Letting Holly go ranked right up there in the top ten most difficult things Chris had ever done, but he did it. He reluctantly let her slide down his body until her feet touched the floor. Compelled his lips to release hers. Forced his arms to set her free. Her breasts were rising and falling as if she was having the same difficulty he was having breathing, and there was a dazed expression in her eyes...one that quickly changed to mortification.
“I...I... That’s Jamie,” Holly stammered, practically running from the study.
Chris followed her, turning on the light in the hallway so she didn’t have to feel her way in the darkness. She disappeared into the master bedroom before he could catch up, and when he turned the corner, she was already lifting a weeping Jamie from his crib.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” she soothed. “Mommy’s here.”
Ian, woken from a sound sleep by his brother’s sobs, started fussing, his face crumpling as if he was going to cry, too. But Chris wouldn’t let him. He lifted the boy out of the crib and propped him up against his shoulder. “Hey, buddy, don’t you start.” He chucked the boy under the chin. “Come on now. You’re okay.”
He glanced over at Holly cuddling Jamie in her arms, his face pressed against her shoulder as she rocked him back and forth. “Bad dream, you think?”
“Probably.”
Holly’s eyes wouldn’t meet his, and disappointment slashed through him as he figured she was already regretting what they’d done. The best thing that had happened to him since Laura died...and Holly was regretting it.
Should have known better, he berated himself. Should never have touched her. You knew that, so why...?
He didn’t want to address that question, but the answer refused to be silenced. He’d touched Holly...kissed her...caressed her...damn near made love to her...because he had to. Because the yearning in her eyes had aroused an ache in him he hadn’t been able to suppress. Because the need to hold her had swept everything aside like a force of nature, the way a river in flood swept away everything in its path.
And now she wouldn’t even look at him. As if she was ashamed.
That was the most hurtful thing of all.
* * *
Chris sat in his study a half hour later. Staring at his laptop, but not really seeing the web page he’d opened. Work, which had been his saving grace after Laura’s death, couldn’t hold his interest. He kept reliving the scene of Holly and him in this very room tonight. Only this time when he told her to go to bed and she refused to go...this time when she walked toward him and touched his face...this time when she raised her face to his asking for his kiss...this time he didn’t touch her.
Which was what he should have done in the first place.
“Chris?”
He whirled around in his chair when a hesitant voice from the doorway said his name. Then he stood, needing to be on his feet to offer Holly the apology she deserved. In one way he wasn’t sorry—he’d wanted to kiss her since the first time he’d seen her walking up the driveway of Peg’s house, and now he had. And it had been like nothing he’d ever experienced in his life. But in another way he regretted it...because now he knew what it would be like with Holly...and he couldn’t have it. Couldn’t have her.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry.”
Chris spoke first, but Holly’s apology was only a half second behind his. He shook his head. “You don’t have anything to apologize for,” he told her. “I should never have touched you.”
Holly blinked, then her eyes creased at the corners. “I started it,” she said quietly. “I’m not one of those women who blame the man for losing control when—” She broke off and breathed deeply. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to do.”
“That doesn’t absolve me of blame.” Chris tucked his hands in his back pockets to keep himself from reaching for her. “You’re under my protection, Holly. And you’re feeling vulnerable—I knew that. I shouldn’t have taken advantage.”
A fierce expression swept over her face. “You shouldn’t have taken advantage?” Her voice held that same fierceness. “What is this, the eighteen hundreds? If one of us took advantage of the other, it was me. I took advantage of you. I wanted you, and I—” She stopped, then continued bravely. “I wanted you, Chris. I’ve never wanted that way in my entire life, not even with Grant.”
His brain tried to process her words, but they didn’t jive with— “You ran out of the room,” he grated. “You were mortified—no, don’t deny it,” he interjected when she tried to speak. “And in the bedroom you wouldn’t even meet my eyes. You were ashamed.”
“Not for the reason you apparently think,” she said, a tinge of color in her cheeks. “When I heard Jamie crying, I...I didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to go see what was wrong with him. That’s why I was mortified,” she explained. “Because I wanted you so much that for an instant I actually resented Jamie for interrupting.” Her lips curved up slightly at the corners in a rueful smile. “I didn’t want to be a mother at the moment, Chris. I just wanted to be a woman. A woman you wanted as much as I wanted you.”
