Beth Cornelison - Colton Christmas Protector

He trotted down the grand staircase in his family’s mansion, the crown jewel sitting at the heart of their working ranch, Colton Valley Ranch. Although he’d invested in an apartment in Austin, a lake house that he used as a secret getaway and a condo in Aspen for weekends when he wanted to ski, he still spent most of his time at the family ranch.

Truth be told, he didn’t want to move out. The daily histrionics and chaos of the family mansion were better than any British TV drama or American reality show. And despite all their nutty, backstabbing, snobbish ways, he knew he’d miss his family if he moved out. How could he live alone after growing up in this twisted version of the Brady Bunch? He’d really be bored then. And lonely.

Seeing his siblings pairing off with their soul mates and moving on with their lives in recent months had sharpened his sense of being alone, even in the midst of the hustle, bustle and drama of Colton Valley Ranch. The coming Christmas holiday only emphasized his feelings of idleness and solitude. Reid didn’t do bored well. His restlessness was building, and he knew he needed an outlet for his frustrations over his stalled life and the stagnant investigation concerning Eldridge. Something had to give, or he’d lose it.

Speaking of losing it...he thought as he strolled into the kitchen in search of coffee and found his mother dabbing at her eyes and bawling into a napkin at the breakfast-nook table.

“Mother?” he said warily, not really wanting to get caught up in one of her tedious emotional rants, but unable to completely ignore her tears. “What’s wrong?”

Whitney raised her head and gave him a bleary glance from green eyes rimmed with smeared mascara. “What do you think is wrong? I miss my Dridgey-pooh.”

Reid clenched his back teeth. “I’ve asked you not to call him that around me. It’s a little too nauseating, especially at this hour of the morning.”

She lifted her chin and gave a haughty sniff. “Well, you certainly got up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Reid ignored her rebuttal and lifted the coffee carafe to examine the sludge that remained in the pot. “Bettina?” he called and the family cook scuttled out from the prep room adjoining the kitchen.

“Yes, sir? Would you like me to fix you some eggs or sausage?”

He shook his head. “Just some fresh coffee, please. I’m not hungry.”

Bettina got busy brewing a new pot of coffee, and Reid strolled over to the table where his mother sat with the newspaper.

“Was there something in the paper about Eldridge?” He nodded to the folded Dallas Morning News by her tea mug.

“No,” Whitney answered with a pout, still wiping her eyes and sniffling. “Everyone seems to have forgotten he’s still missing except me!”

“No one’s forgotten, Mother. We just haven’t had any new leads to follow up in a few days. Instead of crying, you should be happy the burned body they found wasn’t Eldridge.”

The previous month, thanks to a tip from Hugh Barrington, a body was recovered from a car wreck and was believed to be the Colton patriarch’s corpse...long enough for Eldridge’s will to be read. But further inquiries proved the body’s ID had been faked, putting the search for Reid’s father back to square one.

“I am glad the body wasn’t his,” Whitney replied, squaring her shoulders. “And don’t tell me how to feel!” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You could stand to be a little more upset over Dridgey—over Eldridge’s disappearance. He’s you father, after all. Don’t you care—”

“Save it!” he said holding up a hand. “I’m in no mood for a lecture.”

“Reid! Don’t you think—”

“Pardon me, ma’am.”

Reid silently thanked the butler, Aaron Manfred, for his interruption and sneaked back over to the counter to hover by the coffeepot. He shouldn’t have had Bettina brew a new pot just for him. He could have made a Starbucks run. It wasn’t like he had anything else on his calendar today.

“I was hoping I might be able to take the evening off tonight.”

“Again?” Whitney snapped.

“Yes, ma’am.” Aaron gave a quick nod, clearly unrattled by Whitney’s waspishness. But then, Aaron had been dealing with the moody and snobbish Coltons for as long as Reid could remember. “Moira will be here and will be happy to help you with anything that should arise.”

“But why? What do you—” Whitney clamped her lips together and flapped a hand at the man. “Oh, go ahead. It’s not like my husband is here to need you.”

And with that statement, she ducked her head and began sobbing again. “Oh, Dridgey-pooh!”

With an impatient grunt, Reid snatched the coffeepot from the maker before it finished brewing and poured himself a steaming mugful. “I’m going out.”

He didn’t know where, but he had to get out of the claustrophobic atmosphere of the mansion. Maybe as a favor to his mother, to the whole family really, he’d check up on the progress of the search for Eldridge. Or better yet, he’d do some searching of his own. The case was growing as cold as their frost-dusted ranch pastures. No more procrastinating. The time had come for someone to break this case. If the police were going to drag their feet, then Reid would find his father by himself.

Chapter 2

Penelope Barrington Clark stood in the threshold of Andrew’s office/man cave and gathered her courage. She’d procrastinated cleaning out the room as long as she could. Immediately after his death, well-meaning friends had offered to help her with the painful task, but she’d put them off. How could she possibly throw out or give away all the things Andrew had owned, touched, cherished? Wasn’t it bad enough he was gone? Losing all of the possessions that cluttered his home office would have added salt to her wounds.

But the house had sold more quickly than she’d anticipated it would. She and Nicholas were downsizing, moving to a more affordable home. Ironic that she, a Barrington, needed to worry about finances, but she refused to take a dime from her wealthy father, and Andrew’s death benefit from the police department didn’t cover the mortgage and all her expenses. She knew she’d have to get a job, was all right with the idea, but she’d put it off. She’d wanted to dedicate as much time to Nicholas while he was young as she could. He would only be a toddler once, and she couldn’t stand the idea of missing any of his baby days.

The new house needed work, but it was in an outlying area with good schools and plenty of parks with playgrounds where Nicholas could run and climb as he grew older.

Andrew will never see Nicholas start kindergarten or jump out of a swing. The kamikaze thought shot straight to her heart with a sharp, piercing ache. She squeezed her eyes shut and balled her hands at her sides as she forced the stray thought down, tucked it away. If only she could pack up the random painful reminders and reflections like shards of a broken mirror to be discarded forever. Time was supposed to heal her wounds, but eighteen months after Andrew’s death, she still groped her way through the morass of memories and unexpected flashes of insight that dragged her down like quicksand.

She shook her head and steeled herself with a deep breath. Just do this. Get it over with.

Rolling the tension from her shoulders, Penelope strode into the man cave/office and moved an empty box to the top of Andrew’s desk for easier packing. She could start with the ugly stuff, the tacky things, the dear-God-what-were-you-thinking items. They would be the easiest to get rid of, she figured. From there, she could work her way up to sorting through the commendation awards for heroism from the police department, the family pictures, the personal papers and sentimental items that screamed Andrew.