Her Rancher Bodyguard Read online

  “He isn’t going to agree with you,” Kayla warned. “This is stuff he’d like to keep private and someone wants to make it public. Going to the police...”

  “Might stop them. If it’s made public, they’ll stop trying to get money for secrets that are no longer secrets. Or scandals that aren’t scandals, but public knowledge.”

  Kayla walked away, taking the darkest of her secrets with her, away from the prying eyes of two people who didn’t care, not about her. They cared about doing their jobs. They cared enough to keep her safe. But her past was hers. As angry as she was with her father, she wouldn’t let other people destroy him.

  “Hey, we have to deal with this.” Boone followed her to the deck. The sun was beating down and the concrete was hot under her feet. She sat down and he pulled up another chair to sit facing her.

  “I’m not going to the police,” she said, determined to have her way in this.

  “We don’t have a choice. I’m going to call your dad and he’ll back me up on this. I don’t know what it is between the two of you, but I’m pretty sure you both care more than you let on.”

  “Yes, we care.” She looked away, to the potted palm in the corner and the flowerpot that she’d picked up at a discount store because it looked cheerful. She didn’t know what it was called or how she’d managed to keep it alive.

  “Are there more letters?”

  She shook her head. “I threw them away. At first I just thought it was a nuisance. But then I started feeling as if I was being followed, and I’m sure they’ve been in my apartment more than once.”

  “And your dad has gotten letters, too?”

  “Yeah, he’s gotten letters.”

  He leaned back in the chair and stretched his jean-clad legs in front of him. “Well, Kayla, I guess it’s time we headed for Martin’s Crossing.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I know I can keep you safe there while the police try to figure out who’s blackmailing your dad.”

  “You can keep me safe here,” she insisted, not liking the pleading tone in her voice.

  “I can keep you safer on my own turf.”

  Martin’s Crossing. She shouldn’t have minded the idea of going to the place her siblings called home. But she wasn’t a Martin of Martin’s Crossing. She was their half sister. The only thing they had in common was the mother who had abandoned them all.

  “I guess refusing to go won’t work.”

  He laughed at that. “’Fraid not. Before long you’ll be wishing I was the only Wilder in your life.”

  * * *

  By ten o’clock that evening Boone and Kayla were heading for the Wilder Ranch. Lucy had been turned loose to head home for a few days.

  Exhausted by a day that had included police reports and long conversations with her father, Kayla slept the ride away, which helped her avoid answering any more of Boone’s questions. She didn’t want to explain the things best left in the past. Those subjects were walls between herself and her father. Lack of trust loomed as the largest barrier in their ever-fragile relationship.

  She didn’t want Boone inside those walls.

  She woke up as they drove through Martin’s Crossing. Her head had been at a strange angle and her neck ached. She rubbed it, aware that Boone had probably seen her drool in her sleep.

  “We’re home,” he said, his voice softly husky in the dark interior of the truck.

  Home. It wasn’t her home, even though it had become familiar to her in the past year. The main street where her brother Duke owned Duke’s No Bar and Grill. Across the street was the shop his wife, Oregon, owned, Oregon’s All Things. Duke’s wife was crafty and artistic. She made clothes, hand-painted Christmas ornaments and other pretty items. The grocery store was to the right of Oregon’s. Lefty Mueller’s store, where he sold wooden Christmas carousels and other hand-carved art, was to the left. Kayla was a city girl but Martin’s Crossing held a certain appeal. But not long-term. Not for her.

  For some reason the thought invoked a melancholy that took her by surprise, sending a few tears trickling down her cheeks. She kept her gaze on the passing scenery and brushed away the tears.

  “Where do your parents live?” she asked, turning from the window and pulling her hair back from her face.

  “A few minutes out of town.” He kept driving, the radio playing country music and the open windows letting in warm summer air. “You okay?”

  “Of course.”

  He cleared his throat, then let out a heartfelt sigh. “You were crying.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “I have sisters, I know tears of sadness, tears of frustration. All brands of tears.”

  “Okay, Mr. Tear Expert, why was I crying?”

  “I’m not sure of the exact reason, but if you want to talk...”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “Sometimes it helps,” he prodded.

  “Really? I don’t see you wearing your heart on your sleeve.”

  “No, I guess I don’t.”

  She stared out the open window, enjoying the humid breeze that lifted hair that had come loose. Outside the landscape was dark except for an occasional security light that flashed an orange glow across a lawn or outbuilding and the silvery light of a nearly full moon. Cattle were dark silhouettes grazing in the fields.

  They turned up a narrow, rutted driveway. Ahead she could see a two-story white farmhouse. The front-porch light was on. In the distance she could see the dark shapes that meant numerous outbuildings.

  “I hope you don’t mind the country.”

  “It isn’t my favorite.”

  He laughed a little. “Well, you’ll either sink or swim, sunshine.”

  Sunshine. She’d never had a nickname. She’d never been anyone’s sunshine. It didn’t mean anything to him. But it meant something to her. Something that she couldn’t quite define.

  Sunshine was definitely better than Cinderella.

