Читать книгу: «The Coltons of Texas»

Chapter 1

Stars winked like diamonds in a sky black as pitch, the cool Texas night buffeting him with a thick wind. Frost covered the ground, crunching under his feet, a sure sign winter wasn’t yet done with them. Ethan Colton kept his head down and ignored nature’s display as he trudged toward the barn and the pregnant horse one of his ranch hands had called him about.

“Boss! Glad you’re here.” Bill Peabody, his ranch foreman, waved him over to the last stall in the barn.

“Where’s Doc Peters?”

“On his way.”

Ethan nodded and took in the scene before him. His favorite filly, Dream, wasn’t due to deliver for about six more weeks. But her heavy breathing and wide-eyed fright suggested her new foal wasn’t prepared to wait for spring.

Ethan dropped to his knees beside Dream, his hands gentle when he reached out to stroke her neck. “Hey, baby. Shh there, beautiful girl. It’s okay.”

His gaze drifted from the clear lines of pain that suffused her dark brown face on down over the sleek lines of her body. The filly’s rib cage contracted hard with her labored breaths, and the distended belly—the telltale sign of her pregnancy—quivered almost of its own accord.

“Think we can stop her from delivering?”

“Doc told me to keep her comfortable and as still as possible until he got here.” Bill paced next to the stall. “Says he’ll know better after he looks at her.”

Bill’s words kicked up an odd twist of memory—absolutely unbidden—of another night long ago. But with an outcome that had no hope of ending well.

Those memories had become more frequent of late, his brother’s recent tussle with their father stirring it all to the fore. With the iron will he’d honed through the years, he pushed the ever-clear memory away and focused on Dream.

She was his pride and joy, along with the rest of the horses in his stable. The years of hard work, building something that was his own. That no one could taint.

He’d be damned if he’d sit by and let her suffer. Or see to it he didn’t do everything he could do to make sure she had a healthy foal.

Bill worked with him in silence as they followed the vet’s instructions, keeping Dream as calm as possible while they waited for help. He was pleased to see her breathing even out a bit as they settled a blanket beneath her head and several more to support the long length of her back.

“Babies are a tough thing. They’re natural but not normal.” Doc Peters bustled in, his cheery smile at odds with the still-sleepy eyes and tufts of gray hair that stuck out all over his head.

“Not normal?” Ethan kept his voice low, not wanting to spook Dream, but he couldn’t keep from questioning the vet.

“Of course. Pregnancy is a natural state, but it’s hard on the body.” Doc Peters dropped to his knees, his lithe form belying what had to be at least forty years of caring for large animals. “But we’ll take care of Dream here, won’t we, sweetheart.”

Ethan kept a calming hand on Dream’s neck but said nothing more, allowing the doctor to do his work. The vet inspected the horse, his hands following all the places Ethan’s own gaze had roamed for the past twenty minutes. After several endless moments of inspection and even more checks with the stethoscope, Doc Peters got to his feet.

“You ready for a long night?”

Ethan stared up at the doc’s slim figure, standing over his horse. “She’s having the foal tonight?”

“Not if we can help it. But we do have to get him turned around. There are two pairs of long, long legs pointing exactly where they don’t belong.”

Ethan took solace that the doctor seemed in control of the situation and nodded his head. “Tell us what to do.”

* * *

The frigid night had given way to a cold crisp morning, and Ethan breathed in deep as he headed for the ranch house. He’d spent hours worrying they wouldn’t be able to help Dream, but Doc Peters had been a pro. Bit by bit, he’d managed to turn Dream’s foal back into position. Ethan knew they were out of the woods now, but he hadn’t missed the concern that had stamped itself deep in the grooves on Peters’s face around four that morning.

Things had been more than touch and go for a while, and Ethan had barely dared to believe things could end well, convinced he needed to brace himself for the worst. For the inevitable.

Yet the doc had done it. Dream was on her feet and happily grazing on a fresh batch of oats Bill had poured just for her when Ethan finished washing up in the sinks in the barn.

