Colton Cowboy Protector Read online

  “No, really, I’m not here to eat. I just need to speak to Jack.” Tracy’s stomach chose that inopportune moment to growl. Thankfully, the din of the party conversation and background country music muffled the sound.

  Brett took her hand and, rather than shaking it, merely left his fingers wrapped warmly around hers as he gave her a smile that twinkled in his trademark Colton-green eyes. “My dad’s right. You don’t want to meet my brother on an empty stomach. Besides, the brisket is so tender it will melt in your mouth. Follow me.”

  He tugged her hand as he led the way out to the pool, where a small acoustic band was playing the country tunes she’d heard inside. Brett steered her to a buffet table piled high with beef brisket, rolls, fresh fruit, veggies and dips, cheeses of all types, and an array of the most sumptuous-looking desserts Tracy had ever seen. Her mouth watered, and she decided it would be a good idea to have at least a little something to eat. She and Brett both picked up plates and started down the buffet. “Wow!”

  He chuckled. “I know, right? Abra knows how to put out a spread, huh?” He used the tongs from a tray of cheeses to pile sliced beef and bite-size meat pastries onto Tracy’s plate. When melodic laughter drifted to them from a small group by the desserts, he called, “Hey, Ryan, save some of those brownies for the rest of us.”

  “You snooze, you lose,” a muscular man with telltale green eyes marking him as another Colton quipped. “Greta said I could have hers.”

  The brunette woman beside Ryan elbowed him. “I said you could have mine, not the rest of the tray!”

  Brett hitched his head toward the group. “Tracy, have you met this crew? My brother, Detective Ryan Colton of the Tulsa PD, and of course, the honorees, my baby sister, Greta, and her fiancé, Mark You-Better-Be-Good-to-Her-or-I’ll-Kick-Your-Ass Stanton.”

  The russet-haired man next to Greta laughed as he offered his hand to Tracy. Brett’s face sobered, and he gave Mark a squinty-eyed glare. “I’m not joking, man.”

  Greta shoved her brother’s shoulder. “Brett, stop trying to intimidate my fiancé, you big goof.”

  Brett grinned broadly. “Yeah, okay.” But when Mark smiled in relief, Brett blanked his face again in an instant and raised an eyebrow. “But I mean it.”

  “I already warned Mark that I know a hundred ways to kill a man and hide the body without being caught,” Ryan deadpanned.

  Tracy gave Mark a sympathetic look. “Tough gig, marrying into a family with this much testosterone.”

  “Yeah,” Mark said with a sappy grin as he kissed his fiancée’s temple, “but Greta’s worth it.”

  Brett made a gagging noise, then flinched as a cold jet of water spritzed them all.

  Tracy heard a youthful giggle as Brett spun around with a playful growl. She leaned to her left to see who was behind him and spotted a familiar-looking little boy with a water gun.

  Her heart seized. Seth.

  She gaped at the boy who so obviously resembled his paternal family, and a knot of emotion clogged her throat. Seeing her cousin’s son, her only living family, in the flesh for the first time was no less poignant in this setting than if she’d been greeting him five years ago when he was a newborn in the hospital nursery.

  “All right, pal. You asked for it!” Brett said, sweeping him up and over his shoulder.

  Seth’s laughter rang over the party sounds as Brett took three long steps to the deep end of the swimming pool and tossed his nephew in, clothes and all.

  Tracy gasped and took a step toward the pool, prepared to dive in after Seth if needed. But the little boy broke the surface of the water, still grinning from ear to ear and clutching his water gun. He swam skillfully to the ladder to climb out, calling, “Okay, Uncle Brett, this is war!”

  Brett grinned as his nephew shook his wet hair. “Bring it on, Seth. I’m ready for you, buddy.”

  Seth aimed his gun and blasted Brett and several other guests with a jet of cold water. Tracy bit her bottom lip to cover a smile.

  Abra strode briskly through the French doors, clearly not amused. She clattered out onto the patio, her high heels clicking on the concrete, and gave Brett a stern frown. “The two of you cut that out at once! I’ll not have you ruining Greta’s party,” she said, barely keeping her tone above a hiss. She quickly schooled her face and smiled at her guests. “I’m so sorry for my grandson’s behavior. He can be rather a handful sometimes.”

