Читать книгу Colton's Cowboy Code - Melissa Cutler - Страница 10
ОглавлениеBrett stood at the edge of Vulture Ridge, at the very place where he’d watched the cow get swept away in the flash flood, his gaze absorbing the land that he loved, despite Mother Nature’s occasional cruelty. Today the sky was clear, but they’d had afternoon thundershowers every day lately, and this afternoon’s forecast was no different. Even now, at a few minutes to noon, the clouds were stacking up on the horizon.
His eyeballs ached from a sleepless night of self-torment, with his conscience replaying every mistake he’d ever made. Every whiskey-soaked night, every morning of work he’d slept through—his past was littered with so much waste of money, time and opportunity that he could hardly believe that he kept being given more chances to get it right. That same life-changing bender of a weekend that had resulted in his car accident was now changing his life all over again. From this point forward and for the rest of his days, he would be beholden to a woman and, soon, a child. Somehow, he was going to become a man worthy of the charge—that he knew with absolute certainty.
Before dawn, he’d walked out of his house determined to stop looking back, ready to face his future with eyes wide-open. With a straight spine and determination coursing through his veins, he’d saddled Outlaw and had taken off to the backcountry, long before Jack and the ranch hands had arrived for their workdays.
He’d watched the sun rise over the prairie with an appreciation that reminded him of how he’d felt returning to the ranch after being released from the hospital after his accident—full of gratitude and hope. The longer he soaked in the views and scents of the backcountry, the land he adored, the more at peace he became with the new direction his life was going. Becoming a father was going to change a lot, but it wasn’t going to change everything. He would always have this land, this Colton legacy. And now he had someone to pass it to. The realization brought a smile to his lips.
The irony wasn’t lost on him that the very reason he couldn’t give up fighting for his rightful place in the Colton legacy was the very reason he was about to be back to square one with his family on that very topic. When his dad and brothers learned about Brett’s impending fatherhood resulting from a one-night stand, he was going to lose their trust all over again, along with whatever leverage he’d fought for over the past four months.
When the alarm on his phone chimed, alerting him that it was almost time for the family meeting that his older brother Ryan, a detective with the Tulsa PD, had called in order to share the latest developments in their mother’s assault case, Brett’s resolve faltered for a split second. Nerves settled in his gut like stones. Ryan wasn’t the only one with news to share.
A click of his tongue and a slight wiggle of a rein was all the direction Outlaw needed to turn away from the ridge and trot in the direction of the ranch buildings. Brett urged him faster, relishing the feel of unadulterated power in Outlaw’s muscles and stride. Brett knew that Outlaw loved this part, too, the wind in their faces and the open range at their feet as they shot across the plains, the sensations of speed and freedom potent enough for Brett to almost imagine it possible to outrun his past and his reputation.
The circular driveway in front of Brett’s family home—the Big House, as it’d been called since long before Brett’s birth, and where now only he and his dad lived, and his mom before her attack—was crowded with vehicles, including his half brother Daniel’s truck and the farm truck that Jack’s fiancée, Tracy, liked to drive around the place. Even his brother Eric had deigned to make a rare appearance, by the looks of it. Greta, they’d already been informed, couldn’t break away from her job until the next day, when she planned to swing through the Big House for a short stay.
Brett walked around to the back of the house, then climbed the four steps up to the wraparound porch. The stones in his stomach that had been sitting there since seeing Hannah yesterday seemed to double in size with every step. He swallowed hard, then opened the door and entered through the mudroom attached to the kitchen.
The aroma of onions and garlic and roasting beef wafted past his nose as he removed his hat and boots. Maria, the chef, must be slow-cooking a roast for supper, if he had to hazard a guess. For Hannah’s first meal there, he’d requested something hearty and homey that showcased the ranch’s prized steer, and judging by the mouthwatering smells, Maria was going to knock it out of the park.
