The Coltons: Fisher, Ryder & Quinn: Soldier's Secret Child

With that focus, she rushed to the sheriff’s office in the hopes of securing T.J.’s release.

Bill was at the front desk again, looking as uncomfortable as he had the night before.

“Good morning, Macy,” he said, rose and held up his coffee mug. “Can I get you a cup?”

“Will I be here long enough to need one?” she said with a forced smile.

“I hope not. Let me go get Deputy Rawlings.” He walked away, cup in hand, and to one of the offices, where he knocked.

Someone ripped the door open and Bill jumped back.

Deputy Rawlings stepped out from the office. As he realized she was there, he tempered his attitude. He walked to the front desk and swung open the waist-high door in invitation.

“Why don’t you join me in my office?” he said and held his hand out.

“Can I take T.J. home now?” she asked as she passed by him and walked toward his office.

“Let’s discuss this in private,” the deputy replied, his tone obviously annoyed.

She wondered why they needed privacy much like she was still questioning why it had been necessary to keep T.J. overnight. She guarded her tongue since it would not accomplish anything if she lost her cool.

In his office, she sat before his desk and kept quiet, waiting for him to set the tone of the discussion.

He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together on his flat stomach. “I spoke to T.J. at length yesterday. He clearly knows more about Sara’s disappearance than he’s saying, Macy.”

“Sara and he are friends, Adam. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. If anything, he’s probably trying to protect her.”

“I don’t doubt that. In fact, our investigations so far seem to indicate that there isn’t any foul play.” He shot forward in the chair, opened a file on his desk and quickly moved some papers around.

“At least a week ago, Sara may have been at a local honky tonk about ten miles from here—the Amarillo Rose. One of the bartenders remembers a young girl being there and getting into a truck with someone.”

She shifted to the edge of her seat and said, “So it’s possible she’s gone off with the same person again?”

The deputy shook his head and chuckled harshly. “Could be, although I’d put my money on T.J. But there’s nothing so far that says she didn’t go willingly or that any harm has come to her. Because of that, I’m going to let T.J. go—”

“Thank you,” she said and popped up out of her chair, eager to go get her son.

Deputy Rawlings picked up his hands and waved for her to sit back down. “Easy now, Macy. Don’t be in a rush because even though I’m letting T.J. go for now, you need to keep an eye on him. Make sure that if he knows anything about Sara, he lets us know before something bad does happen.”

As angry as she was at the deputy’s heavy-handed tactics, she couldn’t argue with what he was asking. “If I find out anything, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Good to hear. I’ll go get T.J. Why don’t you meet us out front?”

Dismissed, she rose and headed to where Bill sat at the desk, sipping his coffee. As she approached, he said, “So you’re taking T.J.?”

“I am,” she answered, grasping the handles of her purse before her.

The sound of metal grating against metal snagged her attention—the jail cell opening. A second later, her son popped out, looking tired and haggard. As he saw her waiting for him, however, a smile quickly flashed across his face before he controlled it. He walked toward her slowly, hesitant, but when he stood before her, she reached out and hugged him hard. His body relaxed and he returned the embrace.

“We’re going home, T.J.”

She stepped away, but kept one arm around his shoulders, reluctant to lose contact with her son.

He didn’t battle her but kept close to her side as they walked out the door of the sheriff’s station.

She shot her son a sidelong glance. Relief washed over her as he met her gaze and another timid smile blossomed on his face. Everything would be okay, she thought until she nearly walked into the man standing before them on the steps of the sheriff’s station.

Fisher.

In wickedly tight blue jeans, a chambray shirt that hugged his lean chest and abs, and a black Stetson that made his green eyes pop brightly in the morning sun.

“Fisher,” she said out loud, a little more breathlessly than she liked.

“What are you doing here?” T.J. said and came to stand before her, placing himself between her and Fisher in an obviously protective gesture.

She placed her hand on T.J.’s shoulder and urged him back to her side. “Fisher and his dad were nice enough to keep me company last night. We had dinner together at Miss Sue’s while I waited to see if Deputy Rawlings would let you go home.”

