Colton and the Single Mom Page 7

  She wanted to explain that she wasn’t going to use this as an opportunity to try to get information from him, but she sensed she didn’t have to. Brayden was tough and powerful, but he was also empathetic. He had proved that with his behavior toward Rhys. She guessed he would know the offer of dinner was nothing more than a way of thanking him. Even so, Esmée was preparing herself for a rejection. His next words took her by surprise.

  “I’m dusty and sweaty after this afternoon’s exertions. Why don’t I go home and shower while you cook? I’ll come back in an hour.”

  “Sounds good.” She’d get dinner started before showering and changing her own clothes. Rhys could have his bath and get into his pajamas. She suspected he’d be asleep soon after dinner. Placing her hand on the door, she prepared to get out of the car.

  Brayden’s voice halted her. “There’s just one thing...”

  She turned back, looking at him over her shoulder. There it was again. Stronger this time. A definite spark that made his eyes more green than blue. Oh, dear Lord. How was she ever going to resist that? “Yes?”

  “Is Echo included in the invitation?”

  “Rhys wouldn’t have it any other way.” She smiled. “Actually, nor would I.”

  * * *

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Brayden said, as he filled Echo’s bowl with food. “I can tell by the way you’re looking at me.” Echo tilted his head as though attempting to understand what he was saying. “The sensible thing to do would be to keep my distance, right?”

  Apparently feeling some reaction was required of him, Echo gave a bark. Unsure whether the response was a demand for his dinner or a reply to his comments, Brayden placed the dog’s bowl on the floor. Relationship advice from a golden retriever? That about summed up the state of his dating experience over the last eight years.

  This is not a date.

  So why the hell did he feel so nervous? Why, for the first time in as long as he could remember—in his whole life—had he stepped out of the shower and wondered what to wear? He had settled on jeans, a T-shirt and boots. Because that was what he wore when he was off duty.

  When Esmée had invited him to dinner, Brayden’s first thought had been to refuse. Not because he didn’t want to spend more time with her. On the contrary. He was alarmed by how rapidly his feelings toward her were developing. That was the reason why he had intended to turn her down. He had actually opened his mouth ready to say the words. Sorry, I can’t. That would be the spoken part. The unspoken message? Because I have no intention of getting involved. What had come out had been something else entirely. His heart had done the talking instead of his head.

  And once the words had been uttered, he found he was looking forward to it. In a restless, excited, what-the-hell-have-I-done? kind of way.

  When Echo had finished eating, Brayden headed for the door. Remembering the bottle of wine that had been sitting in the fridge since a guy he had rescued last summer gave it to him, he went back.

  “White wine goes with pasta, doesn’t it?” Echo wagged his tail. “Oh, yeah. I forgot. You’re a beer man like me. We’ll take it anyway.”

  It was a beautiful evening and, because they weren’t working, Brayden broke the rules and let Echo sit in the passenger seat. They had been partners for close to six years and it hadn’t escaped his attention that his closest bond was with a dog. It was his only meaningful relationship.

  The challenges of search-and-rescue were made easier because of his connection with his K-9 partner. Handling the difficult physical and emotional situations—extreme heat, harsh cold, sleep deprivation, enclosed dark spaces and hostile vegetation—could take a toll. Having Echo at his side helped Brayden recover after long days and difficult missions.

  Yeah, I talk to my dog.

  “Sometimes you even listen.” He reached over and ruffled Echo’s ears.

  He pulled up at the bed-and-breakfast, aware that he wouldn’t receive a warm welcome if Wendy Gage caught sight of him. Brayden had been the officer who’d brought her son, Corey, home after he crashed her car. Since then, Wendy seemed to feel Brayden was out to get her precious son. It was a Colton thing, she was fond of telling her friends. Poor Corey was being set up because he was a Gage.

