“I didn’t bring you to the ranch so I could seduce you. I asked you to stay here so I could take care of you and the baby, not take advantage of you.”

“That’s a shame,” Hannah whispered.

Brett wanted her in a bad, bad way.

She sauntered toward him—a seductress intent on the object of her desire.

“Are your dangerously out-of-control hormones going to keep testing my resolve for the rest of your pregnancy?” He’d meant it as a jest, but his voice was still thick with need.

“Probably. But if you’re expecting an apology, you’re going to be disappointed.”

“Let’s get out of here.”

They strolled to the grand staircase. “How’s it going to feel like a proper date if you don’t kiss me good-night?” she asked in a quiet purr of a voice as they mounted the stairs.

Oh, man, she wasn’t making this easy on him. “Your hormones again?”

A mischievous grin graced her lips. “No. That was all me.”

“Hannah, I don’t think getting physically involved with each other is the best plan.”

“It’s not the worst plan, either.”

***

Be sure to check out the next books in The Coltons of Oklahoma series. The Coltons of Oklahoma: Family secrets always find a way to resurface … w

Colton’s Cowboy Code

Melisa Cutler

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MELISSA CUTLER is a flip-flop-wearing Southern California native living with her husband, two rambunctious kids and two suspicious cats in beautiful San Diego. She divides her time between her dual passions for writing sexy, small-town contemporary romances and edge-of-your-seat romantic suspense. Find out more about Melissa and her books at www.melissacutler.net, or drop her a line at cutlermail@yahoo.com.

To my husband, who’s the most amazing father I’ve ever seen. The kids and I are so lucky to have you as the rock of our family, my darling.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

In Brett Colton’s ears, in his mind, the shrill keening of tornado sirens eclipsed all other sound, despite that he and Outlaw were too far into the backcountry for the sirens to be more than a figment of his imagination—his intuition warning him that this mission was a really stupid plan because there were a hundred ways to die in a storm this angry.

There was no fury in hell or on earth that compared to an Oklahoma thunderstorm when it decided to unleash a twister. The clouds above Tulsa churned, glowing gray green. Golf-ball-sized hail pelted Brett’s Stetson and the back of his oiled leather duster. He folded forward, shielding Outlaw’s neck and mane from the brunt of the hail’s force as best he could, though neither man nor steed were strangers to the elements.

One of these days, Brett’s guardian angels would give him up as a lost cause, but, God willing, it wasn’t going to be today. Not with so much on the line. Not after everything his family had been through in the past month or the sharp edge of disappointment in his father’s and brother’s eyes when Brett had broken it to them about the downed fence and the missing cattle. As if Brett had let the herd loose on purpose. As if he was still the same reckless punk he’d been four months ago.

Then again, maybe Brett hadn’t completely vanquished the recklessness from his blood, because here he was, racing across the rolling plains of the Lucky C ranch’s backcountry, straight toward the deadly funnel forming in the distance. Any minute, a flash flood might come rocketing through, if lightning or a twister didn’t hit down first, but he refused to return to the Lucky C homestead without the half dozen pregnant cows that had escaped.

The downed fence was a mystery that Brett would have to contemplate later. He’d checked that line himself the week before. All he knew was that the ranch that he’d once thought of as a fortress was no longer an impenetrable haven for his family, and the decades of peace and prosperity that the Coltons had enjoyed had been shattered beyond repair.

Brett had followed the tracks of the six stampeding cows southwest, keeping them in sight through the rain and the darkening sky, right up until the clouds had let loose with hail. With zero visibility and the cows’ hoofprints lost in the churned-up ground and melting balls of ice, he was riding with nothing to guide him but the hunch that the cows had headed toward Vulture Ridge, as the stock on the ranch had done so many times over the years. As long as they’d had enough sense to stop at the ridge instead of going over the edge—Lord, please don’t let them have gone over the edge—Brett would find a way to get them back to the Lucky C before the twister touched down.

Outlaw expertly cut around scrub trees and boulders without losing speed until Vulture Ridge came into view.

“Gotcha,” Brett said, though his words were lost in a crash of thunder.

Four of the cows crowded at the edge of the infamous gully, their hind hooves pawing at the muddy, disintegrating ledge and baying, clearly terrified. Brett slowed Outlaw to a trot and instead of closing in on the cows head-on, guided the horse in a wide arc. Then he rode along the ridge and came up on the cows from the side. Outlaw knew the drill, imposing his authority to the cattle, crowding and nudging them away from the edge.

Once they complied, Brett craned his neck to scan the expanse of prairie land for the remaining two cows. One, he spotted immediately, huddled against a boulder, but the other was nowhere to be seen. Fearing what he’d find, Brett turned his focus to the gully below Vulture Ridge that had been carved out by centuries of flash floods. The missing cow’s ear came into view first, tagged with a green tag that meant she was a heifer—a young first-time mom who was probably beyond freaked out at the moment.

He dismounted and got closer to the edge. The heifer was perched on a narrow outcrop of dirt and rock ten feet below the lip of the ridge, lying on her side, propped against the ridge wall, her massive round belly undulating. She was in labor, and the way she was angled, when the calf was born, it would fall the additional ten feet or so into the gully’s basin. That is, if the ledge didn’t crumble and the heifer didn’t fall herself, first.

This time, Brett’s curse was loud enough to be heard over the storm. An older, seasoned cow might have been amenable to Brett’s efforts to get her standing and help her pick her way out of the gully, but he already knew this heifer wasn’t going to make his life easy like that. He was standing next to Outlaw, debating his options, when a thunderclap sounded so loudly that Brett’s teeth rattled. The four cows they’d gathered immediately spooked and took off along the gully ridge.

Brett swung up into the saddle again. Shaking away the water and ice from his face, he set his teeth on his lower lip and whistled in the same tone he used on the livestock around the ranch, the one that often worked—in normal conditions, anyway—as a command for them to stop. These particular cows weren’t interested in commands. If anything, they picked up their pace.

He gave another, different toned whistle command to Outlaw and the horse surged toward the cattle as Brett reached for his lasso. Throwing it in this weather would be a crapshoot at best, but he had to try. He secured the rope in his hands, then drove Outlaw faster, getting in front of the cows and cutting them off.

He waited until they were right up on the beasts to throw the lasso. It caught the neck of the farthest cow, just as it was supposed to, so he cinched it nice and tight and brought all four cows crowded between the lassoed cow and Outlaw’s body.

“Thataway, Outlaw,” he called over the wind and hail, stroking the gelding’s neck. “Thataway.”

They maneuvered the cattle to a cluster of shrubs not too far away from where the fifth cow was still huddled by the boulder. Brett swung off the saddle, then looped the other end of the rope around the neck of a second cow. He tied another rope around the necks of the third and fourth cows and hooked all the ropes into the branches of the sturdiest scrub tree. It wasn’t all that secure, should another thunderclap spook them again, but it was the best he could do for now.

He left Outlaw standing near them, but refused to tie him to the tree, even if it meant Brett getting stranded should the gelding take off. Because what if the horse needed to flee with good reason? What if Brett didn’t make it out of the gully alive? Brett would rather chance getting stranded than put his horse in any unnecessary danger, which was a vital part of the cowboy code he lived by.

Brett threaded his head and an arm through his last bundle of rope from his saddle bag, then stroked Outlaw’s neck and got close to his ear. “You stay with the stock. Keep ’em calm for me until I get back.” For all he knew, Outlaw understood every word. He liked to imagine that bit of magic, anyway.

It wasn’t until he was slogging to the edge of Vulture Ridge that he realized how soaked-to-the-bones he was. The muddy ground sucked at his boots, and his jeans felt as if they weighed twenty pounds. He flapped the tails of his duster around his body, then checked the collar to make sure it was standing on end, but still, bits of hail wormed their way between his collar and his hat to melt against his neck. Sniffing, his eyes downturned and marking each labored step, he put his shoulder to the wind and pressed on.

The heifer was lying on her side still, but didn’t seem to have given birth yet. Her hooves hovered in midair over the gully that was rapidly filling with water. The path she’d slid down was steep, but wouldn’t be impossible for her to traverse back up over the ridge—if he could get her standing again.

He was debating the merits of risking his life for a single livestock, when the heifer brayed, a pained, fearful cry. Then one of her hind legs and her tail lifted. The water sac was visible already.

“Holy day...” Brett muttered.

The calf was coming.

He slid down the mud wall following the same path the heifer had. There wasn’t enough room on the ledge for both of them to fit comfortably. His boot heels cut into the dirt wall as he skirted her body to reach her tail. The calf’s tail was crowning first.

“Damn it. This baby’s not making it easy on you, is it, girl?” Brett wiped his muddy hands on his coat, then pushed the calf’s rump back in. Working by feel, he located the hind legs and positioned them one at a time in the birthing canal.

The heifer brayed and kicked out. If they were at the ranch, Brett would’ve secured her in a head gate and called for help. All he had now was luck, a single rope and his wits, and he was going to need all three to birth the calf before it died.

He took off his coat and draped it over the heifer’s face, hoping the reduction of stimulus from the rain and storm would calm her down. No luck. She kicked harder, and before Brett had gotten back in position near her tail, she tipped over the edge of the outcropping and slid into the rapidly-filling gully.

Brett followed, his rope in his hand. The water was three feet deep and rising. The rain and hail beat down relentlessly as the wind whipped up. Time to get this calf birthed and get the hell out of there before they all lost their lives. The cow, on her side in the gully, strained to keep her head above water. Brett slogged to her backside again, the water and mud caking his legs and seeping into his boots. He wrapped the rope around the calf’s legs once, twice, three times.