  “Here we are. Home sweet home. I promise you, you’re in for a real experience. We are a pretty crazy bunch.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “I’m sure you can.” He got out of the truck, and she followed.

  He held her suitcase and handed her the smaller overnight bag that accompanied it. “Let’s get you settled.”

  “Don’t you live here?”

  He shook his head. “No. I bought a little RV. It’s hooked up to power over by the barn.”

  “But you’re going to be close by, right?” She felt as if he was suddenly drifting out of reach. She took a deep breath. He was practically a stranger. Not her lifeline.

  “I’ll be around more than you can stand. But I prefer my own space. I’m not much for company and big crowds. Believe me, you’re going to have your share of people. You’ll want solitude when you’re done with this month on the Wilder Ranch.”

  “Month?”

  He shrugged it off. “We aren’t sending you out on your own until we know who is behind the threats and the attack. Maybe it wasn’t the same guy.”

  “I kind of think it is.”

  She followed him up the steps and as they got to the front door, it opened. Standing on the other side of the screen door was a woman past middle age. Her dark hair was short and framed a classically beautiful face.

  “You must be Kayla,” the woman said, an almost imperceptible Hispanic accent, giving the words a soft lilt. “I’m Maria Wilder.”

  “Mrs. Wilder, thank you for letting me stay with you.”

  Boone’s mother laughed. “Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t met everyone.”

  Boone opened the door and motioned Kayla inside. She glanced back, worried he wouldn’t go in with her. But he did. The lifeline was intact.

  “I’m putting you upstairs in Boone’s
old room. Janie is just down the hall from you with Essie and Allie. Michaela is across the hall. Jase and Lucas are on the other side of her. We’re downstairs if you need anything.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’m so sorry for putting you out this way,” she started to explain.

  Maria Wilder waved a hand. “Don’t be silly. We don’t mind.”

  She led Kayla up the stairs to a bedroom that was small but bright and airy. A quilt covered the twin bed. A rocking chair nearby had another quilt folded over the arm. Braided rugs in soft spring colors were scattered on the wood floor.

  “It isn’t much but it’s clean. And most of Boone’s smelly past has been evicted. Shoes, clothes, high school uniforms that got shoved in corners and forgotten.” Maria Wilder turned down the blanket on the bed.

  “It’s perfect.”

  Boone’s mother gave her a quick hug. “Are you hungry?”

  “Prepare to be fattened up, Stanford.”

  His mother swatted at his arm. “Behave. No one likes to go to bed hungry. And young ladies don’t like to be told they need to be ‘fattened up.’”

  “I’m fine, but thank you. We grabbed fast food on our way.”

  Maria made a face. “Bah. Fast food isn’t real food.”

  “Really, I’m fine. But thank you. I’m looking forward to a good night’s sleep.”

  Maria glanced at her watch. “You should go to bed now. Morning comes early around here.”

  Kayla covered a yawn. She agreed, it was bedtime. She looked at Boone, who was already heading for the door. The limp she’d noticed previously was more pronounced tonight.

  “Get some sleep and try not to worry.” He stopped just short of exiting.

  She nodded. Of course she wouldn’t worry. She was in a strange home with people she didn’t know. And someone she didn’t know wanted to harm her. What did she have to worry about?

  “Stanford?”

  She met the dark gaze of her protector.

  He smiled that easy smile of his. “Don’t worry.”

  Of course.

  “If you need anything,” Maria said, “don’t hesitate, just ask.”

  They left and she was alone. What she truly needed, they couldn’t give her. She didn’t even know how to put a name on the empty spaces in her heart. For several years she’d filled those spaces up with anger, with rebellion and a lifestyle that had worn her out physically and emotionally.

  She always wondered about the people who seemed emotionally whole and happy. How did they do it, find that happiness?

  Alone she sat on the edge of the bed, her hands splayed on the cottony softness of the quilt. On the stand next to the bed was a Bible. It was small, leather bound and worn. Her gaze wandered from that small book to the needlepoint picture on the wall with a Bible verse she’d heard most of her life. “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

  The words were lovely and encouraging. But her heart still felt empty.

  * * *

  “She’s a lovely girl,” Boone’s mom said as she followed him out to his truck. He opened the door of the old Ford and leaned against it.

  “Mom, go ahead and say what you want to say. I need to get home and get some sleep.”

  “You need to get off your feet.”

  “Yeah, that, too.” He took a seat behind the wheel of the truck, his hand on the key.

  “Just be careful. She’s pretty and lonely.”

  And there it was. He let out a long sigh. His mom knew him better than anyone. She also had a hard time remembering that her kids were growing up. “No need to worry. I’m going to do my job and then return her to her family.”

  “She doesn’t have a family, not really.”

  He leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. “Now I know where I get the fixer complex. From you. You’re worried about me getting too involved.” He opened his eyes and smiled at her. “But you know that you’re just as bad.”

  She laughed. “I won’t deny that. I look at this girl, and I see that she’s lonely and hurting and could easily fall in love with her rescuer.”

  “I’ve been hired to do a job. I’ll make sure all she feels for me is annoyance.”

