Marie Ferrarella - The Coltons - Nick, Clay & Jericho

“Win,” Georgie answered tersely. “You’d better like your coffee black,” she informed him, raising her voice as she walked into the small, functional kitchen and poured water into the battered coffee pot. “Because I don’t have any milk handy. The last of it was used to drown a few chocolate chip cookies who were minding their own business about five hours ago.”

Georgie looked at her daughter and grinned, remembering the snack they’d shared during the impromptu picnic she’d arranged for the little girl. She’d done it to lift Emmie’s spirits because her daughter had been so sad about leaving the rodeo circuit. Georgie had talked at length about the ranch in glowing terms, reminding her daughter about all the people who loved her and were looking forward to celebrating her fifth birthday next week right here in Esperanza. By the time the cookies were gone, Emmie couldn’t wait to get home.

“Black’ll do fine,” he told her.

As he watched, he saw Georgie stretch up on her toes, trying to reach the two white mugs on the top shelf. Crossing over to her, he took the mugs down and placed them on the counter. Georgie scooped them up and made her way back to the hearth.

He found himself following her.

Nick could feel Emmie’s eyes boring into him, suspiciously watching his every move like some stunted hawk.

“This doesn’t change anything,” he warned Georgie, referring to her effort at hospitality by making him something to drink.

“It’s coffee, not a magic elixir,” she responded. “I didn’t think it was going to turn you into a prince. I’m just being neighborly.”

“I’m not your neighbor.”

“And for that, I am eternally grateful,” Georgie told him. With the coffee brewing, she turned her attention to the center of her universe, her daughter. “Okay, Miss Emmie,” she took Emmie’s hand, “time to get you ready for bed.”

But Emmie wiggled her hand out of her mother’s grasp. Her large green eyes darted toward the stranger in their house, then back at her mother. “Mama, please?” Emmie pleaded.

In tune with her daughter, Georgie didn’t need Emmie to spell it out for her. She could all but read her mind. Tired or not, there was no way the little girl was going to fall asleep a full three rooms away from here. Emmie was far too agitated about what was going on. She stood a better chance of having her daughter nodding off here, safely in her company.

Georgie surrendered without firing a shot. “Okay, pumpkin, take the sofa.”

Relief highlighted the thousand-watt smile. Emmie wiggled onto the leather couch. “Thank you, Mama,” she said happily.

Other than his own horrific childhood, Nick hadn’t been around kids for more than a minute here or there. He had absolutely no experience when it came to dealing with them. Nor did he really want any. Kids had their own kind of logic and he had no time to unscramble that.

But his gut told him that what had just transpired was wrong from a discipline point of view. “You always let her win?” he asked Georgie.

Georgie watched him for a long moment, debating whether to tell him to butt out. But saying so wouldn’t be setting a good example for her daughter. “I pick my battles,” she told him. And, to be honest, she felt better being able to watch over Emmie right now. She didn’t fully trust this character, Secret Service agent or not. “Arguing over everything never gets you anywhere.”

“You could have fooled me.”

“I have no desire to fool you, Mr. Secret Service agent—”

“My name’s Nick Sheffield.” He knew he was telling her needlessly. After all, she’d read as much on his ID—if she bothered reading it.

Georgie started again from the top. “I have no desire to fool you, Nick Sheffield,” she told him. “I just want you to go away.”

That made two of them, but under a different set of circumstances. “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen right now,” he informed her tersely.

Georgie sighed. “So much for my lucky streak continuing.”

Behind her, the coffee pot had stopped percolating. She turned toward it, and, taking the two mugs she’d brought with her from the kitchen, she poured thick, black liquid into both. She set the pot back on its perch and brought the mugs over to him. Georgie offered him one.

He took it from her a bit leerily and she laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to pour it onto your lap.” She couldn’t resist a quick glance in that area. “Although the thought did cross my mind.”

Thank God for small favors, he thought. But she’d stirred his curiosity. “Why not?”

“Because if I did that,” she said only after she’d paused to swallow a mouthful, “then you’d think I was guilty. And I’m not,” she pointed out.

“What if I think it anyway?”

“Then you’re dumb,” she told him simply. “Because that means that you’re either not looking at the evidence—or ignoring it.”

No, he thought, wrapping his hands around the mug, he had to admit that he wasn’t looking at the evidence at the moment. He was looking at her. And God help him, he did like what he saw.

Chapter 4

Moving back toward the fireplace, Georgie pushed the coffee pot back on the grating. He heard her ask, “To your liking?” The woman didn’t even bother looking over her shoulder as she carelessly tossed the words at him.

The question, coming out of the blue, caught him completely off guard. Was she referring to herself? Did she somehow sense that he was watching her, or was his reflection alerting her to the fact that he was studying her?

“What?”

“The coffee.” Turning around, she nodded at the mug he was still holding in both hands. “Is it to your liking?”

Lost in his thoughts, some of which he shouldn’t be having, Nick hadn’t sampled the coffee yet. To rectify that, he took a sip—and discovered he had to practically chew the mouthful before he could swallow it. Accustomed to the coffee from a lucrative chain this offering she had prepared tasted almost raw to him. It certainly brought every nerve ending in his body to attention.

Nick cleared his throat after finally swallowing what he had in his mouth. He looked at her incredulously as she sipped, unfazed, from her mug.

“It’s a little thick, don’t you think?” he asked, pushing out each word. Was it coffee, or had she substituted tar?

Georgie seemed mildly surprised at his comment. “Most men I know like their coffee strong.”

“You might not realize it, but there’s a difference between strong coffee and asphalt.”

Georgie lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to,” she told him, reaching for the mug.

He drew the mug back out of her reach, knowing that to surrender it would somehow diminish him in her eyes. Nick had a feeling he was going to need all the edge he could get.

“That’s okay,” he assured the woman. “I’ll drink it.”

Nick saw a slight, amused smile curve the corners of her mouth. He had the uncomfortable feeling she was looking right through him. “Nobody said ‘I double-dog-dare you,’ Mr. Secret Service agent—sorry, ‘Mr. Sheffield,’” she corrected herself. “If you don’t like the coffee, don’t drink it.”

He held on to the mug anyway. “Just takes some getting used to.” Like you , he added silently. Looking around at the darkened room, he changed the topic. “You really turned off the electricity.”

A little slow on the uptake, aren’t you, Sheffield? But she kept the observation to herself and replied, “That’s what I said.”

Then how had she sent those e-mails? he caught himself wondering. Eyeing her thoughtfully, Nick came up with the only alternative he could think of off the top of his head. “Then you took your computer with you?”