Colton's Surprise Family. Karen Whiddon

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      “Are you okay?”

      “No,” Damien exploded. “I’m not okay. The entire time I was in prison, I was counting on this money being there for me when I got out. The money the state’s going to pay me won’t buy even twenty acres. How the hell am I going to make a fresh start without any cash?”

      “Surely there’s been a mistake.”

      “I don’t think so.” Grimly, Damien resumed his search for a safe. “How good are you still at guessing lock combinations?”

      “What? You mean to break into Darius’s safe?”

      “Once I find it, yes.”

      Duke narrowed his eyes. “Well, then, let me help you out. I know where it is. I’ve been in here often enough when Darius had to open it.” He crossed to the wall where a huge, ornately framed oil painting of the ranch hung. “It’s behind this.”

      Removing the picture revealed a small wall safe, black, with a touch-pad combination. The entire thing was maybe two feet square.

      Damien stood back. “Have at it, bro.” As teens, Duke had exhibited an exceptional skill for picking locks and determining combinations. Within five minutes, he had the safe open.

      “There you go,” he said, stepping back.

      Reaching inside, Damien extracted a leather-bound notebook and a sheaf of manila folders, held together by a rubber band. There was also a tiny metal box, like the kind used for petty cash. He removed everything and placed it on the desk.

      “I’m out of here, man,” Duke said.

      “Will you just stand guard for me? I just need a few minutes.” He started with the leather book. “Surely there’s something in here that will tell what happened to my inheritance.”

      Inside the book were receipts for wire transfers. All of them were withdrawals from his account made over a period of three years. “Bingo,” he said softly. “My money.”

      Though clearly reluctant, Duke moved over to take a look.

      “How do you know it was yours?” Duke asked. “You know when Grandfather died he left all of our money in the same account. I authorized Darius to take mine, and maybe Wes, Finn, Maisie and the others did the same.”

      “But I didn’t authorize anything. Yet Darius claims the account has been closed and there’s nothing there.”

      “Did you see the bank statement?”

      “He wouldn’t let me.” Damien flashed him a grim smile, reaching for the manila folders. “Oh, damn.”

      “That looks like a second set of accounting records for the Colton ranch.” Duke scratched his head. “Why would he have that? Unless…”

      Without answering, Damien continued digging. “Look here. A list of some sort of vendors and receipts for transactions.”

      “Transactions of what?”

      “I don’t know.” But he had a good idea. The FBI had approached him shortly after he’d been released from prison, intimating they were investigating Darius. Damien, still smarting from his father’s refusal even to visit him in prison, had agreed to act as their insider, an informant of sorts. This was exactly the sort of thing they’d expect him to report.

      “I think our father has been running a little business on the side.”

      Duke cursed. “What are you going to do? You can’t be thinking of turning him in?”

      “I don’t know.”

      “Damien, you know how the old man is. I doubt he’d survive a year being locked up. I’m not sure I could do that to him.”

      “But then again, he didn’t steal your money, did he? You handed it over to him, lock, stock and barrel.”

      “Please, think about this before you do anything rash.”

      Flipping through the last of the folders, Damien reached for the metal box. Duke reached for his hand to stop him. “Hold up.”

      “What?”

      “You’ve found enough. Put it back. I think we need to talk to Wes and Finn before we do anything.”

      Clenching his jaw, Damien stared at his twin. “I’m not asking you to do anything.”

      “This is a family matter.” Moving with purpose, Duke took the metal box, folder and notebook and placed them back in the safe, exactly the way they’d been. “We—or you—aren’t doing anything until we talk to the others.”

      “What about Maisie?” Damien asked. “She has a right to be involved, too.”

      Duke shot him a hard glance. “If you can trust her to keep her mouth shut, fine. But you know, she’s been contacting that TV show, trying to get them out here to do an exposé on the town.”

      “She’s been talking about that, but I don’t think anyone there took her seriously.”

      “I know. Let’s keep it that way, okay?”

      Reluctantly, Damien agreed, watching as Duke resecured the safe and replaced the painting.

      “Come on,” his brother said, putting a hand on Damien’s shoulder. “Let’s go to the kitchen and see if we can rustle up a late-night snack. There are bound to be some of those hot wings left.”

      Feeling both disgruntled and slightly relieved, Damien agreed. A decision needed to be made about Darius, but he wouldn’t have to make it alone.

      The next morning the snowplows worked the roads bright and early. Eve woke to the peculiar blinding whiteness of sun on snow. As she padded to the kitchen to make a pot of decaf and get the hearth fire going before letting Max out, she couldn’t stop thinking of Damien and his offer.

      Just looking at the man made her mouth go dry. What he proposed was very, very tempting. The fact that she could even think like this should have made her angry with herself, but she was pragmatic at heart and believed in calling a spade a spade.

      Damien Colton made her go weak in the knees. Always had, always would.

      The knowledge unsettled her. So much so that after she’d finished her first cup of coffee, she started cleaning her kitchen. She knew she’d find comfort in the physical work and satisfaction in the finished results.

      About ninety minutes into her cleaning binge, when she’d finished the kitchen and the two bathrooms and started on the den, Max’s barking alerted her that a car had pulled up into the drive. Her mother. Perspiring and grungy, and knowing she could use a break, Eve went to the front door and opened it wide.

      “You’re out bright and early on a snowy morning,” she said brightly.

      Bonnie Gene’s gaze swept over her daughter. “It’s not morning. It’s well after noon.”

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