Colton Baby Rescue Read online

  Her eyes met his pointedly. He had got in her way from the first minute he’d stormed into the house that night, waving a warrant.

  “Too late,” she said.

  Blowing out a breath, she tried to tell herself that he wasn’t trying to annoy her. That he was just doing his job as a member of the police department. But if he had to be here, she didn’t want him underfoot.

  “There’s food in the refrigerator in the kitchen. Why don’t you go help yourself? I’ve got work in the stable,” she said. Maybe keeping him informed of her work schedule would buy her a little good grace and some leeway.

  When Carson followed her down the stairs with Justice, she didn’t think anything of it. But when the two continued walking behind her as she headed for the front door, Serena stopped dead.

  Pointing behind him, she said, “The kitchen’s in the other direction.”

  “I know where the kitchen is,” he answered matter-of-factly.

  “So why aren’t you headed there?” she wanted to know. “It might sound unusual to you, but that’s where we keep the refrigerator.”

  “I’m not interested in the refrigerator,” he told her in a no-nonsense voice. “I’m interested in keeping you alive.”

  Serena rolled her eyes. “Now you’re just being melodramatic,” she insisted.

  And she was in denial, he thought. “You felt that bullet whiz by just like I did. That’s not being melodramatic. That’s just using the common sense that the good Lord gave each of us. Now, do yourself a favor and stop arguing with me.”

  “I don’t need you hovering over me. I’ll be fine,” Serena insisted, pushing past him.

  Not about to be shrugged off, Carson followed her outside.

  Serena took exactly five steps then swung around to face him. How did she get through to this man? “Look, Detective, you’re beginning to really annoy me.”

  “I’m not trying to do that, Ms. Colton,” he said, reverting back to addressing her formally. “But someone killed my brother and now someone’s taken a shot at you.” His voice became deadly serious. “I don’t intend to have you added to the body count on my watch.”

  Serena gave up. Trying to reason with the man was just a frustrating waste of time and she had things she wanted to do before nightfall, which came early this time of year. Besides, she thought, there was a small chance that he was right. She could take care of herself, but there was Lora’s safety to think of. Better safe than sorry, she decided.

  “Suit yourself,” Serena told him as she continued on her way to the stables.

  “I intend to,” Carson murmured under his breath. Sparing a quick glance at Justice as they followed in Serena’s wake, Carson said, “She’s a regular spitfire, isn’t she, boy?”

  The dog made no sound, but Carson still took it as tacit agreement on the canine’s part.

  * * *

  Carson had learned how to take in his surroundings and be vigilant without calling any attention to himself or what he was doing—and without missing a thing.

  As daylight began to wane, he took note of Anders watching him in the distance, saw the handful of ranch hands the Double C foreman had working with him to reinforce a length of fence just beyond the corral. And all the while, he continued to look for something out of the ordinary, for that one thing that didn’t mesh with everything else.

  “Don’t your eyes get tired, staring like that?” Serena finally asked him after she’d taken in the horse she’d been working with and brought out another from the stable.

  Carson slid his gaze down the length of her, taking in every curve, every soft nuance her body had to offer. “Depends,” he answered.

  The man was as communicative as a rock, Serena thought, waiting for him to say something more. When Carson didn’t, she finally asked impatiently, “Depends on what?”

  There was just possibly the smallest hint of a smile on his lips when he answered, “On what I’m staring at.”

  Serena knew he meant her but there was no way she could say anything about that without sounding full of herself or, at the very least, without borrowing trouble. All she could do was say something as enigmatic as what he’d just said.

  “Careful your eyes don’t get tread worn.”

  She saw the corners of his mouth curve just a tiny bit more as he answered, “I’ll do my best.”

  Serena continued to feel like she was under a microscope, even when she looked up to see that Carson was scanning the horizon and not looking at her. Somehow, she thought, he was managing to do both.

  Serena did her best to concentrate on the stallion she was working with and not on the man who had somehow done the impossible—he made her feel warm despite the cold temperature.

  * * *

  An hour later, exhausted, Serena decided to wrap it up and call it a day. The sun had gone down and it was really cold now. It was time to go in. Anders and his men had already gone to their quarters.

  Bringing the stallion back into the stable, she brushed the horse down, the way she had the others and then walked out. Before she headed toward the mansion, she made sure to lock up the stable. In her present state of mind, the last thing she needed was for something to spook the horses and cause them to get out of the stable. She had no desire to spend hours tracking them down and rounding them up.

  “You do this all the time?” Carson asked, picking up his pace as he and Justice fell into step beside her.

  For just a moment, she’d forgotten he was there. It took all she had not to react as if the sound of his deep voice had startled her.

  “Yes, when I’m not taking care of my daughter or going to horse auctions,” she answered.

  “You look like you’re really good at it,” Carson observed.

  The detective was actually complimenting her, she realized. Serena hadn’t expected that.

  “I am,” she answered. She wasn’t boasting, she was just stating what she knew to be true.

  “Must be nice to do something you’re good at,” Carson commented.

