“But that was an isolated incident, wasn’t it? He was drunk. So was she.”
“Like that excuses it?” Maisie huffed. “And for your information, that was not an isolated incident.”
Damien stared. “You’ve seen others?”
“Not that violent, but yes. I’ve witnessed a thousand small cruelties. So has Jeremy. And remember the cigarette thing, how Darius made my son eat an entire pack of cigarettes.”
“So Darius is off his rocker,” Damien said glumly. “Finn’s supposed to get him to allow tests. Until then, that doesn’t mean we have to excuse his behavior.”
“No, of course not.” A tinge of bitterness colored Maisie’s tone. “No one excuses mine.”
Gently, he put his arm around her slender shoulders. “Maise, I know you don’t think you need it, but have you thought about getting help?”
This time, instead of automatically shaking her head or getting angry, Maisie nodded. “I talked to Finn. He doesn’t think I’m bipolar.”
Careful to hide his surprise, Damien waited for her to say more.
“Of course, he isn’t ruling that out. Apparently, diagnosing that sort of thing is pretty complicated. But he did say he leans more toward Borderline Personality Disorder.”
“He didn’t mention anything about this.”
“Finn? Of course not. There’s this little issue called doctor-patient confidentiality.”
“Did he recommend any course of treatment?”
“Yep. He referred me to a psychologist up in Bozeman. I go once a week. I’ve gone twice so far.”
He hugged her. “Did he give you any medicine?”
“Yep.” Looking up at her brother, she smiled. “It took it a while to work, but I feel better now than I have my entire life.” She made a motion with her hand, mimicking a mountain and a valley. “The ups and downs aren’t as dramatic.”
“Good for you, Maise. I’m really happy for you.”
Moving toward the coffeepot, she glanced at Damien over her shoulder. “Now, you’ve just got to get your life in order, bro. Once you do, all the Coltons will be happy.”
“Except for Darius,” he reminded her.
“Except for Darius,” she echoed. Looking sad. “I just wish things could be different for him.”
“Me, too,” Damien said, surprising himself. “Me, too.”
Eve spent Monday morning unable to stop smiling. Despite having to clean up the mess the intruder had made, despite waiting for the glass company to show up and fix her window, she kept thinking about what Damien had let slip the night before.
He cared about her.
What that might mean, she wasn’t sure. However, she was pretty certain they’d moved beyond the friends-with-benefits stage. She definitely had.
Her salon was closed that day, so after a cup of coffee and an English muffin, she tackled cleaning up the mess. She hoped to have her living room back in some semblance of order by lunchtime. Bonnie Gene had offered to help, but Eve really hadn’t wanted her mother fussing with her things. Also, Eve felt that doing this herself might help her heal.
First, she worked on her poor, broken Christmas tree. Once she removed the damaged branches, the formerly stately fir took on a dejected and battered look.
Removing all decorations and garland from it, she vacuumed up pieces of tree and shards of broken ornaments, sorting what was left whole into neat piles on her coffee table.
When she’d finished, she turned the tree again, wondering if she could somehow make it look halfway presentable.
Finally she settled on facing the most broken part back against the wall and fluffing up what would now be the front. Plugging in the lights, she realized she only had to make a minor adjustment to those. Her ornaments were mostly destroyed, but she had a box of pine cones in her garage that she could use. With Christmas only a few days away, she didn’t want to go buy new ornaments now, so she’d improvise.
While the pine cones were drying, she turned her attention to the rest of the room. She’d have to toss a few things that had gotten broken, and she’d have to buy a new lamp, but after cleaning her wall and erasing the warning, she felt she’d done all she could.
Her stomach growled. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was nearly noon.
Her cell phone chirped. Caller ID showed an unknown caller. Eve answered anyway. “Hello?”
“Ten thousand dollars,” a distorted male voice said. “Deposited into your bank account or left on your doorstep, no questions asked, whichever you prefer. You’ll receive this if you are successful in making him leave town.”