A smile worked its way onto his lips at the sudden vision of the look on Hannah’s face when she’d crunched into that first slice of bacon the previous morning. Oh, man, he couldn’t wait to watch her reaction to Maria’s cooking. The anticipation of it was almost enough to quell his nerves over coming clean to his family about the many ways his life was about to get turned upside down.
From the kitchen, he crossed the foyer to the living room on the east side of the house, where a collection of male voices could be heard. As opposed to the kitchen, the foyer invariably smelled of fresh flowers from the arrangement that graced the circular marble table at the center of the grand entrance, which his mother insisted on having delivered weekly. To her warped way of thinking, the flowers were a display of power and wealth, but since Brett’s brush with death, he’d come to think of the arrangements as reminders of how beautiful and fragile life was.
Even after his mom’s attack, Edith had maintained the fresh flowers in the house. The only change was that the smaller arrangements that used to grace his mom’s room got sent to her room at Tulsa General Hospital.
He’d taken no more than three steps through the foyer when a blond ball of little-boy energy bounded toward him, squealing his name. Despite Brett’s nerves, he felt another grin coming on. Nobody made Brett feel like a rock star more than his five-year-old nephew, Seth, Jack’s only son. The two were fast friends, and had been since the day Brett first held Seth in his arms when he was nothing more than a red-faced potato head wrapped in a hospital blanket. He opened his arms as Seth launched himself into them.
“Hey, cowpoke.”
“Hiya, Uncle Brett!”
“Wait, what’s this in your armpit?” With that, Brett dug his thumbs into Seth’s prime tickle spot under his armpits. Seth squealed with delight, writhing and arching.
Brett redoubled his efforts. “Just a sec, I think I’ve almost got it,” he teased. “Lemme just dig in there a little deeper.”
Seth’s legs kicked out, and one of his feet accidentally nudged the marble table. The flower arrangement’s vase wobbled. Brett lunged for it as best he could while being careful not to drop Seth, but Jack was quicker.
Jack steadied the vase, casting his signature stern look at Brett that got right under his skin, as it always did. “Careful, you two. Edith works too hard to keep this place up to have you messing it up by roughhousing.”
As though Brett needed to be scolded like a child. He was about to say as much when Tracy appeared. She wore her dark blond hair pulled into a ponytail and a dark shirt and jeans that emphasized her pale, slim figure.
“Oh, now, Jack, they were just having a little fun. No harm done.” She rubbed his shoulder and offered him a sweet smile. Jack instantly relaxed, a phenomenon that Tracy got full credit for cultivating. Truth be told, Brett was fascinated by the soothing and centering effect she’d had on Jack since coming into his life the month before.
“Seth, why don’t you go outside and play so the grown-ups can talk?” she said to her soon-to-be stepson. “See if you can find your kitty friend, Sleekie, in the barn.”
Brett managed to ruffle the little guy’s hair before he bounded outside, half skipping and half jumping.
Brett followed Jack and Tracy to the living room that doubled as a library of sorts. When he’d been a kid, this had been a place of fascination for him in the house, the one room his parents had forbidden the kids from entering, not just because of all the breakable trinkets and pieces of art, but because it was where they retired with their guests for cocktails after the occasional dinner parties his dad was so fond of hosting.
His dad, Big J, was seated in his usual chair near the fireplace, chatting up Brett’s older brothers Ryan and Eric. Daniel sat apart from the others, bent over his smartphone and keeping to himself as usual.
Dad was still fit and youthful, even after a lifetime of working the ranch and raising six kids, largely on his own when Brett’s mother, Abra, decided to check out and skip town, which was a lot. Brett saw a little bit of all his siblings in Dad. They shared the same nose and same shape of their face, but Brett was the only one of the Colton kids who’d inherited his dad’s boisterous laugh and love of good times, or so Edith, their housekeeper, was fond of saying.
Dad gave Brett a wave and his signature beaming smile. “I saw you race out of here this morning before dawn. You get some kind of sticker in your paw about something?”