He wiggled his boots into the riverbed, bracing himself, then got a firm hold of the rope and pulled, growling with the effort. The calf slid another four or five inches out. Panting, Brett adjusted his grip on the rope, then pulled again. This time, the calf came. Brett fell backward in the water, the calf on his chest.

With a laugh of triumph, Brett cleaned the calf’s nose out with his finger, then tickled its ear to get it breathing. Then a golf-ball-sized piece of hail smacked Brett hard on his cheek, killing his awe over the miracle of helping birth a new life and reminding him of the danger all around them.

He pushed to his feet, bringing the calf up in his arms. He worked to untie the rope from the calf’s hind legs with one eye on the steep side of the gully. The water was above Brett’s knees, sloshing at his groin. He couldn’t get the rope around the mama cow and keep his hold on the wiggling calf, so he’d have to come back down for her.

He’d pulled himself and the calf a good five feet up the gully wall when he heard it, a roar like no other he’d heard before. Not thunder, not a twister. Something otherworldly that got louder, closer. The gully walls vibrated with the force. A flash flood. Had to be.

In full panic mode, Brett hauled himself to the ledge that the cow had originally slid onto. He grabbed his duster from where the cow had tossed it away from her face. He threw it up to the top of the ridge, then hauled himself and the calf the rest of the way up, his fingers and boot toes digging into the muddy wall, pushing the calf up in front of him with his chest. He heaved the calf over the top of the ridge as a wall of water appeared in the gully, bearing down on their location.

Brett scrambled to safety and got on his knees. As fast as he could, he wound the rope back and set the lasso loop down to the mama cow. Maybe he could anchor her there so she wouldn’t get swept away. Maybe the floodwaters weren’t as high and fast as they looked.

The flash flood hit her hard, rolling her under. The rope pulled on him as though he was playing tug-of-war with a whole football team. There was nothing to do but let go. He’d heard too many accounts of ranchers getting swept into floodwater and drowning because they were too stubborn to lose their livestock.

Brett’s legs were shaky and weak with an adrenaline crash as he stood, following with his gaze the glimpse of the cow’s head in the water until she disappeared. The floodwaters gurgled and spit at the edge of the gully wall. He stared at the water, trying not to think of the loss as a failure. After all, he’d saved the calf, five pregnant cows and his own life.

He swung his attention to the boulder where he’d left the other cows and Outlaw. Outlaw was still there, but none of the cows. Damn it.

He pulled his drenched, muddy coat on, then lifted the calf into his arms again and trudged to his horse, his eyes on the storm front that looked to be moving away from them. At least one thing had gone his way today.

Outlaw nuzzled his cheek.

“Thanks for waiting for me,” Brett said. “Happen to see which direction those cows went?”

Could’ve been his imagination, but Outlaw snorted in reply.

He scratched the horse’s neck. “Good. How about you lead me to them so we can call it a day?”

He lifted the calf onto the saddle first, then hoisted himself up, the weight of the water and mud making him feel a good fifty pounds heavier than he had when he’d left the stable. The orphaned calf looked up at him, helpless and trusting. Brett usually didn’t think of the livestock as cute, but this one surely was, with long lashes, a soft buttercream-colored coat and a pink nose. He wrapped his coat around it and held it close.

“We’ll get you home soon and make you up a bottle as soon as we find your mama’s friends. I do believe we’re gonna name you Twister. How does that sound?”

The calf’s tongue came out to lick a pebble of hail from its nose, the cutest thing Brett might’ve ever seen besides his nephew, Seth.

Jack, Brett’s oldest brother, was going to be furious about the loss of the cow. Already, he didn’t trust Brett, and this wasn’t going to help. But Brett was tired of working under his brother like some hired hand, getting his butt chewed for every perceived misstep. He was ready to redeem his reputation and earn his slice of the Colton legacy—and he had just the plan to make it work. All he needed now was to hire a financial whiz to help him crunch the numbers and profit projections he’d need to help Jack see his point of view.

With a whistle and a nudge of Brett’s boots, Outlaw burst into motion back through the storm toward home while Brett’s mind churned, plotting and planning his next move to seize a hold of his bright future once and for all.

* * *

Being a poster girl for the perils of sin had gotten Hannah Grayson nowhere fast. For as much mileage as her family’s church had gotten out of using Hannah’s accidental pregnancy as a cautionary tale, they could have at least provided her with a small stipend to ease the sting of being disowned by her parents, fired from her job and evicted from her apartment, all while battling a nasty case of morning sickness.

From her pocket, she withdrew the help-wanted ads she’d printed from Tulsa World newspaper’s online classifieds. Every lead on the papers but one had been crossed out as a dead end. She’d been counting on her newly minted accounting degree from Tulsa United Online University to help her land on her feet, but every employer she’d met with had taken one look at the now-obvious swell of her belly and decided she wasn’t qualified for the job.

With her meager savings running out, she’d made a deal with herself to explore this one last lead before giving up on accounting in favor of a retail or a fast-food position, but it was a long shot at best.

Tulsa businessman in need of an accountant for a temporary project, discretion a must.

No name or company name given, no phone number or address. Just a generic email address of “oklahoma45678” that could belong to anybody. Including a psychopath. Which was why she’d created a new, generic email address of her own to reply to the ad and had refused to give out even her name to the individual when she agreed to meet him at a window booth in the Armadillo Diner & Pie Company.

Replacing the classified ad in her purse, she paused at the window of the Fluff and Fold to check herself in the window reflection. Wisps of her pencil-straight black hair lifted in the wind that had hung around Tulsa since the previous week’s storm. She smoothed them into place and used the pad of her thumb to sharpen the line of her light pink lip gloss on her bottom lip.

The gray slacks were a clearance-rack find from a couple months earlier, when they’d been a loose fit. Now, the waist sat below the swell of her belly, which she’d covered with a form-fitting pale pink blouse. She could have de-emphasized the evidence of her pregnancy with another outfit, but all that had done in the past was delay the inevitable disinterest from the prospective employers that came when she disclosed the truth, and wasted everyone’s time. Better to put her condition out in the open right up front, before a single word was exchanged.

With her eyes on her reflection, she stood tall and proud, rubbing a hand over her belly. “Something’s going to work out, little guy. Or girl. If this opportunity isn’t it, then we’ll keep trying. I’m not going to let you down.”

She squared her shoulders and strode toward the diner door, harnessing her pride and owning her power. She was a terrific accountant and a good person. That had to count for something. Maybe Mr. Anonymous Businessman would be the first person to see her for the workplace asset she could be.

Inside the Armadillo, the smell of old, burned coffee and cooking eggs rushed up on Hannah, making her stomach lurch. She ground to a stop in the waiting area. Hands on her hips, she raised her face to the ceiling and breathed through her mouth as the wave of nausea passed. When she’d selected the diner as a meeting place, she’d been hoping for a free meal, not the possibility of the diner smells triggering her morning sickness.

“You okay, darlin’?”

Hannah lowered her gaze to see a middle-aged waitress eyeing her with concern from behind blue-tinted eyelashes, tapping a laminated menu against her palm.

“I think so. Food smells, you know?” She rubbed her baby bump and offered a smile to Janice, or so the waitress’s name tag read.

“Oh, I know. Try working here while pregnant, with the omelets in the morning and the liver-platter special at dinner. I spent the first half of each of my pregnancies serving the food, then running to the can. How far along are you?”

The mention of eggs and liver had Hannah raising her face to the ceiling again. “Nineteen weeks.”

“Ah. Well, the worst of it should be about over. You want a table near the air vent, I bet.”

After another fortifying breath through her mouth, Hannah lowered her face and smiled at Janice. “Actually, I’m meeting someone here. Job interview.”

Her curiosity about Mr. Anonymous’s identity had her shifting her gaze from Janice to the row of window booths. There was only one man at a booth by the window. Brett Colton, and he was standing up next to the table, his napkin in his hand, nailing her with a gaze of utter shock.

Gasping, Hannah wrenched her face away. Crap on a cracker. This can’t be happening.

Janice’s voice floated over the air as though from a great distance. “Well, bless your heart, looking for work in your condition. What does your baby daddy have to say about that?”

Her baby daddy was about to say a whole lot because, judging by his expression, he’d heard the whole exchange with Janice and was really good at doing fast math in his head.

“Excuse me,” Hannah muttered. Then she pivoted in place and marched back out the door.

She paced the sidewalk in front of the diner, garnering her courage because she knew with 100 percent certainty that Brett was going to follow her out and demand the answers he deserved. Over the past few months, she’d played this moment in her head a dozen different ways, but it never looked anything like this. She never planned to leave him in the dark about the baby. All she’d wanted to do was hold off on telling him until she had a job and a permanent place to stay.

“Anna, wasn’t it?” The growl of Brett Colton’s sexy-as-sin voice had her freezing in her tracks. She squeezed her eyes closed as mortification set in that the father of her child didn’t even remember her name correctly. Then again, what did she expect from Tulsa’s most notorious playboy? She bet he seduced a different girl every night of the week, or so the rumors would have her believe.

She fluttered her eyes open and caught sight of her reflection in the Fluff and Fold window again, surprised at the sight of a meek girl hanging her head, dread and guilt etched in her features. What happened to the proud, confident woman she’d been only a few minutes earlier? She’d done nothing wrong and broken no rules. There was no official timetable on telling a man you were pregnant with his child.

Clinging to that truth, she straightened up, smoothed her features, and then spun to face Brett. “It’s Hannah, actually.”

