Taking Home the Tycoon (Texas Cattleman's Club: Blackmail 9)

The thought chilled him. Grabbing Lexie by her hand, he ushered her outside, his heart pounding as they walked out the back door. His trained sleuth eyes scanned the horizon for any sign of the boy.

All the while, fear knotted in his chest. This was absolute failure. Never had he sunk so low, lost so much.

This wasn’t a failed case. He couldn’t locate Natalie’s child. He’d let her down more than he could articulate. He’d made a mistake in thinking he could step into this family and be a positive influence. He’d hurt the woman he cared about in the worst possible way.

“Colby. Colby,” he shouted, voice bellowing and echoing in the cool September air.

His heart hammered harder, faster. He called for Colby again and again, searching around the yard, in the bushes. The street was clear, but, God, he couldn’t even stomach the thought of Colby out on a busy road.

“Colby,” he shouted again.

Still, nothing. Not a sound came back. Except for the distinct sound of car tires on pavement. Natalie had come home, parking in the back as she usually did. He didn’t even want to think about how terrified she would be. Right now he had to focus on the possibility that Colby would come out of hiding for his mother.

Hitching Lexie up to hold and be sure he didn’t lose this one, too, he started toward Natalie. Saw her process the scene, the fear on her face registering as she exited the car. She knew, even before he opened his mouth.

Leaving the car door open behind her, Natalie ran toward the next-door neighbors. “The Albertsons. He likes their cat.”

Max sprinted to catch up, a few steps behind her. He’d scanned the neighboring yards and hadn’t seen the boy...but had he looked where a cat might be?

His gaze tracked up and...

“There,” Max said, pointing at the Albertsons’ tree, where Colby lingered. He was holding a branch, his feet braced against the trunk, ready to climb. Natalie rushed to her son and pulled him down. She hugged Colby hard, her fear for him clearly having overcome her normal restraint in giving the boy his space.

Miss Molly bounded over and nudged the mother and son. To comfort Colby? Or for Natalie? Either way, thank God, Colby had been found.

Max gripped the picket fence, more than a little unsteady. Relief washed through him.

Miss Molly pushed between Natalie and Colby. As Natalie rocked back on her heels, the sun glinted along a tear streaking down her face. That lone droplet clinging to her chin gutted Max.

Her devastated face said it all. She’d trusted him with her children and he’d failed. Failed her and failed the children.

“God, Natalie,” he said hoarsely, setting Lexie back on the ground. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

Sorry for more than the moment. Sorry he couldn’t be the man this family needed.

Eleven

As the door to Lexie’s room clicked shut, Natalie let loose a breath she hadn’t realized she’d held. The air expelled from her lungs, her chest deflating, taking with it some of the tension.

She ran a hand through her hair, letting the silken strands slip between her fingers, gaze shifting from Lexie’s door to Colby’s.

Thank God he was safe.

He’d slipped away before. A few times. Each time brought more panic to her lungs, to her limbs. She’d have to watch him more carefully—and warn newcomers about his tendency to sneak off.

Panic had held her chest in a tight knot in those few moments they searched for him. Now she crept to the door, just to make sure one last time that he was there.

Cracking the door open, she peered inside. She was comforted by Miss Molly’s perked ears at the sound of her intrusion, and by the sight of Colby’s sleeping body.

Satisfaction. Relief. Both those sensations filled her until her breath returned to a normal cadence.

As she turned the corner into the kitchen, her heart sank when another scene of departure greeted her, leaching the warmth from her fingertips. Deep down, she’d known this was inevitable, but still, she’d dared hope. And that hurt like hell.

Max sat at the kitchen table. Lines of anguish and, yes, defeat were carved in his face. His normally easy smile was replaced with a thin hard line. His eyes were downcast, seeming to examine the two leather bags off to the left of his feet.

He met her gaze, noticing her presence. Or maybe he had registered her sharp intake of breath.

While, yes, defeat colored his features, so did a kind of somber resolve. “I’m going to Chelsea’s. I’ve already packed my computer gear. I think it’s best.”