Brett most certainly did have a sticker in his paw, but his big announcement could wait until after they learned more from Ryan about the search for his mom’s attacker. He dropped into the center cushion of the sofa between Eric and Ryan. “Checking the fences. Can’t be too careful after that one was tampered with during last week’s storm.”
Dad harrumphed as though he didn’t buy Brett’s pat response. Brett just smiled serenely at him.
“Losing one pregnant cow was enough for a lifetime,” Jack grouched.
“She wasn’t pregnant when she was swept away in the flash flood,” Brett corrected.
“Yeah, what’d you name that calf you birthed in the gully?”
“Twister, and she’s doing just fine, thank you very much. And now that you mention it, what do you say we focus on Twister and the five pregnant cows I saved, rather than the one we lost, Jack? Maybe you could take a hiatus from busting my chops all the damn time.”
Jack scowled at him. “Maybe you could start giving me reason to trust you.”
“All right you two, that’s enough. Don’t forget that your mother is lying unconscious in a hospital bed,” Dad barked. “Ryan, let’s get to it. What’s the latest on the investigation into her attacker?”
“Right, okay,” Ryan said, scooting to the edge of the sofa. With his elbows propped on his knees, he flipped through the small notebook that was an ever-present accessory of his shirt pocket. “I don’t know an easy way to break this to y’all, but you know how some of you were doubting that the hit man who tried to kill Tracy last month was the same perp who attacked Abra and robbed her room? Well, those same doubts have arisen among my investigative team. And we have some proof of that.”
Brett had been among the earliest to voice his doubt that the hit man had also targeted their mom, but convincing the police to drop that lead and concentrate their efforts on an unknown perpetrator had been like trying to herd a group of pregnant cows in a thunderstorm—which he knew since he’d had the honor of attempting both feats. “What kind of proof?”
Ryan gave a look around, as though some interloper might be eavesdropping on their meeting. Not that there were interlopers to be found, but he still lowered his voice. “The gold locket with Greta’s picture in it that was stolen on the night of Abra’s attack turned up at a pawnshop. Greta’s picture had the eyes gouged out, making her likeness unrecognizable, but the inscription on the back was a dead match.”
Dad cursed under his breath. Jack scrubbed a hand over his chin, his eyes narrow and his expression distant.
“Pawnshops have security cameras, right? So this is great news,” Brett said.
“Yes and no. We were, indeed, able to identify the suspect using the pawnshop’s external security camera to identify the man’s car’s license plate, and we brought him in for questioning last night.”
“And this is the first we’re hearing about it?” Dad grumbled.
“Who is he?” Eric asked.
“A dead end. The guy’s name is Dell Cortaline, a small-time oxy addict we’ve seen before. He’s not our guy, though. There’s no way. He’s not smart enough to get in and out of this house without leaving fingerprints or some other trail of evidence.”
“Then how did he get the locket?” Brett asked.
Ryan rolled his tongue around the inside of his bottom lip. His gaze locked onto Dad. “He claimed to have found it in the bushes outside Tulsa General Hospital.”
Brett leaped to his feet before he knew what he was doing. “What? That’s...”
Jack stood and joined Brett behind the sofa to pace. “What that is is a new threat. Someone’s trying to get at Mother in the hospital.”
“That was my thought, too,” Ryan said grimly.
“I’m assuming your boss agreed to put an armed guard outside her room? To make sure she’s safe?” Dad said.
Ryan rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s easier said than done. This isn’t a big enough red flag to justify putting an armed guard outside her hospital room door 24/7, but I have put the hospital on alert. Abra’s in intensive care, which is highly monitored by the staff, anyway, both with door locks and cameras. Visitors don’t have easy access to the rooms in the ICU. I really believe she’s safe in there.”
“I’m there a lot, too,” Eric said. “I’ll keep a closer eye. But I agree with Ryan. The ICU is practically impenetrable.”
Dad shook his head. “I don’t understand. Abra wasn’t the kind of person who’d have a target on her back. But if her attacker went to the hospital where she’s at, then that makes it personal, doesn’t it?”