He winced at that, and then those soulful green eyes turned sheepish—a reaction that Hannah found absurdly comforting. “Sorry. Hannah.” He closed and opened his mouth, his eyes flitting from her belly to her face, as though he was in the same clueless state of communication as she was. “I, uh...you’re, um...nineteen weeks. That’s about when we, uh...”

“Yes. I know. It’s yours,” she blurted. And cue her turn to wince. So much for breaking the news to him gently.

The sheepishness vanished from his face, along with the color. “That’s impossible.”

She schooled her features to mask a sudden flare of irritation. “Really? Ya think?” Okay, so maybe she hadn’t done that terrific a job concealing her feelings.

“We used protection, so how is that possible?”

She’d asked herself that same question a million times. “Yes, we did. We used protection that you supplied, in fact. So maybe you should be the one explaining to me how it happened.”

His eyes narrowed. “Moving on. You’re going to have to work pretty hard to convince me of the reason you kept this from me. When were you planning on telling me, anyway? Or did you?”

The accusation dripping from his words got her back up. “So you didn’t remember my name correctly, yet you expected me to remember yours and know where to find you? Narcissistic much?”

His mouth fell open at that and the color returned to his face in full force. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I...”

He looked so abashed and sincerely apologetic that all the fight rushed out of her. “That wasn’t fair of me. I’m sorry. The truth is, I did remember your name and I fully planned to tell you. I was looking to get my life in order first.”

The ranching community of Tulsa was an everybody’s in everybody’s business kind of town, and Hannah couldn’t bear for her baby to be born under a cloud of suspicion and rumors that his or her mother was a gold digger, getting pregnant on purpose to get at the Colton fortune. It would be bad enough for her baby having its mama’s reputation run through the mud in the church community.

His mouth screwed up as though he didn’t buy what she was selling. “By answering a sketchy classified ad for temporary work? I’ve been in your car and to your apartment. Your life is the opposite of screwed up. Try again.”

She smoothed a hand over her stomach out of habit. If he wanted to hear the whole pathetic story, then who was she to deny him?

“That’s the truth, whether you believe it or not. When my parents found out I was pregnant, they relieved me of the burden of being their daughter, which included firing me from managing the feed-supply store they own. And, because I’d sunk all my money into getting my accounting degree, I had nothing in savings. So I sold my car to pay my doctor bills, which then got me evicted from my apartment.

“I’m trying to get my life back on track, but nothing I’ve tried is working. I can’t just snap my fingers and fix my life. All I wanted to do is land on my feet before coming to you. A job. And a place to live.” She’d wanted to tell him truthfully that she was doing fine and didn’t need his financial support or—God forbid—a mercy proposal of marriage. She’d seen enough of her parents’ own unhappy marriage to know that wasn’t the life she wanted for her or her child.

“The only trouble is,” she continued, “who’s going to hire a pregnant lady for any kind of real job, with health insurance and maternity leave? Nobody, as it turns out, because I’ve looked. I’ve scoured this whole darn city looking for work that would help my baby—” Emotion tightened her throat. She was exhausted and nauseous and so tired of being judged unfairly. She swallowed and took a breath. “I’ve been looking for work that would help my baby have a good life.”

Grimacing, he wrenched his face to the street, his hands on his hips, his eyes distant.

Hannah did a whole bunch more swallowing, reining in her hormone-fueled emotional fireworks as she studied his profile. He really was a stunning specimen of a man—his face perfection with those masculine cheekbones and that fit cowboy’s body that had brought her so much wicked pleasure that night. He kept his light brown hair disheveled just so, adding a rakish quality to his charm. No wonder he turned the head of every woman in Tulsa when he walked down the street.

He deserved better than to find out he was going to be a father on the side of the road outside a Laundromat, not with a woman he loved, but with a virtual stranger.

When she was sure she could speak calmly, she said, “I’m not trying to get at your family’s money, Brett.”

He jerked his face in her direction, his face a stone mask now. Gone was any trace of the smile he’d wooed her with nineteen weeks ago at the Tulsa club where she’d decided to let her hair down after her college graduation.

“You still need to pay your bill, hon,” called a female voice.

Hannah and Brett both turned to see Janice standing at the Armadillo’s door, waving a slip of paper.

“I’ll be right there,” Brett called to Janice, his voice tight with harnessed emotion. To Hannah, he added, “I need to take care of this, and then we’re going to go somewhere private to talk.”

Hannah nodded, even as her stomach ached, empty. She’d been counting on the interviewer’s promise in his email to buy her breakfast. She wrapped her arms around her ribs and battled a fresh round of pathetic tears. “I’ll wait here.”

He huffed, his hardened, distant expression not really seeing her when he looked her way and took her arm. “I don’t think so. You’re coming inside with me while I pay the bill. I don’t want you disappearing on me before I get some answers. I don’t even know your last name.” He swept his hand in front of him. “After you.”

Chapter 2

Brett was pretty sure he’d never been so blindsided by anything as seeing the woman he’d slept with a few months earlier appear at the diner where he was waiting to interview a temporary accountant—and learning that she was pregnant with his child.

His child. Good God, what had he done?

He’d already come to think of that bender of a weekend as life-changing because he’d nearly gotten himself killed, not because he’d knocked up the girl he slept with, the one whose last name or phone number he hadn’t even bothered to ask, he was so drunk and self-destructive. He was lucky he remembered her face at all, given the state he’d been in, but she held the dubious honor of being his last conquest before he’d gotten right with himself and had given up partying, drinking and women cold turkey.

He held the diner door open for Hannah, who marched past him, her feathers clearly ruffled. “I know you’re upset, but you don’t get to treat me like a criminal.”

He wasn’t trying to, but he also wasn’t taking a chance on her sneaking away before he got some answers. All he had was the email address she’d contacted him with about the job, and he doubted that was anything but a shell account. He didn’t even know her last name, and hadn’t even recalled her first name correctly. Didn’t that just say it all about how severely he’d screwed up his life?

At the hostess desk, he paid for his coffee and left a generous tip. That’s when he heard it. Hannah’s stomach growled. Loudly.

He froze, his change halfway in his wallet.

“Shoot,” she muttered. “You didn’t hear that.”

In his periphery, he watched her arms wrap around her middle, protective and proud. His attention slid to the scuffed black flats she wore. They were old, worn. The edges of the material fraying. Yet she’d worn them to the job interview so they had to be the best pair she owned. She’d lost her job, her car and her apartment. Where was she living now? Was she getting the medical care she and the baby needed?

That’s when it hit him that the answers to those questions didn’t matter yet. All that mattered at that moment was that she was clearly hungry. She was also too thin, now that he thought about it. Hungry. Jobless. Homeless—and she was having his baby. Damn.

“Change of plans.” His words came out as a croak. He cleared his throat, then met the waitress’s confused gaze. “Could you seat us again? Turns out I’m hungry for breakfast after all.”

Hannah stiffened. “I don’t need your charity.”

Judging by her growling stomach, she did, but she was far too proud to accept it. She hadn’t come to him for help when she first found out she was pregnant or when she’d lost her job. She’d made of point of telling him that she wasn’t after his money. Other than her dancing skills—both of the club variety and the horizontally-in-bed variety—her sense of pride and honor were just about all he knew about her. That, and the fact that she was an accountant, which he would have never pegged her as.

Proud, dancing Hannah the accountant didn’t follow the waitress, but stood stock-still, giving him a stink-eye that even his mother would admire. She didn’t want help or charity and didn’t seem to trust his breakfast offer, but Brett did have one thing he could offer her that he bet she wouldn’t refuse.

“You came here today to interview for a job and I need an accountant, so I say we get on with the reason for our appointment.”

She held him with a searching gaze as though testing his intentions, then gave a terse nod.

He fought against letting his relief show on his face as he ushered her ahead of him to follow the waitress to a booth.

The waitress handed them menus. “I’m glad you came back for some food, darlin’. I was worried that your morning sickness got the better of you.”

Hannah offered the woman a warm, genuine smile that held Brett riveted, his memory jogged. He remembered that smile from the night they’d hooked up and what it felt like to have it directed at him.

“Wait,” he said as the waitress turned to leave. “Janice, I’m really hungry. I think we’d better get that food on order right now. Hannah, you ready?”

“I’ll have the oatmeal and a fruit cup.”

That wasn’t enough. Not nearly. When his brother’s now ex-wife had been pregnant, she ate her weight in food every day. “I’ll have the Paul Bunyan flapjack stack, the sausage omelet with the cheese grits, and a side of bacon.” He winked at Hannah, whose eyebrows were pinched as though she were onto his plan. “Working on the ranch builds up quite an appetite.”

When the waitress left, he folded his hands on the table. “Let’s get right to this interview. Lucky C—that’s the name of my family’s ranch—needs a new accountant.”

“I know what your family’s ranch is named. Everybody round these parts knows the Coltons, which is why it doesn’t make any sense for you to post the help wanted ad the way you did, anonymously, discretion required.”

On top of everything else, she was smart as a whip. Smart, proud, stubborn and a great dancer. Her list of attributes was getting unwieldy.

“What are you smiling about?” she asked.

He shook his head. “You’re quick. I can already see you’ll do a great job for the Lucky C.”

She frowned at his compliment. “You’re patronizing me. You don’t even know my qualifications.” From her massive purse, she pulled a page of substantial, pricey stationery from a folder. Her résumé.

“I’m not patronizing you. I put the ad in the classifieds because I need an accountant. You answered the ad and I’m a pretty good judge of character. Something tells me that you’re perfect for the job.”

