as if she needed it to steady herself.

“Someone’s trying to kill Emma.”