Colton's Christmas Baby (7 page)

Since it was either that or listen to her complain, Damien nodded and pulled open the door, holding it for his sister and trying like hell not to notice how everyone in the store
suddenly became busy doing something else. Something that made it impossible for him to catch their eyes.

Once again he stopped in his tracks, forgetting Maisie still clutched his arm and nearly causing her to fall.

“What's wrong now?” she asked.

Gesturing around the place, he shook his head. “I know you claim it doesn't bother you, but it does me.”

“What does?” she asked, appearing honestly perplexed.

“This.” Gesturing toward the packed store, he shook his head. “The way they act like I have a communicable disease.”

“You'll be fine.” Her firm, no-nonsense voice told him if she willed him to be fine, then he would. “Honestly, don't let them bother you.”

“Easy for you to say. Coming to town makes me feel more like a criminal than prison did.”

Maisie shot him a sideways glance. “It's not going to change any time soon, so get used to it.”

He stopped, staring down at her. “That's where you're wrong, Maisie. I don't have to get used to it. And, like I've told you before, I'm leaving and you're welcome to come with me when I go.”

Shaking her head, she only smiled and continued shopping.

 

After she'd finished her lunch with her mother, Eve switched her truck to four-wheel drive, glad she already had her snow chains on, and headed home, reveling in the bright white silence of the falling snow. Soon, if the storm gathered the strength the weathermen predicted, there'd be whiteout conditions, and no one would be going anywhere. But for now, it was a pretty typical Montana snowfall. Pretty, but nothing to get excited about.

At the house, she let Max, her boxer, out, smiling as the big, goofy fawn-colored dog bounded about, trying to catch the flakes in his mouth, whirling and bouncing and rolling in the snow. Watching him, with her gloved hands cradled protectively over her stomach, her worries fell away as if they'd never existed.

She smiled, her heart full. This dog was good for her soul.

The snowfall, now just a normal winter storm, was supposed to intensify as the night went on, eventually becoming a full-out blizzard, what the locals called a blue norther. A common enough occurrence in Montana in December. She had plenty of firewood, a pantry stocked full of food, and she wouldn't have to worry if she couldn't get into town to replenish her supplies.

Max bounded up, tail wagging, reminding her with a soft woof that it was his supper time.

“Come on, boy.”

Inside, she poured the big dog a bowl of kibble. She kept an extra thirty-pound bag for occasions like this.

While her dog feasted, she found herself again thinking about Damien Colton. His aloof loneliness acted like an invisible lure, making her want to get closer.

Bad, bad Eve.

Still, she knew he had no friends. Everyone could use a friend and she was lonely. What would be the harm in that?

So she decided later to head into town and stop by the Corner Bar for a drink, despite the impending blizzard. Weather forecasts were often wrong and if they weren't, any Montana native worth their salt could drive in a snowstorm. If Damien was there, she'd join him.

She chose to ignore the fact that her heart rate accelerated at the thought.

 

“You're going back into town?” Maisie sounded incredulous. “We've only been back a few hours and you bitched the entire time we were there.”

Before Damien could answer, Jeremy jumped up.

“Can I go with you, Uncle Damien?”

Gazing down into his nephew's bright eyes, Damien Colton glanced at his sister, Maisie. Her intense aqua gaze unfocused, she shrugged, in her own careless way giving permission.

Unfortunately, no way in hell he was bringing his fourteen-year-old nephew to a bar, even one like the Corner Bar and Grill.

“Not this time,” Damien said. “Snow's on the way.”

“So?” Maisie drawled. “Since when do we let a little snow stop us?”

“Maybe next time.” Damien felt guilty disappointing his nephew, but he had no choice.

“Why not?” Jeremy challenged. “Mom gave me some money. I've got to get my Christmas shopping done, too.”

“I'm not going shopping,” Damien answered. “Sorry.”

Maisie perked up at that. “Then where are you going?”

“Out for a drink.” He squeezed his nephew's shoulder. Though he'd rather be dragged over broken glass than go shopping again, he had to do something to wipe the disappointment from the kid's face. “I'll take you tomorrow after school, okay?”

Jeremy nodded. “That'll work. I've got homework to do tonight anyway.” Pushing back his chair, he got up and wandered off.

“He idolizes you, you know,” Maisie pointed out, still absorbed in painting her fingernails a bright scarlet, apparently to match the cashmere sweater she wore.
“Ever since you got out of prison, all he ever talks about is you.”

Damien frowned. “He has better examples in Duke, Wes and Finn.”

Smiling, Maisie glanced toward the den at the twelve-foot-tall Christmas tree. Decked out all in silver and white with twinkling lights, the tree appeared to glow. “I don't know about that. I trust my son's judgment. Just don't disappoint him, okay?”

