Colton's Christmas Baby

by Karen Whiddon

  “So?”

  “Well, now you and I have an agreement not to get serious. But what if we ever started dating heavily, people might assume this is your baby.” Grasping at straws, not even sure what was driving her.

  A muscle worked in his jaw. Uncoiling himself from the couch, he stood. “I see. And for your child’s sake, you don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “It’s just that…” Spreading her hands, she tried to find the right words to explain.

  “Don’t bother. You don’t want people to assume your baby was sired by an ex-con. I get it. Don’t bother getting up. I can find my own way out.”

  And he was gone.

  Stunned, feeling as though she’d been hit by a ton of bricks, Eve huddled under her blanket, staring at the spot where he’d just been. What had all that been about? She’d only been trying to be practical, in keeping with their no-strings agreement. Damien was just out of sorts. Apparently she wasn’t the only moody one in Honey Creek tonight.

  Back home, insides churning, Damien parked next to an unfamiliar black sedan. Someone had company. Probably Maisie. After all, hadn’t she mentioned she’d had a date with Gary Jackson tonight? Since she’d said she was going to cancel it, Gary had probably come to her.

  His stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten. He went to the kitchen and pulled out sandwich fixings. In the middle of making a sandwich, he heard the tap-tap-tap of Maisie’s high heels headed his way.

  “Hey, Maise.” He greeted her as she strode across the ceramic tile. “Whose car is that in the driveway? Gary’s?”

  “No. Listen, there are a couple of men here to see you.” Maisie looked worried. Moving closer, she said in a loud, stage whisper, “They say they’re with the FBI.”

  Damien froze. The black car. “They’re really pushing it, coming out here. Tell them to go away.”

  She shook her head, shooting him a weird look over her shoulder as she headed toward her room. “Tell them yourself. I put them in the study off the great room. That one guy scared me. He’s built like an NFL linebacker.”

  Special Agent Donatello. It had to be. Maisie could charm most people and considered herself fearless. If someone frightened her… Donatello was a stereotypical law-enforcement official in love with his power. From his flat-top haircut and round spectacles, down to the long black trench coat he affected, he tried to appear a badass. In the entire time he’d been out of prison, Damien had never seen the man smile or crack a joke, and his humorless, no-nonsense attitude probably didn’t win him any friends.

  Damien had met Donatello when he’d first gone to talk to the Feds, willing to assist in the Mark Walsh investigation. Hell, he’d felt compelled to offer to assist in the investigation, and had been furious when they’d turned him away.

  At the last second, they’d reconsidered and called him back. They did need his help on another investigation, they said. They were investigating his father. When Damien had demanded to know for what, they’d listed racketeering and money-laundering among a long list of other crimes.

  Shocked, Damien had told them he’d help out. He’d gone home, regretting his words, and had managed thus far to avoid them.

  Apparently, they’d gotten tired of waiting and had sent out the big guns.

  Feeling as if he were heading to an execution—his own—Damien headed down the hallway toward the study. Two men, both wearing long black overcoats, waited with barely concealed impatience.

  “What can I do for you gentlemen?” Damien asked.

  Donatello swung his cold gaze around. “Why don’t you tell us? You seem to have fallen off the grid.”

  The other agent, an older, gray-haired man, stepped forward. “What my colleague is trying to say is that we’re close to finishing our investigation. We were expecting certain information from you. So far, you have not come forward with this information. Therefore, we are coming to you.”

  Seriously?

  Aware he had to tread carefully, Damien manufactured a casual smile. “Could you be a little more specific? What information are you talking about?”

  “Cut the crap, Colton,” Donatello snarled. “You know what we mean.” He took a step forward. “You agreed to help. We’ve done our part and stayed off your back. Now, unless you start producing, that will change.”

  “A threat is only effective when the person you’re threatening understands what you’re talking about,” Damien felt obligated to point out. “Begin with explaining what you mean by ‘stay off my back.’”

