Her Rancher Bodyguard (3 page)

He tried to remember the rules. Don't get taken in by sad stories, by soft looks or a pretty face. Definitely don't get personal with a client.

He had his own family to worry about. They needed him present in their lives, not sidetracked. Kayla needed him unemotional if he was going to keep her safe.

At the door the security detail checked their names against the list of invited guests. Boone let out a low whistle as they were ushered inside.

“Don't be too impressed,” Kayla warned.

“I'm not impressed, I just didn't realize money could be wasted this way. I bet I could fence our entire property with the money they spent on these light fixtures.”

She looked up, blinking, as if she'd never noticed those fancy crystal fixtures before. “I guess you probably could. We could take one with us, if you'd like?”

He laughed. “There's the Kayla I've heard so much about. What do we do first?”

“Socialize,” she said. “I'm sure everyone is mingling, discussing politics and their neighbors and how to take down the person they pretend is their best friend.”

“Sounds like a great time. I can't believe you don't enjoy these events.”

She flicked a piece of lint off the collar of his tuxedo and smiled up at him. “I find ways to enjoy myself.”

The statement, casual with a hint of a grin and a mischievous twinkle in her blue eyes, sounded warning bells. He gave her a careful look and she widened those same blue eyes in a less-than-perfect imitation of innocence.

“Not tonight,” he warned.

“Spoilsport.”

“No, just the guy who wants to keep you safe. I can't do that if you pull a stunt.”

“I'm not going to do anything, I promise. Come with me. Time to greet my father.”

She led him through double doors and into a large room complete with linen-covered tables, candlelight, a small orchestra in the far corner and of course dozens of people. Boone took a careful look around the room. So these were the people who paid hundreds of dollars a plate just to say they'd attended or contributed. Impressive.

“There's my father.” She nodded in the direction of a stately gray-haired man, his tuxedo obviously not rented.

“Should we make our presence known?”

“Soon. He's talking to supporters. The woman coming up behind him is my stepmother, Marietta. My half brother Andrew is talking to that group. He's very good at being good.”

She said it in such a way that meant she didn't dislike Andrew. As if his being good wasn't a horrible thing.

“We should mingle, correct?” Boone put a hand to her back and guided her around the room. She froze beneath his touch as he headed her toward a table of drinks.

“No, let's not. Please.”

“There's iced tea and lemonade.”

“It isn't about the drinks, Wilder. It's just...there are people here I prefer to avoid. At all costs.”

“Okay. Would any of them be the one who is stalking you?” He settled his gaze on the table, on the people gathered. Most were older men, a few women. He didn't see anyone who should make her panic.

She took in a deep breath and gave a quick look around the room. “No one in that group. But I'd prefer to avoid them all the same.”

“Kayla, you're here,” a woman called out. Kayla turned, straightening as she did. Poised but trembling.

The stepmother was bearing down on them. Marietta Stanford was tall with pale blond hair, a pinched mouth and less-than-friendly gray eyes. Boone didn't know much about this world, but to his inexperienced eye he'd call her expensive and high maintenance.

“Of course I am. I couldn't very well stay home, could I, Mother?”

Marietta Stanford's nostrils flared. “Don't start.”

Kayla smiled. “Right, I forgot. My father wanted me here. So I'm here.”

Boone moved a little closer, offering the protection of his nearness. That wasn't his job, but if he was going to protect someone, he'd protect from all corners.

“Try to show some class tonight,” Marietta warned. And then she smiled, as if they'd been talking about the weather. “The pearls are a lovely touch.”

“For what it's worth, I think she has the market cornered on class.” Boone winked at Kayla and was rewarded with a smile.

They moved away from her stepmother.

“Thank you,” Kayla whispered.

“No problem. Everyone needs someone in their corner.”

She nodded. “That's a novel idea. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to the restroom.”

“You're okay?”

“Of course,” she said as they maneuvered through the room.

For the next five minutes he stood at the door waiting for Kayla to reappear. He glanced at his watch, then smiled at the group of women who gave him cautious looks as they walked in and out.

Finally he called Lucy. “She escaped.”

Lucy laughed. “Already?”

“She said she needed to use the restroom. I've been waiting here for a long time. People are starting to stare.”

“I'll walk around back. See if you can get someone to go in. Maybe she's just hiding in there.”

“Yeah, I will. Stay on the line.”

He looked around and as he did he caught a glimpse of a familiar profile.

“Luce, see if you can find her pronto. We have trouble in here. A certain blond with glasses.”

“Will do.”

As he hurried across the room, someone grabbed his arm, bringing him to a dead stop.

“Boone Wilder?” The older man had a firm grip, Boone would give him that.

“Yes, sir. You must be Mr. Stanford.”

“I am. And where's my daughter?”

“She's in the restroom. But, sir, I just saw the man who attacked her last night. If you don't mind having this conversation later...”

