The Coltons, as hosts of the banquet, had the right to go to the head of either line whenever they wanted. Maisie and Jeremy went first, followed by Finn and Rachel and Wes and Lily. Duke and Susan, contentedly holding hands, waited a few minutes longer until the first group came back with their plates.
“Are you coming?” Duke asked Damien, giving Eve a friendly smile.
“In a minute,” Damien answered, his voice tense. With a nod, Duke moved off, one arm around Susan.
“What’s wrong?” Eve murmured, wondering if Damien, too, had noticed his father’s odd behavior.
“Nothing.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Are you ready?” Though he asked the question in a light voice, Damien touched her arm, as if giving her a warning.
Dubious, she glanced around him to where Darius and Sharon still stood, like benevolent rulers surveying their kingdom. As ashamed as she would be to admit it out loud, she was afraid if she moved that she’d once again draw Darius’s cold stare.
“I’m not sure,” she admitted with a slight grimace. “Shouldn’t your father and stepmother go first?”
Glancing at him, she saw him eyeing his father, who now had started once again to glower in their direction.
“What’s the matter with him?” she asked. “Is he mad about me being here?”
“Who knows?” His attempt to sound unconcerned fell flat, especially since he tightened his arm around her. “He’s been acting kind of weird lately. It’s probably best if we ignore it. Do you want to eat?”
She nodded, getting slowly to her feet at the same time as Damien. Trying to avoid glancing out into the crowd, she still felt as if she had a hundred pairs of eyes on her, many of them mirroring the disapproval she’d seen in Darius’s. No doubt the gossip had already started.
She told herself she didn’t care, reminding herself she’d better get used to being an object of scandal. The speculation and rumors would start to swirl in earnest once people realized she was pregnant. And when she refused to reveal the father or the circumstances concerning her pregnancy, the rumors would become outrageous. At some point she expected to be asked if her baby had been fathered by aliens. No lie.
As Damien turned to help lead the way down, a shadow fell over the table. After pushing her chair back in, Eve looked up. Darius had stepped in front of them, back to the crowd, completely blocking their way down.
“Son, aren’t you going to introduce your little friend?” Darius asked, tone dripping venom.
Wary, Eve instinctively moved closer to Damien as he performed a quick introduction.
“Pleased to meet you,” Darius said, sounding anything but. Giving her hand a quick squeeze, the older man quickly released it, returning his attention to his son.
“Well, well, well. I wasn’t aware you were this serious,” Darius smirked. “Good for me, bad for you.”
Though his words made no sense, Damien’s sudden tense grip on her arm told Eve that he at least understood what his father meant by the odd statement.
“Don’t even go there,” Damien warned. “This isn’t about her.”
“You keep your nose out of my business, and I’ll keep mine out of yours.” Suddenly affable, Darius held out his hand. “Deal?”
Stone-faced, Damien made no move to accept his father’s offer.
As the silence stretched out, Darius’s smile faded. Finally, he lowered his arm, his expression going hard again. “I should have known. So that’s the way it’s going to be?”
“Excuse us,” Damien said firmly, steering Eve around his father. “We’re going to go eat.”
Darius stepped aside without a word.
On the way down, they passed the others returning. Even though Damien stood protectively close, Eve swore she could still feel Darius’s rancor-filled gaze burning into her back.
“What was that all about?” she asked softly as they made their way toward the buffet table.
“I’ll tell you later.” Squeezing her arm in a too-hard gesture that he’d no doubt meant to be reassuring, he gave her a smile tinged with anger.
Filling her plate with the piping-hot food, Eve tried and failed to recapture her earlier contentment. The look in Damien’s father’s eyes had been tinged with madness, a very real, almost feral look that seemed as dangerous as an actual physical threat.
No one else appeared to have noticed a thing. Following Damien’s lead, she smiled and chatted with several people in the serving line, ignoring the question in many of their gazes. None of them were quite bold enough to ask her outright why she was sitting with the Coltons, but she knew that would wear off by Tuesday. In fact, she anticipated twice the amount of traffic in her hair salon, with women stopping by just to “visit.”
Plates filled, she and Damien made their way back to their seats. Throughout the entire meal, despite the friendly overtures made by Damien’s brothers, she couldn’t help but feel conscious of Darius’s hostile glare, especially since he sent it her way every time she looked toward him.
When they’d finished eating, pastors of the various churches announced the date, time and meeting location for each of their annual Christmas carol sings. The Coltons’ church traditionally had theirs Christmas Eve, with caroling that afternoon, before the holiday service.
Sitting at the front table was a completely different experience for Eve. Her family’s table, situated in the thick of things, usually ended up empty as various family members socialized with their friends and neighbors. Once everyone had eaten, they roamed, standing in small clusters and talking, before moving on to the next group.
The Coltons were different. As if they were forbidden to leave, not a single one of them left their seats. Instead, everyone came to them, swarming the table like bees to a hive. Bemused, Eve caught her sister’s eye. Susan shrugged and went back to looking for her friends so she could wave them over.
