Читать книгу The Coltons: Nick, Clay & Jericho - Marie Ferrarella, Beth Cornelison - Страница 15

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Chapter 8

For the space of one moment, Georgie struggled with the very strong desire to just fling herself into Clay’s arms and tell him what had happened, starting with Sheffield tackling her in the front yard. Clay would take care of everything for her, the way he used to. The way he had when their mother died.

But she wasn’t that little girl anymore. Even back then, she’d had a tendency to resist Clay’s protective ways because to be taken care of carried a price tag. It meant surrendering her independence, and independence meant everything in the world to her. Hers had been hard won and it was a trophy she would fight to retain to her dying breath.

So rather than throw herself into her brother’s arms, she stood where she was, holding herself in check as she smiled and greeted him warmly.

“Hi, Clay.”

“Hi, yourself.” Clay nodded at her. His sister had never been the easiest woman to deal with. She only accepted help under loud protest. That was why he’d been surprised when she’d called, saying she needed to see him. This was more like her. “Nice to see you back, rodeo queen. You home for good now?”

Nick noted that Georgie seemed to bristle at the nickname. Or maybe it was the question and the unspoken implication behind it—that her brother didn’t want her out there, competing—that had her stiffening.

The laugh that passed her lips was short and rueful. “I was going to be.”

Clay’s dark eyes slanted toward the man with his sister before he asked, “But?”

Georgie blew out a breath. She was still struggling to get a grip, to stop feeling as if she’d been physically and emotionally violated. “There’ve been some nasty developments.”

Clay’s frown deepened. Again he looked at the man who’d gotten out of the driver’s side of a dark four-door sedan. His brother radar had gone up the second he saw that. “Like?” he asked.

She did her best to sound removed from what she was saying. The words came tumbling out with no preface, no preamble. “Somebody stole all my money, Clay. And broke into my place while I was gone. Whoever did was sending threatening e-mails to Joe Colton—on my computer.”

At the mention of the Senator’s name, Clay murmured an ambiguous sounding “Oh.”

There was a world of meaning hidden behind the single word, Nick thought. Something was going on here that he wasn’t getting—and he didn’t like it.

Never one to mince words, Clay figured he’d held his peace long enough. He nodded toward the stranger. “What’s he got to do with it?”

“I work for the Senator,” Nick told him before Georgie could say anything. “And I came to bring in the person sending those threatening e-mails.”

Reading between the lines wasn’t difficult. “It’s not Georgie, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Clay informed him. There wasn’t so much as an inch of room left for an argument. That settled, Clay shifted his attention back to his sister. “Who stole your money?” he inquired.

It was obvious that whoever it was, the man or woman was going to be in a hell of a lot of trouble once Clay tracked him or her down. Clay did not take kindly to anyone messing with his family. And since he’d washed his hands of Ryder when his younger brother had been sent to prison for sneaking illegal aliens over the border, that left only Georgie—and Emmie.

“I don’t know,” Georgie answered, doing her best not to let the distress show in her voice. She glanced at Nick as she spoke. “But they think it’s me. On both counts.”

“You?” he retorted incredulously. “You been traipsing around, following that damn rodeo for the last five months, living out of your trailer like some gypsy.” He looked over at the stranger to make sure he’d gotten all that. “Just when the hell were you supposed to have done all this?”

Georgie looked at Nick again. “You have the dates the e-mails were sent, right?”

The petite, incredibly feisty woman had succeeded in doing what no one else had in recent memory. She’d made him feel foolish even though he was just doing his job.

“On every one of the e-mails,” he replied without a shred of emotion.

“My sister doesn’t have the time for that kind of stupid nonsense,” Clay told him tersely. “I don’t think she even knows how to send an e-mail. For the last five months she was too busy trying to win trophies.”

“Prize money, Clay,” Georgie corrected, annoyed.