“I am, but first, tell me why you did what you did, with the anonymous classified ad. Your family’s ranch is huge and prosperous. If you need an accountant, you could have the best in Oklahoma, none of this cloak-and-dagger baloney.”

He could tell she wasn’t going to let him off the hook. “My father’s getting up there in years and his memory isn’t what it used to be. I’ve done what I can to help him—we all have—but it’s time we bring in a qualified professional. I made the ad anonymous because my father’s in denial about what’s happening to him and I didn’t want to alert the Tulsa gossip hounds, not after everything our family went through last month.”

That was only a half-truth, but the real reason he’d wanted to hire an accountant wasn’t going to cut through her pride, so he had no remorse for feeding her a line, not when her and their baby’s well-beings were at stake. The real reason he’d put the anonymous ad in the paper was because he’d been planning to hire an accountant to take a look at the ranch’s books on the sly, without his father and brothers’ knowledge, and to help him crunch the numbers for the horse breeding business plan he was going to lay out for his family to consider investing in. But Hannah needed more than a part-time temporary job on the sly.

She set a hand on his forearm, her face pinched with worry. Her nails were trimmed to a short, practical length but were well-manicured and glossy, as though she’d used clear polish on them. “What happened last month? Is everyone okay?”

That surprised him all over again. The local news had done a thorough job raking his family through the public eye. “You mean you didn’t hear?”

Her concerned look deepened, darkening her eyes. “No. Last month was the worst of my life. I was just trying to survive.”

She was just trying to survive. He gripped his knees hard, holding himself back from scolding her. You should have contacted me. I would have taken care of you. I would have taken care of everything.

Brett wasn’t ready for fatherhood, and truth was, it’d take some time for that change in his life to sink in, but nothing was going to stop him from doing the right thing by Hannah and the baby. That’s what Colton men did and that’s what Brett was going to do—for the rest of their lives.

Marriage? Maybe. If that’s what Hannah wanted, what she needed in the long run, then his code of honor depended on making that offer to her. But not yet. Not when he wasn’t sure she’d even agree to come live at the ranch once she heard what happened there the month before. He’d just have to find a way to convince her despite everything, because there was no getting around the truth about the trouble at the Lucky C. She’d find out soon enough. “Our house was robbed and my mother was attacked.”

Hannah gasped. Her grip on his forearm tightened. “Is she...?”

He set a hand over hers and squeezed. “She’s alive. In a coma. The doctors aren’t sure she’s going to make it, but we have to hold out hope.”

Brett’s relationship with his mother was the most complicated in his life. They’d never seen eye to eye and clashed more often than they were at peace. His deepest regret was that their last words to each other were angry, cruel. She wasn’t an easy person to love, but she was the only mother he had and the thought of losing her hurt him something awful.

Hannah turned her hand over and threaded her fingers with his. “I’m so sorry. Did they catch the man who did that to her?”

“Yes. They have a suspect in custody. If you accept my job offer, and I sincerely hope you will, I want you to know that the ranch is safe. You don’t have to worry about that.” God, he hoped that was true. But there was no need to worry Hannah with his private doubts that the police had captured the man responsible for the assault, not when there was no evidence beyond his gut telling him that there was more to the robbery and attempted murder than everyone else thought.

Mistrust—or was that her pride rearing its head again?—pushed through her worried expression. “I don’t remember you making me an official offer yet.”

Their food arrived in a clatter of plates on Janice’s massive serving tray, the smell so delicious that Hannah’s stomach gurgled like crazy.

“I was just about to. Come work for the Lucky C, Hannah. It’s what the ranch needs, and it’s what you need, too. I’m prepared to compensate you with a competitive salary, health insurance, housing—”

“Housing? Isn’t that a little unusual?”

She was a hard nut to crack, this one. Far harder than her sweet, soft voice and kind smile suggested. He summoned his most charming smile onto his lips, hoping that a little buttering up would help his cause. “Maybe, but then again, I’ve never met an accountant as pretty as you, so I’d say this situation is mighty unusual any way you cut it.”

Sure enough, the mistrust in Hannah’s eyes softened. And was that a hint of a smile on her lips? She poked her spoon through the air in his direction. “You can’t flirt with me if you’re going to be my boss.”

“Then you’re accepting my offer?”

“I said if.”

He slid the plate of bacon toward her. When charming failed, bacon often had a way of coming to the rescue. “Eat.”

Desire shone in her eyes, jogging another memory of the lust he remembered seeing on her face that night at the club, then later, at her apartment. He remembered the way her every emotion played on her face without artifice or pretense. At the time, he’d appreciated that quality of hers only because it had made her easier to seduce, then easier to bring pleasure to in bed. He supposed what he was doing this morning still counted as seduction, but now, he was wholly focused on her needs instead of his.

To his relief, her fingers closed around a crispy slice of bacon. “I wasn’t going to eat your food, given your enormous rancher’s appetite, but that smells too darn good to resist. One little piece...” She crunched into the bacon, her eyes closing with the bliss of it.

He watched her face, riveted anew by the ever-shifting nuances in her expression.

Yet he forced his wayward thoughts aside. There would be time enough to marvel over Hannah, but he was a man on a mission, and he would not be deterred for anything. “Our chef cures and smokes her own bacon, harvested from our ranch’s livestock. I wake to the smell of it frying in the kitchen every single morning. You could, too.”

Her eyes jolted open. “I’m not moving in with you.”

Time for the next step in his seduction. He liberally spread butter on his stack of flapjacks, then drizzled it with warm maple syrup. He sliced off a hearty wedge, then held his forkful across the table for her.

She backed her face up, eying the flapjack bite suspiciously.

“When was the last time you had pure maple syrup and real butter?” he crooned.

She reached a finger out to his plate and swiped at a drop of syrup, then brought it to her tongue.

Mercy. Just like that, Brett felt every one of the nineteen weeks of his self-inflicted abstinence.

“You, Brett Colton, are as slippery as a snake-oil salesman.”

He brandished the fork under her nose. “I prefer to think of myself as stubborn and single-minded. Not so different from you.”

The suspicion on her face melted away a little bit more. She guided his hand toward her and closed her lips around the fork in a way that gave Brett some ideas too filthy for his own good.

He cleared his throat, snapping his focus back to the task at hand. “When my parents remodeled the big house, they designed separate wings for each of their six children, but I’m the only one of the six who lives there full-time. Me and my father. My younger sister passes through sometimes, but you would have your own wing, your own bathroom with a big old tub, and plenty of privacy.”

For the first time, she seemed to be seriously considering his offer. Time to go for broke. He handed her another slice of bacon, which she accepted without a word.

“Where are you living now?” he said. “Can you look me in the eye and tell me it’s a good, long-term situation for you and the baby?”

She snapped a tiny bit of bacon off and popped it into her mouth. “It’s not like I’m living in some abandoned building. I’m staying with my best friend, Lori, and her boyfriend, Drew. It’s not ideal. Actually it’s far from ideal—I mean, I’m sleeping on the sofa—but with the money from this job, I’ll be able to afford my own place.”

“And until that first paycheck, you’ll live at the ranch.” He pressed his lips together. That had come out a smidge more demanding than he’d wanted it to.

Their gazes met and held. “Are you mandating that? Will the job offer depend on me accepting the temporary housing?”

Oh, how he wanted to say yes to that. “No. But you should agree to it, anyway. Your own bed, regular meals made by a top-rated personal chef, and your commute to work is down a set of stairs and along a short dirt road to the ranch office. The only traffic you might run into would be some overly excitable ranch dogs.”

She popped the rest of the bacon slice into her mouth, then washed it down with orange juice. “I know why you’re doing all this, and I still don’t fully believe you about the reason you’re hiring an accountant on the sly, but I really am grateful for all you’re offering—the job and the accommodations. In all honesty, this went a lot better than I thought it would.”

“The job interview?”

“No, telling you about the baby. I thought you’d either hate me or propose to me.”

Brett didn’t miss a beat. “I still might.”

“Which one, hate me?”

Leaning forward, he gave her a look full of commitment and honor. “Ask you to marry me. I haven’t taken that option off the table yet, either.” At the flush of pink to her skin, he added with a knowing smile, “For the record, I don’t think there’s a person on the planet who could hate you.”

“There’s a whole congregation of them over on Grand Avenue and Fourth Street.”

“That’s your church?”

“The Congregation of the Second Coming. My parents’ church, not mine. And it’s more like a cult than a church, truth be told. Even before they excommunicated me because of the pregnancy, I was done with that place. I’m still a Christian, but I doubt there’s room for that church’s closed-minded judgment in the kingdom of heaven.”

“Then you’re better off without them.”

She drew herself up tall. “Thank you. Yes, I am.”

“Take my offer, Hannah. Let me take care of you.” He clamped his teeth together, cursing himself for adding that last part. A strong, proud woman like her would chafe at such an old-fashioned notion.

She picked up her butter knife and made swirls in the bottom of her oatmeal bowl. Brett held his breath, watching her.

“I accept the job and the housing, even though ‘Pregnant with the Boss’s Baby’ sounds like a bad soap opera plot.” A conciliatory smile graced her lips.

Relief swept through his system with the force of last week’s flash flood. “I don’t know, I think it has a nice ring to it.” Even as he said that, the truth in her jest hit him with a fresh dose of clarity. He was going to be a father. His future was going to include diaper changes, first steps, scraped knees and sleepless nights. Everything in his life was about to change, and he and Hannah would forever be linked by the life they’d created together.