  Luckily, Brayden made it to Esmée’s front door without encountering the fearsome proprietor. Instead, he was greeted by a far pleasanter sight. Esmée opened the door looking incredibly pretty, with her long hair hanging loose and slightly damp. She wore black jeans and a red T-shirt that emphasized her dark coloring. Her feet were bare and she appeared to have relaxed after the afternoon’s ordeal. As Brayden passed her and walked into the little cabin, her delicious fresh-from-the-shower scent filled his nostrils and made him feel a little giddy.

  She took the bottle of wine from him. “I don’t often drink, but this feels like one of those days when it’s almost compulsory.”

  The layout of the cabin was an open-plan square. There was a small living area on one side and a kitchen and dining area on the other. While Esmée went to prepare the food, Brayden joined Rhys, who was playing on the rug with his toys.

  Rhys looked up with a shy smile. “Hi, Bray...” He frowned as though realizing the name wasn’t quite right.

  “My friends call me Bray.”

  “Hi, Ko. Paw.” Echo performed his hand-shaking trick, then rolled onto his back. Rhys went off into peals of laughter as the dog waved all four legs in the air.

  “He wants you to tickle his tummy,” Brayden explained. “When Echo isn’t wearing his orange jacket, he’s off duty. That means he can play.”

  “Do the same rules apply to his master?” Esmée asked.

  “Pretty much, although I’m not usually as blatant asking for a tummy rub.” He joined her in the kitchen. “Rhys seems fine.”

  “He really is. I’m hopeful there won’t be any ill effects.” Brayden helped her as she placed plates, knives, forks and water glasses on the table. As she turned back to the counter, she frowned. “That’s strange.”

  “What is?” Brayden paused in the act of opening the bottle of wine.

  “I cooked some sausages to add to the spaghetti sauce. There were four of them on this chopping board.” Esmée’s expression was mystified. “Now there are only two.”

  “Ah.” Brayden poured wine into two glasses. “Perhaps I should have mentioned that.”

  “You steal sausages?” Esmée raised her eyebrows as she accepted her glass.

  “Not me.” Brayden pointed to Echo, who was sitting nearby. He was doing his best innocent dog impression...while licking his lips. “When the vest comes off, his inhibitions disappear along with it. He loves sausages and he’s fast.”

  Esmée laughed. “I guess he’s earned a couple of sausages. And I’ll be more careful next time.”

  Next time. Brayden liked those words. Being here with her and Rhys felt good. Easy and natural. “I speak from experience when I say he’s sneaky.”

  “Then we’d better eat now while we still have two sausages left.” Esmée turned away to finish serving the food.

  As Rhys clambered into his booster seat, he pointed to the chair next to him. “Bray here.”

  Esmée raised her eyebrows as she sat opposite. “You get the position of honor.”

  “Does it come with any additional duties?” He regarded Rhys’s plastic plate and water cup warily.

  Esmée laughed. “Don’t worry. Rhys has beautiful table manners.”

  Beautiful might have been an exaggeration, but Rhys was an independent eater. The day’s adventure seemed to have given him a hearty appetite, and he tucked into his food without talking. Although he occasionally used his hands instead of his fork, Esmée didn’t comment so Brayden guessed it must be a two-year-old thing. When he dropped bits of food on the floor, Echo—who, particularly after the sausage stealing incident, should have known better—
cleaned them up. On this occasion, Brayden was prepared to relax his own rules. Echo deserved a little downtime, too.

  In Red Ridge, it was impossible to have a conversation that didn’t at least skirt around the edge of the Groom Killer case. Esmée was unselfconscious about it. “I got a call from Hester just before you arrived. Sarah is home from the hospital.”

  “How is she?” He still hadn’t quite figured out Esmée’s connection to Sarah, fiancée of the Groom Killer’s latest victim, and Hester Mull. It clearly went deeper than an acquaintance that had been formed since her arrival in town.