T.J.’s mouth quirked with displeasure before he mustered some politeness. “Thank you for taking care of my mom.”

Fisher seemed taken aback by the unexpected gratitude, but quickly recovered. “My pleasure. I’m sure Jericho would have done the same if he were here.”

Disappointment stung her ego followed by confusion at the disappointment. Snagging her keys from her purse, she handed them to T.J. and pointed to where her car was parked across the street.

“Fisher and I need a moment alone. Why don’t you go wait by the car for me?”

T.J. nodded, but before he left, he chanced an assessing look at Fisher. Then he did as she had asked, walking down the steps of the sheriff’s office and to the corner, where he waited for the light to change so he could cross.

Macy shifted her attention to Fisher. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, looked away and dragged off his hat, bouncing it back and forth in his hands. With his head hanging down, he said, “I wish I knew.”

She wished she knew as well and was about to press him for another answer when the squeal of tires rent the air. Loud, harsh and angry.

Both she and Fisher whirled toward the sound in time to see a large black sedan lurch wildly toward T.J. as he was crossing the street. Smoke came off one of the tires as the car burned rubber with the driver’s haste to pick up speed.

“T.J.,” they both shouted in unison and sprinted toward him, intent on getting him out of the path of the oncoming car.

He had noticed the car as well, but for a moment he stood there, stunned as the vehicle accelerated toward him. Then in a blur, he raced for the side of the street, trying to avoid the sedan which made no attempt to avert hitting him. If anything, it picked up speed, veering toward where T.J. had run to escape.

At the last minute, her son sidestepped the car like a matador might a bull as the vehicle traveled past him, but it still struck him a glancing blow. He flew into the air and against one of the parked cars as the sedan hurtled down the road, its engine racing as it continued to pick up speed.

She and Fisher rushed to where T.J. lay sprawled in the street as did a number of other pedestrians who had witnessed the accident.

When they reached his side, T.J. was attempting to rise, but Fisher laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Stay down, son. You could have some broken bones.”

T.J. didn’t argue, clearly dazed. A large gash on his temple bled profusely and he had a number of other cuts and scrapes along his face and arms.

Her hands shook as she passed a hand along T.J.’s forehead. As she glanced up the block, she noticed the flashing lights of an approaching ambulance and it filled her with relief. “Take it easy. Help will be here soon.”

T.J. nodded, but even that small action seemed to hurt. He closed his eyes and lay there quietly, his face pale, frightening her.

Fisher sensed her fear. He placed his hand at the nape of her neck to steady her and said, “Don’t worry. He’ll be fine.”

She sucked in a shaky scared breath and it rocked him all the way to his gut. He wanted to make her feel better, but he was failing miserably.

Luckily, the EMTs arrived a second later and urged them both to move away.

He kept his contact with her as she stood there, arms wrapped around her waist. Her body tight with anxiety as they waited for some kind of word from the paramedics.

The young man finally looked up at them over his shoulder. “Nothing serious from what I can see, but we’ll take him to the hospital just to confirm that.”

The EMT quickly had the rest of his crew getting T.J. ready for transport. At the periphery of his vision, he noticed that Deputy Rawlings and one other officer were talking to the crowd, getting witness statements, he assumed. He wondered if anyone had gotten the license plate number. He had been too rattled to think about it, which shocked him. He was a man of action and trained to stay in control in stressful situations.

That he had lost that control scared him more than he wanted to admit.

But despite that, he knew he had to be in charge now for Macy and her son.

As the paramedics finished getting T.J. on a gurney, he took command. “Can his mother go with him in the ambulance?”

The EMT nodded. “Yes, but there’s only room for your wife, sir.”

“I’ll follow in the car, Macy,” he said and she nodded, murmured a strained, “Thanks.”

He stood by her until T.J. was loaded into the ambulance and then he helped her climb up into the back. One of the paramedics came by and closed the door of the ambulance, leaving him standing there awkwardly until the sirens kicked in, reminding him he had something to do.

