Colton's Christmas Baby Page 5

  Jeremy lifted his head. Hope flashed in his young face. “You mean it?” Then, before Damien could answer, the fourteen-year-old launched himself at his uncle, barreling into him and wrapping his arms around him tightly.

  “I’ll try,” Damien choked out.

  “Thank you, thank you,” the boy muttered fervently. “I can’t let anything happen to Charger. He’s all I’ve got.”

  Something in the kid’s broken tone reminded Damien of himself. Except Jeremy at least had a horse. Damien had nothing and no one. But then, he didn’t need anyone. Jeremy plainly did.

  “You have your mother,” Damien pointed out. “She might have her problems, but she loves you.”

  “I guess.”

  Ruffling the kid’s hair, Damien slung his arm across his shoulders. “No guessing about it. I know. Now come on. Let’s see if I can rustle us up any of the mulled apple cider they were drinking the other day.”

  Jeremy nodded.

  As they started walking toward the kitchen, they heard a scream. Loud, feminine and terrified.

  “Wait here.” Pushing the kid back, Damien rushed into the great room. There, cowering in a corner near the fireplace, crouched Sharon, Darius’s wife. Darius stood over her holding a fire poker.

  Chapter 4

  “Darius.” Damien spoke in a calm, measured voice. “What are you doing?”

  When the older man swung his head around and attempted to focus his bloodshot eyes on his son, Damien realized his father was once again drunk.

  Smashed, plastered, blotto.

  Behind him, he heard a gasp. Jeremy had ignored his request to stay behind.

  “Jeremy, go back in the kitchen.”

  “No.” The fourteen-year-old’s voice wavered, but he stood his ground.

  Damien returned his attention to his father. “Put the poker down.”

  “This is a family matter,” Darius snarled. “Nothing to do with you.”

  The inference being that he wasn’t family. Used to his father’s jabs, Damien ignored that, aware he had to steer Darius away from Sharon. Redirecting his anger might be the only way to accomplish that. But first, he had to make sure Jeremy was out of the way.

  “What are you doing, Darius?” Damien moved closer, praying his nephew had the good sense to stay back. “Sharon’s your wife. Surely you don’t mean to hurt her?”

  Confusion briefly flashed across Darius’s mottled face, before the alcohol-inspired rage replaced it. “She belongs to me, boy. I’ll do whatever I damn well please.”

  Sharon made a soft moan of pain, drawing Darius’s attention.

  “Darius,” Damien barked, taking another step forward. “Like hell you will. You’ll have to go through me first.”

  “Fine,” Darius snarled. “I will.”

  He swung the poker at Damien at the same moment as Damien kicked out his leg. The old man fell, the poker went flying into the bricks with a clatter, and Sharon Colton crumpled to the rug, unconscious.

  Narrowly missing hitting his head on the hearth, Darius let out a bellow of fury and frustration and pain as he climbed toward his feet, starting for his wife.

  After kicking the fireplace tool over to Jeremy, Damien grabbed his father, afraid Darius would start whaling on Sharon with his fists next.

  Instead, as Damien wrapped him in a bear hug, the elder Colton folded up into himself, wrapping his arms around his own middle and rocking. Crying great sobs, he mumbled under his breath to himself, tears streaming down his face, all the while shooting an occasional death glare up at his son.

  Not sure how to take this bizarre behavior, Damien glanced at Jeremy. The teen appeared flabbergasted and shell-shocked. Not good. He needed something to do.

  “Jeremy, check on Sharon.” Barking out the order, he saw his nephew jump. “Make sure she’s breathing.”

  While Jeremy hurried over, Damien slowly let go of his father, who had hunched over and was now making a soft keening sound, like a wounded animal.

  Obviously, he had more going on than a problem with alcohol.

  “She’s breathing,” Jeremy said, checking his stepmother’s pulse. “I think she just fainted.”

  “Okay, good.” Trying to think what to do, Damien fished his cell phone out of his pocket and called his twin brother.

  “Be right there,” Duke said, after Damien explained the situation.