  Tracy bristled, ready to fly to Seth’s defense, just as Greta touched her arm and spoke to her. “So, Tracy, are you a friend of Mark’s?” She divided a curious look between Tracy and her fiancé.

  Mark shook his head, at the same time that Tracy said, “Um...actually, I’m not here for the party. I came to see Jack. On a personal matter.”

  Greta’s eyes widened, and she sent Ryan a knowing look that said, Well, well...interesting.

  Tracy’s cheeks flamed again, and she cleared her throat. “Could you point me toward him, please?”

  Greta blinked. “You don’t know what he looks like?”

  “Well, no. I mean, based on the Coltons I’ve met so far today, I’m assuming he’s green-eyed, dark-haired and gorgeous, but beyond that...”

  An amused grin tugged the corner of Ryan’s mouth, and he sent a glance around the area, using his advantageous height to see over the heads of the assembled guests. With the glass in his hand, he motioned to the far side of the pool. “That’s him over there, wrapping Seth up in the towel.”

  Tracy turned to look, and her breath caught. The man draping Seth in a beach towel was none other than the cowboy she’d encountered in the foyer. Mr. Tall, Dark and Surly himself.

  Chapter 2

  With his gaze, Jack Colton followed the sounds of splashing water and his son’s playful laugh to the swimming pool and cracked a small grin. Seth’s carefree, sometimes mischievous nature reminded him of himself when he was younger, before life, fatherhood and the demands of a large cattle ranch replaced his wild ways with a more responsible attitude. The mirthful sounds were silenced by a rebuke from Jack’s mother, and he tensed.

  Wasn’t it bad enough that Abra was putting on this dog-and-pony show, flaunting Greta’s engagement to the world in order to boost her own social standing? The media was here, for cripes’ sake! Not that Jack wasn’t happy for his sister. Greta’s engagement deserved to be toasted and celebrated. Just not so publicly. This spectacle was an embarrassment.

  Jack strode quickly to the pool to retrieve his son, noting that Brett had been the one egging the boy on. Jack appreciated the rapport his brother had with five-year-old Seth, but not when it led his son down the wrong path...namely one that crossed Abra’s.

  “Seth,” Jack said calmly, but with a tone and volume that brooked no resistance. His son glanced up, and Jack gave a subtle head jerk. As Seth obediently scurried out of the water, Jack turned his gaze to Brett and sent him a false smile. “Thanks.”

  His brother held up both hands, laughing, “He started it.”

  “Yeah, but you’re an adult. Act like one.”

  Brett gave him a who-whizzed-in-your-Wheaties look and turned to join the conversation behind him. No doubt ragging on his grumpy big brother. When had Jack become such a grandpa?

  Jack dragged a hand over his mouth and sighed. He was feeling edgy today, and it wasn’t Brett’s fault. This lavish party—$20,000 for champagne?—chafed his practical business sense. Anything frivolous that ate away the bottom line was a burr under his saddle. This party was the whole prickly bush. Grunting in frustration, he swiped a beach towel off a lounge chair and held it out for Seth.

  “Sorry, Daddy,” Seth said mournfully, his eyes downcast as he slopped over in his wet clothes and shoes.

  “Didn’t I ask you this morning to be on your best behavior?” Squatting, Jack wrapped the towel around him and rubbed an end over his shaggy brown hair.

  “Yes, sir.” Seth lifted a rebellious look. “But this party is so boring! There are no kids to play with and no bouncy castle or ga
mes.”

  Jack was bored, too, and eager to get out in the north pasture to check on the most recently born calves. “Tell you what. Go change into dry clothes, behave like the good boy I know you can be for the rest of the party and we’ll get ice cream in town tonight. Deal?”

  Seth’s face brightened. “Two scoops?”

  Jack raised an eyebrow. “A wheeler-dealer like your grandpa, I see.”

  Seth grinned at the comparison. “Pa Pa says, ‘never take the first offer. Always ask for a more better deal.’”

  “Just ‘better.’ Not ‘more better.’”

  Seth wrinkled his nose. “Huh?”

  Inside the house, Seth’s Pa Pa, Big J, gave a bellowing laugh that reached all the way to the pool. Jack shook his head. Seth could do worse than to emulate Big J. Poor grammar aside.