Now all he could think about was a hot shower and roughly a gallon of coffee. He might even manage something beyond the breakfast sandwiches he typically microwaved each morning. In fact, he thought he remembered seeing a rasher of bacon in the fridge the last time Bill’s wife, Joyce, did a shopping order.

The back door swung open under his hand and he caught himself. Hadn’t he locked it when he headed out?

The smell of coffee accosted him and the mystery of the back door vanished as he imagined Joyce over here, putting on a pot for when he got back. That woman was gold, and he’d have to remember to thank her later.

He dragged off his boots in the mudroom and turned for the kitchen. The distinct scent of bacon assailed him just before the soft, subtle hum of a popular country song followed.

But it was the woman who stood before his stove that had Ethan going still.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

* * *

Elizabeth Marie Conner—Lizzie to the few who knew and loved her—already knew she was pushing beyond acceptable boundaries by coming here in the first place. Since she figured she had to get this over with, she might as well add bacon to the mix.

Men loved bacon. Heck, there were whole websites devoted to the very best part of the pig. And based on what Joyce had said when she’d let her in, Ethan had just spent a hard night.

She was smart enough to know the bacon wouldn’t go all that far to soften the blow she was about to deliver, but she was hungry as a horse all the time, and it would make her feel better.

“That’s some welcome.”

The man had the sense to look contrite, and she took it as a good sign. But when a quick shot of something warm and hungry flitted through his gaze before those rich hazel depths turned cold once more, Lizzie pressed a firm hand to her fluttering stomach beneath the oversize sweatshirt she’d tugged on for the visit.

Ethan Colton was anything but cold.

And she’d had six months of very warm memories reminding her of that fact.

“You can imagine my surprise to find a woman cooking me breakfast.”

Lizzie did her best to keep her body facing the stove, only turning to eye Ethan over her shoulder. “Joyce let me in. Said you were having a tough night with one of your horses. How is she?”

“Good. Fine.” Talk of his horse seemed to mellow him a bit more, and he crossed to the pot of coffee. “Want some?”

“No, thanks. I’m not a coffee girl. No one at work can understand it but—” She broke off, the reality that there was no work any longer more bitter than she’d expected.

“But what?”

“Nothing.”

Ethan poured his coffee and, after doctoring it with a sugar and some creamer from the fridge, moved to the long island counter at her back. “Look. I’m sorry for my greeting. I’m tired and I didn’t expect anyone to be in here when I got back. And—”

He stilled, a small smile edging his lips. “And that’s lame. I’m sorry for my greeting. How are you, Lizzie?”

She’d thought she was prepared. Had believed she could keep her emotions in check and her mind clear for all that was still to come between them.

Oh, how wrong she’d been.

Those hazel eyes—the ones that were an amazing mix of green and brown and several spots of gray—drew her in and touched something deep inside she couldn’t quite define.

Need? Yes.

Desire? Yes.

Love? She was so not going there.

Even if she had harbored feelings for him since she was young. He was the big brother of her best friend in foster care. As a lifelong foster child, she’d known full well that getting attached was a bad idea, but she’d gone and done it anyway. Josie Colton had been her best friend, and her older brother Ethan... Oh, how Lizzie had looked forward to those visits he’d made three times a year to see his sister.

Until it had all ended with nothing but empty promises and long, lonely days without her best friend.

So when he’d appeared like a dream six months ago at a rodeo they were both attending, she couldn’t shake off the chance to see him again and spend some time together.

“Lizzie? How are you?”

She pulled herself back from the thick morass of memories and unfulfilled wants. “Good. I’m good.”

“You look good—” He broke off before he added, “But you always look good. No one I’ve ever met has green eyes quite like yours.”

She stilled, the bacon popping and crackling, as she braced herself for what she had to do. Flipping off the stove, she moved the bacon to the back burner and turned around and looked her fill.