  Darius’s keening grew louder.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Wide-eyed, Jeremy stared at his grandfather. “Is he having a stroke?”

  “I don’t know. He’s having something. Let’s see if we can get Sharon to wake up. I want to make sure she didn’t hit her head or injure herself in any way.”

  As soon as he got close to Sharon, Damien smelled the strong scent of alcohol. “She’s been drinking,” he said flatly.

  “Maybe she and Darius were drinking together.”

  “Maybe.” But in his experience, Darius’s wife did as little as possible with her husband. In fact, she seemed to go out of her way to avoid him. His brothers had already begun taking bets as to how long she could hold out.

  During his time home with Darius, Damien couldn’t blame her. If he were in her shoes, he’d have hightailed it out of Honey Creek a long time ago.

  Maybe she was like him. He took another look at her, still out of it and now snoring peacefully. Maybe she had nowhere else to go and no money of her own to make a new life. As with both his previous wives, Darius had most likely made her sign a prenup, ensuring she got nothing if she left.

  “Hey, guys. What happened?” The tension seemed to dissipate slightly as Duke strode into the room. Ignoring their father, who’d gone silent and appeared to have passed out, he crossed to Damien and Jeremy.

  Briefly, Damien relayed the night’s events, letting Jeremy interject with his story. When they’d finished, Duke shook his head. “You know, Maisie’s been trying to tell me things were getting bad here. I thought she was being her usual melodramatic self.”

  “If Maisie’s been dealing with stuff like this, why the hell is she leaving Jeremy here alone?”

  Duke looked directly at Jeremy. “Have you witnessed this sort of behavior much before now?”

  “No, sir, not this bad. Lot’s of yellin’ and name-callin’. But nothing physical. Not like this at all. Darius hasn’t ever acted so crazy.”

  “He’s drunk,” Damien said. “Not that being soused excused him acting like this, but it sure helps explain it.”

  “How do you know he’s drunk?” Duke asked.

  “Go take a whiff of him. He smells like he’s taken a bath in Scotch.”

  “And Sharon’s drunk, too,” Jeremy added. “But she smells more like wine than hard stuff.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. That’s all the proof I need.” Duke didn’t even bother walking over to Darius. “Will you help me get Sharon to her room?”

  “Sure,” Damien nodded. “But what about him?”

  “We’ll come back and get him next.”

  Once they had both Darius and his wife safely in their separate beds, they all trooped in to the kitchen. Rummaging in the refrigerator, Damien located the jug of apple cider and poured them each a glass.

  “How long has this been going on?” Duke asked, dropping his large frame into a chair.

  “You tell me.” Crossing his arms, Damien faced his twin.

  “Hey, I don’t live here. You do. I knew his mental stability appeared to be shaky, but I had no idea he was this bad. I’ve never seen him like this. I don’t want to ever see him like this again.”

  “He threatened to sell my horse,” Jeremy put in. “And made me eat an entire pack of cigarettes.”

  “He did what?” Maisie, carrying her high heels and walking on stocking feet, entered the kitchen. “Where is that sorry sack of—”

  “He’s unconscious.” Damien cut her off. “Passed out. He was stone-cold drunk when I got here.”

  “He attacked Sharon with the fire thingee,” Jeremy put in.
“We had to stop him from bashing her head in.”

  Maisie nodded, apparently unconcerned, then went to the cabinet, grabbed a glass and helped herself to some apple cider. “So where is he now?”

  “Duke and I carried him to his room.”

  “I hope you left him on the floor. That would serve him right for what he did.”

  “Maise?” Damien leaned forward. “You’re around here more than anyone. How long has he been this bad?”

  Her angry smile faded. “A good while. But he seemed to get worse after you got out of prison.”

  “Has he attacked you?” Duke sounded horrified. And Damien noticed the way Jeremy suddenly seemed to find the kitchen floor absolutely fascinating.

  “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Maisie snapped. But her heightened color told them all she was lying. Maisie always blushed when she wasn’t telling the truth.

  They all sat in silence for a moment, Damien trying to digest this sudden, radical shift in his world.

  “You didn’t know about this?” Duke directed his question at Damien.