  “It is.” She’d enjoyed working with horses for as far back as she could remember. His comment piqued her curiosity about the man, who refused to go away. “How about you? Do you like what you do?”

  His answer was vague, leaving it up to her to interpret. “I like keeping order,” Carson replied.

  Was that his way of avoiding telling her the truth? She decided to prod him a little. “I thought you like ordering people around.”

  Carson actually seemed to consider her question for a moment before giving her an answer. “That’s part of it sometimes.”

  They’d reached the house and she, for one, was grateful. The walk from the stables to the mansion wasn’t technically long enough to warm her. However it turned out to be long enough to make her aware of just how warm talking to him actually made her.

  Opening the front door, the first thing that hit Serena was how quiet it all was. Her parents and sister made more noise than she’d realized. Shaking herself free of that thought, Serena proceeded to shrug out of her sheepskin jacket.

  Hanging the jacket up in the hall closet, she turned toward Carson and asked, “Are you hungry now?”

  Hunger had never governed his eating habits. He’d learned how to deal with perilous conditions and how to ignore a rumbling stomach. Ignoring it became a habit.

  “I don’t get hungry,” he told her. “I eat to keep going.”

  “You sound like you have a lot in common with my horses,” she commented. Feedings were carried out at regimented intervals.

  The term “magnificent animal” suddenly flashed across her mind out of nowhere, catching her completely off guard and stunning her. The moment she thought of it, Serena realized that it just seemed to fit.

  She found herself staring at Carson almost against her will.

  “If you’re trying t
o insult me, you haven’t,” he told her.

  “I’m not insulting you,” she said crisply. “But maybe I shouldn’t have compared you to a horse. I find horses to be very noble animals.”

  He surprised her by laughing, but it wasn’t at her. Her comment just seemed to tickle him.

  “They are,” he agreed. “And if you’re interested, I don’t fancy myself as being noble, just hardworking.” He paused for a long moment, just looking at her. “Sometimes I just have to work harder than other times.”

  She struggled not to shiver. There was just something about the way he looked at her that caused her self-confidence to disintegrate into little tiny flakes that blew away in the wind.

  “Why don’t you go into the kitchen and have Sally whip up something for you?” she told him, referring to the cook. “I’m just going to go upstairs for a minute and check on Lora.”

  Carson never hesitated. He just started to walk upstairs with her. “I’ll go with you.”

  Serena sighed. “You really are determined to be my shadow, aren’t you?”

  The detective said neither yes nor no. Instead, he told her, “Just doing whatever it takes to make sure that you and your daughter are safe.”

  Serena surrendered. She didn’t even bother trying to argue with that.

  * * *

  The housekeeper was on her feet the moment Serena walked into her suite. The woman placed her finger to her lips, warning them not to raise their voices.

  Crossing over to Serena, the housekeeper told her, “She just now fell asleep.”

  Serena lowered her voice to a whisper. “Did she give you any trouble?”

  Alma shook her head, beaming. “No, she was a little darling. But she doesn’t really sleep all that much for a three-month-old,” she observed. “I was trying to keep her up so she’d sleep through the night for you, but just when I didn’t want her to, she dozed off.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Alma. I’m not planning on getting much sleep tonight anyway,” Serena told the housekeeper.

  Alma’s eyes darted toward the man standing behind Serena. Understanding suddenly blossomed on the woman’s round face. “Oh.”

  At that instant, it suddenly dawned on Serena what the housekeeper had to be thinking. She was about to protest and set the woman straight. But then she caught herself. She knew that if she protested, that would only convince the housekeeper that she was right in thinking there was something going on between her and the detective.

  So, hard as it was, Serena pressed her lips together and kept silent about the misunderstanding.

  Instead, she told the housekeeper, “I’m going to go downstairs and get some dinner. After I finish, I’ll be back for the night. You’ll be free to go on with your evening after that.”

  Stealing another long look at the detective, Alma said, “Take your time, Miss Serena. I don’t mind staying here with your daughter. She’s a little angel. Reminds me of my own when they were little.”

  As she and the detective walked out of the suite, Serena was positive the housekeeper was watching every step they took. The woman, she knew, was a great fan of romances, both on the screen and within the pages of a book. She had no doubt that Alma was probably fabricating a story about her and the brooding detective at this very moment.

  The less said, the better, Serena decided.

  * * *

  Sally, the cook who was currently in her parents’ employ—they had gone through an even dozen in as many years—was just cleaning up the kitchen when she and Carson walked in.

  Immediately coming to attention when she saw them, Sally, a pleasant-faced woman in her early fifties, asked her, “What can I prepare for you and your guest, Miss Serena?”

  “He’s not my guest. He’s a police detective, part of the K-9 division,” Serena added before Sally could ask about the dog. She didn’t want the cook to think that she was willingly entertaining Carson.

  “What can I prepare for you and the police detective?” Sally asked, amending her initial question.

  But Serena shook her head. “That’s all right, Sally. You can take the rest of the evening off. I’ll make something for myself. For us,” she corrected, remembering to include the silent shadow beside her. Given what he’d said earlier, Carson probably ate nails or something of that nature.