His attention raked over the mother of his child, who was worrying the edge of her napkin. “What’s bothering you now?”

“What about your family?” she said. “You took all this so well, but what if they hate me? Or worse, what if they think I got pregnant on purpose to get at your money?”

As much as he wished that her worry had no merit, she’d brought up an excellent point, because his family had no shortage of closed-minded judgmental attitudes, too. He’d been fighting for months to get them to see him in a new light, to prove to his brothers and father that he had turned over a new, more responsible leaf, so that they’d finally support the big plans he had for the family business. The last thing Brett needed was to add fuel to his brothers’ and father’s belief that he wasn’t fit to help run the Lucky C, and nothing said screwed-up, irresponsible rich boy better than getting a girl pregnant during a one-night stand.

But facing the consequences of his misspent years and terrible choices was his problem, not Hannah’s, so he squelched the grimace he felt coming on at the thought of breaking the news to his father and siblings. “Leave them to me.”

Chapter 3

Brett stood at the edge of Vulture Ridge, at the very place where he’d watched the cow get swept away in the flash flood, his gaze absorbing the land that he loved, despite Mother Nature’s occasional cruelty. Today the sky was clear, but they’d had afternoon thundershowers every day lately, and this afternoon’s forecast was no different. Even now, at a few minutes to noon, the clouds were stacking up on the horizon.

His eyeballs ached from a sleepless night of self-torment, with his conscience replaying every mistake he’d ever made. Every whiskey-soaked night, every morning of work he’d slept through—his past was littered with so much waste of money, time and opportunity that he could hardly believe that he kept being given more chances to get it right. That same life-changing bender of a weekend that had resulted in his car accident was now changing his life all over again. From this point forward and for the rest of his days, he would be beholden to a woman and, soon, a child. Somehow, he was going to become a man worthy of the charge—that he knew with absolute certainty.

Before dawn, he’d walked out of his house determined to stop looking back, ready to face his future with eyes wide-open. With a straight spine and determination coursing through his veins, he’d saddled Outlaw and had taken off to the backcountry, long before Jack and the ranch hands had arrived for their workdays.

He’d watched the sun rise over the prairie with an appreciation that reminded him of how he’d felt returning to the ranch after being released from the hospital after his accident—full of gratitude and hope. The longer he soaked in the views and scents of the backcountry, the land he adored, the more at peace he became with the new direction his life was going. Becoming a father was going to change a lot, but it wasn’t going to change everything. He would always have this land, this Colton legacy. And now he had someone to pass it to. The realization brought a smile to his lips.

The irony wasn’t lost on him that the very reason he couldn’t give up fighting for his rightful place in the Colton legacy was the very reason he was about to be back to square one with his family on that very topic. When his dad and brothers learned about Brett’s impending fatherhood resulting from a one-night stand, he was going to lose their trust all over again, along with whatever leverage he’d fought for over the past four months.

When the alarm on his phone chimed, alerting him that it was almost time for the family meeting that his older brother Ryan, a detective with the Tulsa PD, had called in order to share the latest developments in their mother’s assault case, Brett’s resolve faltered for a split second. Nerves settled in his gut like stones. Ryan wasn’t the only one with news to share.

A click of his tongue and a slight wiggle of a rein was all the direction Outlaw needed to turn away from the ridge and trot in the direction of the ranch buildings. Brett urged him faster, relishing the feel of unadulterated power in Outlaw’s muscles and stride. Brett knew that Outlaw loved this part, too, the wind in their faces and the open range at their feet as they shot across the plains, the sensations of speed and freedom potent enough for Brett to almost imagine it possible to outrun his past and his reputation.

The circular driveway in front of Brett’s family home—the Big House, as it’d been called since long before Brett’s birth, and where now only he and his dad lived, and his mom before her attack—was crowded with vehicles, including his half brother Daniel’s truck and the farm truck that Jack’s fiancée, Tracy, liked to drive around the place. Even his brother Eric had deigned to make a rare appearance, by the looks of it. Greta, they’d already been informed, couldn’t break away from her job until the next day, when she planned to swing through the Big House for a short stay.

Brett walked around to the back of the house, then climbed the four steps up to the wraparound porch. The stones in his stomach that had been sitting there since seeing Hannah yesterday seemed to double in size with every step. He swallowed hard, then opened the door and entered through the mudroom attached to the kitchen.

The aroma of onions and garlic and roasting beef wafted past his nose as he removed his hat and boots. Maria, the chef, must be slow-cooking a roast for supper, if he had to hazard a guess. For Hannah’s first meal there, he’d requested something hearty and homey that showcased the ranch’s prized steer, and judging by the mouthwatering smells, Maria was going to knock it out of the park.

A smile worked its way onto his lips at the sudden vision of the look on Hannah’s face when she’d crunched into that first slice of bacon the previous morning. Oh, man, he couldn’t wait to watch her reaction to Maria’s cooking. The anticipation of it was almost enough to quell his nerves over coming clean to his family about the many ways his life was about to get turned upside down.

From the kitchen, he crossed the foyer to the living room on the east side of the house, where a collection of male voices could be heard. As opposed to the kitchen, the foyer invariably smelled of fresh flowers from the arrangement that graced the circular marble table at the center of the grand entrance, which his mother insisted on having delivered weekly. To her warped way of thinking, the flowers were a display of power and wealth, but since Brett’s brush with death, he’d come to think of the arrangements as reminders of how beautiful and fragile life was.

Even after his mom’s attack, Edith had maintained the fresh flowers in the house. The only change was that the smaller arrangements that used to grace his mom’s room got sent to her room at Tulsa General Hospital.

He’d taken no more than three steps through the foyer when a blond ball of little-boy energy bounded toward him, squealing his name. Despite Brett’s nerves, he felt another grin coming on. Nobody made Brett feel like a rock star more than his five-year-old nephew, Seth, Jack’s only son. The two were fast friends, and had been since the day Brett first held Seth in his arms when he was nothing more than a red-faced potato head wrapped in a hospital blanket. He opened his arms as Seth launched himself into them.

“Hey, cowpoke.”

“Hiya, Uncle Brett!”

“Wait, what’s this in your armpit?” With that, Brett dug his thumbs into Seth’s prime tickle spot under his armpits. Seth squealed with delight, writhing and arching.

Brett redoubled his efforts. “Just a sec, I think I’ve almost got it,” he teased. “Lemme just dig in there a little deeper.”

Seth’s legs kicked out, and one of his feet accidentally nudged the marble table. The flower arrangement’s vase wobbled. Brett lunged for it as best he could while being careful not to drop Seth, but Jack was quicker.

Jack steadied the vase, casting his signature stern look at Brett that got right under his skin, as it always did. “Careful, you two. Edith works too hard to keep this place up to have you messing it up by roughhousing.”

As though Brett needed to be scolded like a child. He was about to say as much when Tracy appeared. She wore her dark blond hair pulled into a ponytail and a dark shirt and jeans that emphasized her pale, slim figure.

“Oh, now, Jack, they were just having a little fun. No harm done.” She rubbed his shoulder and offered him a sweet smile. Jack instantly relaxed, a phenomenon that Tracy got full credit for cultivating. Truth be told, Brett was fascinated by the soothing and centering effect she’d had on Jack since coming into his life the month before.

“Seth, why don’t you go outside and play so the grown-ups can talk?” she said to her soon-to-be stepson. “See if you can find your kitty friend, Sleekie, in the barn.”

Brett managed to ruffle the little guy’s hair before he bounded outside, half skipping and half jumping.

Brett followed Jack and Tracy to the living room that doubled as a library of sorts. When he’d been a kid, this had been a place of fascination for him in the house, the one room his parents had forbidden the kids from entering, not just because of all the breakable trinkets and pieces of art, but because it was where they retired with their guests for cocktails after the occasional dinner parties his dad was so fond of hosting.

His dad, Big J, was seated in his usual chair near the fireplace, chatting up Brett’s older brothers Ryan and Eric. Daniel sat apart from the others, bent over his smartphone and keeping to himself as usual.

Dad was still fit and youthful, even after a lifetime of working the ranch and raising six kids, largely on his own when Brett’s mother, Abra, decided to check out and skip town, which was a lot. Brett saw a little bit of all his siblings in Dad. They shared the same nose and same shape of their face, but Brett was the only one of the Colton kids who’d inherited his dad’s boisterous laugh and love of good times, or so Edith, their housekeeper, was fond of saying.

Dad gave Brett a wave and his signature beaming smile. “I saw you race out of here this morning before dawn. You get some kind of sticker in your paw about something?”

Brett most certainly did have a sticker in his paw, but his big announcement could wait until after they learned more from Ryan about the search for his mom’s attacker. He dropped into the center cushion of the sofa between Eric and Ryan. “Checking the fences. Can’t be too careful after that one was tampered with during last week’s storm.”

Dad harrumphed as though he didn’t buy Brett’s pat response. Brett just smiled serenely at him.

“Losing one pregnant cow was enough for a lifetime,” Jack grouched.

“She wasn’t pregnant when she was swept away in the flash flood,” Brett corrected.

“Yeah, what’d you name that calf you birthed in the gully?”

“Twister, and she’s doing just fine, thank you very much. And now that you mention it, what do you say we focus on Twister and the five pregnant cows I saved, rather than the one we lost, Jack? Maybe you could take a hiatus from busting my chops all the damn time.”

Jack scowled at him. “Maybe you could start giving me reason to trust you.”