“Maybe, maybe not. It’s possible that Abra saw the perp’s face and he’s afraid she’ll be able to identify him. Could be that when he discovered how difficult it would be to get to her inside the ICU, he abandoned his plan and tossed the jewelry. That theory leaves me with more questions, but that’s one of the more solid theories we’re considering at this point.”
“Any news about the possible DNA the police tech found under Mom’s fingernails from the attacker?”
“Detective Howard is doing her best to expedite the results, but DNA testing is notoriously slow. As soon I know, I’ll let y’all know, and that’s a promise.”
“This is an attempted murder case,” Dad said. “It’s got to count for something that we might have an attempted murderer on the loose in Tulsa. Can’t you push them harder?”
Ryan pocketed the notepad again. “No, I can’t. I know we’re all in a hurry, but this isn’t the only unsolved violent crime the Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation is running DNA tests on. I’m doing the best I can. As far as we can tell, the ranch is safe.”
“It is if you don’t count the downed fence lines. Last week was the third occurrence since Mother’s attack of our fences being tampered with.”
“Maybe that’s the ghost that Maria keeps swearing she sees walking the fields at night,” Jack said, a gallows humor grin on his face.
With a huff, Dad shook his head. “I swear, Maria is the most superstitious person I’ve ever met.”
“Even still,” Daniel said, “I think Brett’s right. And I think we need to take action.”
Being that this was the first time Daniel had seen fit to open his mouth that day, the chatter in the room died instantly as everyone gave him their full attention.
Jack dropped back down to the sofa. “What do you propose?”
“While the police do their thing, we circle the wagons. No more vandalism. No more hit men or violent robberies. We need to protect the ranch and the people in it.”
“Agreed,” Brett said. He’d promised Hannah that she’d be safe here, and he planned on delivering. “I vote for nightly patrols in groups of two.”
“That works for me,” Daniel said. “And we should consider installing alarm systems to every house and motion sensor lights in the yard, and running background checks of every Lucky C employee.”
“This ranch employs a lot of people,” Dad said. “We can’t account for everyone, all the time.”
“Well, we sure as hell better start trying,” Brett said. “Daniel’s right. It’s time to cowboy up and take care of our own. No one hurts the Coltons and gets away with it.”
“I’ll help as much as I can,” Ryan said. “Meanwhile, my theory is that since we found one piece of Abra’s jewelry, there’s got to be more. I’ll get some uniforms in our department to search local pawnshops again. I’ve already got a techie going through the hospital’s external security footage.”
“I’ll take first patrol tonight,” Jack said.
Dad stood. “I’ll join you. This old house is too quiet these days without Abra.”
Nobody argued with that, even though their mother was a nonentity in the house most days. She and Dad hadn’t slept in the same quarters as long as Brett could remember, and she rarely left her bedroom suite, especially in the evenings.
In the awkward silence that descended over the room, Daniel stood and set his empty coffee mug on the tray. Eric followed suit, busing his mug then checking his phone.
Brett drew a deep breath. The mood wasn’t even close to relaxed and jovial, but it was time to get this next conversation over with. “Wait, everyone. Eric, Daniel. I have something big I need to tell you.”
“You’re gay,” Daniel deadpanned under his breath, quiet enough that Brett was probably the only person who heard him.
“What? Yeah. Exactly.” He slapped Daniel on the back. “Way to call it, bro.”
Daniel shrugged, flashing a hint of a devilish smile that was gone just as fast. He might be Brett’s funniest sibling, if only he’d let his guard down around the rest of the family.
Jack released a deep sigh. “This better not be any more of your harebrained schemes to make changes around the ranch. I already agreed to purchase a stud horse, so don’t push your luck.”
“It’s not about the business. Well, I mean it is, but not like that.” He bit his lip to stop his blathering while everyone resettled.
Edith chose that moment to bustle in and beelined for the coffee service. “Are you done with the coffee, everyone?”
“That depends,” Dad said. “Brett, is this going to be quick or should I pour myself another cuppa?”