Her gaze roamed, hungry, over the sandy-brown hair she knew was the texture of unrefined cotton. On down over the broad shoulders that seemed custom-made for a woman’s hands. And then over the broad chest that was banded in thick sinew, from the hard swath of his pectorals on down to the ridges of muscle that framed his stomach.

The man was a vision, and the sweet boy she’d had a crush on had grown into a formidable man.

Get it together, Elizabeth Marie. Stop ogling him and tell the man the reason you’re here.

Yet even as that steely voice—the one that had pushed her through college and on into becoming the youngest loan officer at her bank—whispered to her to just come out with it, she couldn’t help but indulge the woman’s need that had her stopping for a moment. It was rude to stare—hadn’t one of her foster mothers taught her that?—but she couldn’t quite help herself.

She’d look her fill, because after this morning things would never again be the same.

And as Ethan’s gaze traveled its own path, over her face, a tentative smile quirking his lips, she knew the moment when something else registered.

Knew the moment that smile faltered when he caught sight of the very clear bump that had replaced her normally flat stomach.

“Lizzie? What—”

A loud popping sound pulled her from the moment and Lizzie turned on a hard exhalation. “Oh, no!”

Even though she’d moved it off the heat, the bacon had continued cooking in the oil and had gone crisp to the point of burning.

“Let me.” Ethan moved into her space, gently pushing her aside as he grabbed the thick cast iron off the stove. He tilted the pan over a pie plate she’d already set aside, layered with paper towels to absorb the grease.

And as she watched the bacon slide from the skillet, the grease that had cooked out sliding along with it, Lizzie felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.

Clamping a hand over her mouth, she ran toward the mudroom and prayed she’d make it to the back door in time.

* * *

One moment he was staring into eyes of the most vivid green, fresh as a spring day, and imagining things he most definitely should not be imagining. Then his mind had taken an entirely different tack as his gaze settled on her stomach.

And then Ethan was watching Lizzie Conner race out of his kitchen as though Satan’s hounds were nipping at her heels.

He slammed the skillet back on the stove, then raced after her. What in the blazing hell was going on?

Ethan heard the hard slam of the back screen door and the distinctive sounds of retching just as he came upon the entryway. As clear as a bell, Doc Peters’s words screamed through his mind.

Babies are a tough thing. They’re natural but not normal.

“Lizzie!” He pushed through the door, his mind whirling with a thousand thoughts, all louder than the cicadas in August.

But the thought that screamed the loudest was to get to her.

He closed the short distance between the door and the bushes that rimmed his back patio and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, holding her as she leaned forward once more. He kept one hand on her arm while the other gathered the thick, curly strands of her hair into a firm hold.

“Shh. It’s all right.”

Heat suffused her cheeks, and he felt the same warmth radiating from her slim shoulders as he pulled her close. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, no.” The words came out in a mix of half squeak and half moan as she straightened. “Oh, Ethan. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Those slim shoulders straightened right up and she pulled out of his hold. The soft strands of her hair slipped through his fingers, and he was surprised at how bereft he felt when nothing but cold morning air took their place.

“What’s going on, Lizzie?”

Pregnancy is a natural state, but it’s hard on the body.

Those damn words continued to taunt him, the unspoken truth hovering between them more powerful than the tornadoes that whipped through Texas in spring.

“Can we go back inside?” Her lips quivered, and he quickly shrugged out of the old sweatshirt he’d shoved on the night before.

“Layer up. It’s only February.”

He took her hand and pulled her toward the house. Something in his chest turned over when she dragged the ratty old Dallas Cowboys sweatshirt on over her head, her stomach pressed against the material of the sweatshirt she already wore. She was a slender thing, tall and willowy, but even with another thick layer of material covering her torso, her stomach still bore a definitive bump.

It was no trick of the morning light through his back windows. Nor was it some fanciful play of imagination after a long night without sleep.

The flat stomach he’d explored on a sensual journey one lonely night was nowhere in evidence. And after living with a head full of erotic visions for six agonizing months, he knew damn well his memory wasn’t the least bit faulty.