He could have sworn he didn’t move, but suddenly he found himself standing right in front of Holly. “I wanted you,” he said in his deepest voice. “I wanted you like I wanted my next breath.” He raised a hand to her cheek and admitted, “I still do.” He let that confession hang there for a couple of seconds before adding, “And when Jamie cried?” His rueful smile matched hers. “I wished him in perdition.”
Suddenly they were both laughing softly, and Chris lowered his forehead to Holly’s. “That doesn’t make us bad people,” he told her, unutterably relieved she hadn’t been ashamed of what they’d done after all. “It just means we’re human.”
“So I’m not a bad mother because I didn’t immediately switch off the woman gene and switch on the mother gene?” she whispered, but in a tone that told him she was teasing.
“Hell—I mean, heck no,” he teased back.
Holly touched her lips to his. “Glad to hear it,” she murmured.
Desire zinged through his veins, but this time he had enough self-control not to follow through on it. “Don’t start something we can’t finish,” he warned lightly.
“We can’t?”
“Holly...” he began, then realized she was teasing again.
“It’s going to happen, Chris,” she told him, all teasing aside. “Not tonight. Maybe not even tomorrow night. But it’s going to happen.” Despite her brazen words, the little flags of color in her cheeks, the not-so-sure-of-herself expression in her eyes and the almost defiant way she said it told Chris this wasn’t normal behavior for Holly. She’s probably never made the first move in her life, he thought. And that turned him on no end. The idea that Holly—sweet, innocent Holly—wanted him that much was incredibly arousing.
But he wasn’t taking any chances. Not tonight. “Go to bed, Holly,” he told her, gently this time. “But I won’t be upset if you dream about me, ’cause I’ll be dreaming about you.” He laughed deep in his throat, and it felt good to laugh, even though he knew he’d go to bed hard and aching and wake up the same way. “Oh, yeah, I’ll be dreaming about you.”
* * *
Holly woke before the twins again and lay there for a moment, enjoying the peace and quiet. Then she remembered how she’d brazenly told Chris last night they would eventually become lovers. Just thinking about it made her cheeks warm—she’d never been that bold with a man. Even when she’d made up her mind to do whatever she could to entice Grant into loving her, she’d never come right out and said it.
But then she’d never felt for Grant what she felt for Chris. Yes, she’d loved her husband, but...she’d never hungered for him. She’d never craved. And that was a revelation. She just wasn’t sure what it meant.
She wasn’t merely drawn to Chris physically, though. He tugged at her heart, too, now more than ever. Her conversation with Annabel yesterday afternoon had explained a lot about his behavior, and she believed she knew him better. But it wasn’t just that. Watching him with her sons—could there exist a man more destined to be a father than Chris? He was a natural, his father instincts always on target. Like last night, for instance, when he’d stopped Ian from crying. How did he know? How did he unerringly know just what to do, what to say in every interaction with Ian and Jamie?
Holly turned over and tucked her hand beneath her cheek. Chris was a triple threat—hotter than sin, a perfect dad in the making and a man whose emotions ran so deep any woman would be drawn to him.
She sighed. Problem was...she was starting to fall for him. Which had epic disaster written all over it, because she wasn’t the kind of woman men fell in love with. Okay, yes, Chris wanted her. She was pretty enough, sexy enough, and other men had wanted her before. Not Grant, though. Except for the night Ian and Jamie had been conceived—and it had taken a few drinks more than he normally allowed himself before he’d seen her as a sexy, desirable woman—Grant’s lovemaking had been...restrained. Good enough in its way, but...restrained. They’d tried hard to make a go of their marriage for the twins’ sake. But Grant had never been in love with her...because she wasn’t the lovable kind.
* * *
Chris told Holly at breakfast, “I called Peg this morning. She agreed to take Ian and Jamie for as long as you need.”
She stopped supervising Jamie’s attempts to feed himself and darted a dismayed look at him. “So soon?”
“The sooner we start, the sooner it will be over,” he said patiently. “But actually, I have something I need to get out of the way first.” She raised her eyebrows in a question and he hesitated, then realized there really wasn’t any reason not to tell her. “I have to visit my father in prison.”
