Colton Christmas Protector. Beth Cornelison
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Название: Colton Christmas Protector
Автор: Beth Cornelison
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Вестерны
Серия: Mills & Boon Romantic Suspense
isbn: 9781474040471
isbn:
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 silently thanked the butler, Aaron Manfred, for his interruption and sneaked back over to the counter to hover by the coffeepot. He shouldn’t have had Bettina brew a new pot just for him. He could have made a Starbucks run. It wasn’t like he had anything else on his calendar today.
“I was hoping I might be able to take the evening off tonight.”
“Again?” Whitney snapped.
“Yes, ma’am.” Aaron gave a quick nod, clearly unrattled by Whitney’s waspishness. But then, Aaron had been dealing with the moody and snobbish Coltons for as long as Reid could remember. “Moira will be here and will be happy to help you with anything that should arise.”
“But why? What do you—” Whitney clamped her lips together and flapped a hand at the man. “Oh, go ahead. It’s not like my husband is here to need you.”
And with that statement, she ducked her head and began sobbing again. “Oh, Dridgey-pooh!”
With an impatient grunt, Reid snatched the coffeepot from the maker before it finished brewing and poured himself a steaming mugful. “I’m going out.”
He didn’t know where, but he had to get out of the claustrophobic atmosphere of the mansion. Maybe as a favor to his mother, to the whole family really, he’d check up on the progress of the search for Eldridge. Or better yet, he’d do some searching of his own. The case was growing as cold as their frost-dusted ranch pastures. No more procrastinating. The time had come for someone to break this case. If the police were going to drag their feet, then Reid would find his father by himself.
Penelope Barrington Clark stood in the threshold of Andrew’s office/man cave and gathered her courage. She’d procrastinated cleaning out the room as long as she could. Immediately after his death, well-meaning friends had offered to help her with the painful task, but she’d put them off. How could she possibly throw out or give away all the things Andrew had owned, touched, cherished? Wasn’t it bad enough he was gone? Losing all of the possessions that cluttered his home office would have added salt to her wounds.
But the house had sold more quickly than she’d anticipated it would. She and Nicholas were downsizing, moving to a more affordable home. Ironic that she, a Barrington, needed to worry about finances, but she refused to take a dime from her wealthy father, and Andrew’s death benefit from the police department didn’t cover the mortgage and all her expenses. She knew she’d have to get a job, was all right with the idea, but she’d put it off. She’d wanted to dedicate as much time to Nicholas while he was young as she could. He would only be a toddler once, and she couldn’t stand the idea of missing any of his baby days.
The new house needed work, but it was in an outlying area with good schools and plenty of parks with playgrounds where Nicholas could run and climb as he grew older.
Andrew will never see Nicholas start kindergarten or jump out of a swing. The kamikaze thought shot straight to her heart with a sharp, piercing ache. She squeezed her eyes shut and balled her hands at her sides as she forced the stray thought down, tucked it away. If only she could pack up the random painful reminders and reflections like shards of a broken mirror to be discarded forever. Time was supposed to heal her wounds, but eighteen months after Andrew’s death, she still groped her way through the morass of memories and unexpected flashes of insight that dragged her down like quicksand.
She shook her head and steeled herself with a deep breath. Just do this. Get it over with.
Rolling the tension from her shoulders, Penelope strode into the man cave/office and moved an empty box to the top of Andrew’s desk for easier packing. She could start with the ugly stuff, the tacky things, the dear-God-what-were-you-thinking items. They would be the easiest to get rid of, she figured. From there, she could work her way up to sorting through the commendation awards for heroism from the police department, the family pictures, the personal papers and sentimental items that screamed Andrew.
She took the woman’s leg lamp, á la A Christmas Story, from the top of the bookcase and groaned, remembering when he’d brought the gag gift home from a Christmas party.
“It’s a major award!” Andrew had joked when she’d sneered at his party gift and tried to usher it straight out to the trash. Now that she had her chance to throw it away, she hesitated. Maybe one of the guys at the police station would like to have the lamp as a memento of Andrew’s quirky sense of humor.
“Oh, Lord. If I second-guess every item in this room, I’ll be here until Christmas.” She chucked the leg lamp into a box for charity and moved on to the trophies he’d won with the community softball league. She couldn’t bring herself to toss those, so she put them aside to go into storage.
The taxidermy-preserved fish was a no-brainer. Trash!
“Dead animals are not home decor,” she’d argued when Andrew had brought home the prize bass mounted on a plaque and intending to hang it on the living-room wall.
“Do you know how much I paid to have this mounted?” he’d countered, as if that made the bass any less hideous to her.
His office wall had been their compromise, so long as he didn’t put it on the wall opposite the door, where she’d see it when she walked down the hall.
She shuddered as she lifted СКАЧАТЬ