“All right you two, that’s enough. Don’t forget that your mother is lying unconscious in a hospital bed,” Dad barked. “Ryan, let’s get to it. What’s the latest on the investigation into her attacker?”

“Right, okay,” Ryan said, scooting to the edge of the sofa. With his elbows propped on his knees, he flipped through the small notebook that was an ever-present accessory of his shirt pocket. “I don’t know an easy way to break this to y’all, but you know how some of you were doubting that the hit man who tried to kill Tracy last month was the same perp who attacked Abra and robbed her room? Well, those same doubts have arisen among my investigative team. And we have some proof of that.”

Brett had been among the earliest to voice his doubt that the hit man had also targeted their mom, but convincing the police to drop that lead and concentrate their efforts on an unknown perpetrator had been like trying to herd a group of pregnant cows in a thunderstorm—which he knew since he’d had the honor of attempting both feats. “What kind of proof?”

Ryan gave a look around, as though some interloper might be eavesdropping on their meeting. Not that there were interlopers to be found, but he still lowered his voice. “The gold locket with Greta’s picture in it that was stolen on the night of Abra’s attack turned up at a pawnshop. Greta’s picture had the eyes gouged out, making her likeness unrecognizable, but the inscription on the back was a dead match.”

Dad cursed under his breath. Jack scrubbed a hand over his chin, his eyes narrow and his expression distant.

“Pawnshops have security cameras, right? So this is great news,” Brett said.

“Yes and no. We were, indeed, able to identify the suspect using the pawnshop’s external security camera to identify the man’s car’s license plate, and we brought him in for questioning last night.”

“And this is the first we’re hearing about it?” Dad grumbled.

“Who is he?” Eric asked.

“A dead end. The guy’s name is Dell Cortaline, a small-time oxy addict we’ve seen before. He’s not our guy, though. There’s no way. He’s not smart enough to get in and out of this house without leaving fingerprints or some other trail of evidence.”

“Then how did he get the locket?” Brett asked.

Ryan rolled his tongue around the inside of his bottom lip. His gaze locked onto Dad. “He claimed to have found it in the bushes outside Tulsa General Hospital.”

Brett leaped to his feet before he knew what he was doing. “What? That’s...”

Jack stood and joined Brett behind the sofa to pace. “What that is is a new threat. Someone’s trying to get at Mother in the hospital.”

“That was my thought, too,” Ryan said grimly.

“I’m assuming your boss agreed to put an armed guard outside her room? To make sure she’s safe?” Dad said.

Ryan rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s easier said than done. This isn’t a big enough red flag to justify putting an armed guard outside her hospital room door 24/7, but I have put the hospital on alert. Abra’s in intensive care, which is highly monitored by the staff, anyway, both with door locks and cameras. Visitors don’t have easy access to the rooms in the ICU. I really believe she’s safe in there.”

“I’m there a lot, too,” Eric said. “I’ll keep a closer eye. But I agree with Ryan. The ICU is practically impenetrable.”

Dad shook his head. “I don’t understand. Abra wasn’t the kind of person who’d have a target on her back. But if her attacker went to the hospital where she’s at, then that makes it personal, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe, maybe not. It’s possible that Abra saw the perp’s face and he’s afraid she’ll be able to identify him. Could be that when he discovered how difficult it would be to get to her inside the ICU, he abandoned his plan and tossed the jewelry. That theory leaves me with more questions, but that’s one of the more solid theories we’re considering at this point.”

“Any news about the possible DNA the police tech found under Mom’s fingernails from the attacker?”

“Detective Howard is doing her best to expedite the results, but DNA testing is notoriously slow. As soon I know, I’ll let y’all know, and that’s a promise.”

“This is an attempted murder case,” Dad said. “It’s got to count for something that we might have an attempted murderer on the loose in Tulsa. Can’t you push them harder?”

Ryan pocketed the notepad again. “No, I can’t. I know we’re all in a hurry, but this isn’t the only unsolved violent crime the Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation is running DNA tests on. I’m doing the best I can. As far as we can tell, the ranch is safe.”

“It is if you don’t count the downed fence lines. Last week was the third occurrence since Mother’s attack of our fences being tampered with.”

“Maybe that’s the ghost that Maria keeps swearing she sees walking the fields at night,” Jack said, a gallows humor grin on his face.

With a huff, Dad shook his head. “I swear, Maria is the most superstitious person I’ve ever met.”

“Even still,” Daniel said, “I think Brett’s right. And I think we need to take action.”

Being that this was the first time Daniel had seen fit to open his mouth that day, the chatter in the room died instantly as everyone gave him their full attention.

Jack dropped back down to the sofa. “What do you propose?”

“While the police do their thing, we circle the wagons. No more vandalism. No more hit men or violent robberies. We need to protect the ranch and the people in it.”

“Agreed,” Brett said. He’d promised Hannah that she’d be safe here, and he planned on delivering. “I vote for nightly patrols in groups of two.”

“That works for me,” Daniel said. “And we should consider installing alarm systems to every house and motion sensor lights in the yard, and running background checks of every Lucky C employee.”

“This ranch employs a lot of people,” Dad said. “We can’t account for everyone, all the time.”

“Well, we sure as hell better start trying,” Brett said. “Daniel’s right. It’s time to cowboy up and take care of our own. No one hurts the Coltons and gets away with it.”

“I’ll help as much as I can,” Ryan said. “Meanwhile, my theory is that since we found one piece of Abra’s jewelry, there’s got to be more. I’ll get some uniforms in our department to search local pawnshops again. I’ve already got a techie going through the hospital’s external security footage.”

“I’ll take first patrol tonight,” Jack said.

Dad stood. “I’ll join you. This old house is too quiet these days without Abra.”

Nobody argued with that, even though their mother was a nonentity in the house most days. She and Dad hadn’t slept in the same quarters as long as Brett could remember, and she rarely left her bedroom suite, especially in the evenings.

In the awkward silence that descended over the room, Daniel stood and set his empty coffee mug on the tray. Eric followed suit, busing his mug then checking his phone.

Brett drew a deep breath. The mood wasn’t even close to relaxed and jovial, but it was time to get this next conversation over with. “Wait, everyone. Eric, Daniel. I have something big I need to tell you.”

“You’re gay,” Daniel deadpanned under his breath, quiet enough that Brett was probably the only person who heard him.

“What? Yeah. Exactly.” He slapped Daniel on the back. “Way to call it, bro.”

Daniel shrugged, flashing a hint of a devilish smile that was gone just as fast. He might be Brett’s funniest sibling, if only he’d let his guard down around the rest of the family.

Jack released a deep sigh. “This better not be any more of your harebrained schemes to make changes around the ranch. I already agreed to purchase a stud horse, so don’t push your luck.”

“It’s not about the business. Well, I mean it is, but not like that.” He bit his lip to stop his blathering while everyone resettled.

Edith chose that moment to bustle in and beelined for the coffee service. “Are you done with the coffee, everyone?”

“That depends,” Dad said. “Brett, is this going to be quick or should I pour myself another cuppa?”

Brett checked the time out of habit. He was scheduled to pick Hannah up in ninety minutes, give or take. “Have another cup, Pops. And Edith, you might as well stick around to hear this, too.”

In no time, all eyes were on him. Last night and that morning, he’d visualized broaching the topic of his impending fatherhood from dozens of different angles, but the only conclusion he’d reached was that there was no good, easy way to reveal the news.

“I hired an accountant for the ranch.” He shook his head and nearly smacked it. What the heck was that, stupid? That’s how you’re going to tell your family you’re going to be a father?

Jack scowled at him, his mouth agape. “How do you figure you have a right to make a decision like that without consulting us?”

No backing down now, especially with Jack in full jackass older-brother mode again. “Number one—because we could use the help. Pops, you spend half your time at the hospital tending to Mom, as you should be, and you have enough to worry about without messing with a bunch of ledgers and spreadsheets.”

“That’s my call,” Dad said. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t handle. I’ll retire when I’m good and ready, and I’m not expecting to anytime soon. I’m with Jack. What were you thinking, making such a huge decision like that on your own?”

A wave of panic hit Brett. He’d expected his dad to stubbornly cling to his job, but not to be so fundamentally offended by the idea of Brett hiring help. A part of him had held out hope that his dad would be relieved to have the burden taken off his shoulders.

“With all the new tax laws and corporate regulations this country is levying on small farms, the ranch’s books have become a helluva lot more complicated than simple addition and subtraction,” Brett said. “If we want this ranch to thrive in the future, then we have to modernize every aspect of the business in a competitive, forward-thinking way—our breeding programs, our business model and our financial plan.”

Jack groaned. “Here we go again. I thought you agreed to lay off the ‘futuristic business’ talk until we see how that goes.”

“I know, and you’ll see that I’m right, but hiring an accountant is different. Tax planning, retirement planning, workers comp insurance,” Brett enumerated on his fingers. “Pops, you don’t want to have to deal with all that, do you? Furthermore, you’re not qualified to. None of us are.”

Jack set his mug on the coffee table hard enough that the spoons on the tray rattled. “I’ll give you that, but I still don’t understand why you saw it as your right to go behind our backs to do the hiring. Even if you are right about us needing a full-time accountant.”

Brett squelched a look of utter shock. Jack conceding a point to Brett? It was inconceivable. He was afraid to look outside, lest he see the ranch’s hogs taking to the skies upon wings. “You won’t regret it. She’s highly qualified.”

Ryan and Jack both threw up their hands as though they’d choreographed their disgust. “She. Okay, I get it now, hotshot,” Ryan said. “So by highly qualified you mean she’s young and hot.”

