She raised an expectant gaze, waiting for him to continue.
His heart drummed so loudly in his ears, he was sure she could hear it. “I was wondering if you might be free next Saturday to—”
Wham!
A loud thump reverberated through the library, drawing his attention to the front desk. When he saw the source of the noise and the ensuing commotion, he tensed. Maisie Colton was not only a Colton, reason enough for Peter to steer clear of her, but the Vogue-beautiful woman was well-known in town as being eccentric and unpredictable.
Maisie angrily slammed another stack of books on the counter, and Lily Masterson rushed over to quiet Maisie.
“No respect!” Maisie steamed, full voice. “Do you know how many times I’ve called that damn show? And they still won’t talk to me!”
Lily murmured something quietly to Maisie, who retorted, “The Dr. Sophie show, of course. My God, this town has enough dirty secrets and public scandals to fill the show’s programming for weeks! But the ninny they have working in PR not only wouldn’t listen to me, but told me to stop calling or she’d contact the police!” Maisie tossed her long dark hair over her shoulder and scowled darkly.
Peter gritted his teeth, mentally applauding the Dr. Sophie show’s PR rep for recognizing a kook when they heard one and having the guts to stand up to Maisie. Not too many people in Honey Creek did. She was, after all, a Colton, and Coltons held a great deal of power in the town.
He knew he should ignore Maisie’s outburst as most of the other library patrons were, but watching Maisie Colton was a little like watching a train wreck. Despite knowing better, you just can’t look away.
In hushed tones, Lily tried to calm Maisie, but she bristled and railed at Lily, “Don’t tell me what to do! This is a public building, and I have every right to be here and speak my mind.”
Mary edged up to the front counter to give Lily backup, and Peter groaned. This could get ugly.
Mary spoke quietly to Maisie, and, as he’d predicted, Maisie rounded on his sister in a heartbeat. He heard a hateful, derogatory term thrown at his sister, and he’d had enough. Turning briefly to Lisa Navarre, Peter said, “Excuse me. I have to go.” He hustled up to the front desk, where Maisie was bristling like an angry cat, flinging insults at Mary.
“…Walsh slut like your sister! Lucy ruined my brother’s life the instant she hooked her talons into Damien and seduced him. I pity poor Jake Pierson. You damn Walshes are all the same!” Maisie huffed indignantly.
Peter stepped up behind his sister, not saying anything but drilling Maisie with a warning look.
“And you!” She aimed a shaking finger at him. “You killed Katie, same as if you’d pulled a trigger.”
Peter stiffened, bile churning in his gut. “That’s enough, Maisie. Go home.”
“She died having your baby! Or don’t you care? Your father sure didn’t care how many women he hurt, how many hearts he broke, how many lives he ruined!”
Mary gasped softly, and Peter sensed more than saw the shudder that raced through his sister. He stepped forward, prepared to bodily throw Maisie from the library if needed, just as another woman brushed past him to confront Maisie.
Lisa Navarre. Startled, Peter caught his breath, as if watching a fawn step in front of a semi-trailer.
“It’s Ms. Colton, right?” Lisa smiled warmly and held her hand out for Maisie to shake. “I don’t know if you remember me, but I taught your son Jeremy a couple years ago.”
Maisie gaped at Lisa suspiciously, then shook her hand. “Yeah. I remember you. Jeremy loved your class.”
“Well, I loved having him in my class. He’s such a sweet boy. Very bright and well-mannered. I know you must be proud of him.”
Maisie sent an awkward glance to Lily, Mary and Peter, then tugged her sleeve to straighten her coat. “I am. Jeremy is the world to me.”
Lisa smiled brightly. “I can imagine.” Then, gesturing with a glance to Mary and Peter, Lisa continued. “Somehow I doubt he’d be happy if he knew you’d been yelling at these nice people, though.”
Maisie lifted her chin, her eyes flashing with contempt. “There is nothing nice about these or any of the Walshes.” Nailing an arctic glare on Mary, Maisie added, “I’m glad your father is dead. One less Walsh for the world to suffer.”
