promised to do the same to Emma. To make her life hell, to make sure she always knew she didn’t belong, she wasn’t welcome, she was unworthy and despised.”
T.C. went very still.
“And to top it all off, she dropped some very pointed hints about children having accidents on ranches all the time.”
He couldn’t imagine even his mother threatening that. Emma had been a baby, helpless, innocent.
And your father’s a frail old man, and you’re wondering if she killed him.
“She wouldn’t have done it,” he said, but there was enough uncertainty in him to make the words less than convincing.
“I couldn’t take that risk. Not with Emma.”
He was shaken, he couldn’t deny that. Told this way, what his parents had done seemed much more nefarious. And the threat to Emma, then only months old, was more than a little disturbing. And made him wonder again, just how far would his mother go to get what she wanted?
“And the money?” Jolie said, her voice fierce now. “I took it so Emma would have chances I never did. It’s in a trust fund, for her. I’ve never touched a penny of it, and I never will.”
T.C. stared at her, a little awed at that ferocity, of the depth of her love for her daughter. He’d known it before, or thought he had, but at this moment she took his breath away.
But then Jolie Peters had always taken his breath away.
His own reaction, the swiftness of his response to her, as if the last four years had never happened, unsettled him. And that made his voice sharp when he grasped at something—anything—as distraction. “Why are you here now?”
Something flashed in her eyes, and her expression went from fierce to frightened in the space of a split second. He saw her take in a deep breath, as if she needed it to steady herself.
“Someone’s trying to kill Emma.”
She’d never put it in words until this moment. And now that she had, Jolie felt an icy chill go down to her bones.
Someone was trying to kill her precious girl.
And, she realized as T.C. stared at her, he didn’t believe her. As easily as if they’d never been apart, she read him. “Have I ever been prone to hysteria?”
“You weren’t, no.” The implication that things could have changed in the past four years was clear.
“Still not.” She took a deep breath, then plunged ahead. “Emma witnessed a murder.”
She saw his eyes widen. Those vivid green eyes that had melted her with a glance.
“I think you’d better sit down,” he said after a moment, gesturing toward the leather couch in the sitting area of his office. It had changed, she realized belatedly. The entire office had been redone since she was last here. Even the desk had been replaced. She wondered at that; he’d always cared little about the trappings, it seemed unlike him to just redecorate on a whim.
“New couch,” she said as she sat, wondering if it sounded as inane to him as it did to her. “Among other things.”
He didn’t sit beside her. He sat in the big, matching chair positioned at a right angle to the couch. The chair was a subtle statement of who had the right to private real estate in this setting, the reminder of who was in charge in this domain. As if anyone could ever forget.
But he’d never done it to her before, in the few times she’d been here.
He stared at her, his expression almost grim. It hit her then, a memory so hot and strong it nearly sucked the air out of her lungs; the day she’d tried to tease him out of here, to get him to take a break from preparing for some upcoming high-powered negotiation with an Angus breeder in Kansas. They’d ended up making love on his desk, urgently, and then again on the couch, long and slow and sweet.
No wonder he’d gutted the place.
And she guessed she knew now how he’d handled her abrupt departure.
“Talk,” he commanded.
She didn’t quibble over his tone, or the sharp order. He had every right. It took her a moment to get started, although she’d thought of nothing but how she would explain all the way here; it had helped keep her mind off the terrifying knowledge that someone had actually tried to grab Emma. But once she had begun, it came pouring out in a rush.
And rather confused. But he didn’t stop her, or ask questions, and she knew he was more than capable of taking her rather scattered account and putting it in order. It was one of the things that made him so good at what he did, better even than his half brother Fowler, who was the more famous—and infamous—Colton of the two. As president of Colton Inc., Fowler loved all the trappings and used them to aid in his wheeling and dealing, while executive vice president Thomas simply did what needed to be done to keep things rolling. She had little doubt which of them Colton Inc. would miss more.
“She tried to do a sketch with the police artist,” she said when the story was finally out, “but she’s only four. She couldn’t describe much more than her eyes. Then last night it was dark and she was terrified.” Her fingers were knotted together and resting on her knees, the only way she could stop them from shaking. “But it was a woman. It has to be the killer.”
He just looked at her, in that quiet, assessing way he had. She made herself go on.
“I know it’s crazy, asking you for help. But with you, at the ranch, is the only place I’ve ever felt completely safe. And I know you loved Emma, once. So when the police asked me if there was someplace safe I could take her...”
He still said nothing as her voice trailed off. She steeled herself, and sat up a little straighter. She saw something flicker in his eyes then, as if something had shifted in his clever brain. But still he said nothing. And even knowing it was a tactic, knowing he used silence as a tool, she felt compelled to fill it. And to give him the acknowledgment he deserved.
“I know you hate me, and you have every right. Nothing, not even your mother’s threats, can change the fact that from your point of view, I took money to leave. But this is for Emma—as was that, not that it makes any difference to you—and I’d do a lot more than beg to keep her safe.”
“Would you.”
It wasn’t a question, and Jolie belatedly realized how her last words could be interpreted. She felt her cheeks heat but told herself at least he’d finally spoken. But then she had a sudden vision of him demanding sex in return for his help, of him taking out whatever anger at her remained, ruining forever the sweet memories that were all she had left of that brief, too-brief time in her life when she’d thought she’d truly found her place.
“So you really think I’d do that,” he said, his voice harsh.
She looked at him, realized she’d forgotten he read her as easily as she read him, and that he’d guessed what she’d been thinking. The sex part, anyway; she doubted he could guess at how much those memories tormented her. She made herself hold his gaze, and it was one of the hardest things she’d done since the night she’d left him.
“No. You would never use that to punish, even if you wanted to.” Her mouth twisted. “Besides, you can’t want me anymore.”
“Oh, I want you,” he said, his voice so harsh now it made the admission more a threat than anything. “But, lady, I can’t afford you.”
The words she doubted had ever been spoken by a Texas Colton in decades echoed in the space between them. But she knew how he meant it. And for the first time she had an inkling of what her departure had cost him emotionally.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, meaning it fiercely. “Sorrier than you can ever