Hannah was young and hot, but he kept that part to himself.

Jack stabbed the air with his index finger. “We are not—I repeat, not—hiring your good-timing girl of the week to be responsible for our ranch’s financial health. Deal off.”

Well, this is going about as well as I expected, Brett thought grimly. Time to solidify their stellar opinion of me. At least Hannah wasn’t around yet to witness the ass chewing he was about to get.

He slid her résumé onto the table. “She’s not my good-timing girl of the week.” She had been exactly that give or take nineteen weeks earlier, but that was beside the point. “Her name is Hannah Grayson. She has a bachelor’s degree in accounting from Tulsa United’s online program, from which she graduated summa cum laude.”

Dad slid his glasses on and took a closer look at her résumé. “This looks reasonable. She seems to have quite a head on her shoulders and, since she’s a new graduate, we could hire her at an entry-level salary, which would be affordable enough. Make her part-time so we don’t have to pay benefits and I’ll agree to it.”

Brett barreled ahead, suddenly eager to get to the real point of his announcement. “I already offered her a full-time position with benefits and a competitive salary because she’s pregnant.”

Jack’s whole face turned red, his head of steam going like gangbusters. “You just keep pushing and pushing, don’t you? The Lucky C isn’t a charity organiz—”

“With my child,” Brett added, cutting him off. “I’m going to be a father in about twenty weeks, give or take.”

Chapter 4

The room went dead quiet. Dad stared at Brett, disappointment dragging at his features. Jack’s mouth flopped open while Tracy rubbed his arm. Eric and Daniel stared out the window, their expressions shuttered.

Brett sipped his coffee, though he couldn’t even taste it, giving them time to get over their shock.

In the gaping silence, a hard, patronizing laugh burst out of Jack. “You really did it this time. How in the world did you get yourself into a mess like that?”

Jack’s laughter, even more than the disappointment in the rest of his family’s eyes, snapped Brett’s patience. He was done with being a whipping boy. “Let me see if I can spell it out for you. When a man and a woman are attracted to each other, sometimes they express that attraction by doing a mommy-and-daddy grown-up dance with all their clothes off—”

Jack sneered at him. “And you wanted me to give you more responsibilities around here. Unbelievable.”

Dad scrubbed a hand over his mouth and chin. “Like I always say, the apple don’t fall far from the tree,” he murmured, his eyes shifting briefly to Daniel.

Just once, Brett wanted his father to tell him that with pride in his voice instead of disappointment. Just once in his damn life. Brett had grown up idolizing his dad, from his larger-than-life presence and joviality that made him the life of every party to the bullheaded conviction that had led him to forge the Lucky C ranch from the earth and transform it into a profitable enterprise.

On the surface, yes, Brett’s getting a girl pregnant out of wedlock seemed similar to his dad’s screwups, but the situation with Hannah wasn’t at all like the extramarital affair his dad had that resulted in Daniel’s conception. Brett hadn’t broken any marriage vows. Not that Brett or any of them would point out the differences aloud and risk making Daniel uncomfortable. He might only be their half brother by blood, but he was a full brother in their hearts—the only place it mattered.

He didn’t think Dad meant to be callous with the comment. Over the years, his dad had made it clear that he’d separated in his mind the sin of his affair from the love he felt for the son he’d gained from it. Still, Brett chanced a look in Daniel’s direction to see him staring out the window, as though he’d shuttered himself from the conversation.

Brett wished his sister, Greta, had been there. She had the kindest and most forgiving heart of all of them and, because of that, been the glue of the family since she’d been a child. She would’ve known what to say to ease the tension in the room and remind Daniel that their dad didn’t mean any harm.

With his eyes on Daniel’s profile, Brett cleared his throat and tried to imagine what Greta would’ve said had she been present. “Then it’s a good thing we grew up understanding that family is family and that a baby is a blessing, no matter what.”

Edith gave Brett an affectionate rub on the back. “Well said.”

Eric refilled his coffee mug. “I’m with you on that sentiment, but this is a lot to take in. I’d like more details about what happened. Forgive my bluntness, but I’ve gotten the impression that you’ve slept with plenty of women over the years, and you managed not to knock any of them up—I feel safe in saying. So how did a mistake like this come about? I mean, assuming it was an accident and she didn’t do this on purpose to get at our money. Because something smells fishy to me.”

Brett looked from Eric to Ryan and the rest of the family, all of whom wore expressions of surprise and concern and, as opposed to his dad and Jack, they looked as if they were ready to listen to what Brett had to say instead of merely pelting him with insults. Even Edith perched on the edge of a chair, her arms crossed and a sympathetic smile on her lips.

Brett shifted toward them, putting a cold shoulder to Jack. “She’s not trying to get at our family money, and you’re just going to have to trust me on that until you meet her.” Behind him, Jack chuffed, but Brett pressed on. “Here’s what happened. You remember that day, four months ago, when I wrapped my truck around the tree? That was the moment that made me turn my life around and get a clue about the kind of man I wanted to be and the kind of life I wanted to lead.”

“Of course we remember that,” Ryan said. “You tattered that truck and you’re lucky to be alive.”

“I am. I know. Leading up to that moment, I’d had a hell of a weekend, a real bender after Mom and I had argued. About what, I can’t even remember. Anyway, I’d gone out clubbing the night before the truck accident, which was where I met Hannah and slept with her. We used a condom—” Eric opened his mouth, probably to suggest that Hannah had sabotaged the condom, so Brett held a finger up to quiet him and added, “A condom that I provided, so get that out of your mind. Yesterday was the first time I’d seen her since that night. Needless to say, we had a long, serious talk. Neither one of us has any idea why the condom didn’t work.”

Jack templed his hands in front of his mouth. “Wait. She’s nineteen weeks pregnant, yet she didn’t tell you until yesterday? I’m with Eric. Something smells fishy to me.”

“Hate to beat a dead horse,” Ryan said, drumming his fingers on his knee, “and maybe you’re right and our suspicions will be laid to rest when we meet her, but this wouldn’t be the first time a desperate, misguided young woman tried to get at our family money. And with your less-than-monogamous lifestyle, you’d be the perfect target for a scam. My advice is for you to get a paternity test before this goes any further.”

Less-than-monogamous lifestyle. That would have been the understatement of the century a few months ago. Nevertheless, Hannah had called it correctly. On the surface, her being desperately hard-up for money and pregnant with a Colton’s child looked bad from every angle—except one. “No paternity test necessary. I’m going to take her word for it that I’m the father, and when you meet her, you’ll take her word for it, too.”

Dad snickered. “She’s that homely?”

“What? No. She’s that honest. Honest and smart and stubborn to a fault. You’ll see.” Because he knew that everything would change in their minds the moment they laid eyes on her. She’d win them all over with a single smile, of that he was certain.

His family still looked unconvinced, so Brett continued. “The reason she waited so long to tell me about the baby was that she wanted to get back on her feet first. Because she knows exactly how suspicious this looks from the outside. Hannah’s parents disowned her and fired her from their family business when they found out she was pregnant. She spent the last of her savings on medical care for her pregnancy and has been crashing on her friend’s sofa ever since. This solution, her moving here and working for us as an accountant, was my idea. And believe me, it took some convincing.”

“Wait, she’s not only going to work for us, but you’re moving her in here, without a paternity test, background check, nothing?” Jack said.

“I’ll run a background check on her, no problem.” Ryan whipped his phone out and peered at Hannah’s résumé, mouthing the letters of her name as he typed.

Brett grabbed the résumé away from Ryan’s gaze. “Not necessary. I went by her family’s store yesterday after I dropped Hannah off at her friend’s house and I talked to her parents. I didn’t tell them who I was or why I was there, but I asked them where Hannah was and congratulated them on her pregnancy, and let me tell you, they’re even nuttier and filled with more hate than I expected.”

Just picturing the fury in their expressions when they told him their heathen daughter was dead to them put Brett in a fighting mood. “What’s more, Hannah hadn’t told them I was the father. I don’t think she’s told anybody. Does that sound like the actions of someone trying to scam me?”

“A background check still wouldn’t hurt,” Ryan muttered.

Brett shook his head, ignoring Ryan, his attention on Jack. “So, to answer your question, yes, I am moving her in here. She’s homeless, jobless, out of money—and she’s having my baby. And she’s too stubborn to agree to anything that has the whiff of charity, which was why I offered her a job. Full-time with benefits so I can make sure she and the baby get the proper health care they need.”

He could tell he was breaking through their judgmental walls because they’d started to squirm, their eyes averted. Time to drive the nail the rest of the way in. He stood and tossed his napkin on the table. “Y’all keep banging on me about being irresponsible, and I’m the first to admit that I used to be. But even if you can’t see it, I’ve changed. This is me being responsible, doing the right thing and living up to our family’s code of honor. Ask yourself—what would you do if you were in my shoes?”

That shut them down, all but his dad. “Did you at least offer to make her an honest woman?”

The head of steam Brett had built up diffused a little. If they were moving on to questions like that, then perhaps his family was ready to accept Brett’s new reality. “This is the twenty-first century, Pops. A woman doesn’t have to be married to be considered honest.”

Dad chuffed at that, clearly a nonbeliever in that vein of modern-day feminism. “When’s this Hannah woman coming to the ranch?”

“I’m going into town to get her as soon as we’re done here.”

A car engine sounded outside. Everyone craned their necks to look out the windows. Brett took a few steps in that direction in time to watch a yellow taxi disappear along the road leading away from the house.

“Something tells me Ms. Hannah Grayson has saved you from having to make a trip into town,” Ryan said.