He’d explored every inch of Lizzie Conner’s body. Had tasted every soft dip and expanse of her skin. Had buried himself deep inside her, allowing every one of the long, lonely years they’d held in common to fade away in the joy of being together.

Ethan stopped himself, pushing away the sharp tang of awareness that made him want things he had resolved never to have.

The scent of bacon still lit up the kitchen, and he shot a concerned glance at her. “Do you need me to throw out breakfast?”

“No!” She shook her head before wrapping her hands tight around herself. “No, I’m fine now.”

“Why don’t we go into the living room. It’ll keep for a few more minutes.”

“Drain it first. Please. It was—” She broke off, swallowing hard. “The grease was what turned my stomach. If you don’t drain it, we can’t eat it later. I just need to slip to your powder room for a quick minute.”

He directed her down the hall, then did as she’d asked with breakfast. He snatched up one of the slices as he patted the rest dry with paper towels, knowing full well he needed a heck of a lot more fortification than a few pieces of bacon.

But a man took what he could get.

And braced himself for the news he was going to be a father.

* * *

Lizzie ignored the pale face that stared back at her from the mirror and deftly swished her mouth out with water. She’d thought she was past tossing her cookies after the first trimester, but there were still some things with food that sneaked up and caught her unawares.

Now bacon grease, she mentally chastised herself, adding to the growing list that also included raw chicken, onions and pudding.

“Oh, and don’t forget facing the father of your child,” she muttered to herself as she did a quick hunt for mouthwash in the medicine cabinet. She came up empty on the rinse but did find a small tube of toothpaste in its stead.

Mouth clean once more, Lizzie squared her shoulders. She’d put this off long enough—it was time to tell Ethan the truth. She slipped off the sweatshirt, loath to remove the soft cotton that smelled of him—a mix of the outdoors and something raw and wholly male—and folded it as she walked.

He stood before the large fireplace, the thick stone like a frame. He was a hard man, she knew, harder even than the slate at his back. He’d shown signs of it even as a young boy—and who wouldn’t after what he and his siblings had lived through?

But Ethan had suffered more than the rest of them.

At the age of seven he’d discovered his mother lying murdered out behind the family’s farmhouse. A red bull’s-eye was painted on her forehead in Magic Marker, the clear mark of his father, one of Texas’s most notorious serial killers.

“Lizzie, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

She pushed away the images that assailed her at the very thought of what he’d discovered and focused on the here and now.

And what she had to share with him.

“I have something to tell you.”

Ethan nodded, his face resigned, but he held his position before the fireplace. “I think I might have an idea.”

“I’m pregnant.”

He nodded again, and whether it was in acknowledgment of her words or the response of someone dumbfounded and searching for something to say, she wasn’t sure. After all, she’d had almost six months to get used to the idea.

And he’d had none.

“What took you so long to tell me?”

“I didn’t—” She hesitated, even though she’d prepared for this question. “I know how you feel about children. You were honest with me. That night and even when we were kids, you’d mentioned it a few times. That you don’t want children. That you’re afraid to pass on—”

She broke off again, heat creeping up her neck and into her cheeks.

Damn. She so didn’t want to go there.

Ethan had told her of his fears. That he believed his father’s psychopathic tendencies ran in his blood, and for that reason, he’d never have children. She’d tried to tell him it was a load of bullshit, but he wouldn’t be put off. And if Lizzie were fair, she knew the roots of his fear were all too real.

She’d grown up in foster care, too, her parents a nonexistent memory. Who gave up their child, leaving them to the care of strangers? She hadn’t even been good enough for adoption. Oh, no, instead she’d gone from foster home to foster home, cared for by people who by and large were kind but overworked, overextended with the number of children in their care and unwilling to allow themselves to get too attached.

“You’re right. I made a vow, and I believe in my reasons. None of it changes the reality that there is a child on its way that, by your presence, I assume is mine.”

“Of course!”

