Marie Ferrarella - The Coltons - Nick, Clay & Jericho

Before Georgie could explain, Emmie turned toward him. “I’ll show you,” the little girl volunteered. She tugged on his jacket. “Well, c’mon. You’ve gotta bend down.”

Feeling awkward, Nick did as the little girl instructed and bent down to her level. She leaned forward and he felt the slight brush of her small, rosebud lips against his cheek. And then there was something more. Just the slightest sensation. He realized that Emmie had turned her face slightly and she was fluttering her eyelashes against his skin, just above where she’d kissed him.

Something warm and nameless materialized within his chest and spread.

Giggling, Emmie danced away on tiptoes, moving toward her next target: Clay. “Your turn, Uncle Clay. Bend down.”

He did and she repeated the brief performance. And then, backing away from her uncle, again on tiptoes, Emmie steepled her small fingers in front of her mouth to hold back another pleased giggle. It escaped anyway. Her laughter was infectious as it filled the air.

“Now I’m good to go,” Clay told her, straightening. The smile left his lips as he raised his head and regarded Nick one last time. “ You call me if anything comes up,” he ordered. “She probably won’t.” He nodded his head toward his sister.

“All right.” It was neither a promise nor lip service. Calling the other man was something he would consider doing or not doing when and if the time came. “By the way,” he began, remembering a lost thread of the conversation. He fell into step with the man as the latter headed toward his parked truck.

Georgie and Emmie stood where they were left, watching and, in Emmie’s case, waving.

Clay didn’t even bother turning around to look at the man addressing him. “Yeah?”

“What is your last name?” Nick asked. “Just for the record.”

Clay didn’t pause until he’d reached his truck. Then he turned and gave him one last long measuring glance. Clay laughed, shaking his head. There was very little humor in the sound. If Nick listened closely, he would have noted a touch of irony.

“You government types do like to keep your ‘records’ straight, don’t you?” Clay mocked. “Okay, ‘just for the record,’ Sheffield, it’s Colton. Clay Colton. Colton, in case you’re wondering, was the name of the no-good, worthless excuse of a man who thought my mother was good enough to warm his sheets, and have his bastards, but wasn’t good enough to marry.”

With that, Clay got into his truck, leaving Nick to stare after him in stunned silence. The name Clay had just uttered echoed over and over again inside Nick’s head.

Colton.

Chapter 9

Nick turned away from the road. Georgie and her daughter were on the steps of the front porch, about to enter the house. He addressed the back of her head.

“Why didn’t you tell me your last name was Colton?”

His question stopped her for a moment, but then she continued walking. She didn’t bother to turn around. “You never asked.”

He followed her into the house. This wasn’t some abstract conversation they were having, this had direct bearing on the reason he was down here and he meant to get to the bottom of it.

Had everything she’d told him up to now been a lie, after all?

“Don’t give me that. Seems to me that only a guilty person would have kept that kind of information back.”

Georgie kept going until she came to the kitchen. Although she knew the state of affairs within her refrigerator—empty—she opened it anyway, just to confirm that her mystery squatter hadn’t left behind any food.

“How about a person who doesn’t share things that are nobody else’s business but their own?” She closed the refrigerator door a little harder than she needed to and squared her shoulders in an unconscious, defensive movement. Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t see you telling me about your parents, or lack thereof.”

She added the latter as she thought of her absentee father. The one she’d never met or even heard from—until just recently. For some reason, out of the blue, Graham Colton had materialized, saying he wanted to make amends for his past behavior. Had her mother been alive, she would have tried to find the good in the man, but her mother was gone. The time for mending fences was long gone. She was doing just fine without having the man in her life at this stage. And she intended to continue that way.

Nick set his jaw hard as he pointed out the obvious. “I’m not the one sending threatening e-mails to a United States Senator.”

Georgie whirled around on her heel, her hands fisted at her waist to keep from taking a swing at this infuriating man.

“Well, funny you should say that because neither am I and the sooner you get that through your thick head, the sooner both of us will be happy and you can be on your way.”

Gleaning what she needed to from her mother’s words, Emmie turned her big green eyes up to the man in the black suit. “You’re not gonna help my mama?”

Nick had never spent much time dealing with children. Consequently, he had no idea what to make of them and it had been so long since he’d even had a childhood. But he knew hurt when he saw it. He knew an accusatory tone when he heard it, and Emmie Grady—or Colton—was wielding both like a well-trained samurai swinging his sword.

Georgie draped her arm protectively over the little girl’s slim shoulders. “He’s gonna help mama by leaving, baby,” she told her daughter. Looking at Nick, she said, “There’s your hat, there’s your car, what’s your hurry?” uttering the ironic line to usher him along on his way. She might have known better.

“No hurry,” he responded, then regarded Emmie, “And yes, I’m going to help your mama.” Because, he added silently, this all somehow went together.

To his surprise, Emmie took his hand and began to pull him toward the living room, her small face a wreath of smiles. “I knew you would.”

Georgie sighed. Maybe Emmie saw some good in him she was missing. At any rate, she seemed to be stuck with the man for a while. Yes, she’d told her brother that Sheffield could stay at her place, but that was just to restore her independence, her authority over herself in case Clay wanted to institute some form of martial law over her life. She’d silently hoped that Sheffield would leave once her brother did. No such luck, it seemed.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting lunch.”

“Eventually,” Nick allowed. And then he realized what she was saying. He eyed her sharply. “Don’t bother yourself. I’ll go into town and grab something to eat. You do have a restaurant in Esperanza, right?”

She thought of the one where her mother had worked all those long hours after giving up her career on the rodeo circuit. The rodeo had been her mother’s first love, but she had given it all up for them, for Clay, Ryder and her, to give them a stable home life. Georgie couldn’t help wondering if her mother had ever regretted what she’d done.

She had a feeling she knew the answer.

“Yes, we have a restaurant in Esperanza, a damn decent one, too, but I’ve got to go back into town to get some food for Emmie and me. I might as well feed you, too,” she told him.

Georgie was annoyed with herself for not tending to that, too, when she’d gone into town earlier. But discovering that she was flat broke had made her forget the basics. Like the importance of stocking her pantry and refrigerator.

It was time she got a grip on herself and started functioning like the independent woman she was, not like some scatterbrained woman she wasn’t.

Grabbing the keys she’d left on the table, Georgie gestured toward her daughter. “C’mon, Emmie, we’ve got to go back into town.”