“Dad—” Marlowe tried again, raising her voice even louder. She got the same result she had the first time. Her father continued to deliberately ignore her.
Payne turned toward his son. “Callum, get him out of here,” the Colton patriarch ordered, “before I do something that I am going to really regret.”
“Mr. Colton,” Barco said, trying to interrupt Payne, who paid even less attention to the chief than he did to his daughter.
Marlowe was well aware that her father’s threats were far from empty. She was also aware of how quickly they could escalate. Sticking two fingers into her mouth, she whistled loudly, which forced all the men in the room to focus their attention on her.
“Nothing you can say right now is going to keep me from throwing this whelp out to teach him some respect for his betters—” Payne began to tell his daughter, not even looking at her.
“Well, you had better learn how to hold on to your temper, Dad,” Marlowe informed him, shouting the words at Payne.
“And just why the hell would I do that?” Payne demanded angrily, glaring at Marlowe.
“Because Bowie’s the father of your grandchild!” she answered in a voice that all but shook the ceiling tiles loose.
It also stunned the other three men in the room. And even Bowie looked surprised that she was breaking the news this way.
“Say what?” Callum responded, the first one to recover.
Payne blanched. “He’s the what?” he asked almost at the same time.
“The father of your grandchild,” Marlowe repeated, enunciating each word. She saw the shock on her father’s face and sincerely wished she could have given him the news a different way. But her father never made anything easy for her. “I’m pregnant, Dad, and you and Franklin Robertson are going to have to find a way to deal with that and learn to stop fighting!” she cried, her voice sounding almost hoarse.
Callum looked at her, wide-eyed. He asked, “Is it true, Mar?”
“Trust me,” Marlowe said wearily, “I wouldn’t make up something like that.”
Chief Barco slanted a look at the Colton men, as if unsure if he should be congratulating the parties involved, or just holding his peace. Instincts apparently had him opting for the latter.
But Payne was not about to willingly accept this situation, not without registering his intense dissatisfaction and contesting the matter.
Glaring at Bowie, Payne angrily demanded, “Did you force yourself on my daughter? Because I swear if I find out that you did—”
Marlowe blew out an angry breath. As if she didn’t have enough to deal with, she had to smooth her father’s ruffled feathers. “Nobody forced themselves on anyone, Dad. You know me better than that,” she told him. “I would have gutted him before I let that happen.” She drew in a fortifying breath, then said, “It was mutual.”
Disgust, anger and disappointment all took turns washing over Payne’s rugged face. He glared at his daughter. “How could you?” he accused.
Marlowe squared her shoulders. “I’m a grown woman, Dad, as well as your daughter. I think you already know the answer to that,” she told him, doing her best to hold it together and not fall apart in light of his heated disapproval.
The disappointment she saw in her father’s eyes cut her to the quick, but she wasn’t about to show him that by flinching or apologizing. It was already hard enough for her to try to deal with what she had done in the heat of the moment—and the consequences that single action had produced. Attempting to atone for it for her father’s sake was out of the question.
Payne turned on his heel and marched over to Bowie. For one tense, horrible moment, Marlowe was afraid that her father was going to punch the other man out—or at least try to.
There did appear to be an inner struggle going on.
But then Payne growled, “If I hear even a hint that you’re not treating her exactly the way my daughter deserves to be treated, I will hunt you down no matter what rock you’re hiding under and gut you like a pig.” Payne then turned toward Callum and issued an order. “Let’s go. I’m through here.”
But Callum had never acted like his father’s lapdog, and Marlowe knew he was not about to start now. “I’ll be there in a minute, Dad,” he said.
Payne fumed. “In some places this would be called consorting with the enemy,” he angrily informed Marlowe’s twin.
“And in some places it’s called being a family,” Callum countered.
Payne said something that was biting as well as callous under his breath just before he walked out, slamming the door in his wake.
“I’d better go, too,” the chief said to nobody in particular. Whenever he was around Payne Colton, he took all his cues from the man.
“Thanks for coming so quickly,” Marlowe said.
“Of course,” the chief responded, and then he left, as well.
Callum looked at his sister. “He’ll come around, Mar,” her twin promised.
“You’re a lot more optimistic than I am right now,” Marlowe told her brother.
Callum turned toward Bowie. “You really think that bullet was meant for my sister?” he asked Bowie.
“I do,” Bowie answered, evidently prepared to be peppered with more questions.
Instead, Callum told him, “Then take her up to our cabin in the mountains, but make sure that you’re not being followed when you go. If you are followed by someone looking to take either one of you out, the isolated location will only act against you.”
She had never taken to having other people make decisions affecting her. “Callum, I can’t go with him to our cabin,” she protested. “There’s too much to do. That email—” Marlowe began.
But her brother immediately cut her protest short.
“Listen, you have just one major thing to focus on right now—this baby that you’re carrying. You need to make that a priority in addition to work. Work will go on whether or not you’re there. Maybe not as well,” he allowed, “but it will go on. However, there is no question that this baby needs you, and it needs the healthiest version of you that you can possibly provide—because without you, that baby won’t be able to go on.”