Peter had never struck a woman in his life, but Maisie tempted him to break his code of honor. He squared his shoulders and would have moved in on the hateful woman if Lisa hadn’t spread her hand at her side in a subtle signal asking him to wait.
“Ms. Colton, the town is justifiably upset over the murder of Mark Walsh. Emotions are running high for everyone. I know there is a lot of bad blood between your families, but this kind of name-calling and finger-pointing serves no good. Think about Jeremy. I’m sure the last thing he needs is to hear from his friends that you were causing a scene here today.”
Maisie crossed her arms over her chest and moisture gathered in her eyes. “Their family has caused me and my brother years of heartache. Damien spent fifteen years in jail for something he didn’t do!”
“I’m sorry for that, truly. But do you really think Damien wants you adding salt to the wounds now, or would he rather put the past behind him?” Lisa’s calm tone reminded Peter of the tactful way she’d handled his tirade earlier in the week.
While he hated to consider himself in the same category as Maisie Colton, he had to admire Lisa’s people skills. Already Maisie’s ire seemed to have cooled. Incredible.
Maisie glanced away and quickly swiped at her eyes before returning a less militant gaze to Lisa. “You’re right. I just get so mad when—”
She shook her head, not bothering to finish. Dividing one last cool glare of contempt between Mary and Peter, Maisie tugged the lapels of her overcoat closed and breezed out the front door.
To Peter, it seemed the entire population of the library sighed with relief.
Lisa turned to Peter and twitched a lopsided smile. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have butted in, but—”
“No apology necessary. You handled that…beautifully. You have a real talent for talking people down from the ledge, so to speak.”
“If I have a talent, it’s simply for keeping a cool head. And, spending most of my day with a room full of rowdy fourth-graders, it is a skill I’ve practiced and have down to a science.”
Peter laughed. “I bet.”
“So before…you were saying something about next Saturday?” She tipped her head in inquiry, inviting him to finish what he’d started.
Peter blew out a deep breath. “Right. To say I’m sorry, I’d like to take you to dinner.”
Lisa’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. “You’re asking me out? Like…on a date?”
Somehow the notion of a date seemed to bother her so he backpedaled. “Well, not really a date. I thought you could give me some advice about how to handle all the stuff that’s been happening in my family. You know, with Patrick. You aren’t the only one who’s seen changes in him lately. I’m worried about him, too. I want to help him but… I don’t know where to start.”
Patrick’s teacher eyed him suspiciously. “Hmm. Good cover.”
Peter feigned confusion. “Excuse me?”
When she laughed, the sound tripped down his spine and filled him with a fuzzy warmth like the first sip of a good whiskey. “I’d love to go to dinner with you. But—” she held up a finger, emphasizing her point “—it’s not a date.”
Peter jerked a nod. “Agreed. Not a date.”
Yet even as he consented to her terms, a stab of disappointment poked him in the ribs. Not a date wasn’t what he’d had in mind and seemed wholly insufficient with a woman like Lisa Navarre.
But for now, it would do.
Chapter 4
A fter setting a time to pick Lisa up on Saturday, Peter ignored Mary’s querying looks and got started skimming through the microfiche of old newspapers to see what he could learn about the Coltons. Lisa returned
to her table to study, but just knowing she was nearby was enough to distract Peter from his tedious research. He found himself repeatedly glancing in her direction and wondering where they should go for dinner next weekend.
Perhaps a restaurant in Bozeman would be better than the local fare if they wanted to avoid starting rumors. He knew several high-end restaurants in Bozeman that were sure to impress Lisa, but perhaps, for their first date, he should keep things low-key.
Their first date? First implied there would be more than one, and since Lisa insisted it wouldn’t be a date at all, he was definitely getting ahead of himself.
Peter drummed his fingers as he scrolled through the want ads and comic strips looking for the local society page.
Who was he kidding? He might be attracted to Patrick’s teacher, but he wasn’t in the market for a girlfriend. He and Patrick were getting along just fine on their own. Weren’t they? Sure, he didn’t have as much time to spend with his son as he’d like, but his mom had been more than accommodating, helping him with babysitting most afternoons and evenings when he had to work late.