  Sally looked at her hesitantly. “Are you sure, Miss Serena?”

  “My parents and sister have gone to stay in a hotel in town,” she said by way of an answer, indicating that this was going to be an informal meal. “I’m sure.”

  “There are some leftovers on the two top shelves,” the woman began, still not leaving.

  “I’m good at scrounging, Sally. Go. You deserve some time off,” Serena said, smiling as she waved the woman out.

  Sally’s smile was as wide as her face. “Thank you, miss!” she cried before she hurried off.

  Turning back to the refrigerator, Serena found that the detective was already there.

  “Can I help you find anything?” she asked him a little stiffly. It was a large kitchen, but somehow, it felt smaller to her because of his presence.

  “No,” Carson answered simply. Then, because she continued to stand there next to the refrigerator, he told her, “I’m good at scrounging, too.”

  Giving him space, Serena looked down at Justice. The dog was never more than a few paces away from his partner. “I don’t have any dog food.”

  Carson didn’t seem fazed. “That’s okay. He adjusts. Same as me.”

  She wasn’t sure exactly what that comment meant when it came to Carson, but she had an uneasy feeling that maybe this was the detective’s way of putting her on some sort of notice.

  As if she wasn’t tense enough already.

  Chapter 12

  After watching Carson stand there, looking into the refrigerator without taking anything out, it was obvious to Serena that the detective either couldn’t make up his mind, or he really didn’t feel right about helping himself to something from the giant, industrial-size refrigerator.

  Serena decided to take matters into her own hands. “Sit down, Gage,” she said, elbowing Carson out of the way.

  “Excuse me?” Carson made no move to do what she’d just very crisply ordered him to do, at least not until he knew what she was up to.

  Okay, maybe she’d been a little too abrupt, Serena silently conceded. She decided to word her request a little better. “Well, you’ve taken it upon yourself to be my and my daughter’s bodyguard so the least I can do is get you something to eat.”

  He didn’t want her to feel she needed to wait on him. “I’m perfectly capable of getting something to eat for myself.”

  Serena rolled her eyes as she suppressed a sigh. “Does everything have to be an argument with you?” she asked. “Just sit!” she ordered.

  Justice dropped down where he was standing, his big brown eyes trained on Serena. She laughed. “At least one of you doesn’t have trouble following instructions.”

  “Hey,” Carson pretended to protest. The protest was directed toward the German shepherd. “You’re only supposed to listen to me, remember?” he told the canine.

  “Too bad your dog can’t teach you a few tricks,” Serena quipped. Because the refrigerator was rather full and she had no idea what Carson would prefer eating, she asked, “Do you want a sandwich or a full meal?”

  Carson had always leaned toward expediency. “A sandwich’ll do fine.”

  There were sandwiches, and then there were sandwiches. “Okay, what do you want in your sandwich?”

  Wide, muscular shoulders rose and fell in a dismissive, disinterested shrug. “Whatever you’ve got that’s handy. I’m easy.”

  “Ha! Not hardly,” Serena observed. His eyes met hers as if to contest her statement. However, Serena was not about to back down. “You, Detective Carson Gage,
might be many things, but easy isn’t one of them.”

  “And just what are some of those ‘many things’?” Carson wanted to know, his eyes pinning her in place. He was ready for another argument.

  There it was again, Serena thought. That flash of heat when he looked at her a certain way.

  Stubbornly, Serena shut out her reaction, telling herself that she was smarter than that. There was no reason in the world for her to react like that to this rough-around-the-edges man or regard him as anything beyond a necessary evil.

  Finished putting slices of freshly baked hickory-smoked ham on the extra thick bread that Sally baked for the family every other morning, she topped the sandwich off with slices of baby Swiss cheese. Serena put the whole thing on a plate with some lettuce and tomato slices on the side and pushed the plate over to him on the table.

  “I see you finally sat down,” she commented as she took out a bottle of ketchup and jars of mayonnaise and mustard. Serena paused over the last item. “Spicy or mild?”

  Carson’s mouth curved as he looked at her. “I like spicy.”

  There was that flash again, Serena thought in exasperation. She was just going to have to stop making eye contact with the man. But if she did that, he’d probably think she was avoiding him for some reason that she’d wind up finding insulting when he voiced it.

  She took the jar of spicy mustard out of the refrigerator and placed it next to the other condiments. “Spicy, it is.”

  Eyes as dark as storm clouds on the horizon took measure of her as he reached for the mustard. He nodded toward the mayonnaise and the ketchup. “I don’t need the others,” he told her.

  There was absolutely no reason for her heart to have sped up, Serena told herself. For pity’s sake, it was just a conversation about some stupid mustard, nothing else. But she could feel her neck growing warmer, her palms getting damp and her knees felt as if they were getting ready to dissolve any minute now.

  It was just the tension of recent events that were getting to her, Serena silently argued. A panic attack after the fact. Once everything got back to normal, so would she.