“What? Where?” William Stanford glanced around. So did Boone. There were several hundred people in attendance and it seemed that half of them were gathered in the lobby.

“Great. He's gone.”

“Of course he is. Or he never existed. My daughter has a wild imagination. This isn't the first story she's created and it won't be the last.”

“The attack last night wasn't her imagination. The concussion and the bruise on her jaw are not imaginary.” Boone continued to watch the crowd. He briefly looked at his client. “And the letters the two of you are getting, letters you failed to divulge, are not imaginary.”

A flicker of concern briefly settled in Mr. Stanford's eyes. “She's getting them, too?”

“Yes, she is. I don't want to jump to conclusions but I think there might have been more to last night's attack. It could be that their next step is to kidnap your daughter. Someone has something on you other than your daughter's very public behavior. You'd best figure out what it is.”

Another man approached them, tall with graying hair and sharp, dark eyes. Boone guessed him to be in his late forties.

“Boone Wilder, this is my law partner and campaign manager, Paul Whitman,” William Stanford said.

“Mr. Whitman.” Boone shook his hand. It was a little too soft and a little too snaky. He refocused on his client. “I'm going to ask that you excuse your daughter from this event.”

“Has something happened to our little Kayla?” Mr. Whitman asked in a voice that matched his snaky appearance. “She does tend to fabricate stories.”

Boone caught a quick look between the two men. And Mr. Stanford's was a definite warning to the other man.

“Being attacked isn't a story,” Boone defended Kayla for the second time.

“Then, I'm going to ask that you keep my daughter not only out of trouble but out of harm's way. I don't want her hurt.”

“We might need to remove her from Austin.” Boone looked down at his phone and the text from Lucy. She had Kayla.

“I need my family around me during this election, Wilder.”

“Yes, sir. But you also hired me to keep your daughter safe. That's my priority here, not your campaign.”

Someone called out and Mr. Stanford raised a hand to put them off. “I agree. But before you take her anywhere, you let me know. If you can't reach me, then leave a message at my office, or let Paul know.”

No, Boone didn't think he'd be leaving any messages with Paul Whitman. “I'll let you know. For now, though, we're leaving this event.”

“Where is my daughter, Mr. Wilder?”

“With my partner, Lucy Palermo. They're outside in the vehicle and waiting for me.”

“Then, you should go,” he said. “Keep her safe, Wilder.”

“I'll do my best.”

Boone headed out to the waiting SUV. He got in the backseat. Kayla was in the front. She didn't turn to look at him.

“Nice move, Stanford. Did you go out the window?”

“Not now, Boone.” Lucy drove away from the building.

“Why not now? She's in danger and rather than staying safe, she's jumping out windows so she doesn't have to go to Daddy's fancy dinner party.”

Lucy shot him a meaningful look. “Not. Now.”

He raised both hands in surrender. “Fine, not now.”

That was when he realized there were tears streaming down Kayla's cheeks. He sighed and leaned back in his seat, but he was far from relaxed. Protecting Kayla Stanford was supposed to be an easy job. Keep her out of trouble and make sure she showed up on time for her father's campaign events.

He hadn't considered she'd need a friend more than she needed a bodyguard.

Chapter Three

K
ayla woke up early Monday morning. She blamed her new schedule on the cowboy and his partner, who had taken up residence in her apartment. They kept country hours, in bed shortly after ten and up by six in the morning.

She enjoyed sleeping in. If she didn't sleep late, there would be too many hours in a day to live, to think, to try to be happy. And to fail. Her dad had asked her to go to work for him, to use her college degree in prelaw. He'd suggested teaching if she didn't want that. She didn't want any part of her father's world. She knew it too well, knew the underhanded dealings and the backstabbing.

She tiptoed out of her room, leaving Lucy asleep on the cot she'd insisted on. Boone was asleep on her couch, stretched out, arm over his face, and snoring. She pinched his nose closed to stop the racket.

He jumped up off the sofa, gasping and flailing.

“Are you trying to kill me?”

She laughed. “No, I just wanted you to stop snoring.”

“That was a definite attempt on my life. And I don't snore.” He glanced at his watch. “Why are you up so early?”

“Because my apartment has been invaded and I can no longer sleep late.”

“Tough, Stanford. Go back to sleep so I can sleep late.”

“You don't sleep late,” she accused.

“Sometimes I do. Today is one of those days.”

“Too bad, because today is a day I'd like to go shopping and maybe grab some lunch.”

“Have fun with that.”

“You're my date,” she shot back.

“No, I'm your bodyguard. There's a difference. And I think shopping is dangerous for my health.”

“I need ranch clothes because you seem to think I'm going to have to be removed from Austin.” She sat down in the chair across from him as he leaned back and brushed a hand through his short dark hair.

“I've seen your closet. You don't need clothes.”

“Maybe not, but I can't take another day cooped up inside. Lucy has to run to Stephenville today to check on her mom. So I'm stuck with you. And we're going shopping.”