He had to follow them to the hospital and be there for them.

He had to do that, but not because it was what Jericho would have done.

He had to do it because his heart told him it was the right thing to do.

Chapter 12

Macy held T.J.’s hand as the paramedic placed a temporary bandage on the cut along his temple. When he was done, he strapped T.J.’s head in place to keep it from moving during the drive.

Apparently comfortable that T.J. didn’t have any major injuries, the paramedic slipped into the seat beside the driver and left them alone in the back of the ambulance.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“A little sore, but I’ll be okay,” he said and squeezed her hand.

Macy thought back to the moment when she had heard the squeal of the tires and the car hurtled forward toward T.J. The fear of that moment fled, replaced by questions.

“I didn’t recognize the car, did you?” Esperanza was a small town and almost everyone knew what kind of car everyone else drove.

“I didn’t,” her son replied, but something in his voice didn’t ring true.

“Do you recollect anything about the car? The make or model? Did you see the face of the driver?”

“No, Ma. I was too busy trying not to get run over,” he answered, the tone of his voice part annoyed but a greater part evasive.

“Are you sure—”

“I’m sure I was trying to get out of the way,” he shot back and withdrew his hand from hers, bringing it to rest on his flat belly.

She focused on that hand, skinned along the knuckles. Drops of blood had congealed at various spots and there were more abrasions on his other hand. As she swept her gaze up and down his body, she noticed the angry road rash along one arm, from his elbow down to mid-forearm.

In her brain came the recollection of the low thud as the car caught him along one hip and he went flying, smacking into another car before falling to roll along the ground from the impact of the blow. A chill took hold in her center and she tried picturing the sedan again. Closed her eyes and attempted to remember what she could about the car, but it had all happened too fast.

The image of the vehicle was just a black blur as it sped toward T.J.

She was sure of that. The car had intended to hit her son. She had no uncertainty about that which made her wonder why T.J. might be lying to protect someone who had tried to hurt him.

The ride to the nearby hospital was blessedly short and the emergency room relatively empty. It didn’t take long for them to examine T.J. and determine that there were no broken bones or a concussion. Although he would be bruised in a number of spots, especially along the one leg where the car had clipped him, there was no reason for the doctors to admit him.

Macy sighed with relief as the doctor made that pronouncement and finished sealing the cut on T.J.’s head with some butterfly bandages before taping a gauze pad over the wound. Another large bandage covered the road rash that they had cleaned while yet more gauze was wrapped around the knuckles on both hands.

As T.J. noticed her examining his various injuries, he barked out a short laugh and said, “You should see the other guy.”

She chuckled and embraced him as he sat on the edge of the bed. “I was so scared.”

“I’m okay, Mom. Really.”

When she stepped away, he eased from the bed to stand upright, wincing as he put pressure on the leg which had taken the brunt of the hit from the car. It took him a moment to fully straighten and his first step was a little gimpy until he seemed to stretch out a kink.

With her arm around his shoulders, they walked out into the emergency room waiting area.

Fisher sat there, bouncing his black hat in his hand. He shot up out of the chair when he saw them and approached. Grimacing as he noted the bandages on T.J., he forced a smile and said, “I hope the other guy looks worse.”

To her surprise, T.J. grinned and nodded. “He does.”

Fisher motioned to the exit. “I brought your car from town. I’ll go get it and drive you home.”

The accident had rattled her nerves and having Fisher drive them would be a welcome respite. Concern remained about why someone would try to hurt T.J. and why he would cover up the fact that he might know who was responsible. As she and T.J. followed Fisher out of the hospital, she realized that she needed to tell someone about what was up with T.J. Needed to confide in someone who could help her deal with the problem.

As she watched Fisher pull up to the curb and saw how carefully he handled getting a sore T.J. into the car, she realized that Fisher might just be the someone she needed.