How many times did she have to tell him she didn’t care about the accolades, the glory part? There was a very practical reason why she’d done what she had. Because competing in rodeo events was all she knew. She’d been put on a horse before she could walk and both her grandfather and her mother had been rodeo legends in their time. Rodeoing was in her genes.

Besides, it was the fastest way she knew to make money. Hell, it was the only way she knew how to make money.

“I was trying to win prize money so that Emmie and I could stay put here and she could go to school like a regular little girl come the fall.” She glanced down fondly at her daughter.

“I’m not a regular little girl,” Emmie interjected with protest, wrinkling her nose with disdain. Fisting her hands, she dug them into her hips the way she’d seen her mother do countless times.

“I know that, sweetie,” Georgie told her, kissing the top of her daughter’s head, “but we don’t want the other kids to hear that. They’ll be jealous.”

Emmie nodded, understanding. Georgie bit her tongue to not laugh.

“You could have done that without risking breaking every bone in your body,” Clay told her. He’d been after her to quit the moment she’d told him she was going to compete. A lot of things could happen to a woman on the road with only a kid. “I would have been happy to give you the money.”

They’d been through all this before. More than once. “I don’t want to take your money, Clay.”

Clay threw up his hands in frustration. “A loan, then. Damn it all, Georgie, what’s my money good for if I can’t do what I want with it?” he demanded.

Georgie patted him on the shoulder, the way she used to when she’d tried to calm him down and keep his sun-tanned complexion from turning a bright red.

“I’m sure that you’ll find something else to do with it, big brother,” she answered. And then she eyed him squarely, her lighter tone changing. “I don’t want to be beholden to anyone, Clay, not even you. I’m my own person. If I take money from you, that changes everything.”

He didn’t see how. Damn it all, Georgie could still frustrate him the way no other woman could. “I’m not buying you, Georgie. I’m not even renting you. I just want to help.”

“You can help by coming to Emmie’s birthday party next week,” she told him brightly, winking at her daughter.

Finding an in, Emmie was quick to try to further her own agenda. “You can buy me a pony, Uncle Clay. I won’t give it back.”

Again he laughed, this time the sound was softer. “Nice to know one of the women in the family has some sense,” Clay told the little girl with affection. His eyes shifted toward Nick and the warmth abruptly evaporated. Clay looked the man up and down. “You some kind of government man?” he inquired.

“He’s a Secret Service agent,” Emmie was quick to inform him, enunciating the occupation carefully so as not to get it wrong.

Clay’s eyes swept over the other man again. He would have pegged him for a member of the FBI or CIA instead. “Oh. You’re a long way from home, Secret Service agent. Aren’t you supposed to be guarding the President or something?”

“During an election year, we’re assigned to the presidential candidates,” Nick explained patiently, even though it was against his nature to explain himself at all. But being a stranger and alone here, he began to think he needed all the support he could get. “And someone’s been sending threatening letters from your sister’s house to the Senator.” How many times was he going to have to repeat that story before he could finally leave? he wondered in frustration.

“You got somebody house-sitting?” he asked his sister. Georgie shook her head. “Then someone broke in.”

She rolled her eyes. Didn’t any man ever listen? “I already told you that.”

Clay made up his mind. “That does it. You’re getting your things and staying with me, both of you.” For his money, they didn’t even have to bother to pack. He could send one of hands to do the packing for her. “I’ve got the bigger place, anyway.”

“You’ve got the much bigger place,” Georgie acknowledged, “But that’s not the point.”

He might have known she was going to argue about this. Nothing came easy when it came to Georgie. “And what is the point, Georgie? Besides the one on top of your head, of course?”

She ignored the dig. Clay was just being frustrated because he knew he couldn’t win. “The point is my home is here and nobody is going to run me off it.”

He could admire bravery—when it came to someone else, not his sister, not his niece. “You’ve got Emmie to think of,” he pointed out. “What if whoever broke in decides to come back?”

“Then I’ll apprehend them,” Nick told him, wedging himself into the conversation.

Clay looked at him coldly, as if he’d forgotten about his existence. “And just how to do you intend to do that?”