The question beneath his words was a slap, but she stood tall. Although she wasn’t an innocent, she wasn’t a woman who would pass off the child of another man. And she hadn’t had sex in some time, all her relationships seeming to end after a date or two, before things got intimate or too serious.

“I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “That was out of line. I know you. And I’ve known you for a long time. I just didn’t think— I mean, we used protection.”

“Which I thought was effective. I did ask my doctor about it, and she said that while usually effective, there’s a reason the box comes with a warning. We’re the one percent where the condom didn’t work.”

“I guess we are.” A harsh laugh escaped his lips. “I’ve spent my entire damn life avoiding slips outside the lines. Clearly I’m not trying hard enough.”

His words were like icicles against her skin, but she stood strong, refusing to cower. She wanted to be angry—to accuse him of being a heartless bastard—but she knew all about trying to live a good life. A perfect life. And she knew what that quest for perfection did to a person.

That bone-deep fear that you’d never be enough, just as you were.

She’d spent years working through the lingering pain of being a foster child, and she knew there were no easy answers. After she’d got her job with the bank, the benefits had allowed her to seek out counseling, and she’d willingly gone to a therapist, eager to talk through the self-doubt that had plagued her through much of her life.

Although she’d instinctively known the choice to abandon her was the fault of those nameless, faceless parents, working with someone had helped bring things into focus. Had helped her believe in herself and her dreams for her future.

So she marched on. And on the days when the doubt demons spoke too loudly, she practiced the techniques Dr. Johansen had given her to stay afloat.

“Yes, I’m having a baby. And yes, it’s yours.”

“Is it a boy or a girl?”

“I—” She broke off, surprise filling her at the simple question. “I don’t know. I haven’t wanted to know.”

His hazel eyes had gone nearly as gray as the wall of slate behind him. “I deserved to know, Lizzie.”

He did deserve to know. And while she’d had her reasons for waiting—namely his lifelong feelings on fatherhood—it didn’t change the fact that she’d cheated him of the knowledge he was going to be a parent.

“I didn’t want to burden you with this. I know how you feel about...about children.”

“So you thought I’d rather stay in the dark than accept my responsibilities?” His voice was quiet—too quiet—but the power of his words ricocheted around the room with all the force of gunshots.

Head high, she drew on every reserve she had. “I know how to accept my responsibilities. And I can take care of myself and my child.”

“Our child.”

Our child. Our.

She only nodded, the truth that had needled her since discovering her pregnancy blossoming into full-blown guilt. “Yes. Our child.”

“So what changed?”

“I’ve had some problems at work.”

Whatever else he’d been about to say faded as he stared at her. “What sort of problems?”

The fear that had dogged her for the past few months gripped her in tight fingers, rattling her spine until a line of shivers worked its way through her body. “Notes. Flowers. And recently, someone broke into my house.”

“Do you know who?”

“No.” Something in his gaze had her going still and words clogged in her throat.

He finally moved, dragging her close, his arms wrapping tight around her. “You don’t have any idea? None at all?”

“I can’t think of anyone.” She kept her arms at her sides, unwilling to get too close to the delicious heat that was Ethan Colton. Too afraid to draw on the strength to be found in his arms. “But the incidents began after I announced my pregnancy at work.”

“Tell me about them.” His arms stayed wrapped around her, but his hand drifted to her lower back, rubbing in small circles. Heat filled her everywhere their bodies touched, but it was that simple gesture of comfort that was nearly her undoing.

Tears gripped her throat in a hard fist and she swallowed around it, unwilling to finally let the dam break on her emotions.

“The notes are bad. And they’ve escalated. The last one was the worst. It was wrapped around a rattle in the crib I’d set up in the baby’s room.”

Ethan’s arms tightened around her while his body stiffened into implacable lines. “What did it say?”

“It said—” Lizzie winced at the hitch that caught in her throat, but pressed on anyway. “The note said, ‘I’ll be a great daddy. You’ll see.’”