Colton Baby Rescue. Marie Ferrarella
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She also received support from a very unlikely quarter. Her cousin Demi Colton. She and Demi had never been really friendly, given the branches of the family they came from. But Demi had done her a favor involving one of the ranch hands about a year ago. That had earned her cousin a soft spot in Serena’s heart.
And then, when she found herself pregnant, with her parents pushing for her to “eliminate” her “shame,” it was Demi, surprisingly enough, who had come out on her side. Demi told her that she should do whatever she felt she should as long as that decision ultimately meant that she was being true to herself.
At that point, Serena did some very deep soul-searching. Ultimately, she had decided to have her baby. Seeing that her mind was made up, her brothers gave her their full support. However, it was Demi she found herself turning toward and talking with when times got rough.
She wasn’t ordinarily the type who needed constant bolstering and reinforcement, but having Demi to talk to, however sporadically, wound up making a world of difference to her. Serena truly believed that it was what had kept her sane during the low points of this new experience she found herself going through.
Because Demi had been good to her when she didn’t need to be, Serena wasn’t about to turn her back on her cousin just because a tall, good-looking detective wanted to play judge, jury and executioner when it came to her cousin. Demi had obviously fled the area without ever coming to her, but if she had, if Demi had come to her and asked for money or a place to hide, she would have never hesitated in either case.
She believed that Demi was entitled to a fair shake. Most of all, she believed in Demi.
“I wish you would have come to me,” she whispered into the darkness. “I wish you would have let me help you. You shouldn’t be alone like this. Not now. Especially with the police department after you.”
Serena sighed, feeling helpless and desperately wanting to do something to negate that.
Lora began making a noise, her little lips suddenly moving against her shoulder. She was clearly hunting for something.
Three months “on the job” as a mother had taught Serena exactly what her daughter was after.
“You want to eat, don’t you?” she said.
Walking over to the rocking chair that Anders had made for her with his own hands, she sat down. Holding Lora against her with one arm, she shrugged out of the top of her nightclothes and pressed the infant to her breast. Lora began feeding instantly.
“Last time, little one,” Serena promised, stroking the infant’s silky hair. “I’m starting you on a bottle first thing tomorrow morning. Mama’s got to get back to doing her job, sweetheart. Nobody’s going to do it for her,” she told the little person in her arms.
Rocking slowly, Serena smiled to herself. She was looking forward to tomorrow, to getting back to feeling productive. But for now, she savored this very possibly last intimate moment of bonding with her infant daughter.
As he’d predicted, Carson didn’t get very much sleep that night. His brain was too wired, too consumed with reviewing all the details surrounding his brother’s murder. There was more than a little bit of guilt involved, as well. He hadn’t wanted to go to Bo’s bachelor party to begin with, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that if he had only got to it a little earlier, he might have been there in time to prevent his brother’s murder from ever happening.
Carson finally wound up dozing off somewhere between two thirty and three in the morning. At least he assumed he’d dozed off because the next thing he knew, he felt hot air on his face. The sensation blended in with a fragment of a dream he was having, something to do with walking through the desert, trying to make his way home with the hot sun beating down on him. Except that he’d lost his way and didn’t know just where home actually was.
Waking up with a start, he found Justice looming right over him. The hot wind turned out to be the dog’s hot breath. Justice’s face was just inches away from his.
Scrambling up into a sitting position, Carson dragged a hand through the unruly thatch of dark hair that was falling into his eyes.
“What is it, boy?” he asked groggily. “Did you solve the crime and couldn’t wait to let me know?” Blinking, he looked at the clock on his nightstand. It was a little past six in the morning. How had that happened? “Or are you hungry, and you’re trying to wake me up to get you breakfast?”
In response, the four-footed black-and-tan active member of the K-9 police department nudged him with his nose.
“I guessed it, huh?” Carson asked, swinging his legs off his rumpled double bed.
Except for the fact that he had pulled off his boots last night, he was still dressed in the same clothes he’d had on yesterday. He really hadn’t thought he was going to be able to fall asleep at all so in his estimation there had been no point in changing out of them and getting ready for bed.
Carson didn’t remember collapsing, facedown, on his bed. He supposed the nonstop pace of the last two days, ever since he’d come across Bo’s body in The Pour House parking lot had finally caught up with him.
He blinked several times to get the sleep out of his eyes and focus as he made his way through the condo into his utilitarian kitchen.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Carson said to the furry shadow behind him. “This whole place could fit into a corner of Serena Colton’s suite.”
Now, why had that even come up in his haze-filled mind, he asked himself.
Just then another piece of his fragmented dream came back to him. He realized that he’d been trying to cross that desert in order to get back home to Serena.
Home to Serena?
Where the hell had that come from?
He hardly knew the woman. What was his subconscious trying to tell him? It wasn’t as if he was in the habit of dreaming about women. When he came right down to it, he hardly ever dreamed at all.
He came to the conclusion that something had to be bothering him about his less than successful interview with Serena last night. At the moment, he just couldn’t put his finger on what.
Forget about it for now, he ordered himself. He had something more immediate demanding his attention—and it weighed a little over eighty pounds.
“Okay, Justice. What’ll it be? Filet mignon? Lobster? Dog food?” Carson asked, holding the pantry doors open and peering inside at the items on the shelves. “Dog food, it is,” he agreed, mentally answering for the dog beside him.
As he took out a large can, Justice came to attention. The canine was watching closely where the can’s contents would wind up.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to poach your breakfast,” Carson told the dog. “I’m not that hungry.”
To be honest, he wasn’t hungry at all. But given his present state, he desperately needed a cup of coffee. His brain felt as if it had been wrapped up in cotton and he needed that jolt that his first cup of coffee in the morning brought in order to launch him into his day.
Emptying the dog food into Justice’s oversize dish, Carson stepped out of the dog’s way as his K-9 partner immediately began to inhale his food. Carson tossed the empty can into the garbage pail in the cabinet beneath his sink and turned his attention to the coffee maker.
He bit off a few choice words. He’d forgotten to program the coffee maker to have coffee waiting for him this morning. Moving over to the refrigerator, he took out the half-empty can of ground coffee and proceeded to make his usual cup of coffee. The end product, thick and rich, was always something that could have easily doubled for the material that was used to repave asphalt. It was just the way he liked it.