  “Hester said she’s improving a little each day. I’m taking Rhys to see her tomorrow.” Esmée bent her head over her plate. “I think it’s harder because she can’t say goodbye to Jack until the coroner releases his body. There are still some technicalities to do with the case. Waiting for the funeral is difficult for all of us.”

  Brayden frowned. “You knew Jack?”

  She looked up. “He was a very good friend. Probably the best I had.”

  There was a depth of emotion that went beyond her voice and seemed to resonate through her slender body. It intrigued Brayden. He understood how her path might have crossed Jack’s in the course of her work, but he couldn’t put the two of them together as friends. Jack was one of the good guys, but he was old enough to be Esmée’s dad. Brayden had met him a few times in the Pour House. Jack had been a man of few words. Those he did use were blunt. Mild-mannered Sarah had clearly seen beyond the gruff exterior and fallen in love with him, but Esmée’s association with the former cop surprised Brayden.

  Her grief was clearly still raw, and he searched for a way to deal with that. “I hardly knew him. He’d only come back to town recently.”

  Esmée managed a smile. “Jack worked with my mom, helping her with her research. When I started out as a true-crime vlogger, he was the person I turned to for help. He even traveled back and forth to Wales when I spent two years making a documentary. He and Sarah had been childhood sweethearts, but they split up and he left town after she married Barry Mull. We were in Wales when he learned she was a widow. He was so happy to be back in touch with her after all those years apart. I’d have to fight like a tiger to get my laptop away from him.” There was a light of reminiscing in her eyes. “We were in the mountains and the phone signal was poor, but the house we were staying in had a dial-up connection. Jack wasn’t great on the computer when he arrived in Glanrafon, but by the time he left, he was the king of internet chat.”

  Brayden liked listening to her as he ate. He liked watching her even more. She was an animated talker. Her eyes sparkled and she gestured with her hands, smiling and laughing a lot as she described Jack’s technological mishaps. The food was good, and even though he wasn’t a wine drinker, his glass was soon empty. He reached for the bottle and refilled it.

  “Is Rhys a Welsh name?” This came under the category of keeping his distance, but the urge to find out more about her was nagging at him.

  “Yes.” It was like he had flicked a switch. Just like that, all the liveliness was gone and she fell silent.

  How to wreck an enjoyable evening the Brayden Colton way. Clearly, the subject of her past was off-limits. He searched around for another topic of conversation, something they had in common. There was always the obvious...but he wasn’t going to talk about Demi. That left one other thing. A pretty important one. “The team searching the ridge found no sign of the shooter.”

  Esmée paused in the act of lifting a forkful of pasta to her mouth. “Did you think they would?”

  “I guess not. But it’s possible he’s still around.” He took a breath, knowing she wasn’t going to like what he was about to say next. “Which means you should leave town.”

  Her eyebrows drew together sharply. “I don’t see why. He shot at me because I found his knife. He got it back. I’m no threat to him.”

  “You still don’t think this could be connected to your documentary? It wasn’t a warning to you to stay away from this story?” By taking this route Brayden was laying himself wide-open to questions about Demi, but he couldn’t ignore it. If there was a chance Esmée and Rhys were in danger from this guy, he had to get her to face it.

  “What? You think he is either the Groom Killer, or he was paid by the murderer to scare me off?” Esmée’s incredulous tone told him she didn’t think much of that idea. “Your sister has become so unhinged, she’s gotten herself a paid accomplice?”

  “My sister is not a killer.” He had said it so many times and in so many ways. Maybe it was the wine and the food, but this time some of his usual fire was missing. He didn’t care who Esmée was or why she was in town. He couldn’t let it pass. In his presence, no one was going to call Demi a murderer.

  He braced himself for the questions. He had just opened up the barrier to the interview she wanted. She would be crazy to let this opportunity pass. But, to his amazement, she did. Deliberately, she sipped her wine and appeared lost in thought.