Darius Colton. Though she didn’t recognize the voice, who else could it be?
“What?” Though she felt she should have had some witty comeback, Eve was too stunned to do more than stammer. “Who is this?”
“Don’t concern yourself with that,” the voice snarled. “Do you want the money or not?”
She took a deep breath, trying to keep herself from shaking. “Don’t call me again.”
“Twenty-five thousand. That’s my final offer.”
“Are you crazy?” By now she was gripping the phone so tightly it hurt.
“Not crazy, just determined. I want Damien Colton gone by Christmas, and you’ll have an early cash present.”
She pressed the disconnect button without replying.
A moment later, she dialed Damien’s number, heart still pounding.
“I’ll be right there,” he said, when she’d finished relaying the story. “Don’t move.”
He must have driven at twice the speed limit, because barely ten minutes had passed before he rang her doorbell. When she opened the door, he took one look at her face and pulled her into his arms.
“Get your coat. Let’s go somewhere and have a cup of coffee.”
Relieved, she nodded and went to get her jacket. “How’d you know that getting out of the house is exactly what I need?”
Instead of answering, he kissed her cheek.
Because it was after lunch and the donut shop had already closed, they chose the Corner Bar and Grill over the Honey-B Café. After all, it was “their” place.
“We have fresh-baked peach pie,” the waitress told them as she led them to a booth. “Just out of the oven.”
“Sounds lovely.” Eve smiled at the girl. “I’ll take a piece, along with a cup of decaf coffee.”
“Just coffee for me,” Damien said. “Regular.”
After the server left, Eve leaned back in her chair. “Thanks for being so kind,” she said.
“That’s what friends do,” he teased, though she couldn’t read the emotion that darkened his eyes. “And anyway, what happened to you is my fault. I shouldn’t have made you sit with me at the Christmas luncheon.”
Friends. Oddly enough, his words made her want to cry. Damn hormones. Clearing her throat, she managed a smile and a nod as the waitress returned with her pie and their drinks.
“Mmm, pie.” Though her appetite had deserted her, Eve picked up her fork and dug in. When she glanced up, Damien was watching her intently. Meeting his gaze actually made her chest hurt with physical pain.
Fool. Returning her attention to the pie, she made herself go through the motions. Fork to mouth, chew and swallow. Repeat. Though she was sure the peaches were delicious, she couldn’t taste anything.
Once again, she’d fallen in love with a man who thought of her as a friend. And she had no one to blame but herself. After all, she’d set up the rules. Too bad she hadn’t been able to live by them.
The waitress bustled up to the table, standing almost as if she was trying to block them from seeing the door.
“Don’t look now,” she muttered, leaning in close. “But Lucy Walsh just walked in.”
Lucy Walsh was Mark Walsh’s daughter. She’d once been Damien’s girlfriend, before he’d gone to jail for supposedly killing her father. Mark had discovered their relationship and had, according to local gossip, gone ballistic, threatening Damien. Based on thi
s story alone, a jury had convicted Damien of murder and sent him to prison.
These days, Lucy had a lot to deal with. Not only had she learned her father had been alive all these years without contacting her or anyone in the family, but she’d had to cope with his recent murder all over again.
Rumor had it that Lucy had believed Damien guilty and had never gone to see him in prison. Until Eve had been seen in public with him, most of Honey Creek also believed Damien had harbored both an unrequited love for Lucy and an acrid, bitter resentment.
Now it seemed everyone in the Corner Bar wanted to see how Damien would deal with this.
Wary, Eve glanced at Damien. She wasn’t sure how she’d react if he showed signs of pining after Lucy. The waitress, too, watched him intently, no doubt hoping for a reaction.
Appearing both unaware and completely unconcerned, Damien simply lifted his cup and asked for a refill.
Crestfallen, the server walked off to get the coffeepot.
Then, to Eve’s shock, Lucy herself came over to the table.
“Afternoon, Eve. Damien.” A pretty girl, Lucy had a youthful attitude and style of dress that made Eve feel ancient and dowdy.