  “Hell, no. I spend as little time here at the house as possible. Most days I’m out riding herd on the cattle or checking the fences and pastures. What about you?”

  “I don’t live here. So no, I knew the old man seemed a little off, but not to this extent.”

  “He must have had an iron grip on his control all this time and now it’s slipping. I’ve seen men like that in prison.”

  “We’ve got to do something,” Duke mused. “But what?”

  Maisie rolled her eyes. “As long as he doesn’t hurt anybody…”

  “He nearly hurt Sharon. And he made Jeremy eat an entire pack of cigarettes.”

  “True.” She rounded on her son. “I want you to stay away from him, you hear me?”

  Instantly defensive at her sharp tone, Jeremy’s expression changed into that sullen, bored look all teenagers master. Damien remembered it well from his own childhood.

  “I’d like to run away from here,” Jeremy mumbled.

  Perfect. “You know what?” Damien pushed to his feet. “Once I get the financial problem settled, I’m out of here. Maisie, Jeremy, you’re both welcome to come with me.”

  “Awesome!”

  “Financial problem?” Maisie frowned. “Just get your inheritance. That should be enough.”

  Damien exchanged a look with Duke. “Uh, yeah, about that. Maise, did you get your money?”

  “No. Darius keeps it for me. He puts a monthly allowance in my checking account so I can shop.” She glanced from one to the other, narrowing her eyes. “Why?”

  Damien told her about his conversation with Darius, finishing with, “I’m trying to find out exactly what happened to the money.”

  “Be careful,” she said darkly. “I have a feeling there are things about Darius that we’re all better off not knowing.” She went to her son and put her arm around him, ignoring his sounds of protest.

  “Come on, Jeremy. Time to go to bed. You’ve got school in the morning. As a matter of fact…” Her bright-aqua gaze pinned Damien and then Duke. “You two should turn in, too. Though the sun rises later this time of the year, you know how much work there will be in the morning.”

  She left, dragging Jeremy with her. After she’d gone, Damien glanced at Duke. “What do you know? Our big sister actually sounded practical.”

  “I know.” Duke grabbed his Stetson and crammed it back on his head. “And she’s right. I’m heading home. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at the barn.”

  Locking the door behind him, Damien trudged up the stairs to his room, hoping the bone-deep exhaustion he felt would allow him finally to get a good night’s sleep.

  The next morning Damien woke pissed off and aroused. He needed a woman. Immediately, he thought of Eve. He’d been dreaming about her again. He couldn’t help but hope that eventually, she might want him, too. Even if she had refused his offer to become his bedroom partner, he’d seen the desire in her beautiful blue eyes.

  But for now, he’d leave her alone. As he’d done in the past, he’d find other outlets for his need. Meanwhile, he’d put in a call to his brother Wes, asking to meet him at the Corner Bar for lunch. He had several things he wanted to discuss with him, especially Darius’s behavior.

  Damien hurried through his morning preparations, showering and dressing in a hurry. On his way out, he stopped in the kitchen and picked up one of the sausage breakfast sandwiches the cook made for the ranch hands and a cup of hot coffee. Then he hurried outside, turning up the collar of his down jacket against the biting ice of the winter wind.

  Walking to the barn, he finished the last bite of the sandwich, washing it down with the hot coffee. Fortified, he slipped on his gloves and went to saddle up his gelding. He’d ride out and join Duke and the other hands, aware they had to bring the cattle in from the pastures in the higher elevations before the forecasted blizzard.

  They finished driving the cattle shortly before noon. Damien brushed down his horse and washed up in the barn washroom, before driving into town. He parallel-parked on Main Street and fed the meter, surprised that he’d managed to snag a primo parking spot, even if it was a block or two away from the Corner Bar. He didn’t mind. Walking, especially in brisk, cold air like this, cleansed the spirit and cleared the mind.

  Being in town wasn’t so bad, he thought, feeling pretty upbeat for a change. Until he neared a group of Christmas shoppers and they crossed the street to avoid him.

