Colton by Blood

Levi wrung his hands on the steering wheel.

“You’re talking about Cole Colton, Jethro’s son?” Kate asked.

“Jethro’s son,” he repeated.

She gasped, mortified. “I didn’t mean anything by that. It’s easy to forget that you’re…”

“That I’m his son, too? Don’t worry. You’re not the only one.”

“I don’t understand how any parent could choose to cut a child out of their life.”

Levi shrugged. “By now, it wouldn’t matter if he had a change of heart. I’m not sure I could forgive him.”

Before she could think better of it, she’d reached across and set a hand on his arm. “Of course you could.”

He cast his eyes at the spot where they touched, then locked his gaze with hers. “You don’t even know me yet.”

Yet. Her insides fluttered. Then he leaned her way, his lips on a straight path to hers, and the flutter turned into a full-out body tingle. She wanted to kiss him, taste him.

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 [email protected].

Melissa Cutler

www.millsandboon.co.uk

The book would not have happened without my kids’ six amazing grandparents, who opened their houses and their hearts to babysit so I would have time to work. Loutrisha and Don, Skip and Ann, Sue and Denny: thank you, thank you, thank you.

You can’t make peace with a ghost. Kate McCord knew this as fact.

It was one of those secrets of life that no one would tell you and you had to uncover for yourself, like discovering Santa Claus wasn’t real. It stuck in Kate’s craw, all the truths that nobody saw fit to share. She’d found out the hard way, and not until it was too late, that bankruptcy would not solve your problems, not all men cared if a woman orgasmed and croissants—the real kind, not the ones sold in supermarkets—were nearly a third butter.

And the memories of the people you loved and lost? Well, all they did was haunt.

It was dark in the servant stairwell. A sprawling, fluid darkness that seeped into cracks and corners, and right into Kate’s skin. A dessert tray, heavy and ungainly, was balanced on her right hand. Her left hand pressed to the wall, holding her steady as she stood rooted on a stair somewhere between the first and second floors, at least ten steps in either direction to the nearest door. Too great a distance for a woman who was afraid of the dark.

She had no idea how long she’d been waiting for the power to be restored, but it had to have been well over five minutes, perhaps ten if the rising heat and stuffiness were any indication. The watch she wore had a light, but activating it would require her to set the tray down. Not only was the tray too large to balance on a step, but she also wasn’t sure she could convince her body to move.

Her pulse pounded all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes. Any second now, Horace or Jared or one of the other ranch hands would get the generator fired up and she’d be safe.

Any second now.

Every so often, distant voices cut through the unbearable silence that had replaced the hum of the air-conditioning system. Footsteps clomped away, fading off. Nobody ventured onto the stairs. All that mattered to the waitstaff was restoring the Colton family to the level of comfort to which they were accustomed. Locating a stranded cook’s assistant probably didn’t cross anyone’s mind.

It would’ve crossed Faye’s mind. She had been Kate’s closest friend at Dead River Ranch. In all of Wyoming, really. But Faye was gone, and now the kind old woman was yet another person Kate loved who’d died before their time, only to haunt the shadows of her mind. Another ethereal face in the darkness.

She shivered.

The note she’d hastily stuffed in her pocket crackled. On the tray, the glass dish of bread pudding quivered.

Steady, Kate. It’s only a power outage.

Maybe if she kept her focus on the pudding, she would survive this ordeal with her sanity intact. She’d spent hours on that dessert, baking the challah loaves, preparing the custard and whiskey sauce. It was a sumptuous creation topped by a pillow of fresh whipped cream. Mr. Colton’s favorite sweet, if his frequent requests were any indication.

A boom of great force sounded from nearby. A door slamming or something hitting a wall. A tree falling, perhaps. Fierce windstorms were most likely to blame for the power outage. They’d plagued western Wyoming for more than a week, beating on the ranch house and surrounding wilderness, unrelenting. Sinister.

Another hard truth Kate had discovered for herself was that Mother Nature was the greatest devil of all, an unremorseful murderer. Every time the weather turned nasty, the faces of William and baby Olive—and now Faye—hovered in her mind.