Meanwhile, the food was cleared and trays of desserts brought in. Pumpkin, pecan and apple pies, and there had to be at least ten cakes, most baked by the attendees. When all had been set out, along with coffee, many people went for the sweets while others continued to visit.
All in all, Eve thought, a pleasant way to spend an afternoon. In the past, this particular event had been the galvanizing event to give her a dose of the holiday spirit.
This year should have been no different, but as she glanced uneasily at Darius, holding court over his cronies, she realized it had been. If it weren’t for Damien, she would have scurried back to her own family like a chastened mouse. Instead, she sat calmly, viewing a group of six dowagers from her mother’s quilting club who were bearing down on her. The glint in their eyes promised she was in for the kind of grilling only a true gossip hound can produce.
As if he saw them coming, Damien put his arm around her and joined her in facing them. This didn’t slow them one bit in their determined progress and Eve steeled herself for the questions.
To her surprise, just as they approached the table, Sharon Colton stepped in front of them, asking them something about the Christmas-caroling committee.
“Divertive missile launched,” Damien muttered dryly. “You are so lucky.”
Watching as Sharon led them away, Eve couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, I am.”
As the afternoon wore on, more and more people took their leave. Bonnie Gene came up and gave both Eve and Susan a hug before leaving.
“You look good together,” she whispered in Eve’s ear, indicating Damien with a thumbs-up sign.
To her dismay, Eve felt her face flush. “Thanks,” she managed.
A few minutes after her family left, finally Eve felt as if it was time to go.
“Are you ready?” Damien asked, making her wonder if he’d read her mind.
She nodded, keeping her head high as she rose, feeling Darius’s malevolent glare on her back all the way to the door.
Damien followed her home in his truck.
Max greeted him in the enthusiastic way boxers have, over
joyed to see his new friend. Eve measured out her dog’s kibble, then, while he ate, she poured two glasses of nonalcoholic wine and carried them into her living room, where Damien had lit a fire.
“This is nice.” Accepting the glass, Damien sat on the couch, stretching his legs. “You were a trouper today.”
“Thanks. I actually enjoyed it,” she said honestly. “Except for the weirdness with your father. What was all that about?”
What he told her next stunned her.
“Your own father stole your inheritance?”
“Not just mine, but possibly my brothers’ and sisters’, too.” He looked grim, taking a long drink of wine. “And when I asked him about it, he threatened me.”
“What do you mean? Threatened you how?”
“Like he wanted to kill me.” The bleakness in his deep voice tugged at her memory.
“You know, Sharon said something similar when she was in for her hair appointment the other day. She said she was worried her own husband was trying to kill her.”
“Since he attacked her with a fireplace poker, I’m not surprised. Something’s got to be done about Darius, but I don’t know what. We’ve had a family meeting about it, but nothing got resolved.”
Though hesitant to do so, she knew she should tell him everything she knew. “You know, I’ve heard the FBI is investigating him. No one in town is sure what for, but that’s the ongoing rumor.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug, just to show he shouldn’t take her seriously.
To her surprise, he did. “They are investigating him. Racketeering and money-laundering are just two of the items they’ve mentioned. They actually approached me about being an informant.”
Her mouth fell open. “On your own father?”
“Yes,” he said bitterly. “On my own father. What’s worse, at one point I actually considered it.
Hurriedly, she took a sip of her drink, trying to compose her expression. “You did?”
“At one point. But not now. Darius’s problems are family business. If he’s broken the law, they’ll need to prove it without my help.”
Aching, she touched his arm. “You sound as though you think he has.”
“Broken the law?” He gave a harsh laugh. “A man who would steal from his own son? I have no doubt Darius has done things he should go to prison for. But I’ve been in prison, and no matter how evil he seems to be, I wouldn’t wish that on any man, especially not my own father.”
“It must have been awful for you,” she said softly. Sitting shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip.
Staring off into the distance, he didn’t respond. The pain etched in his rugged face tore at her heart.
She loved this man. The realization hit her like a lightning bolt, so awful and glorious and strong she had to push herself up off the couch. When had this happened and how? Galvanized into motion, she strode into the kitchen, needing the comforting ritual of making coffee, something, anything, to keep her hands busy and purge her mind.
“I should go,” he said from behind her.
For one terrible instant she froze, on the verge of unreasonable and unwarranted tears. Then, getting a grip on herself, she nodded, making herself turn and face him with a completely insincere smile.
“I am kind of tired,” she lied. Throat aching, she managed to keep the smile in place as he uncoiled himself from the sofa and headed toward her.
“One kiss.” Low-voiced, more of a command than a request.
She could do this. She could, without giving herself away. Walking into his arms was easy, as was lifting her face to his. But when his mouth covered hers, soft and warm, familiar and beloved, her self-restraint vanished.
Now fully aware of her feelings, heat and passion flooded her. Her burning desire ignited his own, and they wound up back on the couch, naked limbs intertwined, making love with such a deep yet tender urgency that she wanted to weep.
When it was over he held her, silent. Lying in his arms felt good and right, making her hate herself for betraying her own rules. No strings. They’d both agreed. Worse, she knew if she told him her feelings had changed, he’d run fast and far. So she kept her mouth shut, cherishing the feel of him, and steeled herself for the moment when he had to leave.