Brett checked the time out of habit. He was scheduled to pick Hannah up in ninety minutes, give or take. “Have another cup, Pops. And Edith, you might as well stick around to hear this, too.”
In no time, all eyes were on him. Last night and that morning, he’d visualized broaching the topic of his impending fatherhood from dozens of different angles, but the only conclusion he’d reached was that there was no good, easy way to reveal the news.
“I hired an accountant for the ranch.” He shook his head and nearly smacked it. What the heck was that, stupid? That’s how you’re going to tell your family you’re going to be a father?
Jack scowled at him, his mouth agape. “How do you figure you have a right to make a decision like that without consulting us?”
No backing down now, especially with Jack in full jackass older-brother mode again. “Number one—because we could use the help. Pops, you spend half your time at the hospital tending to Mom, as you should be, and you have enough to worry about without messing with a bunch of ledgers and spreadsheets.”
“That’s my call,” Dad said. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t handle. I’ll retire when I’m good and ready, and I’m not expecting to anytime soon. I’m with Jack. What were you thinking, making such a huge decision like that on your own?”
A wave of panic hit Brett. He’d expected his dad to stubbornly cling to his job, but not to be so fundamentally offended by the idea of Brett hiring help. A part of him had held out hope that his dad would be relieved to have the burden taken off his shoulders.
“With all the new tax laws and corporate regulations this country is levying on small farms, the ranch’s books have become a helluva lot more complicated than simple addition and subtraction,” Brett said. “If we want this ranch to thrive in the future, then we have to modernize every aspect of the business in a competitive, forward-thinking way—our breeding programs, our business model and our financial plan.”
Jack groaned. “Here we go again. I thought you agreed to lay off the ‘futuristic business’ talk until we see how that goes.”
“I know, and you’ll see that I’m right, but hiring an accountant is different. Tax planning, retirement planning, workers comp insurance,” Brett enumerated on his fingers. “Pops, you don’t want to have to deal with all that, do you? Furthermore, you’re not qualified to. None of us are.”
Jack set his mug on the coffee table hard enough that the spoons on the tray rattled. “I’ll give you that, but I still don’t understand why you saw it as your right to go behind our backs to do the hiring. Even if you are right about us needing a full-time accountant.”
Brett squelched a look of utter shock. Jack conceding a point to Brett? It was inconceivable. He was afraid to look outside, lest he see the ranch’s hogs taking to the skies upon wings. “You won’t regret it. She’s highly qualified.”
Ryan and Jack both threw up their hands as though they’d choreographed their disgust. “She. Okay, I get it now, hotshot,” Ryan said. “So by highly qualified you mean she’s young and hot.”
Hannah was young and hot, but he kept that part to himself.
Jack stabbed the air with his index finger. “We are not—I repeat, not—hiring your good-timing girl of the week to be responsible for our ranch’s financial health. Deal off.”
Well, this is going about as well as I expected, Brett thought grimly. Time to solidify their stellar opinion of me. At least Hannah wasn’t around yet to witness the ass chewing he was about to get.
He slid her résumé onto the table. “She’s not my good-timing girl of the week.” She had been exactly that give or take nineteen weeks earlier, but that was beside the point. “Her name is Hannah Grayson. She has a bachelor’s degree in accounting from Tulsa United’s online program, from which she graduated summa cum laude.”
Dad slid his glasses on and took a closer look at her résumé. “This looks reasonable. She seems to have quite a head on her shoulders and, since she’s a new graduate, we could hire her at an entry-level salary, which would be affordable enough. Make her part-time so we don’t have to pay benefits and I’ll agree to it.”
Brett barreled ahead, suddenly eager to get to the real point of his announcement. “I already offered her a full-time position with benefits and a competitive salary because she’s pregnant.”
Jack’s whole face turned red, his head of steam going like gangbusters. “You just keep pushing and pushing, don’t you? The Lucky C isn’t a charity organiz—”
“With my child,” Brett added, cutting him off. “I’m going to be a father in about twenty weeks, give or take.”