“I won't.” Of all the family, Jeremy was the person Damien most enjoyed being with.

“Now tell me.” Maisie cocked her head, eyeing him with interest. “Do you actually have a date or are you going trolling?”

“Trolling?”

“As in fishing. For a woman.”

For half a second he thought of Wes saying he should ask Maisie to set him up. Just as quickly, he discounted that plan. Bad idea.

“Neither,” he lied. “I'm simply going to town to have a drink. The Rollaboys are playing at the Corner Bar tonight.”

“Oooh!” Maisie clapped her hands. “I can't believe I forgot that. I may go up there myself later.”

Damn. Now he felt obligated to offer. “Do you want to go with me?”

She grinned. “No, but thanks for asking. I wouldn't want to cramp your style. Plus I want to make sure Darius isn't on the warpath. No way I'm leaving Jeremy here to fend for himself if our father is working into a good drunk.”

“Smart move.” He touched her arm. “Then I guess I'll be going.”

“You'd stand a better chance of getting lucky if you drove up to Bozeman.”

“I know.” He raised a brow. “The question is, how did you know?”

Lifting one shoulder, she smiled. “You're not the only one with needs. None of the men in this town will date me.”

“You seemed to be doing all right with that Gary Jackson.”

“Oh, him.” Her smile widened. “He's new in town and apparently doesn't believe all he hears. He and I have a date this Friday.”

“Good for you.”

“Yeah.” Her smile tinged with sadness, she put the cap back on the bottle of nail polish. “I'll make it last as long as I can. Until I freak out over something and he takes off running.”

“Maise.” He touched the back of her hand. “Have you considered getting some help?”

Maisie's gaze slid away. “I don't need help,” she muttered. “I'm a little moody, that's all. Leave me alone.”

Before he could respond, she turned and stalked off.

Stalemate. Again.

He reminded himself he couldn't fix the world. Hell, he couldn't even repair his own problems—why did he think he could help anyone else?

T
his Friday night was clear, crisp and cold. Eve drove into town feeling oddly reluctant, restless and not sure why. Since Damien Colton's handsome face kept popping into her mind, she figured the restlessness had a lot to do with her unfulfilled desire for him.

The parking lot was full. She lucked out into a spot near the entrance and parked, glad she'd taken extra care with her appearance.

At the door, she paused and surveyed the packed bar. Because she'd called ahead, the bartender had put a reserved sign on her regular booth and she headed for it, blowing him a kiss on her way.

Once he brought her Shirley Temple, Eve sat back and surveyed the scene. She waved at a family she knew as they snagged one of the last empty tables remaining. Unlike the other night, the bar was crowded. Even at 8:00 p.m., when the dinner rush would be beginning to die down, people
milled in both the restaurant and around the bar area, elbow to elbow.

Tables were filling up fast. Tonight, the Rollaboys were playing. A local country-and-western band that had made good in Nashville, they'd returned home to visit family for the holidays and, following Honey Creek tradition, would play a free concert at the Corner Bar.

Since entertainment in their little town was pretty much limited to church nativity plays, ranchers and townspeople alike filled the room. The Rollaboys played an upbeat mix of country and rock that was enjoyed by all.

As the fifth person stopped by to chat with her, remarking excitedly on the band, Eve wondered if she should leave. She'd actually managed to forget the band was playing and would probably have stayed home if she'd remembered. She'd dated Ian Murphy, the Rollaboys' lead singer, on and off for two years a while back. The relationship had ended badly, with Eve refusing Ian's marriage proposal. She'd liked him well enough, and they were certainly compatible, but his lifestyle was the opposite of what she wanted for herself. She'd thought she'd been perfectly realistic, though Ian hadn't taken the breakup well.

She wondered if she should leave before Ian saw her. But the contrast between her big, empty house and the packed, boisterous bar was dramatic and she decided to stay. After all, it had been eighteen months since the breakup. Surely Ian had moved on by now. Deciding to stay, she settled back in her booth, hoping the shadows would keep her out of view of the stage.

Used to Eve's solitary ways, everyone waved and continued on to meet their group. A few people stopped by to chat briefly, but no one asked if they could join her.

Glad to be seated alone, Eve couldn't help but watch the door for Damien.

The waitress brought her another Shirley Temple. Eve found ordering them amusing since she associated them with Christmas. As a child, Bonnie Gene had served them to the Kelley kids in crystal wineglasses, always with a cherry as garnish. Eve planned to continue this tradition with her child when he or she was old enough.

