Colton Christmas Protector (The Coltons of Texas #12)(33)

Really, Penelope! She shook her head to clear it, scolding herself.

But another voice in her head countered, You’re a widow, yes. But you’re not dead!

Would she ever find someone she cared enough about to have sex again? That presupposed she would fall in love. Maybe even marry again? She wasn’t a casual sex kind of gal.

“Mommy!” Nicholas shouted, slapping his hands in his bath so hard that water splashed her and slopped onto the floor.

The dousing was sufficient to yank her from her wandering thoughts. Good God, Penelope! The scolding voice tuned up again. You learned your father may be a crook and had a madman try to kill you today, and this is where your mind goes tonight?

“What?” she said aloud to Nicholas. “Better than dwelling on the horrible things that happened today, right?”

“Mommy...”

Her son held up his arms, indicating he was ready to get out of the bath. His chin trembled, and when she lifted him out she realized how cold she’d let the water get while she daydreamed and ruminated on her troubles.

“Oh, Nicholas! I’m sorry. Are you a Popsicle?”

Her son’s brow shot up as she wrapped him in a plush towel. “Pop?”

Oops. She chuckled. “No, sweetie. We don’t have any Popsicles. You’re the Popsicle.”

“Pop!”

Oh, boy. Here it came. Despite her best efforts to distract him, Nicholas fixated on the idea of having one of his favorite summertime treats. When she couldn’t produce one from thin air, he pitched a toddler fit and was still crying and churlish as she put him to bed thirty minutes later.

Being in a strange bed didn’t help her son settle down, either, so by the time he drifted off in a fitful, snuffling sleep, Penelope was beyond exhausted.

She dropped onto the couch in the living room, wondering what was taking Reid so long, and trying to calm her whirling mind and a throbbing headache. She stared blankly at the stone horse statue on Reid’s coffee table, one of the few items they’d deemed too heavy for Nicholas to bother, and she replayed the day in her head.

The silence of the lake house should have been soothing to her, but instead, the quiet tripped down her nerves and filled her with an antsy trepidation. Maybe being out of her element was the problem. Not only were she and Nicholas in a new environment, but being sequestered with Reid made her uneasy. They had so much history. And despite his explanations earlier today—jeez, had that just been this afternoon?—she still wasn’t sure what to think about his part in Andrew’s death.

Part of her wanted someone to blame for her loss, and Reid was the obvious target. A fresh set of chills washed through Pen. Reid’s denials of malice left more questions about Andrew’s death—questions that held horrifying implications, especially in light of today’s discoveries about her father. Someone had put the lethal chemical in the insulin vial on purpose. If not Reid, then who? Had her father known Andrew was keeping tabs on him and killed her husband in order to silence him?

“Pen?”

She jolted at the sound of the voice behind her and spun to face Reid, clapping a hand to her chest where her heartbeat skittered. “Jeez, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s what I was afraid of. Where were you just then? You looked a million miles away.”

She rubbed her temple. Her headache was only marginally better. “Just remembering. Reflecting.”

“Well, less woolgathering in the future, okay? You need to be more aware of your surroundings. Especially now. A killer’s not going to announce himself.” Reid set a large bag on the couch and began unpacking the things he’d bought her. “Nicholas asleep?”

She nodded. Reid had changed clothes, she realized, and she wished fervently she could do the same. She was still finding tiny shards of his broken windshield in her clothes. And despite the cool temperatures outside, she’d perspired a thin sheen of anxiety sweat more than once this afternoon and felt grimy for it. “I had to battle a TTT, but he finally succumbed.”

“Come again? A TTT?”

“Tired toddler tantrum. They’re a horror to witness, trust me.”

“I can imagine. Poor kid’s been pulled from his home and routine today. I bet he was cranky.”

She nodded, and let her expression speak for the undesirability of messing with her son’s routine. “When did you become wise to the ways of small children?”

“I’m not a monk. I talk to people, read, observe. I’ve heard the term terrible twos. Not hard to extrapolate the cause of his TTT.” He handed her a pack of diapers, wipes and snack crackers. “I bought a couple steaks and potatoes for our dinner. Don’t know about you, but today has left me famished.”

The thought of food made Penelope’s stomach turn, but she said nothing. She didn’t want to appear unappreciative of all Reid’s thoughtfulness and generosity. Even if she did fear his motivation was guilt over his part in Andrew’s death. She had to put her son’s safety over any awkwardness about the circumstances surrounding Reid’s help.

They unpacked most of the items he’d bought, including toiletries and a couple new changes of clothes for her, before he tossed the rest of the bags aside. “The rest of this can wait. I’ll broil those steaks while you change. Then I want to get a look at the thumb drive of files I downloaded from your father’s computer before I call it a night.”