  The two men exchanged a look. Then Donatello laughed. “We can put you under twenty-four-hour-a-day surveillance. Always watching, always waiting for you to make the slightest mistake. Do you want that?”

  “Why me?” Damien spread his hands. “I’m not part of my father’s financial dealings. I know nothing about them. His wife does the books, I think.” Though he secretly doubted Sharon knew anything about his father’s finances, he had no choice. “You might talk to her.”

  “Don’t stonewall me.” Donatello gave him a menacing look, which didn’t bother Damien. After fifteen years in prison, he’d learned that looks alone couldn’t hurt him. It’s what came after the look that he had to worry about, and Donatello wouldn’t touch him. Not here, not in front of witnesses.

  “Look, I’ve been home since September.” Damien smiled slowly. “I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary, so I have nothing to report to you.” He put on a pained expression. “I don’t understand why you can’t comprehend that.”

  Though Donatello flushed beet-red, he knew there wasn’t anything else he could do. “Come on,” he told his partner. On the way out the door, he aimed one last parting shot at Damien. “We’ll be back.”

  Damien couldn’t resist one of his own. “Next time, you’d better have a search warrant.”

  Donatello slammed the door behind him.

  As Damien walked to his room, Darius stepped in front of him, blocking his way.

  “We need to talk,” his father said, his commanding tone leaving no room for refusal. “In my office. Now.”

  Steeling himself for another round of threats, Damien followed Darius into the lushly appointed room, mildly surprised when the older man locked the door.

  “Wouldn’t want to be overheard,” he said. Crossing to the window, he pulled the shades closed, then drew the curtains. “You should know I have this room periodically swept for electronic bugs or any kind of video-recording devices.”

  “A bit paranoid, aren’t you?” Damien couldn’t resist asking.

  As expected, Darius frowned. “When you’re a man in my position, you have to be.”

  “Really? And what position is that?”

  “Enough already,” Darius snarled. “I want to know what the FBI was doing here.”

  “Surely you’re aware they’re investigating you?”

  Moving more swiftly than Damien had ever seen him move, Darius crossed the room until he stood toe-to-toe with his son.

  “What did you tell them?”

  Though he knew he was pushing it, Damien couldn’t resist another jab. “What are you so worried about?”

  Instead of answering, Darius cocked his graying head. “Let me say this. If you value that pretty little Kelley girl you’ve been nailing, you’ll keep your mouth shut.”

  “That’s it.” Damien had had enough. “What the hell is wrong with you? Leave her out of this. Threatening me is one thing, but she’s not involved in this at all.”

  Darius gave him a sly smile so cold it didn’t even touch the flatness of his eyes. “You try to do anything to hurt me or betray this family, and the girl will die. Worse, I’ll see to it that she suffers.”

  Stunned, Damien eyed the man who had sired him. No hint of humanity remained in his father’s calculated gaze.

  Damien realized Finn could run all the tests at his disposal and they wouldn't reveal any medical reason for their father's behavior. Darius was a sociopath and had no doubt always been one. He’d
just never expressed it so violently before. He probably meant what he said and would have no compunction about torturing and killing an innocent woman.

  Shaking his head, Damien turned and went to the door. Unlocking it, he turned and gave Darius a look he'd perfected in prison. “I take care of my own, understand?” Then without waiting for an answer, he left, closing the door behind him.

  When he reached the safety of his own room, Damien unclenched his fists and realized he was shaking. He needed to talk to Wes and convince his brother that it was time for the sheriff's office to step in. His entire family appeared to be disintegrating around him. Damien, having lost fifteen long years that he could never get back, had come home halfway expecting things to be exactly the way they'd been when he'd gone to prison. Now, almost four months out and counting, he realized he’d been a fool.

  His brothers had all found women they wanted to spend the rest of their lives with. People change, grow older and move on. Because of his time behind bars, he was the only one who hadn't.

  In his room, he started to undress, then stopped. The walls of his room, an average-sized bedroom in the huge ranch house, felt as though they were closing in on him. Too close, too confining. He felt trapped, the way he had often felt while in prison.