“Hey, Lucy.” Damien smiled. “How have you been?”
Though Lucy glanced curiously over at Eve, she gave the appearance of being completely at ease. “I’m good. I noticed you both at the Christmas luncheon. Even though I couldn’t make it up there to say hi, I was glad to see you two together.”
It was on the tip of Eve’s tongue to tell her they weren’t together, but she merely nodded.
“Any news on the investigation?” Damien asked.
“Not so far.” Everyone in town knew Lucy was very tuned in to the murder investigation. Some speculated it was to make up for being so ready to believe Damien guilty.
“Well, I won’t take up any more of your time. Merry Christmas to both of you!” With a jaunty wave, Lucy moved off. As she went, everyone in the place alternated between watching her and eyeing Damien and Eve.
“Lucy and I made our peace a while ago,” Damien said, again making Eve feel as if he’d read her mind. “We were both young and foolish. She lost her father and didn’t know who to blame. End of story.”
“I still can’t believe the police haven’t been able to find out who killed him. Of course, there were a lot of people who would want Mark Walsh dead.”
“This time, I suspect they’re being more careful.” His smile tinged with bitterness, Damien eyed her pie. “Aren’t you going to finish?”
“No.” Suddenly feeling queasy, she slid the plate toward him. “Help yourself.”
Flashing her a grin, he picked up his fork and dug right in.
Funny how something so simple as sharing a piece of pie could seem so intimate, so homey. Dang, she was in deep.
Chapter 14
As she’d predicted, the women started dropping by Salon Allegra around ten o’clock Tuesday morning, about an hour after she opened and thirty minutes after her first shampoo and set. Arriving in small groups of two or three, they made no pretense of needing to get a haircut or being interested in purchasing styling products. Instead, they all wanted to know about Eve and Damien.
The first bunch, three elderly ladies from Bonnie Gene’s quilting group, asked Eve point-blank, completely disregarding the fact that she was in the middle of a haircut.
Fortunately, Eve had prepared a standard, noncommittal response. “We’re just good friends,” she said, smiling a carefree smile.
By Tuesday afternoon, not only were her ankles swollen and her back aching, but she thought if one more person asked her about her relationship with Damien, she would scream.
At least she had her work to distract her. Traditionally, the week leading up to Christmas was busy for her little salon. This year was no exception, but as the days flew by, the steady stream of gossip-hungry visitors far eclipsed her appointments.
By Christmas Eve, they’d finally begun to taper off.
For years she’d made it a practice to work only half a day on Christmas Eve, and she had just finished her last appointment. Finally, she could close the shop up and go home, where she had a date with some mulled apple cider.
The phone rang, which, since she had no one else listed for the rest of the day, most likely meant someone wanted to schedule a rush appointment. This happened every holiday. Someone realized they needed highlights or a cut before church services or the big day and panicked.
“Salon Allegra,” Eve answered. Nothing but silence from the other end. Wrong number? “Hello?”
As she was about to hang the phone up, a small sound, almost a cry, close to a gasp, made her freeze.
“Hello?” she said again. This time, instead of silence, someone sobbed. Then the voice—feminine and low—whispered an unintelligible phrase.
Every nerve standing on alert, Eve strained to hear.
Silence.
“I’m sorry? I didn’t understand you.” She kept her voice gentle and soothing. “I couldn’t hear you. Please, what did you say?”
“Help me. Please, help me.” And the phone went dead.
Slowly replacing the receiver, Eve tried to calm her pounding heart. Sharon Colton. It had to be her. She’d said her husband was trying to kill her.
Grabbing her cell phone, she dialed Damien. The call went immediately to voice mail, which probably meant he was out in the mountains checking on cattle. He’d said the ranch typically gave the hands half a day off on Christmas Eve, so they rushed to complete all their chores in the morning.
Pacing the confines of her small reception area, Eve eyed the phone as if she thought the handset might suddenly grow wings. For the first time ever she wished she had caller ID on her business phone.