  “No.” When she finally spoke, her expression was determined. “I know the guy on the ridge had a gun—and that’s the weapon of choice for the Groom Killer—but his focus was that knife. I honestly think Rhys and I were in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She reached out an impulsive hand and placed it on his wrist. “Trust me. Even if I was stupid enough to put myself in danger, I would never do that to Rhys.”

  The words were important. Really important. His brain registered them and filed them away, along with the way she hadn’t seized on the Demi story. In that instant, something else was taking precedence. His body was responding to her touch. Awareness of her fingertips on his wrist spread along his nerve endings, triggering a series of pleasurable shock waves. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before and, as their gazes caught and held, he could tell Esmée was feeling it, too.

  “Done.” When Rhys held up his plate to show them, Brayden couldn’t decide whether the kid’s timing was good or bad.

  “So you are.” Even though Esmée withdrew her hand as she turned to see to Rhys, Brayden could still feel the lingering warmth of her touch. “He’s really tired, I’m going to take him to bed.”

  Rhys’s eyelids were drooping as Esmée lifted him from his chair, but he looked at Brayden over her shoulder. “Bray do story.”

  “I usually tell him a story,” Esmée explained.

  “Want Bray. Want the girl who fell down. Like me.”

  “I have no idea what this is about.” Esmée sounded bewildered.

  “I told him a story when we were on the ledge together,” Brayden explained.

  “Ah.” She carried Rhys through to his bedroom and Brayden followed her. “That was good thinking. He loves stories.”

  “It wasn’t my idea,” he admitted. “Your son ordered me to do it.”

  She laughed as she tucked in Rhys. “He can be quite forceful.” A hint of mischief lit her features. “I don’t know where he gets that trait from.”

  “Story.” Although Rhys was almost asleep, he patted the bed next to him.

  “Over to you.” Esmée stepped back, allowing Brayden to sit down.

  A story about the girl who fell down? He searched his memories. “This story takes place about eight years after the last one. Her brother...you remember him, the one who carried her home on his back when she broke her ankle?” Rhys nodded sleepily. “Well, his truck got washed off the road one day during a storm. It hit a tree and slid down a bank into the river. Her brother was knocked unconscious and was in danger of drowning in the fast-flowing water. Without giving a thought to her own safety, his daredevil kid sister took off her boots and handed them to one of the men who were standing in a group hesitating about what to do next. She waded into the water and dragged him free of the vehicle.”

  He thought Rhys was asleep and made a move to stand up, but a small hand slid into his. “Brave. Like me.” Brayd
en had to lean closer to catch his next words. “Was her name?”

  Brayden was aware of Esmée’s eyes on his profile as he answered, “Her name is Demi.”

  Chapter 7

  The offer wasn’t fully formed, but, after what she’d heard in Rhys’s bedroom, Esmée didn’t want Brayden to leave until she’d said something about Demi. What she’d seen in his expression when he told Rhys the story of his sister had moved her. There had been love there, but so much pain as well. It was clear that the mix of emotions was eating away at him.

  “Let me help.”

  He paused in the open doorway, looking down at her. “What do you mean?”

  Esmée leaned against the door frame, facing him. The April night was mild with only a light breeze stirring the trees. A full moon hung low in the sky, illuminating the other cabins and Wendy Gage’s house, which was already in darkness.

  “You said your sister isn’t a killer. Let me help you prove it.”

  Although his expression didn’t change, she sensed him withdraw slightly. She was used to that reaction. Some people worked with her. Others were suspicious of her motives. Brayden had every reason to be wary about what sort of damage she could do with a story. He was probably wondering if this was just an angle, another way of finding out everything she could about Demi. She had to convince him her desire to assist him was genuine.

  “I’ve been a true-crime documentary maker for a long time, but I don’t usually get involved in an investigation. Unlike my mother, I don’t uncover injustices, or look into unsolved crimes. I tell stories about the impact of murder. But the difference is subtle, and no one around here will notice if I change my focus. They assume I’ll ask questions about the Groom Killer killings. They expect me to poke my nose in where you can’t.”