At seventeen, T.J. wouldn’t have normally needed her to get him settled in bed, but he was aching enough now to require her assistance. She helped him take off his jeans. Managed to control her reaction at the sight of the large bruise which had already formed along his hip and thigh in addition to the smaller purpling marks along his other leg and ribs.

“Get some rest,” she urged as she tucked him beneath the covers.

He nodded and closed his eyes, obviously drained by the events of the day.

She walked into the hall and left his door open, wanting to be able to hear him if he needed anything. She began to walk down the stairs, but paused a few steps down, peering through the open doorway of his room just to check on him again.

He seemed to be asleep already.

She breathed a sigh of relief that his injuries had been so minimal and finished her walk down the stairs. At the landing, she proceeded a few more steps and then turned into the kitchen.

Fisher stood at the counter by the coffee machine, pouring water into it. He slipped in a filter and then the coffee. Hit the button to get it going.

His actions were so domestic that it seemed incongruous until she remembered how often she had seen Jericho do the same thing both in her home and his. They had grown up in a household full of men and such routine activities would likely be almost second nature to them.

She allowed herself the pleasure of watching him finish up the task, his movements sure and totally comfortable. Totally masculine. When he finished, he turned and realized she was standing there.

Fisher leaned back against the counter while he examined Macy. She appeared in control and he admired her strength in the midst of yet another crisis. Her strength being one of the things that had always attracted him.

“How’s he doing?”

“Tired and sore. He’s already fast asleep,” she said and went to the small island in the middle of the kitchen, bent and retrieved two mugs and a sugar bowl which she placed on top of the island counter.

“And you?” he asked, raising one brow to emphasize the question.

She braced her hands on the edge of the counter, suddenly uneasy it seemed to him. She took a deep breath, held it before releasing it in a rush. Then she met his gaze directly and said, “I need your help.”

“Just what kind of help?” he asked and from the corner of his eye he noticed that the pot of coffee was almost done. He took it from the machine, walked over and poured them both a cup of coffee.

She picked up the mug, her hands slightly shaky. She blew on the coffee and took a sip before placing the mug down. Bracing her hands on the counter once again, she looked away and said, “I think T.J. knows who was driving the car that hit him, but he’s not admitting it. Normally I would have asked Jericho—”

“I’m not standing in for my brother, Macy. I’m not Jericho.”

Her head whipped up and she nailed him with her gaze. “You’re right that you’re nothing like your brother. But you can’t refuse to help.”

He snorted and shifted his brow ever higher. “Really? Please tell me why I can’t refuse.”

No sign of emotion or distress marked her face as she said, “Because T.J. is your son.”

Chapter 13

Sucker-punched.

That was the only way to describe how he was feeling.

She had sucker-punched him years ago with her first kiss and then again the night they’d made love.

Now she had done it again.

“Excuse me?” He came round the corner of the island until he stood directly beside her. She had looked away immediately after her pronouncement. Now he grasped her arms and applied gentle pressure to turn her in his direction. Placing his thumb and forefinger beneath her chin, he angled her face upward so that she couldn’t continue to avoid him.

“T.J. is my son? My flesh and blood?” His tone was deliberately calm, displaying nothing of the maelstrom of emotions churning through his gut.

“The one night that you and I—”

“We used protection,” he reminded her and she nodded, bit her lower lip as he had seen her do so often when she was upset.

“We did, but it must not have worked. I found out I was pregnant right before I was supposed to marry Tim—”

“And you didn’t tell him?” he said and ripped away from her, pacing across the room with a ground-eating stride or two before facing her once again.

Her brown eyes sparkled with indignation at his attack. “I could never mislead someone like that,” she said, but then pulled back, obviously acknowledging that she had misled him. That he had a right to be angry and he definitely was angry. Probably more furious than he’d ever been before—except possibly on the day that he had learned Macy had decided to marry Tim.

Sucking in a rough breath, he walked back toward her, but stopped when he was about a step away. He didn’t trust himself to get any closer at that moment. Fisting his hands tightly, he kept them at his sides, struggling for control.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She shrugged and looked down once again before lifting her face. Her eyes glimmered with tears as she said, “Jericho was going on and on about how happy you were to join the Army. How you were looking forward to seeing the world and leaving Esperanza behind.”