As if he sensed her turbulent emotions, he kissed her softly before easing out of her arms. “Don’t worry so much.”
Startled, she stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“I can see it in your face. You’re worried about something. If it’s my father, don’t be. He has as little as possible to do with my life, and vice versa.”
Relieved, and feeling somewhat better, she nodded. “Okay.” She swallowed, then gathering up her nerve, she said, “Stay.”
“Not tonight,” he said, kissing her hard on the lips. “But I’ll take a rain check, okay?”
She nodded, wishing she didn’t feel so foolish.
Dressing hurriedly, he left, giving her one final kiss before breezing out the door.
Smiling to herself, she watched until his taillights disappeared. Then, locking the front door, she turned and made her way back to her bedroom, intent on trading her clothes for a comfortable pair of well-worn sweats. At the last minute, she remembered she needed to let Max in, so she detoured to the back door.
Shaking off snow, the big dog bounded in. Laughing at her pet’s antics, Eve finally gave him a bully stick to settle him down. The fire had burned down to embers and she banked these, yawning.
Damien had barely left and already she missed him. She could get used to having him around. Pulling herself up, she gave herself a sharp talking-to. She didn’t love him—she couldn’t love him. Having relationship hopes always led to disappointment and pain. She’d sworn she wouldn’t do this again, not with him. Especially not with him.
Distracted, she prowled around her house, putting everything back in its place, rinsing out the wineglasses before placing them in the dishwasher.
Satisfied that her tidy little world was back in order—this was one of the few things she could control—she whistled for the dog and padded off to bed.
Max circled three times before settling into his dog bed. She pulled back the covers and got her own bed ready, before brushing her teeth and washing her face.
Abstractedly—for curiosity’s sake only—she allowed herself to wonder what it would be like to climb into her bed at the end of a day with a warm and drowsy Damien waiting for her. Cutting off the thought because the rush of pleasure it brought alarmed and worried her, she climbed beneath the covers and turned off the light.
Sometime later, Max’s low growling from his bed woke her. Instantly alert, she lay still in her bed and listened.
Max sprang to his feet, entire body tense. He took a step forward, lips lifted in a snarl.
“Wait,” she ordered softly. Sliding her feet into her slippers, she grabbed her robe from the end of the bed and moved slowly toward the doorway. Honey Creek had been virtually crime-free her entire life. No robberies, break-ins or assaults. Certainly, other than the Mark Walsh case, no murders. Of course, there had been cases of various kinds of wildlife crashing into people’s homes—deer, moose, bird, even the occasional mountain lion or bear.
She suspected this might be just such an instance.
Though she’d trained Max well and didn’t think he’d disobey her commands, she closed the bedroom door, shutting him in. If the intruder was larger than her dog, she didn’t want to take a chance that Max would be injured or killed.
Moving carefully, as any wild animal was sure to already be in panic mode, when she came to the curve in the staircase, she peered around the side to below. Eyes already adjusted to the darkness, she froze at the sight below.
A tall shadow, human rather than animal, stood silhouetted below. Male, stocky, wearing a black hoody. And holding something that looked like a crowbar or a baseball bat.
As she registered these details, the man lifted his weapon and swung, shattering her flat-screen TV. Heart pounding, she t
ried to catch her breath, cursing the fact that she hadn’t grabbed a cordless phone or her cell. Moving back into the shadows, she watched as he took out her lamps next, then the Christmas tree, walloping the branches until he’d shattered just about every single ornament. Branches cracked and snapped and her beautiful tree looked whipped and beaten.
At some point it dawned on her that he wasn’t taking any pains to be quiet or hide the fact that he was systematically destroying her home. Which meant he didn’t care if she caught him, in fact he’d probably welcome the chance to hurt or even kill her.
Why? Cradling her stomach protectively, Eve backtracked her steps, moving swiftly. Once in the relative safety of her bedroom, she locked her door and released Max from his stay, uncomfortably aware that her seventy-five-pound dog might be her—and her unborn child’s—only protection.
Snarling louder, as if he sensed her distress, Max faced the doorway. With the hair on his back raised, he looked ready to attack. Keeping her eye on the door, Eve snatched up the phone and heard the dial tone with relief; part of her had assumed the intruder would have taken out the phone line. She punched the number for the sheriff’s office.
A second later, Wes Colton’s dispatcher came on the line. Speaking in a hushed voice, Eve urgently relayed the situation and begged them to hurry.
Once she’d hung up, still clutching the phone, she searched her bedroom for something to use as a weapon, pitifully aware of her shortcomings in the self-defense department. The best she could come up with was a large, heavy flashlight.
Through the closed bedroom door, she could still hear crashes, telling her the man was still savagely wrecking her belongings. Though the thought stung, better that he struck inanimate objects rather than her or Max. Still, why? What had she done to make someone that angry? This didn’t make sense.
Suddenly conscious of the phone still gripped in her hand, Eve dialed Damien’s cell. He answered on the second ring.
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