  “Sure. Two scoops. If you eat a good dinner.” Great, now Jack sounded like someone’s mother. Not his mother, though. Abra had never cared whether he ate his vegetables or brushed his teeth. She still barely bothered herself with her children, unless it served her purposes. Case in point, Greta’s engagement party.

  “Excuse me.”

  Jack angled his head to meet the gaze of the woman beside him who’d spoken. He squinted against the bright Oklahoma sun, which backlit her.

  “Are you Jack Colton?” she asked.

  “I am.”

  “May I have a word with you?” Her voice was noticeably thin and unsteady. She cleared her throat and added, “Privately?”

  In his head, Jack groaned. What now?

  He swatted Seth on the bottom. “Go get changed, Spud.”

  With a curious glance at the woman, Seth nodded and squished across the lawn toward the old ranch house.

  Jack pushed to his feet, his knee cracking thanks to an old rodeo injury, and faced the woman at eye level. Well, almost eye level. Though tall for a woman, she was still a good five or six inches shorter than his six foot one. He recognized her as the woman he’d seen earlier lurking in the foyer, practically casing the main house. “And you are...?”

  He suspected she was a reporter, based on the messenger bag hanging from her shoulder, though why a reporter would need to speak privately with him was beyond him. He had nothing to say to any reporter, privately or otherwise.

  She took a deep breath and nervously wet her lips. “Tracy McCain.”

  The name didn’t ring any bells, but when she extended her hand in greeting, he shook it.

  She added a shy smile, her porcelain cheeks flushing, and a stir of attraction tickled Jack deep inside. Hell, more than a stir. He gave her a leisurely scrutiny, sizing her up. She might be tall and thin, but she still had womanly curves to go with her delicate china-doll face. “Am I supposed to know you?”

  Her smile dropped. “Laura never mentioned me?”

  His ex-wife’s name instantly raised his hackles and his defenses. His eyes narrowed. “Not that I recall. How do you know Laura?”

  “I’m her cousin. Her maternal aunt’s daughter. From Colorado Springs.”

  Jack gritted his back teeth. Laura had been dead only a few months and already relations she’d never mentioned were crawling out of the woodwork like roaches after the light’s turned off. The allure of the Colton wealth had attracted more than one gold-digging pest over the years. “You should know, Laura signed an agreement when we divorced. She got a tidy settlement in place of any alimony. The agreement meant she gave up any further financial claim on Colton money or the Lucky C.”

  Tracy lifted her chin. “I’m aware.”

  “So you’re barking up the wrong tree, if you’re looking for cash.”

  Tracy blinked her pale blue eyes, and her expression shifted, hardened. “I’m not after money,” she said, with frost in her tone.

  Jack scratched his chin and tipped his head, giving her a skeptical glare. “Then what?”

  She waved a hand toward the house, then, as if realizing they’d have no more privacy inside than here by the pool, she frowned. “Is there someplace quiet we can talk?”

  Ten minutes ago, Jack had been dying for an excuse to ditch Abra’s party. Now he had the excuse he’d been looking for, but his gut told him he’d be no better off hearing Miss Blue Eyes out.

  “Fine.” He huffed an exasperated sigh and headed across the lawn, leaving her to follow or not. Her choice.

  The main house was a good distance from the stable, barn, bunkhouse and other outbuildings— two miles by the dirt road, a little less if you cut across fields and grassy lawns. He had driven one of the ranch’s utility vehicles over to the party, but some peevish rebellion in him decided to walk now. If Tracy wanted to talk to him, she could hoof it to the stable. Ninety-five degree Oklahoma heat and gravel road be damned.

  He walked too quickly for her to match his long-legged stride, but to her credit, she didn’t fall too far behind. As they neared the stable, cutting across a corner of one of the holding pens, he aimed a finger at one of the many cow patties, warning, “Watch your step.”

  She drew a quick breath and took a last-minute side step to avoid a pile. For what it was worth. Her modest brown dress pumps were caked in mud, the heels likely ruined by the gravel. Jack experienced a moment of compunction for her destroyed shoes, but he pushed it aside. She should have known better than to wear shoes like that to a ranch.

  He wiped sweat from his brow as he entered the shade of the stable, where large fans circulated the scents of manure, straw and leather in the stuffy alley between horse stalls. In a shady corner of an empty stall, their black barn cat, Sleek, napped between hunting expeditions. The family wanted Sleek to catch mice, which she did, but the feline seemed more interested in birds...and sneaking into the old ranch house to sleep on Seth’s bed when Jack wasn’t looking.