“Visit your father?” The faint way she asked told him he’d surprised her.
“He’s dying,” he said abruptly. “Back in January he promised Sam that if each of his children visited him, he’d give us clues as to where he buried our mother.”
“I don’t understand.”
Chris glanced at Ian and Jamie, but they were completely occupied with eating and weren’t paying the least bit of attention to the adult conversation. “I told you what he did to our mother,” he explained, masking his words for the twins’ benefit. “But I never said that when he did it he took her away and buried her somewhere. Law enforcement searched at the time, but they never found her.” Chris couldn’t keep the hard edge out of his tone. “My brothers and I, and Annabel, too—we’ve been searching for years.”
“But no luck,” Holly stated.
“No luck,” he agreed. “We’ve all been taking turns visiting my father since January. Annabel went last month. Now it’s my turn.” He breathed deeply, trying to tamp down his emotions, then added in a low voice, “We just want to give her a decent burial, Holly. Is that too much to ask?” She shook her head. “I haven’t seen him in nearly twenty years. I never wanted to. But I can’t pass up the chance to find out where my mother is.”
“Of course you can’t,” she said stoutly. Her lovely brown eyes were filled with empathy. “I understand. When my parents were killed in South America—they were missionaries,” she explained, and Chris didn’t bother to tell her he already knew. “I...I was only a teenager. But I knew I had to bring their bodies home. It was a nightmare of frustration and paperwork, but I finally did it. They’re buried together in a cemetery not far from their old church, so their close friends can visit their graves.” She paused, then added softly, “Grant’s buried right next to them.”
Chris saw the tears in her eyes she was struggling to hold back. “Grant’s parents—they wanted him buried in a more fashionable cemetery, but...he loved my parents and they loved him. I wanted them all together, you know?”
He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I do.” The silence was broken when Ian accidentally knocked his sippy cup off his high-chair tray. The lid was securely fastened, so only a small amount of milk leaked onto the floor. But Holly jumped up, retrieved the cup, then grabbed a paper towel to wipe up the spilled milk.
After she rinsed off the cup and gave it back to Ian, she resumed her seat, and Chris said, “Anyway, I have to visit the prison today. I was thinking...if you wouldn’t mind...I could take you and the twins to Peg’s this morning. You could stay there until I come back to pick you up. I think you’ll be safe there.”
Holly’s mouth twitched into a faint smile. “Let me guess—you already suggested this to Peg, right?” Chris had the grace to look abashed, and she chuckled. “Why am I not surprised?”
The independent woman in Holly knew she should be insulted, the same way she’d been insulted yesterday when she’d told Chris she didn’t need a babysitter. Nevertheless there was something appealing about Chris’s protectiveness that spoke to a more primitive aspect of her nature. Grant had never been protective of her—not that way. They’d grown up together, so he knew Holly could take care of herself. Still...she couldn’t really fault Chris for wanting to make sure she and the boys were safe in his absence. Especially since he’d told her, No one is dying on my watch ever again...
She needed to ask Chris what he meant by that statement. Based on what Annabel had recounted about Laura, she had a pretty good idea it had something to do with his dead wife...and their unborn child.
But before she could ask him, Chris rose and put his breakfast dishes in the dishwasher. “I’ll load the cribs and high chairs in the back of my truck. You’d better pack enough clothes and things for the twins to last a week. And maybe their favorite books and toys. Susan and Bobby have plenty, but those little bunnies the boys sleep with? Don’t want to leave them behind.” Then he was gone.
* * *
Matthew Colton looked smaller than Chris remembered. Only to be expected, he thought after the first shock of seeing his father sitting at the table, behind the glass separating the prisoners from the visitors. Chris had been eleven back then—nearly twenty years had passed. And his father was sick...dying. Which would account for his frail appearance that made him seem...a pathetic old man. He murdered your mother, Chris had to remind himself, steeling against the sudden wave of good memories. Not to mention all the others he killed.