“Can I have coffee at least?”

“Yes, you can have coffee. I'll even prove my worth by making it. I do know how to do a few things.”

He gave her a serious look. “Stanford, I'm not the one who doubts your abilities. You are.”

“Great, we're getting Freudian again. I'll make the coffee and you climb back under the rock you crawled out of.”

He groaned and stood. “I was happy under that rock.”

He followed her to the kitchen, and as she started the coffee, he rummaged through the refrigerator. “I should have gone to the store.”

“I have toaster pastries in the cabinet,” she told him.

“I'm not a fan of starting my morning with pure sugar.”

She slid the sugar jar down the counter and grinned. “Go for it, it might sweeten you up.”

The doorbell rang. He glanced at her, all cowboy, sleepy and a little bit grumpy. A dark brow shot up. He pushed himself away from the counter and headed for the front door. She watched from the safety of the kitchen as he looked through the peephole.

“Who is it?”

He put a finger to his lips and pointed toward the bedroom. She obeyed, even though she wanted to stay, not only to see who it was, but because he shouldn't be left alone. But the look on his face told her she shouldn't argue.

Lucy was just waking up when Kayla walked into the room.

“Who's here?” she asked, brushing long hair from her face.

Kayla peeked out the door but Lucy pushed it closed. “I'm not sure who it is,” she admitted.

“Then, I doubt Boone wants your head sticking out.” Then Lucy was strapping on a sidearm and slipping out of the room, leaving Kayla very much alone and in the dark.

Minutes later the door opened and Lucy peeked in.

“All clear.”

“Who was it?” Kayla asked as she followed the other woman to the kitchen.

“Absolutely no one,” Lucy answered as she poured herself a cup of coffee. She took a sip and frowned. “Did you make this?”

“Yes.”

“Don't ever do that again.” Lucy poured the coffee down the drain. “There wasn't anyone at the door. There was a letter.”

“Where's Boone?”

“Checking the building.”

Kayla headed for the door. “Alone?”

“What do you think you're doing?” Lucy followed, pulling her back before she could reach for the doorknob.

“I want to make sure he's okay.”

“And this is how it starts,” Lucy said with an exaggerated roll of her dark brown eyes. “He's got pretty eyes, they say. He's a gentleman, they sigh.”

“I don't care about his eyes. I'd rather him not get shot in my building.” Kayla went back to the kitchen. “It would make a mess in the hallway.”

Lucy laughed. “I'm not sure I like you, but you're okay.”

She was used to people not really liking her. But for some reason, this hurt more than usual.

“Boone can take care of himself,” Lucy continued. “He's smart and he's well trained.”

The front door opened. Kayla didn't look, because if she looked Lucy would draw conclusions that weren't accurate. It wasn't his eyes, his smile or anything else. As she poured more water into the coffeemaker, she realized she didn't know what it was about Boone. She didn't really want to delve into it because it might cost her.

“I'm not sure how they're slipping out of here, but they're gone.” He limped as he headed for a seat at the bar.

“You okay?” Lucy asked, as she finished making the coffee that Kayla had started.

He arched a dark brow at her.

“And you have the letter?” Kayla asked, not asking about his health. It was obviously a topic he wanted to avoid.

He pulled on latex gloves and held the letter up for Kayla to see. “Recognize that handwriting?”

“It's the same as the other letters. I don't know who it belongs to.”

He slid a knife under the seal and pulled out a letter and a picture. His brows drew together as he read and his mouth tugged at the corner. Was he laughing at this, as if it were a game?

“It isn't funny, Wilder. This is my life.”

He held up a picture. “Care to explain why you were crossing the border, princess?”

She leaned against the counter and buried her face in her hands. Next to her Lucy snickered. Kayla didn't blame her. If she wasn't so humiliated, she'd laugh, too. In the past she would have laughed with them. It was all a big joke. But not really. In truth it was her way of striking back at her father for hurting her.

“Well?” His voice was soft, luring her out of her thoughts.

“It was after my mom died. I went to Mexico. Two weeks of stupidity. I was slowly killing myself, intentionally, unintentionally, I'm not sure. I lost my passport.”

“You could have called Daddy,” Lucy said.

“I could have, but what fun would there have been in that? A friend stayed behind with me. We met some people. And somehow we ended up being smuggled across the border. The rest of our group met up with us and brought us home.”

“You really think that's a game?” Lucy said sharply.

“No, it isn't a game. I'd like to think I'm a somewhat better person now. I'm still working on it, though.”

Lucy raised both hands. “Yeah, okay. What about the letter, Boone?”

He spread it out on the counter. “It's a warning. Requesting the first payment or the story gets leaked to the press. And it warns us not to let you out of our sight.”

“What do I do now?”

Boone slid the note back inside the envelope. “It's time to go to the police with this information. I know your father wants to keep it quiet, but someone tried to hurt you. That same someone has followed you. They've been in your apartment.”

“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.