  Eve… No. He had to figure this out on his own.

  If this were during the summer months, and claustrophobia was making his chest tighten, he’d simply saddle up one of the horses and go for a long ride. Now, he couldn’t, because the forecast was for an arctic blast, with temperatures dipping well below freezing. The utter darkness compounded with the cold made riding after sundown impossible. Instead, he could walk to the barn and spend time with the horses, perhaps even ride in the covered arena. Or… Deciding, he snatched his car keys from the dresser. He'd go for a drive in his pickup and cruise the streets of his hometown with the stereo blaring. That had always made him feel better when he'd been a teenager. It shouldn't be any different at thirty-five.

  But, although he found the hum of the truck's engine soothing, the feeling of nowhere to go unsettled him. After thirty minutes of aimless driving, passing by Eve's house twice, he found himself back at the Corner Bar. Since there were still a couple of hours until last call, the place was still open, even though the parking lot only had five or six cars.

  A beer would taste mighty fine right about now.

  Parking, he debated whether or not to go inside. Just as he was reaching for the handle to open the truck door, the bar's side door opened and his brother Wes came outside, accompanied by Agent Donatello and his henchman.

  Chapter 11

  What the hell. Keys clenched tightly in his fist, Damien froze. A knot settled in his stomach as he watched his brother the sheriff laughing with the man who, less than an hour before, had threatened him.

  After a few more seconds of talking in the cold night air, Donatello and his partner got into their black sedan and drove away. Hands in pockets, breath making plumes of mist in the freezing air, Wes stood and watched them go, then made his way toward his own truck.

  “Wes.” Opening his door, Damien called him over. “What was that all about?”

  Expression closed, Wes came over and climbed up into the truck next to Damien. “I was about to ask you the same thing. I still can’t believe you were their inside informant.”

  Relief flooding him, Damien snorted. “They wish. They must have come to you right after they left the house.”

  “What happened?”

  As succinctly as possible, Damien relayed the evening’s events, including Darius’s crazy threats and menacing behavior. “I’m beginning to think our father is a true sociopath.”

  “Whew.” Sitting back in the seat, Wes rubbed the back of his neck. “If he is, that would mean he’s dangerous, and I don’t like to think that about my own father.”

  “Me neither. But something’s going on with him. While he’s been odd ever since I got home, things are getting worse fast. He’s hiding something.”

  “I wonder what Darius knows that’s got him so worried.”

  “You and me both.”

  A chime sounded and Wes checked his phone. “Lily,” he said with a sheepish smile. “She’s reminding me we have to be out at the ranch at the crack of dawn to help with the preparations for the big feast this weekend.”

  At Damien’s inquisitive look, Wes laughed. “It’s so good to have you home. Sometimes I forget you were gone so long. Tomorrow the preparations start for the annual Christmas lunch.”

  “Already?” At Wes’s nod, Damien groaned. “Why so early?”

  “Because it’s huge now. You remember how every year on the Sunday before Christmas, no matter their faith or lack of—”

  “The congregations of a bunch of churches get together for a holiday meal. I know, I remember.”

  “It’s bigger now. Actually, the entire town of Honey Creek holds one huge celebratory service.”

  The tradition had started in the early eighties, when Mrs. Murphy and the ladies of the Lutheran Church had held a joint Christmas supper with the ladies of the Catholic and Baptist churches. Each had invited their respective congregations.

  The next year, the small Pentecostal Church joined, as well as Honey Creek’s lone nondenominational church. The annual event became so popular that by the end of the eighties, men and women of all faiths, including those who didn’t even celebrate the holiday, attended.

  “That’s hard to believe. The last time I went, it was at the high-school cafeteria,” Damien mused.

  Wes laughed. “Not anymore. The dinner’s grown so huge that for the last several years, the town uses the Colton ranch’s indoor riding arena. That’s what they’re doing tomorrow, setting up rows of buffet tables and folding chairs and getting everything ready. We even had heating installed.”