He hadn’t been on a date since Patrick was born, because he didn’t want to get involved with anyone. Involvement meant investment. Investment meant attachment, bonds, intimacy. And the deeper the attachment, the deeper the pain when the bonds broke.
Katie had died ten years ago, and he still felt the loss of his first love, his young bride, his son’s mother, to his marrow. How could he risk that kind of pain again?
He flicked another glance to Lisa’s table in time to see her look up at him. She sent a quick smile before returning to her studies. A funny catch hiccupped in his chest.
He was getting ahead of himself.
Not a date. Check.
Shifting his attention back to the microfiche reader, his eye snagged on a headline about a business deal Darius Colton had signed fifteen years ago, buying out another local rancher who was on the verge of bankruptcy. The Gazette reporter heralded the move as the kind of bold, risk-taking business move that had grown the Coltons’ ranching empire from relative obscurity twenty years earlier.
Peter’s jaw tightened. What the newspaper called bold and risk-taking, Peter called greedy and cut-throat. In the 1990s the Coltons had run most of the local ranches out of business, then swooped in to gobble up the smaller ranches and turn their business into a multi-million-dollar enterprise. Forget the fact that Darius Colton turned around and employed the ranchers he bought out, Peter hated the idea of the Coltons having a monopoly in ranching in and around Honey Creek. The size of the Colton ranch gave them too much power in the town, too much influence over the city council. Yet the money they poured into local projects, charities and businesses elevated the Coltons’ stature in the eyes of the community. Honey Creek residents loved the Coltons.
At least, all of Honey Creek except the Walshes.
He moved on to the society page featuring Darius and his third wife, Sharon, who had celebrated their anniversary with a huge gala party at their ranch. He scanned pictures of the Colton brood, including Wes, Maisie and Finn mugging for the camera. Next was a candid shot of Brand Colton, Darius’s only child with Sharon, eating cake. Nothing helpful there.
Peter scrolled down farther…and froze. The last shot was a picture of Damien and Lucy, arms around each other, gazing into each other’s eyes on the dance floor and smiling with pure love and joy.
Peter forgot to breathe. His pulse pounded in his ears as he stared at the photo of his sister with the young man who’d later shredded their family. Damien’s relationship with Lucy had been at the root of Mark Walsh’s dispute with the Coltons. The teenagers’ love affair had been dissected and publicly examined when Damien went to trial for Mark’s murder later that year.
Peter swallowed hard, forcing the bile back down his throat. Old news. Rehashing Damien and Lucy’s star-crossed relationship didn’t help him figure out what happened to his father in 1995. The simple fact that his father’s body had been found in Honey Creek this summer meant that Damien had been innocent of the crime for which he’d been convicted.
Or did it? Damien could still be part of the conspiracy that included poisoning Craig. But even if he didn’t pull the trigger, Damien could be complicit in the murder of Mark Walsh via a conspiracy with his family for revenge.
Peter paged through several more weeks of newspapers before he found a tidbit about Finn Colton receiving a science award at Honey Creek High School, another society article about Maisie winning a beauty pageant at the state fair rodeo, and a business article about Darius investing in a real-estate deal near Bozeman. Peter blew out a tired breath and kept scanning.
More society-page drivel about Duke Colton dating the prom queen, Darius and Sharon attending the Cancer Society fund-raiser, Finn Colton winning a scholarship…yada yada.
Peter rubbed a kink in his neck, checked his watch. How long had he been at the library? He’d promised his mother he’d only be gone a couple of hours. She’d been eager to get back to the hospital and spend the evening with Craig.
Peter skipped through several more weeks of farm reports, wedding announcements and sales fliers to search the Gazette’s reports from the weeks just prior to his father’s disappearance and presumed death.
While there was no shortage of information about the Colton sons’ achievements and dating exploits, Maisie Colton’s leaving town for an extended vacation and Darius Colton’s continued ventures in expanding his ranch and real-estate holdings, Peter saw nothing that pointed to a motive for murder.