The thought was enough to make her misty-eyed. Looking down at the table, she dabbed her eyes with her napkin, knowing she had to regain her composure quickly before someone noticed.

“Enjoying your Shirley Temple?”

The deep voice jolted Eve right out of her melancholy. She looked up and met Damien Colton's velvet-brown eyes. To her disbelief, she blushed and her heart skipped a beat.

“It's a seven and seven,” she corrected out of habit, then realized as his smile widened that she'd said exactly the same thing the last time they'd met. Now he knew the truth. Had it been only yesterday?

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.

Her insides fluttered as she seriously considered his question. She glanced around, aware that the second he sat down the gossip would start. Finally, she shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

“Worried someone will see you talking to me?” He remained standing, balanced on the balls of his feet as though he meant to flee.

“Maybe.” She owed him honesty, at least. “But not for the reason you think. Sit.”

He studied her face for a moment, then slid into the booth across from her. “You really don't care?”

“They're going to gossip no matter what, so why not give them something to talk about?” Finding herself smiling, she leaned back in the booth. She realized she liked the
way he made her feel. The sizzle of desire combined with a comforting sense of connection.

He smiled back, warming her down to the soles of her feet. “Aren't you worried about what they'll say?”

“Not really. Besides, even if you were Maisie, they'd talk. Because you're a Colton and I'm a Kelley, you know? Though I confess, I never actually bought into that whole feud thing like your sister did.”

His smile dimmed. “Not only that. They're not going to like you sitting with me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I'm an ex-con.”

Incredulous, she could only stare. “Everyone knows you were exonerated. Mark Walsh wasn't even really dead.”

“Someone was,” he said grimly. “And though they used circumstantial evidence to convict me of a crime I didn't commit, no one seems to care about who the actual dead guy was or who killed him.”

“Ah.” She leaned forward, her earlier discomfort completely forgotten. “But you want to know.”

“You'd better believe I do.” Signaling the waitress, he held up his empty beer bottle. “I can't help but wonder if Mark Walsh himself set up the killing so he could disappear.”

“That makes sense.” Fascinated, she leaned forward. “But why? And now that Mark Walsh really is dead—fifteen years later—everyone is wondering who killed him this time.”

“At least they can't pin it on me this time. I was already behind bars.”

Impulsively, she reached across the table and laid her hand over his. “I'm so sorry. That must have been awful.”

For a moment he simply stared at her, his expression
dark and unreadable. Abruptly, he stood, pulling his hand away as if her touch burned him. “It was. That's why as soon as I can, I'm leaving town. Excuse me,” he growled. “I'll be right back.”

Leaving town? She watched him cross the room, his masculine stride forceful and, if she admitted the truth to herself, sexy as hell. But then, even back in high school, she'd always had a thing for Damien Colton. Even her mom had been able to see that.

She smiled to herself at the memory. She'd been one of the popular kids, a cheerleader and a senior when she'd turned a corner with an armload of books and crashed into him. The attraction had been instant and hot and it hadn't seemed to matter a bit that Damien was a lowly freshman. She'd had a secret crush on him. Apparently, Damien hadn't felt the same. Of course, at the time, she'd been dating Mike Straum, the ex-quarterback of the football team. Kind of intimidating to anyone, even a Colton. Not to mention that Damien had started seeing Lucy Walsh.

Except one night at a field party, she'd had too much to drink and somehow, gloriously, she and Damien had ended up in the backseat of his truck.

When Damien had been arrested for Mark Walsh's murder, she'd been stunned and had protested loudly and often. Finally, Bonnie Gene took her aside and explained she wasn't helping Damien by complaining. If she truly believed him innocent, then she needed to try and figure out a way she could actually help him.

But someone else wanted Damien Colton convicted quickly. The trial had steamrolled on and he'd been railroaded right into prison. Then, the only thing Eve had been able to do was write him a letter, asking him if she could come visit.

Damien had never responded. Eve had decided to go visit him anyway, but Bonnie Gene persuaded her not to.

She'd always regretted that.

Still, moving away? She guessed the ever-present censure of their small town had proven too much for him.

Damien returned, sliding into the booth across from her and pinning her with his gaze. “Where were we?”

“We were talking about the murders.”

“Yes. You asked why Mark Walsh would fake his own death. I think when they find that out, a lot of the other pieces will fall into place. But right now, no one seems to know. Not even my own brother, and he's the sheriff.”

“Look on the bright side. At least you're lucky enough to have a brother who
is
the sheriff. That way, you'll find out as soon as they learn anything.”

“Pollyanna,” he mocked softly. “Are you always so upbeat?”

“So I've been told. I tend to wear rose-colored glasses. That's one of my biggest faults.”

