Page 76 of In Colton's Custody (Coltons of Mustang Valley)

“Can you blame her?”

“No.” Genevieve swiped her hand through the air, grinning. “I didn’t give up, though. For years, I sent her checks from my personal account every few months. I hoped she would cash them if she ever really needed the money. Do you know what she did? She voided them and mailed them back to me.”

None of this made sense. It didn’t fit with the story her mother had shared so many times. The one where her connection with the Coltons had ended the day she was booted off their ranch.

“She was much too proud to accept charity from you. From anyone.”

“You don’t know this about me, but I’m as stubborn as she was proud. So, I kept sending them. I liked to think she mailed back the checks to let me know that you were both all right.”

“Why is that?”

Genevieve stirred more sweetener into her coffee, though it was probably cold by then. “Think about it. She could have just torn up the checks without cashing them. Instead, she took the time to mail back each one.”

Willow pushed her own cup aside. “Why do you think Mom never told me any of this?”

“I think she was trying to raise a strong, independent woman, and maybe that part of the story wouldn’t have helped her narrative. And she never accepted any help, so it wasn’t a lie.” She gestured toward Willow. “Anyway, it looks as though she succeeded.”

“She also kept me hating all the Coltons.”

At that, Genevieve laughed. “I hope that isn’t the case anymore. We’re all just people. My family. Your mother. You. Most of us aren’t as good as some think we are and not as bad as others believe.”

“So, why are you telling me all this now?”

“You think it’s to relieve my guilt? Maybe a little. Mostly, though, it’s because you and your daughter are important to my son. I don’t want Asher to miss out on something he wants because of something I did, or failed to do, more than thirty years ago.”

Her sharp eyes studied Willow until she squirmed in her seat. “From what I can see, you care about my son and his daughter, too.”

It would have been useless to argue, so she didn’t try.

“How do you know that Luna and I are ‘important’ to him? What did he say?” Revealing that Asher had twice proposed to her would only make Genevieve’s point, so she kept that to herself.

“Remember, we’re talking about my son. He’s not going to tell his mother how he feels about a woman. At least not without a lot of prodding. On this, though, I knew without him saying a word.”

“How’s that?”

“Simple. He took you to meet his father.”

* * *

Asher dropped into the desk chair in his office later that night and shoved recently scrubbed hands through his sweaty hair. He desperately needed a shower after what had felt like a second full day of work, and it wasn’t even time for lights-out for those back at the house. Well, except for Harper.

Ten calves had come into the world since he’d shared dinner with the family a few hours earlier, one even requiring the head gate to hold the mother in position and calving chains to pull out her offspring.

Worse, though, than cows refusing to space out their deliveries was that throughout the whole time he’d been assisting with deliveries, a young mom of the human species had refused to get out of his mind. That shouldn’t have surprised him. Since their first meeting nearly two weeks before, he hadn’t been able to think about anything else but Willow.

“Why didn’t you just tell her the truth?” he asked the four walls.

A crunching sound outside his partially open door startled him. He’d finally told Rex, Jarvis and the other ranch hands they could head back to their cabins. Had someone else sneaked into the white metal structure of Barn Three through the small side door? He clearly remembered closing and locking that main barn door, but he was fuzzy on the other one.

Something gripped his insides, and the odd sense of being watched crept up his neck. Was this the time that whoever had been targeting his family would do far more damage than just cutting a fence or calling in a bomb threat?

He unlocked his desk drawer, pulled out a box of bullet cartridges and slid his bolt-action Winchester rifle off the shelf. He seldom needed it, except when he had to protect his cattle or put down an injured one, but he was glad to have it then.

“You’ve made a mistake coming in here, my friend.” He spoke in a loud voice as he opened the gun’s bolt action and inserted the .22-caliber rounds one by one into the internal magazine, his hand hovering near the safety. “I’m armed.”

“Don’t shoot,” came a feminine voice from outside the door.

“Willow?” His heart thudded as he unloaded the weapon, his breath coming in rapid bursts. A few seconds more, one poor de

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