Marlowe shook her head. “But, Callum, there is a crisis and—”
“And I will handle it for both of us,” he assured her. “The rest of the family is all joining forces to try to get to the bottom of this. Now I know you’re really good, but you have to admit that even you don’t equal the five of us. So go to that cabin with Bowie and take care of my niece or nephew for the next couple of days until things calm down a little—and that’s an order,” he told her. “Do I make myself clear?” he asked his sister.
“Perfectly,” Marlowe answered just before she threw her arms around Callum and hugged him for all she was worth. “You’re the best.”
“I know,” Callum answered with a grin.
“But you will call me if you hit a snag?” she asked, watching her brother’s face for her answer.
“I won’t hit a snag,” Callum told her.
“That’s not what I just asked,” Marlowe pointed out with a touch of exasperation.
“Yes, I will call you if I hit a snag,” Callum told her in a singsong voice.
She still had her doubts, but for now this would have to do. “All right, then, you’d better go and join Dad in the car. You know how surly he gets whenever he’s kept waiting.”
Callum laughed. “You’re preaching to the choir, Mar. That man’s picture is in Wikipedia with the word surly written right under it.” He turned toward Bowie. “I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but if you need anything at all involving my sister, give me a call.”
Bowie nodded. “Consider it done.”
For a split second, Callum locked eyes with the other man. The silence hung heavily between them. And then Callum said, “I’d better.”
/> Marlowe knew that was as close to a threat as he would allow himself to utter. And then he left.
“Are all you Coltons always this charming, or is it just me, bringing out the worst in you?” he asked Marlowe, following her to her bedroom as she went to pack an overnight case.
“You really want to know the answer to that?” she asked him.
“No, on second thought, maybe I don’t,” Bowie answered.
“Wise choice,” she told him, nodding her head. She closed the lid on the suitcase and snapped the locks shut, secretly marveling at how oddly final that sounded.
Chapter 8
Marlowe found the silence in the car almost deafening. Bowie had insisted that they just take one vehicle to go up to the cabin: his. Marlowe had let him win that argument, even though she didn’t like being chauffeured around. Moreover, she liked the control of having and driving her own car. But she could even put up with that if she had to.
What she couldn’t put up with was this oppressive quiet that was beginning to burrow its way under her skin. Marlowe had to admit that it was quickly getting to her.
Just as she reached over to turn on some music, Bowie stopped her cold with a question. “So what’s this that’s going on with your family?”
Marlowe dropped her hand in her lap. The question, coming out of the blue, completely stunned her. She hadn’t been prepared to field anything like this.
“What do you mean?” Marlowe asked. Even she had to admit that her voice sounded rather stilted to her own ear, not to mention that her mouth had gone dry.
“I’m not sure if it was Callum or you, but one of you said something about there being a major crisis that needed handling,” Bowie said. He glanced in her direction. “What major crisis?”
Marlowe’s protective barriers immediately fell into place. When unarmed, she had always felt that denial was the best way to go. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Yeah, right, Bowie thought.
“C’mon, Marlowe, you’re way too smart to play dumb,” he told her, and then he added the crowning touch. “That doesn’t look good on you. Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong, and maybe I can help.”
For one moment, Marlowe wavered. She really wanted to be able to tell him. For possibly the first time in her life, she found herself wanting to share her burden with someone rather than just shoulder it on her own the way she always did.
But the truth was she didn’t know if she could afford to share it with Bowie—because this could all be just a ploy on his part to get information out of her so he could, in turn, score points with his father.
Despite the fact that she had told her father that he had to find a way to bury the hatchet when it came to Bowie’s dad, she herself trusted Franklin Robertson just about as far as she could throw the man—which meant not at all.
Marlowe looked at him, unable to sublimate the suspicion in her eyes. “Just how do I know that I can trust you?” she asked Bowie bluntly.
Bowie laughed under his breath. “We’re totally traveling off what’s considered the beaten path in order to get to a cabin hideaway in the mountains. As far as I can see, there isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that we’re being followed—as per your brother’s instruction. If you don’t already trust me, then you seem to be willingly setting yourself up for a world of hurt,” he told her.
“Now, you don’t have to trust me if you don’t want to,” he continued. “I can respect that. But if you’d like to talk about whatever it is that’s clearly bothering you, I just wanted you to know that, at least while we’re out here, I’m here for you.”
“Oh, you mean like a Boy Scout,” Marlowe mocked, worried that she might have made a major mistake in trusting Bowie. Maybe she should just find a way to boot him out of the car and then drive quickly back to the family house.
“No, like the father of that baby you’re carrying,” Bowie reminded her. “And, to answer your question,” he said, “yes, you can trust me.”
“No,” she replied pointedly, “my question was how do I know I can trust you. After all, someone did just try to kill me, thanks to you.”
