Colton's Lethal Reunion (Coltons of Mustang Valley)

“So here’s the thing, sir. I’m grateful to you, indebted to you. You’ve given me a family, siblings, a life that I value...” No...that wasn’t it...

“I...just... I’m going to be more like the rest of the Colton siblings from now on,” he said. “I’m going to make the choices I need to make to be the person I’m meant to be. The person you—and my father—raised me to be. A man who lives authentically.”

There.

Wow.

Yeah, that was it.

And...

His chin tightened.

“And... I love you, Dad.”

* * *

Kerry left work on time that night. It had been one hell of a long day. A long week. She still had some small leads to follow on the Colton case, but until another clue broke free, until she found something, until someone came forward, or something else happened, there was nothing pressing, requiring her immediate focus.

Other than Ace, all of the Colton siblings now had alibis for the night of the shooting. The shooter had been male, according to Joanne’s eyewitness account, which automatically knocked out Marlowe and Ainsley. Rafe and Asher had been at the mansion. Callum was on a job out of town. And Grayson had been at the scene of a car accident. That left Ace.

She had more investigating to do into his background. Going back to when he was young and lost his mother. Maybe trying to find some schoolteachers who might be able to give her some insights into how he took his father’s second marriage. Spencer wasn’t close with the family, but maybe he could give her some insights.

And she wasn’t giving up on Nan Gelman. The woman existed, by whatever name, and Kerry wouldn’t stop until she found her.

Whoever the shooter was should take note.

She was tenacious. She exerted her power quietly, simply by not giving up. Odin Rogers was testimony to that.

She was going to find out who shot Payne Colton. And she would bring the man to justice.

Period.

In the meantime, she wanted to go home. To sit. To be.

And to figure out how Rafe Colton fit into her future. Not how he might want to fit. But how she wanted him to fit.

If at all.

This time the choice was going to be hers.

She was determined. And knew that not only could she take care of herself, she deserved to take care of herself.

Turning onto her street, she felt better than she had all afternoon.

She was strong. Capable.

She could choose who to love. Or how to love.

Or not to love.

His truck was in her driveway. He hadn’t called. Hadn’t asked if he could be in her space.

He was blocking her garage.

And before she could deal with any of it, she, damned fool, started to cry again.

All afternoon she’d been preparing not to see him again. At least not immediately. Not at her house, where she’d been allowed to hold him. To make love with him.