Colton Christmas Protector. Beth Cornelison
hair.
“I can handle him on my own, Father,” Pen grated, turning her chilly stare on Hugh. “I don’t need a keeper. And if I did, it certainly would not be you. Not after you defended a Colton, took his side over Andrew’s. I’ll never forgive you for standing behind a Colton instead of my husband!”
If Reid had wondered whether the strained relationship between Hugh Barrington and his daughter had been set aside during this family crisis, he had his answer. A resounding no.
Pen whirled away from the men and stalked off, her chin high and her mouth pressed in a taut line of fury. She made a beeline to the waiting black Cadillac, where the funeral director stood with the back door open. A woman Reid thought he recognized from one of the Clarks’ barbecues—a neighbor or college friend of Pen’s maybe?—stood next to the Cadillac, as well, holding Pen’s six-month-old son, Nicholas. Penelope took her son from the woman, kissing his forehead and cradling him close. She took a moment to hug the baby, her eyes closed and cheek against his hair. Reid could see her body visibly relax as she held Nicholas, her baby’s presence clearly calming her frayed nerves. Finally, she raised her head and sent one last backward glance to her husband’s casket. Where Reid still stood. Watching her.
Her chest heaved with a deep sigh or a sob that she’d tried to choke down, then she spun away and slid into the backseat of the Cadillac. The funeral director closed the door, climbed in the front passenger side and the black vehicle pulled away.
A hollow pang assailed Reid’s chest as the car carried Pen away. As inappropriate as it was, especially here at his former partner’s graveside, he couldn’t ignore the facts. Pen hated him, blamed him for Andrew’s death. And he still harbored an undeniable lust for Penelope Barrington Clark.
Eighteen months later
The bitter tones of a woman sobbing set off alarm bells for Reid as he left his suite one morning in December the following year. His family had endured no shortage of tragedy, danger and suspicion of late, and the fact that a woman was crying somewhere on the first floor of the mansion didn’t bode well. On the other hand, his mother, Whitney, was known for her theatrics and overreactions, and the voice sounded like hers. He’d never been close to either of his parents, and for the last several years, he’d demonstrated as much by addressing them by their first names.
“Now what?” he mumbled to himself as he closed the door of his upstairs suite and headed toward the kitchen to find a late breakfast. He hated the prickle of dread that bad news waited downstairs. Was it his father, Eldridge? Was there bad news on his whereabouts?
Early this summer, his elderly father had gone missing from his bedroom in the main house of the ranch. Foul play was suspected, and speculation and suspicion had been thrown about within the family for the last six months with little real progress other than to eliminate several of his siblings as suspects. Reid had dabbled at finding his father, kept abreast of the investigation, but he still had a bad taste in his mouth for the police and their crime investigations based on the way his own case had been handled. Frustration over how the search for his missing father had stalled ate at him most days, but he knew what local law enforcement would say if he tried to intervene. Leave it alone, Reid. You’re not a cop anymore.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t still itch to take over the investigation and show the incompetents handling the case how effective detective work was done.
The glimmer of winter sun streaking through the foyer windows told him how late in the morning it had gotten while he lolled in bed and took his lingering hot shower. He used to be an early riser. He used to religiously get up before the ranch hands and head out for a run before the sun was up. But then he used to have a job to get up for, stay fit for, start his mornings early for. In the last eighteen months, he’d begun sleeping later, skipping days at the gym and generally hating the tedium of spending his days at the ranch with little to occupy his time.
To pass a few hours in recent weeks, he’d chased a few rabbits concerning Eldridge’s case to no avail and worked with his siblings on a few matters where his expertise was useful. He’d spent some time this fall riding his horse, fishing and reading some of the dusty books in the ranch library. But for the most part these days, he was at loose ends.
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