There was nothing on the road up ahead, just as there hadn’t been for miles now, so Bowie spared Marlowe a long look. “Because I said so,” Bowie answered.
She felt anger crease her forehead. Did he think she was that gullible? “And I’m just supposed to take your word for that, is that it?” Marlowe asked. For all she knew, he might have told people at his company what she had shared with him in confidence. What if her father found out? Would he accuse her of siding with his enemy in this eco-friendly war that was being fought between the two companies?
“Yes, you are,” he told her firmly. “Because I don’t lie.” His eyes met hers before he looked back at the road again. “My word is my bond.”
“That all sounds very noble,” she told him in a mocking tone, telling him just what she thought of his declaration.
“It also happens to be very true,” Bowie replied simply.
The truth was that she wasn’t sure if she could trust Bowie or not, but she knew that she really, really wanted to. She had already trusted him with her body. If their relationship was going to progress any further, for the sake of their baby, she was going to have to find a way to trust with the rest of her.
Drawing in a deep breath, Marlowe forced herself to dive into the deep end of the pool. She told him what he wanted to know.
“All six members of the board of Colton Oil—my father, Ace, Ainsley, Rafe, my father’s ex-wife, Selina, and I—were all sent identical emails earlier today,” she informed him grimly.
“I’m guessing that the email didn’t say you were all winners of a clearinghouse lottery,” Bowie said.
“You’d be correct,” she answered, her tone utterly gloomy. “The email claimed that my brother Ace wasn’t really a Colton or my father’s son. It went on to claim that Ace was switched the day he was born with another male baby born the same day at Mustang Valley General Hospital.”
“Switched at birth?” Bowie repeated. “You’re kidding, right?”
Marlowe blew out a frustrated breath. “I only wish that I was.”
“Even if he was switched at birth, which seems pretty improbable to me, what difference could that possibly make? Unless there’s something you’re not telling me,” Bowie qualified. “Ace was still raised as a Colton, which in my book makes him one.” Like Rafe before him, apparently Bowie didn’t see what the fuss was about.
“Unfortunately, that’s not enough,” Marlowe told him, her voice a mixture of sadness and anger. “It clearly states in the company bylaws that the CEO of Colton Oil must be a Colton by blood only. If this crazy claim for some reason turns out to be true and not a hoax, I’m not sure what we’re going to do,” she confessed.
And therein obviously lay the problem, she thought.
Bowie said, “Changing the bylaws comes to mind.”
Marlowe blinked, stunned by Bowie’s suggestion. “Excuse me, but have you met my father?” she asked. “He’d sooner topple Mount Rushmore than change the company bylaws.” Despite herself, she was already picturing the chaos that would result once news that Ace wasn’t really a Colton became public. “I don’t know what this is going to do to the company, to our family—”
“Aren’t you jumping the gun a little here?” Bowie asked. “You’re already assuming that this crazy claim is true, and it could just be someone trying to undermine everything that your family’s worked so hard to build. You know, there’s a simple way to clear all this up,” he told her.
She knew what he was going to say. The same thing that had been suggested in the email. “I know, I know. A DNA test,” she said flatly. “We’ve already agreed to have Ainsley take Ace in for one first thing tomorrow when the lab opens. Chief Barco said he’s willing to go with them to bear witness to t
he whole process. Drawing the blood, sealing the vial, everything. That way, he can attest that everything was aboveboard if anyone should contest the results—provided that the test results point to Ace being the genuine article.”
“How would you feel about that?” Bowie asked her.
Marlowe shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Feel about what?”
“What if the test results come back and they point to Ace not being an actual Colton,” he told her. “Would that change anything?”
“Of course it would change things. It would change everything,” she cried. Hadn’t Bowie been paying attention? “I already told you, he couldn’t be on the board, and—”
“No,” Bowie said, cutting her short, “for you. Would it change anything for you? Would you suddenly see Ace differently if the blood running through his veins wasn’t that of a genuine Colton?”
“No,” Marlowe informed him indignantly. “Of course not. I wouldn’t see him any differently than I do right now.”
“Then that DNA test really doesn’t matter,” he told her. “Ace will still be your brother whether or not Colton blood is running through his veins. Besides,” he continued, “it’s not the blood that makes you family. It’s the day-to-day living and what’s involved in that day-to-day existence that does it.
“Now, don’t buy trouble,” Bowie advised. “If something bad is going to find you, that’ll happen soon enough. Until it does, just go on with things as if everything’s all right.”
She was oddly heartened by his words, but she wasn’t about to admit it. Instead, she told him, “You sound like a fortune cookie, Robertson.”
“It’d have to be a pretty big cookie to accommodate all that writing,” Bowie said, visibly amused. “In the meantime, do you or your family have any idea who sent this bundle of enlightening information to all of you?”
Well, she’d already told him this much, so she supposed there was no harm in telling him the rest. “I put our IT expert on it, but he told me not to get my hopes up that we’d get an answer. He feels that it came through the dark web, and some of the dealings there might never be unearthed.”
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