What to do? Her choices were clear: she could do nothing or she could take a drive out to the Colton ranch and make sure Sharon was all right.
The thought of confronting an enraged Darius Colton was daunting. Then she realized she could call Wes Colton. And say what? That she’d had a mysterious phone call and she wasn’t sure, but she thought it might be his stepmother and oh, by the way, his father might be trying to kill her.
He’d think Eve had lost her mind. No, thank you. Pacing, Eve tried to figure out a course of action—after all, she had her unborn baby to protect. Grabbing her parka, purse and car keys, she had just turned the sign on her door from Open to Closed when the phone rang again.
“Eve?” The voice sounded weak and wavery, but closer to normal. “This is Sharon Colton. I’ve had a bit of an accident with my hair.”
“A bit of an accident?” Eve repeated. “What do you mean?”
Silence, then Sharon Colton answered, her voice low and full of pain. “Darius took scissors to it.” Her breath caught in a sob. “I look a fright and I have to put in an appearance at the big caroling thing tonight. Can you come by and fix me up?”
Cautiously, Eve agreed. “Did you call a second earlier?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Sharon admitted she had. “I’m sorry if I frightened you.”
“You said ‘Help me.’” Choosing her words carefully, Eve tried to figure out what to say. “Are you in need of some help?”
Another short hesitation, then Sharon said, “No.”
“Is he there?”
“Darius?” Sharon gave a short laugh which ended in a hiccup. “No. He went down to his office.”
“Are you hurt?” Eve persisted.
“You know what?” Sharon sighed. “I’m sorry I involved you in this. Forget I called.”
She hadn’t answered Eve’s question.
“Wait, don’t hang up. I’ll come and fix your hair.” Taking a deep breath, Eve tried to think. “That is, if it’s safe for me to be there.”
“Safe?” Weary impatience tinged Sharon’s voice. “Of course it’s safe. Why would he want to hurt you?”
Good question. Unfortunately, Eve kept seeing the rancor in Darius’s stare. Still, the older woman ne
eded help. “I can be out there in twenty minutes, all right?”
“Thank you. And I’m sorry to bother you on Christmas Eve. I’ll double your usual tip for this.”
“That’s okay,” Eve said. Hanging up the phone, she grabbed her parka, locked the door and headed out to her SUV.
An hour of her time doing a Christmas Eve favor to a woman she liked. What could be the harm in that?
Course decided, she headed out.
The drive out to the ranch took fifteen minutes. As she turned down the long driveway leading toward the main house, snowflakes appeared in her headlights. No flurries, these, but a steady, blanketing snowfall that carried the promise of becoming a storm.
Had the weathermen predicted this? She couldn’t remember. In a matter of moments, the wind picked up and the snow started falling in earnest. Though snow was as common as cattle to Montana, snow on Christmas Eve was relatively rare. Magical.
Parking near the barn, she noticed the place seemed almost deserted, the ranch hands having been given the afternoon off so they could begin their holiday early.
Climbing from her SUV, she stood for a moment in the swirling snow, enjoying the crisp purity of the air, the cleansing beauty of the white curtain of snow. Then, she went to the house and rang the front doorbell.
No one came. She pressed the bell again and waited, but no one answered the door. Nerves prickling, she tried the handle, knowing it would be unlocked. Should she go inside or call Sharon on her phone to come let her in?
Remembering the humiliation in the older woman’s voice, she decided to search her out on her own. Stepping into the huge marbled foyer, she closed the door behind her.
Wow. Awestruck for the space of a heartbeat, she gaped at the huge ranch house. Though her family was wealthy in their own right, the Coltons’ ranch house was as different from the Kelley mansion as night and day. Though they were similar in size, there the resemblance ended.
Done in warm tones of oak and cedar, the Coltons’ home exuded warmth and country living. The casual Western style reminded her of their state. Eve always thought Montana’s true spirit was the unusually strong bond between the people, the animals and the land.
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