“By staying here until I can get to the bottom of this,” Nick told Georgie’s brother. It was obvious that the answer was not to the other man’s liking.

Indignation blazed in Clay’s dark eyes. “You’re not staying here,” he informed Nick.

Okay, enough with the big protector, Georgie thought. She got in between the two men. “This is my place, Clay,” she reminded him. “I get to say who stays and who goes. And if I want Sheffield to stay here, then he stays here. My decision, not yours.”

Judging by the other man’s expression, Nick wouldn’t have been able to say who was more surprised by her statement, her brother or him. He was tempted to ask her just when he had become part of the home team instead of someone she wanted to get rid of, but he knew to leave well enough alone.

Because of the present complexity of the situation and the doubts that had arisen in his own mind as to her culpability, he had planned to remain here, at the apparent starting point of the e-mails, until this was all resolved—or until he managed to catch Georgie Grady in a glaring lie—he wasn’t completely convinced of her innocence. But one way or the other, he intended to get some answers.

Clay sighed. “You always were pig-headed.”

Georgie flashed a particularly wide smile for Clay’s benefit. “Nice to know that you can count on some things staying the same, right?”

Clay didn’t answer. He didn’t like the idea of some D.C. government spook watching over his sister. After all, she was nothing to the man. Besides, what if the other man started getting ideas about Georgie? Ideas that had nothing to do with e-mails and everything to do with the fact that his sister was a damn pretty woman.

Clay slipped his hands into his front pockets, rocking back on his boot heels. “I can hang around for a while if you want,” he offered.

“You’ve got a ranch to run,” she answered. “A successful ranch,” she added. They might have their differences and she resisted his taking charge of her life, but she was proud of her brother and what he had accomplished despite the odds against him. “And I’m a little old to be needing a babysitter.”

Clay didn’t bother to hide his scorn of Nick. He trusted the Secret Service agent about as far as he could throw him. Less. “I wasn’t thinking of you just now.”

Since Sheffield had said he was going to try to help her, Georgie felt the need to apologize for Clay’s behavior. “You’ve got to excuse my brother. He’s used to being in charge of everything, whether we wanted him to be or not.”

Clay took instant umbrage. “You don’t have to make excuses for me to a stranger.”

The last thing Nick wanted was to be in the middle of a family fight. “I assure you, all I’m interested in is finding out who sent those e-mails.”

“And in getting back Mama’s money,” Emmie reminded him. When he looked down at her, she continued, “Remember? You said that in the bank, that you were going to get back her money.”

Even Clay had to laugh at Emmie’s interjection. “Don’t say anything around half-pint you don’t want coming back to haunt you. She doesn’t forget a thing. And I mean nothing.”

Nick looked to Georgie for guidance. “Are most kids her age like that?”

“Most kids any age aren’t like that,” Georgie told him. Draping her arm over the girl’s shoulders, she gave her a quick squeeze. “Emmie’s one of a kind.”

“Unique,” Emmie declared, gazing up at her mother. It was obvious that she liked the sound of the word.

Clay ruffled his niece’s hair. “That’s right, half-pint. Unique.” He paused for a moment to turn to his sister. His expression softened. “You sure I can’t talk you into coming over to my place and staying there for a few days?”

“I’m sure.” Maybe, if things got worse, she’d taken him up on his offer. But right now, she wanted to face this on her own. “You’re within hollering range, big brother,” she told him cheerfully. “I’ll holler if I need you.”

“Yeah, right.” She was too proud. He didn’t believe her for a minute. “When pigs fly.”

Georgie grinned, amused. “Definite right after that, I promise.”

Clay addressed Nick. “See that nothing happens to either of them, Secret Service agent. I’m holding you personally responsible if it does.” Not that there was much comfort in that, he thought.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Grady,” Nick assured him. “It won’t.”

Clay’s expression darkened instantly. “The name’s not Grady.”