“Okay, my curiosity finally got the best of me.”
Peter jerked his head around at the sound of Lisa’s voice. She wore her coat, held a stack of books and notepads in her arms, and had her purse slung over her shoulder.
He pushed his chair back and shoved to his feet. “You’re calling it a day?”
“Yeah. Think so. I have spelling tests to grade before tomorrow.” She rolled her eyes. “That and a bowl of tomato soup are my exciting plans for tonight.” She nodded toward the film reader. “So what are you up to over here?” She squinted and read the headline he’d stopped on. “Darius Colton Inks Land Deal.” Her eyes ticked up to his. “So what else is new? Darius Colton is the king of ranching around here from what I understand. Is that what you’re researching?”
Peter frowned. “Lord, no. Trust me, I’m well-versed in how large the Coltons’ ranching business has grown. Naw, I was looking for something else.”
She hesitated a beat, as if waiting for him to elaborate, before her brow rose with understanding. He wasn’t going to say more. “Oh.”
“I, uh…can explain more Saturday, but I’d rather not go into it here.” He nodded with his head toward the other library patrons.
“I don’t mean to pry. You just looked so…absorbed by what you were reading. And intensely frustrated at the same time. It’s been most intriguing to watch you over the last hour.”
She’d been watching him? Interesting.
He grinned. “Sorting through pages of dross looking for the one bit of gold that will turn my case can be very frustrating.”
“Ah, Patrick told me you’re a private investigator. Is that what you mean when you say case? Something you’re researching for a client?”
He shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. He didn’t want to lie to her, but the truth was bound to raise more questions than he was prepared to answer. “I am a P.I., yes. Unfortunately, it’s not as glamorous as the movies make it seem.” He hitched his head toward the microfiche reader. “This…is not business, though. It’s personal.”
“Oh.” Her tone was more embarrassed now, and she shifted the books in her arms from one side to the other. “I’m sorry I interrupted.”
He held up a hand. “Don’t be. I was just about finished. I need to get home.” He paused, then added, “But I’d love to have your thoughts on this project on Saturday. Maybe a fresh perspective is what I’m needing to put the pieces togethe
r.”
She lifted a shoulder. “I’ll do what I can.” Backing toward the door, she gave him a warm grin. “Tell Patrick I said hello.”
Her smile burrowed into Peter’s chest, chasing away the bitterness and chill left by his walk down Colton-memory lane. “I will. See you Saturday.”
“That and a bowl of tomato soup are my exciting plans for tonight,” Lisa mimicked herself in a goofy voice as she drove home. Rolling her eyes, she groaned and knocked her fist against her forehead. “Could you sound any more pathetic?”
If that line didn’t sound like a pitifully obvious hint that she wanted him to ask her out for tonight, then she was Queen Elizabeth. She’d wanted to eat her words the minute she heard the sentence tumble from her lips.
Peter Walsh was probably already regretting their dinner plans on Saturday, wondering what kind of desperate female she was. She’d babbled like a schoolgirl around the football jock.
And maybe she was that pathetic. She hadn’t dated anyone since Ray had left her four years ago. The scars from her marriage, her infertility, the angry accusations Ray had flung at her before storming out, still stung. All it took was an innocent question such as “What’s behind the career change?” to pick the scabs of the old wounds.
How was she supposed to tell Peter Walsh that being around children all day only rubbed salt in her wounds? As much as she loved teaching, loved her class, loved making a difference in the lives of her young students, being around children all day only reminded her of what she could never have. The one thing she couldn’t give Ray. The one thing she could never give any man.
A baby.
Some days she felt as though she wore a scarlet I on her forehead, branding her as infertile. A giant warning sign to keep men away.
Then, quite unexpectedly, Peter Walsh had waltzed into her life and planted a seed of hope. He’d seemed genuinely interested in her. And despite their inauspicious first meeting, she liked Peter Walsh, just as Eve had said she would. His gracious apology, his wry humor, his charming grin made her knees weak and her spirits light. He made her forget, for a few foolish moments, why she hadn’t dated in four years. She couldn’t impose her infertility on another man.
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