  Jack gave a pat to one of the mares, which stuck her nose out as he passed, then made his way to Buck’s stall. His buckskin gelding tossed his black mane when Jack opened the stall door and led him out.

  When Tracy caught up to him, she was breathing heavily and perspiration rolled down her face and neck. The fine, sweat-dampened hair around her temples and ears curled in sweet golden ringlets, and over the musty smell of the stable, a floral scent wafted to him with the fan’s breeze. The sweet aroma was completely out of place here, much like the woman wearing the perfume, and the heady scent made lust curl in his belly. Her stylish khaki slacks and simple print blouse were more suited to a boardroom than a tack room, and Tracy’s knitted brow as she scanned the horse stalls spoke for her uneasiness on his turf.

  He took a currycomb from a shelf and started grooming Buck. “You wanted privacy, you got it. So talk.”

  She let the messenger bag slide off her arm and thud onto a nearby bench. “There wasn’t anyplace...closer?” she panted.

  He shrugged. “Sure there was. But I figured if I could groom ole Buck while we talked, I could get a jump on my to-do list for the day.”

  And if he kept himself busy combing Buck, maybe he wouldn’t be as easily distracted by her lush lips and doe-like blue eyes. Her fragile, china-doll appearance made her seem vulnerable, and until he knew what she was after, Jack didn’t want to feel any weakness or sympathy toward her.

  She dabbed ineffectually at her damp cheeks and brow, then flapped the front of her blouse, trying to cool down. “Okay, so...I wanted to talk about Seth.”

  Jack tensed, his gut filling with acid. He squeezed the currycomb with a death grip and grated, “No.”

  “I... What do you mean, no? You haven’t even heard what I want to—”

  “I don’t need to hear. My son is off-limits. Nonnegotiable.” With an effort, Jack loosened his grip on the currycomb and continued stroking Buck’s beige hide.

  Tracy was silent for a moment, shifting her weight and swatting at a horsefly that was as drawn to her perfume as Jack was.

  “All I want is the opportunity to get to know my cousin’s son. I want Seth to know things about Laura that he might not know.”

>   Jack shook his head and aimed the currycomb at Tracy. “He knows all he needs to know, and I won’t have you filling his head with information that will lead to questions best left alone, or truths about his mother that will only hurt him.”

  Tracy straightened her spine, her expression affronted. “I have no intention of hurting him. I... What would I say about his mother that would hurt Seth?”

  “The truth. She abandoned him when he was a baby.”

  “Abandoned?” Tracy chuffed a humorless laugh. “She did no such thing!”

  Jack paused from the grooming to face her, cocking his head. “Really? What would you call it?”

  “Laura loved Seth!” Tracy clapped a hand to her chest, pleading her case with wide, earnest eyes. “She did what she thought was best for him. She saw that he’d have a better life here on the Lucky C with you and your family than she could give him as an unemployed single mother. She never forgot a birthday, always sent Christmas presents—”

  He scoffed. “You can’t buy a kid’s affection. Presents are no substitute for being there.”

  “I know that. And...so did she.” Tracy looked at the ground as she said the last, not sounding at all sure of her claim.

  “Doesn’t matter. I didn’t give him her gifts or cards.”

  Tracy’s chin jerked up. “What? Why not?”

  “It would have only confused him.”

  Now she tilted her head to the side, her eyes suspicious. “Confused him why?”

  “I told Seth his mother died when he was a baby.”

  Tracy gasped in outrage.

  Jack turned back to Buck and patted the gelding’s neck. “I thought that would be easier for him to handle than knowing she chose to walk away.”

  “She didn’t— You shouldn’t—” Tracy sputtered. “You had as much to do with her leaving as she did! You knew she wasn’t suited to ranch life. You encouraged her to go her own way when you saw how unhappy she was.”

  Jack gritted his back teeth, feeling a knot in his stomach. The failure of his marriage was the last thing he wanted to rehash today...or ever. Seth was the only good thing that came out of his years with Laura. He took a slow breath and swallowed the bitter taste at the back of his throat. “Water under the bridge,” he said in a low, even tone.