Her Rancher Bodyguard (2 page)

Kayla gripped the edge of the bed as another wave of dizziness hit. “I'm sorry you've been dragged into this. And for the pepper spray. I'll pay to replace your contacts.”

“No need to apologize.” His voice rumbled close by. She felt his hand on her foot. He was removing her shoes. First one and then the other. She forced her eyes open and watched him. He was looking down so she had a view of the crown of his head, of his dark hair.

“Thank you.” She managed to get the words out, closing her eyes again to block his concerned expression and the tumultuous emotions that bounced around inside her.

Needing someone was not her thing.

“You're welcome,” he said, standing up. “Is there anything else I can do?”

She shook her head, the movement costing her. She put a hand to her temple. “Make this headache go away?”

He put a hand on her shoulder briefly. “I'm sure they'll give you something.”

And then he was moving toward the door and the nurse was there, agreeing that they would get her something for pain.

“I can't,” Kayla tried to explain. The nurse gave her a curious look. “No narcotics.”

Boone Wilder, babysitter, bodyguard, whatever he thought of himself, stopped at the door. “I'll be here when you get back from CT. And we'll have to call the police and file a report.”

The door slid open and his partner stepped inside. She wasn't tall but Kayla got the impression this woman with her long dark hair, dark eyes and pretty face could intimidate almost anyone.

“Kayla Stanford, this is Lucy Palermo. We're partners in MPW Bodyguard services.” Boone waved at the other woman in introduction.

“Palermo. Wilder. What does the M stand for?” Kayla asked as she leaned back on the bed.

“McKay. Daron McKay,” Boone said.

“Of course.” She covered her eyes with her hand to block the bright fluorescent lighting. “Our dads have worked together in the past.”

“That's what Daron told us,” Lucy said with just the slightest Hispanic accent.

The nurse rested a hand on Kayla's arm. “Time to get you into that hospital gown.”

“We'll be out in the hall,” Boone said as he settled his hat back on his head.

“You don't have to stay,” Kayla shot back, knowing he wouldn't listen.

“You can't get rid of us that easily.”

Of course she couldn't. And even though she'd said the words, she didn't mean them. Even strangers who had been paid to keep tabs on her were better than nothing.

She was so tired of being alone.

Chapter Two

S
unshine streamed through the bedroom window of her apartment. Kayla closed her eyes and wished away the brightness. Worse, someone was singing. She put a hand to her head where it ached. Minor concussion, staples in the back of her head and a bruise on her shoulder. The doctor last night had told her she was fortunate. It could have been worse.

The police report they'd taken after the CT scan and stitches had furthered that theory. They wrote it off as an attempted mugging. She'd allowed them to think so. Fortunately Boone Wilder hadn't been around to add his opinion.

But he was here now. She was sure it was him singing about sunshine.

She groaned, rolled over and gingerly pushed herself to a sitting position on the edge of her bed.

“Welcome back to the land of the living.” Lucy Palermo's softly accented voice took her by surprise.

Kayla turned and saw her sitting in the chair in the corner, a book in her lap. Her dark hair was braided and she wore a T-shirt and yoga pants.

“I suppose that's a good thing,” Kayla said as she stood. “Oh, wow, standing is overrated.”

“Take it easy.” Lucy rushed to Kayla's side.

“I'm not going to fall.” Kayla took a deep breath. “I'm going to take a shower.”

“I'll be here if you need anything.”

“I don't need anything,” Kayla said, then she sighed, because it wasn't the other woman's fault. “I'm a grown woman and I should have a say in whether or not I allow bodyguards to follow me.”

Lucy shrugged. “I agree. Unfortunately that isn't up to me.”

The singing grew louder, and Kayla cringed. “Does he have to sing?”

“Yeah, unfortunately he does. You'll get used to it. Or buy earplugs.”

She made it to the door of the bathroom but hesitated at the opening. “Is that bacon I smell?”

Lucy rolled her dark eyes. “Yeah, he insists on a big breakfast every morning. Do you want to eat before you shower?”

“No, that's okay. I'm not hungry.”

Dark eyes swept her from top to bottom. “You might not be hungry, but you look as though you haven't had a decent meal in weeks.”