  His mother patted his cheek and smiled. “You’re so handsome, my son. And so clueless.”

  “Stop.” He leaned and gave her a hug. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He headed down the driveway to the RV. It always felt good to come home, even to his thirty-foot camper. The place was quiet. It had a front deck he’d built earlier in the spring. His dog was curled up on a patio chair, waiting for him. Yeah, home sweet home.

  He limped up the steps and sat down on the chair next to the dog, propping his feet up on the footstool. Man, it felt good to stretch. He reached, rubbing the calf muscle of his right leg. The pain eased.

  He let out a deep breath and relaxed again.

  The collie that had been sleeping half crawled into his lap, resting her head on his leg. He brushed a hand down her neck. “Good girl.”

  She pushed at his hand with her nose.

  “You’re right, time to go inside.”

  He eased to his feet and headed inside. The door wasn’t locked. It never was. He flipped on a light and headed for the kitchen. Halfway across the small living area, he stopped and took a step back.

  “What in the world are you doing in my house?” he yelled at the man sprawled on his couch.

  “Sleeping,” Daron McKay grumbled. “And I could sleep a lot better without all the yelling. Did you get her settled?”

  Daron tossed off the afghan and brushed a hand over his face as he sat up. Boone limped across the room and settled into the recliner.

  “Yeah, my mom has her. And is already worried about feeding her. And keeping her safe from me. Or maybe me safe from her.”

  Daron perked up at that. “Your mom is a smart woman. We should hire her.”

  Boone tossed a pillow, hitting Daron in the head. “Go away.”

  “You’re the one who told me the place is always unlocked.”

  “I didn’t mean for you to move in here. You have a place of your own just down the road. A big place. Paid for by your dear old dad.”

  “It’s too big and empty.” Daron shrugged and plopped back down on the couch. “I’ll pay for the food I eat and the inconvenience.”

  “I like to be alone.”

  “I know. It’s easier to pace all night if there’s no one watching.”

  They both did a lot of pacing. For different reasons. He gave his business partner a long look and wondered just how bad Daron’s nights were. Since they usually stayed out of each other’s heads, Boone could only guess. And since they dealt with their shared grief, their shared memories of Afghanistan, by being men and not dealing with it, he wasn’t about to get all emotional now.

  “My pacing is none of your business, McKay. We’re business partners, not the Texas version of the Odd Couple.”

  Daron had stretched back out on the sofa and pulled the afghan up to his neck. “You can argue all you want, but you know you like my company. And if we’re the Odd Couple, I’m the clean freak and you’re the messy one. How is our client?”

  “You’re the slob. And she’s scared. Even if she pretends she isn’t. And probably lonely. I don’t know.” Boone stretched his legs, relieving the knots in his muscles. “There’s something she isn’t telling us.”

  “Charm it out of her.”

  “You’re the charming one in this partnership. I’m all business. Luce is, well, Luce.”

  “She’s only happy with a gun in her hand,” Daron quipped.

  It wasn’t really the truth, but they liked to tease her.

  “Yeah. So you charm Miss Stanford. I’ll keep her safe.”
/>   “Nah,” Daron said. “I think I’ll let you try charming for once. I’m out on this one. She’s a handful and I’m not patient.”

  “I was going to make a sandwich.” Boone pushed himself out of his chair. “Want one?”

  “I ate all of your lunch meat. Sorry.”

  “I’m changing my locks.” Boone headed for the kitchen, where he rummaged through the cabinets, not finding much to choose from. He grabbed a can of pasta and decided to eat it cold, out of the can.

  Daron joined him in the kitchen, his face haggard, his dark blond hair going in all directions and his shirt untucked. For the supposed neat one, he was a mess. Boone accepted that it was going to be a long night. He could feel it in his bones. Literally. He could feel it in the places where skin and muscle had been ripped, in the bones that had been broken. He could feel it in his mind. And that was the worst.

  For the first time he was thankful for the distraction of Kayla Stanford. And even for Daron. If he had something to focus on, he’d concentrate less on the pain, on the memories.

  But Kayla Stanford proved to be the wrong place to direct his thoughts. Because when he thought about her, what came to mind was the haunted expression she tried to cover up with a smile. The way her scent, something oriental and complex, lingered in the cab of his truck. He sniffed the sleeve of his shirt, because he could still smell her perfume.

  Daron gave him a long look, eyes narrowed and one corner of his mouth hiked up. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing. I smelled something. Probably you.” He made a show of smelling the canned pasta. “Maybe it’s this?”

  “You’re losing it.” Daron grabbed Boone’s sleeve and inhaled. “And you smell like expensive perfume. Lucy doesn’t wear perfume.”

  Boone couldn’t help it, he took another whiff. When he did, his eyes closed of their own volition. He thought he would picture her teasing smile. Instead, he pictured the woman sitting in his truck trying to hide the tears that slid down her cheeks.

  Yeah, it was going to be a long night. He had her scent clinging to his shirt and the memory of her tears. The two combined equaled disaster as far as he was concerned.