Colton And The Single Mum. Jane Godman
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schedule to spend with Rhys when he had figured out that her little boy needed a push to keep him talking. Maybe he didn’t know he had just changed her life, but Brayden Colton had done a good thing for a stranger. That had to make him a special kind of person. She hadn’t formed any idea about his sister, but Brayden thought Demi was innocent. More than ever, Esmée wanted to hear his opinion.
“Thank you.” It seemed an inadequate thing to say, but it was all she had. The emotion was still close to the surface. Even those two words had her throat tightening painfully all over again.
“All part of the service.” Somehow, she sensed Brayden understood the raw emotion that was churning through her. He placed a hand briefly on Rhys’s shoulder. “He’s a great kid.”
“He is.” She rested her cheek against Rhys’s curls. “He’s the best.”
He reached into his top pocket, pulling out his shades. “Oh, and that interview you wanted?”
“Yes?” Her heart beat a little faster. She wasn’t sure whether it was at the prospect of the interview, or the chance to spend more time with him. Possibly it was both.
He slid the shades on, hiding his eyes. Hiding himself. “Still not happening.”
* * *
It was a good thing Echo knew what he was doing because Brayden had been afflicted by a curious inability to concentrate. It was a unique experience for someone who was usually focused, and it was annoying him intensely.
He was well aware of the reason for his distraction. Throughout the K-9 demonstration, during which the police dogs showed off their different skills, his eyes seemed to have developed a will of their own. No matter how hard he tried to keep his gaze on what was happening around him, his eyes insisted on wandering to the picnic rug where Esmée was sitting with Rhys and Hester.
Although they were some distance away, Rhys was a splash of bright color in his red sweatshirt, and Esmée’s skirt was equally eye-catching. Brayden choked back a laugh. She could be camouflaged to blend in with her surroundings. He’d still find her.
The truth was, Esmée da Costa had shaken him and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. The fact that she was five foot three inches of delicious femininity hadn’t escaped his notice, but it was not the only reason she had grabbed his attention.
Even though she looked like every man’s hottest fantasy, he’d been ready with a few well-chosen words of angry dismissal when she’d mentioned an interview. Then the drama with her little boy had unfolded. What he’d seen then had been remarkable. When Rhys said his first words, Brayden had been able to feel the emotion coming off Esmée in waves. In her eyes, he had seen hope mingling with a love so intense it was fierce.
He had spent time with Rhys for the kid’s own sake. Something about the little boy had reminded Brayden of himself. When Esmée said her son hadn’t spoken until today, it was clear Rhys had problems that went deep. Brayden didn’t know what they were. As a child, his own intense shyness had been crippling. After knowing Rhys for only a matter of minutes, he wouldn’t presume to say he knew how the boy felt. All he could say was he remembered what it was like to wish he could retreat behind an imaginary wall in a grown-up world. He’d seen a way to reach out, and Rhys’s smile had been the only reward he’d wanted.
When he saw Esmée’s reaction to Rhys’s first words, he had experienced a strong desire to go further and help her as well as her kid. The feeling was so strong he had put aside his personal animosity toward her purpose for coming to Red Ridge. Had even possibly forgotten all about the story she was covering and just enjoyed that brief encounter with her and her son. As incredible as it seemed, for the first time since Bo Gage had been found shot dead with a cummerbund stuffed in his mouth, Brayden had stopped thinking about the investigation.
As his gaze strayed in Esmée’s direction again, he decided it was worth a reminder that the presence of a child indicated there was a father around somewhere. Not that he had any intention of letting a pair of big dark eyes and those pretty legs with their lickable knees divert him from who she was. A few wrong words from Esmée could hurt Demi, and Brayden wasn’t going to add to his sister’s problems.
With that thought in his mind, he glanced at his cell phone. He had gotten into the habit of willing Demi to get in touch, even though he knew she wouldn’t. Brayden didn’t have much of a relationship with any of his half siblings; they’d all been raised by different mothers. They were all close in age, and had lived nearby when they were growing up—he and his older sister, Quinn, had even been in the same class at school—but their mothers had instilled a sense of distrust in them that had lasted into adulthood. Brayden, Quinn and Shane didn’t dislike each other. They just had nothing in common and no reason to get to know each other.
Demi was different. They weren’t exactly friends, but their shared love of the outdoors had brought them together when they were growing up and a bond had developed between them because of events that had come their way. It was the reason Brayden was certain his sister wasn’t a killer. It was also how he knew she wouldn’t contact him. Strong-willed, stubborn and feisty, Demi was also fiercely loyal. She wouldn’t put Brayden in a position where he had to choose between her and his job.
He just wished she would get in touch with someone to let them know she was okay. Those rumors were swirling around town that Demi was pregnant with Bo Gage’s baby. Her critics were claiming it as further proof of her guilt. Bo dumped her and was marrying someone else while she was carrying his child, so she killed him? Brayden shook his head. Demi had a temper, but she was more likely to confront Bo and land a punch on him that would break his nose. And the idea that Demi had then continued killing other bridegrooms? Jack Parkowski was the fourth victim. Fourth. Brayden just didn’t buy into the idea that his sister was out somewhere close by, stalking and killing engaged men.
Even so, the evidence against Demi wasn’t good. A search of her house had revealed photos and love letters to Demi from Bo, with big Xs across them and the word Liar scrawled in marker across one letter. No matter how bad things seemed, if she would just give herself up, Brayden was sure they could clear her name.
The K-9 demonstration was over and Brayden looked in Esmée’s direction once more. She was chasing Rhys in a circle around their picnic rug, letting him stay just ahead of her. Almost as if she sensed him watching, she looked up and stared back at Brayden across the distance between them. Hurriedly, he turned away to help Danica dismantle the agility equipment.
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and alcohol fumes greeted him as he turned his head. Brayden resisted the temptation to groan.
“Saw you talking to that pretty little reporter a while ago, son.” His father, Rusty, only ever called Brayden “son” when he wanted to borrow money from him.
“She’s not a reporter.”
“Whatever she is, that would be one mighty fine way to spend an afternoon.” Rusty winked and elbowed Brayden in the ribs. “Maybe I’ll invite her over to the Pour House. Tell her my side of the story while we, uh...relax.”
Brayden had given up on wishing Rusty would treat women with respect. Usually, he called his father out on the worst of his comments without much hope that he would be listened to. For the first time ever, real anger blazed through him at his father’s attitude. The thought of Rusty leering at Esmée infuriated him almost as much as the idea that he would contemplate discussing Demi’s situation with a stranger. A stranger who was here to make a documentary. To expose every aspect of their lives to the world.
“Stay away from her.” The words came out harder than he’d intended.
“Whatever you say.” Rusty held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “Look, I have a problem—”
“How much?” Brayden didn’t want to hear the latest inventive reason why Rusty needed cash.
“Fifty should do it.”
Brayden handed him the money and Rusty stuffed it into the back pocket of his jeans. He stooped to pat Echo before wandering away, whistling