  Familiar anger filled him. Striding down Main Street, face lifted to the brisk December wind, he tried to pretend he didn’t care, that he was just enjoying the invigorating winter day. It wasn’t easy keeping his expression pleasant, trying not to notice how many people avoided his eyes, pretended not to see him or, worse, crossed to the other side of Main Street as the last group had, simply to avoid being in the same space as Damien Colton, ex-felon.

  Going on four months out of prison and the citizens of Honey Creek, Montana, still treated him like a criminal. Even though he’d known most of them all his life, to them he’d forever be branded Damien Colton, the murderer. It didn’t matter to them that he’d been completely exonerated. Or that the body of the man he’d supposedly killed had turned up, really dead this time, fifteen years after his mockery of a trial. Now, even though the town was all abuzz while the authorities tried to find the real killer, all anyone around here saw when they looked at him was an ex-con.

  He’d gone to prison a boy of twenty. Fifteen years later he’d emerged a man of thirty-five who might just as well have had a flashing scarlet letter—K for Killer—branded on his forehead.

  Shrugging off the bitterness, he entered the Corner Bar, so different in the daytime, and looked around, helpless to keep from marking how many gazes slid past him the minute he looked their way. Every time he came to town, the reasons he needed to collect his inheritance and move far away became clearer and clearer.

  His brother Wes waved him over from a booth in the back. Relieved to see at least one friendly face, Damien headed that way, head held high, shoulders back. In prison he’d learned many things, but the most important was the ability to present himself to others as full of self-confidence. It helped to behave as though his hometown’s massive shunning of him didn’t bother him at all.

  His favorite bartender, a tattooed guy named Jack Huffman, who’d moved to Honey Creek from out of town and didn’t care about any of the drama concerning Mark Walsh, the man Damien had supposedly murdered, saw him coming and met him at the table with a tall draft beer in a frosted mug.

  “Ahhh.” Sliding into the booth across from Wes, Damien took a long pull of the icy beer, reveling in the taste. Of all the things he’d missed while incarcerated, the taste of a good brew ranked right up there.

  Both men ordered cheeseburgers, the Corner Bar’s specialty, and another delicacy Damien had missed while locked up.

  Would he ever stop thinking of things in that way? How everything related to the wa
sted years? As he did every day, he vowed to try. More than anything, he wanted to feel like a regular cattle rancher again. Unfortunately, he had begun to realize he’d have to leave Honey Creek to be able to do so.

  “I haven’t found out anything else about Mark Walsh’s death,” Wes said, assuming that’s why Damien had asked to meet him. “The investigation is still ongoing. The FBI people have been a lot of help, but we still don’t have anything new.”

  “I didn’t think so.” Absurdly uncomfortable, Damien dragged his hand through his longish brown hair, so different from Wes’s closely shaven head, and sighed. Then he straightened his shoulders and transformed himself into the supremely self-confident, don’t-mess-with-me Damien he embodied to confront difficult situations. “I need your help in another matter.”

  “Shoot. Does this have anything to do with you disappearing a couple of times a month?” Clearly intrigued, Wes leaned forward. “What’s up?”

  “I disappear every so often because I’m not a monk or a priest. Celibacy just isn’t my thing,” Damien drawled. “I went fifteen years without. After being locked up, I thought I was used to it, but I can’t do it. So I drive up to Bozeman, sometimes Billings.”

  Wes sat back, shaking his head. “You haven’t met anyone local yet?”

  Trying not to think of Eve, Damien looked his brother right in the eye. “You know as well as I do that every single woman in Honey Creek runs the other way when she sees me coming.”

  “Have you even tried?”

  “Tried? Hell, I’ve spent so many nights sitting around this bar and a couple of others, that I’ve lost count. I can’t even get a woman to dance with me, never mind take me home.” Other than Eve Kelley, he thought silently. This was something he wanted to keep to himself for now.

  “I think that might be your own fault.” Now Wes pinned Damien with a stare. “I’ve heard you drink yourself blind, act surly and mean and scare away anyone—man or woman—from even talking to you.”

  Stung, Damien grimaced. “Where’d you hear that from? Your girlfriend?”