  “But tomorrow’s only Wednesday. That’s a long way from Sunday.”

  “You’ve been gone fifteen years,” Wes pointed out gently. “Like I said, the thing’s blossomed and grown.”

  “Now I’m really looking forward to Sunday.” Damien squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

  “Any time.” Serious now, Wes checked his watch. “It’s late. If I’m going to head out to the ranch at dawn tomorrow, I’d better go home and get some rest.”

  “Me, too.” Suddenly weary, Damien told Wes goodbye and started the truck.

  Driving home, he again turned down Eve’s street and coasted to a stop in front of her house. Already he regretted storming out on her earlier. He needed to apologize, but her house was dark. Plus, he’d already shown up unannounced once tonight and didn’t want to do so again.

  Instead, he put the truck in Drive and headed home. He’d apologize to her tomorrow. He hoped she’d understand.

  He rose the next morning a full hour before sunrise. After showering and dressing, he padded down to the kitchen to make coffee and found Jeremy waiting, also fully dressed and munching on a stack of waffles.

  “What are you doing up so early?” Damien asked, pouring a steaming cup of coffee.

  “I can’t wait.” The teenager practically jumped up and down with excitement. “This year Uncle Duke said I could help park the cars. I might get to drive one and everything! It’s going to be so wicked!”

  Grinning back, Damien ruffled the boy’s hair. “Let me drink a cup of coffee and grab a muffin. Then maybe we should head out to the barn and see if Sharon needs any help.”

  Barely concealing his impatience, Jeremy nodded. He fiddled in his chair while Damien ate, slurping at his glass of milk while Damien sucked down a second cup of coffee.

  Finally, Damien stood. “Are you ready?”

  The boy needed no second prompting. He ran for the coatrack, snatched off his parka and Damien’s, then ran back to hand Damien his coat.

  Chuckling, Damien bundled up against the winter morning.

  Outside, even with the pole lights lit, the sky was still inky-black. Even at this early hour, a cr
ew had already started getting the first field off the road ready to be turned into a massive parking lot. Metal gates, usually locked, stood wide open.

  Wind buffeted them as they strode toward the barn. Though the air was cold and crisp, it was dry. The clear sky revealed several constellations sparkling like diamonds in the still-dark sky. With such a big event scheduled, Damien supposed it was a good thing they weren’t expecting snow.

  As they neared the barn, they saw what looked like close to thirty people, mostly women, bustling around unloading boxes from two white panel vans. The barn opened to reveal people already hanging decorations inside.

  No one noticed them, so engrossed were they in their own tasks.

  Damien exchanged a look with Jeremy. “I don’t think they need us,” Damien said, surprised to see so many people already at work at such an early hour.

  At that, Jeremy looked so disappointed that Damien relented. “Of course I’m sure there’s always a spot for an extra hand.”

  But now Jeremy wasn’t listening. He’d fixated all of his attention on a petite blonde girl in a hot-pink ski jacket and hat.

  “Who’s that?” Damien asked, hiding his amusement.

  Jeremy tore his gaze away from the teenager to grin sheepishly at Damien. “Nobody. Just a girl from my school.”

  Cuffing the boy lightly on the shoulder, Damien let it go. “If you want to go help her, go ahead.”

  “Okay.” Needing no second urging, Jeremy sauntered over to the shyly smiling girl.

  Whistling under his breath, Damien went inside the barn. Christmas carols were playing from a portable stereo set up on a table. He wandered over to where three men were setting up a series of long buffet tables. They’d already done two rows of ten and were starting on a third.

  “Need any help?”

  The instant the men looked up, the easy camaraderie vanished from their faces. “No, thanks.”

  Studiously avoiding meeting his gaze, the trio went back to work.

  Pretending it didn’t bother him, Damien moved away. Even here, on his own ranch? Though it stung, this would be his first Christmas in fifteen years as a free man, and he refused to let anyone—especially small-minded fools—ruin it for him.