And yet...there were a lot of worse fathers than Matthew Colton had been. How to reconcile the two pictures of Matthew? Remember the bad times, he told himself. Remember Ethan finding Mama’s body with the bull’s-eye on her forehead. Remember your family being torn apart. Remember Bouncer being sent to the pound. That’s all on him. That’s all Matthew’s doing.
Chris sat at the table across from his father, removed his Stetson and placed it on the table in front of him, then ran a hand through his hair, which the Stetson had flattened. Then and only then did he pick up the phone. He had no idea what he would say, but Matthew spoke first.
“You look like your mother.” If Matthew had stabbed him, Chris couldn’t have been more surprised, but Matthew wasn’t done. “Not your coloring, of course. Saralee’s hair was long and dark, not blond.” There was a wistful intonation to his words. “But you and Annabel look like her in every other way.”
Chris cleared his throat against the wave of emotion that rose in him. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Everyone who remembers her says we look like Mama.” He’d thought he could do this, but now that he was here... “So you wanted to see each of us. And you bribed us here by promising a clue to where Mama’s buried. Piss-poor clues, but then you knew that, didn’t you?” Matthew’s eyes turned crafty, and Chris nodded. “Okay, I’m here. You’ve got your pound of flesh from me. So what’s my clue?”
“No ‘Hello, Daddy’? No ‘How are you doing, Daddy’? Just ‘What’s my clue?’”
Chris drew a deep breath and held it, holding his anger in at the same time. “What do you want from me?” When Matthew didn’t respond, Chris reluctantly asked, “How are you doing?”
“I’m dying.” The bald statement stood there while neither man spoke.
After a long, long time, Chris said the only thing that came to him. “I know.”
Again there was silence between them, silence that was eventually broken by Matthew. “Twenty years, I’ve been locked away in this cage. Near twenty years, and the only one of you children to come see me was Trevor...and only because it was his job.”
“What did you expect?” Chris couldn’t keep the bitter edge out of his words. “You really think any of us wanted to see you ever again?”
“Don’t you sass me, boy,” Matthew retorted with a spurt of anger, his free hand forming a fist. “I can still tan your hide, and don’t you forget it!”
All at once Chris was eleven again, facing his father over a broken window caused by an errant baseball Annabel had thrown. Matthew yanking his belt out of its loops and fiercely demanding of his children, Who did it? Who threw that ball?
Chris had stepped forward immediately. Matthew wouldn’t have hesitated to use the belt on eleven-year-old Annabel, and Chris was too protective of her—of all the younger children—to let her take the imminent whipping. But Annabel had piped up bravely, I did it, Daddy. So Matthew had whipped them both—Annabel for breaking the window, Chris for lying. For trying to take the blame, for trying to shield Annabel from Matthew’s wrath.
Chris and Annabel had hidden out in their secret hideaway afterward, lying on their stomachs in the shade of a catalpa tree so as not to further exacerbate the wounds on their smarting bottoms. Annabel trying so hard to be as tough as Chris, fighting back tears. But Chris hadn’t cried. Not then...and not at their mother’s memorial service a few months later. He hadn’t cried until Bouncer...
Then Chris’s mind jumped to Laura’s funeral, and he realized he hadn’t cried then, either. He hadn’t cried at the loss of the two most important women in his life. But he’d cried over Bouncer. He’d never thought about it before, but now he realized maybe the reason he hadn’t cried for his mother and his wife was because some things went too deep for tears. Heart wounds, both of them. And one of them had been caused by the man sitting across from him.
“Whatever happened to your dog, boy?” Matthew asked abruptly. “Whatever happened to that golden retriever I gave you when you were six?”
Cold anger shook Chris. “He’s dead.”
“Well, hell, boy, ’course he is.” Matthew smirked. “Dogs don’t live as long as humans. I just wondered how he died, that’s all.”
Suddenly it was all too much for Chris. Suddenly the years rolled back, and he wanted to wipe that smirk off Matthew’s face. Not just for Bouncer, euthanized despite Chris’s tearful pleas to his foster parents, but for his mother, too. And for his brothers and sisters, orphaned yet not orphaned. Fighting the stigma of being Matthew Colton’s child—a serial killer’s child—to this day. He gripped the phone in a death grip and rasped, “Tell me where Mama’s body is buried, Daddy. I’m begging you, damn it! Tell me!”