His gaze locked with hers. After a moment, he laughed. “You don't even sound too upset about that. So tell me, Ms. Glass-half-full-kind-of-person. What brings you out to the Corner Bar on yet another cold, snowy night?”

“I'm a barfly,” she said flippantly, trying to get her stomach to quit doing somersaults inside her. “I hang out in bars because that's what I do.”

“No, you're not. If you were a real barfly, you'd be constantly on the prowl for men.”

“Maybe that's what I'm doing with you,” she teased back.

Staring at her, his eyes darkened. Immediately after tossing off the words, she wished she could call them back. She used to be so good at flirting. Apparently, she'd
completely lost her touch. And why did she want to flirt with Damien Colton anyway?

“Dangerous territory.” His low, deep growl confirming her thought should have made her want to back off, but instead, it thrilled her in some deep, visceral way.

As she searched her mind for a response, a loud guitar riff sounded and the bartender stepped up to the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together and welcome home our friends the Rollaboys!”

The room erupted in cheers.

The music made talking at less than a shout impossible, so, as the dance floor filled, Eve sat back and enjoyed the music. She took care to stay in the shadows, ensuring that Ian couldn't see her and making sure not to make eye contact with him.

The first two songs were rollicking, boot-stomping numbers. After Ian addressed the crowd, the band segued into a slow, romantic ballad, making Eve sigh. “One Heart Too Heavy” had always been one of her favorites.

“Eve?”

Suddenly, she realized that Damien had gotten to his feet and now stood beside her.

Leaning in close, he spoke directly into her ear, his warm breath tickling her and making her shiver.

“Care to dance?” He held out his hand.

She eyed the mass of bodies swaying to the steel guitar. Suddenly, she didn't care if Ian saw her, if anyone saw her. She wanted Damien. Wanted to be held in Damien's muscular arms, to feel his broad chest against her cheek. The town would talk, Ian would most likely notice her, but she realized she actually didn't care.

For an answer, she slipped her hand into his and let him pull her out onto the dance floor.

 

Intensely aware of his unruly body, Damien briefly cursed himself for his foolishness. He should have known better. Then Eve looked up at him, her bright-blue eyes luminous with happiness, and he didn't care. She felt good in his arms—warm and curvy and…right. If holding her close meant he had to work to keep from becoming too aroused, then so be it.

The music went sweet, then sad, full of melancholy. For Damien, the music barely registered, other than a beat to which to move his feet. Eve Kelley, melting in his arms, was as close to heaven as he'd ever been.

The song finished and rather than launching into another, Ian, the lead singer, announced they were taking a ten-minute break.

Heart pounding, Damien led Eve off the dance floor and back to their booth. He couldn't believe how strongly she affected him. Obviously, he didn't have the same effect on her.

“That was nice,” she smiled up at him. “I haven't had this much fun in a long time. “

“Take your hands off her,” a male voice shouted.

They both turned. Ian Murphy. Fists clenched, complexion mottled, the other man looked ready to fight.

Still pressed close into Damien's side, Eve groaned. “Cut it out, Ian.”

Instead, Ian moved closer, his mouth twisted with disapproval. “What are you doing with him? For Chrissake, Eve. He's an ex-con! I've only been back in town a few days, but even I've heard about him.”

At the other man's words, Damien took a step forward. Eve's gentle squeeze on his arm stopped him.

“He was wrongfully convicted, Ian.” To Damien's disbelief, she moved even closer to him, as if she wanted to
meld into his side. “And who I date is absolutely none of your business.”

Ian's fair complexion turned a violent shade of red, but instead of arguing or, worse, picking a fight he'd surely lose, he spun around and stormed off.

Damien would have welcomed the fight, though it wouldn't have helped his status around Honey Creek.

Next to him, he felt Eve relax. “I think I'd better leave.”

“Old flame?” he asked, keeping his tone light.

“Really old. We dated before he went off to Nashville and made it big. That was eighteen months ago.”

Back at their table, she gathered her purse and coat. “I'm sorry, Damien. I'd really better go.”

Unable to help himself, he caught her arm. “Let me go with you.”

As she peered up at him, her pupils dilated, and he caught his breath. Finally, she gave the slightest of nods. “Come on then.”

He didn't wait to be asked twice.

 

On the way to the door, Eve had second thoughts. And again as she climbed in her truck. What on earth was she thinking? Half of the Corner Bar would have noted her and Damien leaving together. Worse, since he was following her home in his vehicle, if anyone drove past her house…

Stop it. Stop it right now. She was lonely, he was lonely. They wanted each other and were both adults. What would be the harm?

As long as Damien understood this could only be physical. No strings. Why borrow trouble when she already had enough of her own?