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Curious, she asked, “So what was their story this time?”
Chris glanced down at the Stetson in his hand and ran his fingers along the brim. “You’re the trustee for the boys’ inheritance from their dad,” he said when he raised his eyes to meet hers again. “You wanted to use the money on yourself instead of for the boys’ benefit, and you took Ian and Jamie away from their loving grandparents so no one could call you to account. And you won’t let the McCays even know where you are … where the boys are. Won’t let them be a part of your children’s lives.”
Holly closed her eyes for a second, laughed again without humor and shook her head. “All of that is true, except for one thing,” she admitted. “I am the sole trustee. And I did run with Ian and Jamie—three weeks before Christmas, did they mention that?” Chris nodded. “And I haven’t told the McCays where we are … for a perfectly good reason. Because—”
“Because they’re trying to kill you.”
* * *
We hope you enjoy this preview of the heart-pounding series The Coltons of Texas: finding love and buried family secrets in the Lone Star State …
Her Colton P.I.
Amelia Autin
Award-winning author AMELIA AUTIN is an inveterate reader who can’t bear to put a good book down … or part with it. She’s a longtime member of Romance Writers of America and served three years as its treasurer. Amelia resides with her PhD engineer husband in quiet Vail, Arizona, where they can see the stars at night and have a “million-dollar view” of the Rincon Mountains from their backyard.
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For my stepmother, Mary Dorothy Callen Autin, who makes the world a special place for everyone who knows her. For my stepsister, Patti Padgett Mouton Fagan, who made my father immensely proud of the woman she became. And for Vincent … always.
Contents
She’s not going to get away with it. That was all Chris Colton could think as he listened to the tearful story Angus and Evalinda McCay unfolded before him. Holly McCay wasn’t going to get away with keeping her in-laws from their beloved twin grandsons, all they had left of their son after he died.
Chris leaned back in his chair in his northwest Fort Worth, Texas, office and glanced at the pictures the McCays had handed him. One was of blond-haired, brown-eyed Holly McCay and her now-deceased husband, Grant. The other was of the McCay twins, Ian and Jamie.
“But they don’t look like that anymore,” Evalinda McCay said sadly. “Our grandsons weren’t even a year old when that picture was taken, and that was more than six months ago. Holly won’t even let us see them. She’s been like that ever since Grant...” She dabbed a tissue at her eyes.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. McCay,” Chris said, steel in his voice. “I’ll take this