Jack clapped his hands together as he stood. “Let’s get this introduction over with.”

The somber resignation in Jack’s tone set Brett’s teeth on edge again. He whirled around, a warning on his tongue for everyone to behave themselves and show Hannah the respect she deserved, but Edith saved him from it.

“I have a better idea,” she said brightly from the doorway, where she stood with the rolling coffee cart in front of her, blocking passage. “Let’s give our new houseguest a chance to settle in first, before she has to contend with a household of grouchy men. Let Brett help her get acclimated first. Greta will be here tomorrow, and I can’t think of a better way to celebrate a new baby than with a big family dinner.”

Thank you, Edith. She was a commanding force in the house, not because she was pushy or overbearing, but because of her kindness and levelheaded management of the household since before Brett was born. The family respected her too much to defy her will. It was all he could do to keep himself from throwing his arms around her.

“That’s a perfect idea,” Brett said. “Hannah’s skittish enough about being here.”

Dad pushed himself out of his easy chair. “I like that plan. That’ll give me some time to get used to the idea.”

“You can eat at our house tonight, Big J,” Tracy said. “We can let Brett and Hannah have a private dinner together. It sounds like they still have a lot to talk about, if they just connected yesterday.”

That was a perfect idea. He’d have to talk to Edith about arranging for a multicourse dinner for the two of them, a meal they could really linger over while they got to know each other. “Thank you, Tracy.”

Eric rattled his car keys and inched toward the exit that Edith was still blocking. “I’ll try to make it tomorrow night, but I have a late shift at the hospital.” In other words, he was begging out of the event, as usual, because there was no way he drew so many short straws for late shifts at the hospital, coincidentally any time the rest of the Coltons planned a get-together.

“If we wait until tomorrow, then Tracy and Seth can meet Hannah at the same time, too.”

“I’ll plan a big dinner. Brett, you figure out what she likes and dislikes. Maybe there’s something she’s been craving.”

“Thank you,” Brett said. So relieved.

She stepped to the side and swept her hand toward the rear of the house. “Out the back entrance, all of you. No sense in intimidating her in the first five minutes she gets here with a big group of strapping, foul-tempered cowboys.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ryan mumbled in an exaggerated drawl. He kissed Edith’s cheek as he passed, as they each did, in a show of respect to the woman who’d played a fundamental part of their upbringing and daily lives for decades.

When the last of them had filed out of the room, she smiled lovingly at Brett. “I’ll talk to the staff and make sure you get the space you need to do this your way. And I’ll send Mavis up to the guest suite next to yours and have it fixed up for Hannah in no time. Fresh linens and the works.”

He gathered all hundred pounds of her in a tight hug, lifting her off her feet. “You’re a lifesaver. How do you always know the exact right thing to say?”

She blushed and swatted her hand through the air, dismissing the praise. “Hush, now. Go on and find Hannah before she gets cold feet and calls that taxi back.”

* * *

Hannah crept along the wraparound porch of Brett’s massive house, away from the window where she’d been eavesdropping. Not that she’d set out with the idea of listening in on Brett’s family’s conversation, but once she’d stumbled into hearing range, she’d been powerless to resist.

A case of cold feet had compelled her to ask the taxi driver to wait there until she gave him the all-clear to leave, just in case she had a change of heart or she’d accidentally come to the wrong house or she’d misunderstood Brett’s desire for her to move in that day. The driver hadn’t been too keen on waiting, but she’d promised him he could leave the meter running and after a bit more begging, he’d acquiesced.

After climbing the tall staircase leading from the circular driveway up to the mansion sitting on the highest and most central part of the ranch, she’d knocked and pressed the doorbell, but no one had answered. The longer she stood there, the more nervous she got and the more she doubted her decision to show up early.

Thinking that the house was so big that it was entirely possible that no one had heard the doorbell ring, she’d followed the porch around to the side of the house, which was when she’d heard voices. More specifically, she’d heard one of the men in the room explain his theory that their mother’s attacker was still on the loose and, potentially, had been lurking around the ranch.

Wait, what? That wasn’t what the local news had been reporting. Last night, she’d used Lori’s computer to research Brett’s mother’s attack. What she’d learned had made her heart break for Brett and his family. His mother had been attacked in her bedroom and left for dead, her belongings ransacked and her jewelry stolen by—according to the news report—a hit man who’d been hired to off Brett’s older brother’s fiancée. The main suspect had been gunned down, or so the police and the newspaper had indicated.

She continued to listen to Brett’s family talk, justifying the eavesdropping because she deserved to know if she was safe at the ranch or not, or if Brett had glossed over his family’s troubles in his fervor to get her to agree to his plan. If there was any chance that she was in danger at the ranch, she could turn right around and leave.

But the more she listened, the more affected she was by the hurt in each man’s voice over their mother’s assault and their frustration that her investigation had stalled. And then, one minute turned into the next, and before she knew it, she was listening to Brett tell his family that he’d hired an accountant.

She was touched by his approach, and that he’d opened the conversation with a discussion of her accounting skills. For whatever reason, that mattered to her. A lot. He’d stood up for her, and complimented her abilities and qualifications. She’d been held entranced by his praise...right up until one of the other men in the room had labeled her as Brett’s good-time girl of the week.

She’d winced at that, even though she agreed with the term, if not the negative judgment implied by it. She’d been Brett’s good-time girl as much as he’d been her good-time guy for the night. While she refused to be shamed for enjoying her sexuality, even if Brett’s family turned out to judge her as harshly as her own family had, it still smarted to realize that, as she’d expected might happen, Brett’s family assumed she was trying to get at their money. It wasn’t a shock that they didn’t trust her. The surprise was that they didn’t seem to trust Brett, either. And that frosted Hannah something fierce because she’d suffered the same mistrust at the hands of her own family.

Probably, her relationship with Brett’s family would go a lot more smoothly if she weren’t aware of their candid feelings about her and Brett, because those assumptions didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. All that mattered was that she believed in herself and knew in her heart that she was a good and honest person. Which meant it was high time for her to get the heck out of earshot again.

She tiptoed back to the front of the house and down the stairs, her eye on the taxi. Nothing was stopping her from jumping back in it and taking off. Except that there kind of was, now that she was considering it. Brett was being judged by his family the same as she’d been by hers. They were about to become parents together, and if she stayed with him, if she gave him a chance, then she would spare him from her same fate of having to face his family’s negativity alone.

And Brett had told her the day before that his father was slipping mentally. Not only that, but Brett’s dad shouldn’t be working so hard around the ranch when his wife lay in a coma. Brett’s father deserved better and the ranch deserved better, too, because Brett was also right about them needing an actual financial specialist to help them with long-term tax planning, one of her specialties. No matter how negatively Brett’s family judged her for getting pregnant, her conscience couldn’t just walk away from that situation.

Her two measly pieces of luggage sat in the driveway next to the cab. She’d packed light because, one, she had no idea how long she was staying, and, two, she didn’t actually own that much stuff anymore, having sold most of it to afford the business of living. She navigated around the suitcases and handed the taxi driver his rate plus a generous tip through the open driver’s side window. “Thank you for waiting. Have a nice—”

“Back up so I can turn around.”

Gee, what a sweet guy. So deserving of my last bit of cash as a tip—not. She stepped back and tripped over her suitcases, planting her rear end hard on the one she’d knocked over.

Her face growing hot with embarrassment, she took a furtive glance around for witnesses. Not seeing any, she stood and brushed off her dress in time to watch the taxi hauling butt in a cloud of dust as it disappeared along the dirt road.

She took a moment to catch her breath, marveling at the endless string of awkward moments that her life had become since graduating from college. What was her next move? Should she try knocking again? Call Brett’s cell phone? Settle in on the porch and wait for Brett’s family to find her after they finished their meeting?

“If you’re here looking for a handout from Mr. Colton, then you’d best be leaving before I call the police,” called a female voice.

Hannah turned to see a familiar, if unexpected, face. Her defenses immediately went on red alert, as they did every time she saw someone from the Congregation of the Second Coming. “Mavis?”

Mavis Turnbolt was dressed in what could only be described as a maid’s uniform. Her brown hair was constrained in a tight braid that had been coiled into a bun from which no wild hairs had escaped. She was only a year older than Hannah, and over the years, their mothers had made valiant, yet fruitless, attempts to push them into friendship. She could’ve lived the rest of her life without needing to see any member of the Turnbolt family again, but after all she’d been through, another piece of bad luck didn’t even faze her.

Then again, it wasn’t fair of Hannah to be critical of Mavis in exactly the same way she hated to be judged. Hannah hadn’t been to the church in years, not since her eighteenth birthday, so for all she knew, Mavis had broken the hold that the church had over her, just as Hannah had.

“It’s nice to see a friendly face. I had no idea you worked here,” Hannah said, offering her hand for a handshake. “I work here now, too.”

Mavis eyed Hannah’s hand as if it were a snake. “I will not be associating with jezebels, so you’d best take that hand back.”

So much for that fair chance. “And you’d best watch your attitude. Neither my baby nor I deserves your scorn.”

“Scorn is the only thing a sinner like you deserves. Wait until the Coltons learn they’ve hired one of Satan’s newest disciples.”

Hannah wrapped a protective arm around her belly. “First of all, this baby is a Colton, thank you very much. And second, can you even hear yourself? Satan’s newest disciple? Really?” She cringed inwardly, wishing she’d thought twice before engaging with someone who was so filled with hate. It wasn’t as though she stood a chance of changing Mavis’s mind.

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