“And you assumed—”

“I didn’t want to stop you and…you never called me again and Tim…He was a good man. I knew he would be a good father.” A tear finally leaked out and trailed down her face, but she did nothing to swipe it away.

Nor did he. Instead, he took the final step to bring him close and leaned down until they were nearly nose-to-nose. “I’m a good man—”

“I know you are. You’re a real hero. One who’s made a difference to so many other people. Saved lives. That wouldn’t have happened if you had stayed here…with me,” she said and reached up, cradled the side of his face.

Her tender touch nearly undid him, but he couldn’t leave it at that. “Did you love me? When you walked down the aisle—”

“I loved Tim with all my heart.”

He had thought he was over the pain of losing her to another man, but the ache deep in the center of him told him otherwise. Her words were creating as much hurt now as her actions had eighteen years earlier.

But he couldn’t retaliate and wound her, even if he was in agony with her admission.

He also couldn’t let her continue to hide behind her love for Saint Tim.

Cradling her cheeks with both hands, he finally wiped away the trail of tears on her face with his thumb. Stroked the soft skin of her cheek and bent that final inch so that his lips were close to hers. He whispered, “You wanted me then and you want me now.”

Then he kissed her like there was no tomorrow because he knew there might not be. As honor-bound as he felt to help Macy now that he knew T.J. was his son, he was also sure that he was not cut out for family or civilian life.

There was just too much uncertainty unlike the orderly military life that had worked so well for him, he told himself even as he kept on kissing Macy. Opening his mouth against hers over and over until it wasn’t enough and he finally slipped his tongue within to taste the sweetness of her breath.

She responded to him willingly, going up on tiptoe to continue the kiss. Pressing against him until he needed more. He slipped his hands beneath her buttocks and lifted her until her backside was on the edge of the counter and her legs were straddling him.

Macy shivered as the hard jut of his erection brushed the center of her, awakening a rush of desire that dragged a moan from her.

The sound penetrated the fog of want that had wrapped itself around them, tempering their kisses. Creating a short lull during which she managed to murmur a soft, “I’m sorry. I should have told you about T.J.”

The reminder of her deception stilled his actions and he lifted his lips from hers, but remained close, his hands tangled in her hair. His body intimately pressed against her.

“Macy, I wish that things could be different, only—”

“Ma, I’m hungry,” they heard loud and clear from T.J.’s bedroom upstairs.

The typical teen moment shattered the emotional angst and lust that had overtaken them.

Fisher released a rough sigh and stepped away while she called up to her son, “I’ll be up with something in a minute.”

She slipped off the counter and gestured to the oak kitchen table. “Will you stay for lunch?”

He nodded, but quickly added, “Let me help you with it.”

She sensed that the hero in him intended to help her with more than lunch, much like she had asked. As much as she appreciated that he would do so, she also hoped that she wasn’t making a mistake that would not only break her heart, but hurt her son.

When she acquiesced to his request, she quickly pulled out a can of condensed tomato soup from one cabinet and handed it to him. “Can you make this while I put together some sandwiches?”

“Can do,” he said and she headed to the fridge for the fixings for lunch. She had some leftover roast beef that she could slice up for sandwiches and as she prepared them, she kept half an eye on Fisher as he made the soup.

He went into the fridge and removed a bottle of salsa and some shredded cheddar cheese. After opening the can and adding the water, he proceeded to put in a few heaping spoonfuls of the salsa to the soup. As she plated the sandwiches, he poured the steaming hot soup into bowls and topped them off with some of the shredded cheese.

Grabbing a tray from beneath the island counter, she prepped T.J.’s lunch, added a glass of milk to the tray and took it up to him.

The short nap he had taken seemed to have made a difference. He appeared more alert and not as pale as before and so it was with a lighter heart that she went back to the kitchen.