Confused, Nick shifted his eyes to Georgie before looking back at her older brother. “Your sister said she wasn’t married, so I just assumed that Grady was the family name.”

“It is,” Clay told him, then added, “Our mother’s family.”

Taking pity on him, Georgie began to explain, “My grandfather was a rodeo star—”

“Like my grandma,” Emmie piped up with pride. George “Rattlesnake” Grady had died before she was born, but her mother’s stories had made the man seem vividly real to the little girl.

Clay doled out his words slowly. “Grady was their last name.”

Georgie picked up the thread. “I took it as my stage name.” Nick felt as if he was suddenly a spectator at a tennis match. “To keep the family tradition alive.” That was apparently as much as she was willing to share at the moment. Turning on her heel, she faced her brother. It was obvious that she was dismissing him even though she’d been the one to ask him to come over to begin with. Calling on a woman’s prerogative, she’d had a change of heart. “I’ll call you if anything comes up.”

Clay didn’t look as if he believed her for a moment. “Yeah.”

“I promise,” Georgie repeated earnestly. “You’ll be the first to know.”

Emmie tugged on her shirt, her lower lip stuck out like a little perch. “Not me, Mama?”

She grinned. No matter how awful she felt, Emmie always managed to cheer her up, just by being there. “All right, Uncle Clay will be the second to know.” She looked up at her brother. “Good enough?” she asked him.

Clay snorted. As if he had a say in this. It was like trying to win an argument with a rock. “Guess it’ll have to be.”

“Give your uncle a kiss, Emmie,” Georgie urged, gently pushing the girl toward Clay. “One of your butterfly specials. That’ll cheer him up.”

Okay, he’d bite, Nick thought. “What’s a butterfly special?”

Before Georgie could explain, Emmie turned toward him. “I’ll show you,” the little girl volunteered. She tugged on his jacket. “Well, c’mon. You’ve gotta bend down.”

Feeling awkward, Nick did as the little girl instructed and bent down to her level. She leaned forward and he felt the slight brush of her small, rosebud lips against his cheek. And then there was something more. Just the slightest sensation. He realized that Emmie had turned her face slightly and she was fluttering her eyelashes against his skin, just above where she’d kissed him.

Something warm and nameless materialized within his chest and spread.

Giggling, Emmie danced away on tiptoes, moving toward her next target: Clay. “Your turn, Uncle Clay. Bend down.”

He did and she repeated the brief performance. And then, backing away from her uncle, again on tiptoes, Emmie steepled her small fingers in front of her mouth to hold back another pleased giggle. It escaped anyway. Her laughter was infectious as it filled the air.

“Now I’m good to go,” Clay told her, straightening. The smile left his lips as he raised his head and regarded Nick one last time. “You call me if anything comes up,” he ordered. “She probably won’t.” He nodded his head toward his sister.

“All right.” It was neither a promise nor lip service. Calling the other man was something he would consider doing or not doing when and if the time came. “By the way,” he began, remembering a lost thread of the conversation. He fell into step with the man as the latter headed toward his parked truck.

Georgie and Emmie stood where they were left, watching and, in Emmie’s case, waving.

Clay didn’t even bother turning around to look at the man addressing him. “Yeah?”

“What is your last name?” Nick asked. “Just for the record.”

Clay didn’t pause until he’d reached his truck. Then he turned and gave him one last long measuring glance. Clay laughed, shaking his head. There was very little humor in the sound. If Nick listened closely, he would have noted a touch of irony.

“You government types do like to keep your ‘records’ straight, don’t you?” Clay mocked. “Okay, ‘just for the record,’ Sheffield, it’s Colton. Clay Colton. Colton, in case you’re wondering, was the name of the no-good, worthless excuse of a man who thought my mother was good enough to warm his sheets, and have his bastards, but wasn’t good enough to marry.”

With that, Clay got into his truck, leaving Nick to stare after him in stunned silence. The name Clay had just uttered echoed over and over again inside Nick’s head.

Colton.

The Coltons: Nick, Clay & Jericho

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