“I don't think my dad hired you to make sure I eat.”

“No, I guess he didn't.” Lucy opened her book and let the subject drop.

Kayla didn't want food. She closed her eyes and counted to ten as she leaned against the door frame. But she'd have to count to a million to get through this, through strangers in her home, through the fear that stalked her every day, through the cravings that still dogged her at times. Through the emotional roller coaster of losing the mother she hadn't ever really known. Could you lose someone you never had?

The aroma of breakfast invaded her senses. The bacon smelled so good. She tried to remember the last time she'd had a decent breakfast, something other than a doughnut and coffee. Or just coffee. She couldn't remember.

“I'll be out in ten minutes,” she told Lucy as she closed the door behind her.

Fifteen minutes later she emerged. Boone Wilder in jeans, a T-shirt, cowboy hat and no shoes was standing in her kitchen at the sink washing dishes. She glanced past him, to the full pot of coffee, the plate of biscuits and the pan of gravy.

He tossed her a smile over his shoulder. “Hey, sunshine, 'bout time you crawled out of bed.”

She glanced at the clock. Barely eight in the morning. “It isn't as if I slept until noon.”

“No, I guess not. Grab some breakfast. We have a lot to do today.”

Her mouth watered. She shook her head. “I don't eat breakfast.”

He looked at her in mock horror. “What? It's the most important meal of the day.”

Was he always this cheerful? She shook her head and ignored the tantalizing aroma that filled her kitchen. She rarely cooked, and if she did it was a frozen dinner, something on the grill or takeout reheated in the microwave. Boone Wilder was filling a plate with biscuits, gravy and bacon.

He shoved the plate into her hands and nodded toward the seat on the other side of the counter. “Eat.”

She lifted the plate to inhale. “You made this?”

“Of course.”

She took a seat on the opposite side of the counter. “What is it we have to do today?”

He poured her a cup of coffee and slid it across the counter. “First, I need a tux.”

“Why, are you going to a wedding?” She eyed him over the rim of her coffee mug. She hoped he was the best man, not the groom.

“Nope, I'm taking you to the ball, Cinderella.”

“Sorry, but no. I'm not fond of the wicked stepmother.”

“But I'd make such a snazzy Prince Charming,” he said as he lifted his coffee cup in salute. “Do you have something against the prince, the singing animals or wicked stepmothers?”

“All of the above.” She gave him a long look that forced a sharp comment. “Especially handsome princes with cowboy hats and big smiles.”

“Ouch.” He touched his hand to his heart. “Sorry, but we don't have a choice.”

“Then, tell me what we're really doing because I'm too old for fairy tales.”

“We're going to your dad's fund-raiser. I'm supposed to make sure you show up and that you behave.”

She took a bite of biscuit. “He knows me so well.”

That was what this was all about. It wasn't about her safety. It was about his campaign. His career. And making sure she didn't mess up either one. She was twenty-four years old and he still doubted her ability to be a Stanford. Truth be told, she doubted it, too. If he hadn't done the DNA test, she would have been positive she wasn't his offspring, so different were they.

She was her mother's daughter. The embarrassment. He'd never actually called her that. Her youngest half brother, Michael, had. She'd heard him tell a friend to ignore her, that she was dropped off on the doorstep as a baby and her mother was insane.

“You okay?” Boone Wilder's voice was softly concerned, taking her by surprise.

She looked up from the empty plate and gave him her best carefree smile. “Of course. I'm just deciding what to wear.”

“Of course you are.”

“We could let him know I have a concussion and maybe he'll let us off the hook.”

“I already tried that. He said if you can walk, he wants you there.”

“Of course he did. Dear old Dad, he's all heart.”

He refilled her mug, then his. “For what it's worth, he did sound concerned.”

“Did he?” That was a surprise. She carried her plate to the sink and rinsed it. “Where's Lucy?”

“On your patio. She said you have the best view in the city.” Boone took the rinsed plate and opened the door of the dishwasher.

“I'm sorry about last night. I'm sure you didn't plan for a fun Friday night at the ER.”

“We were working. So nothing to apologize for.”

Of course. Her dad was probably paying them a decent amount for their babysitting services. “If you have your measurements, we can send out for a tux. No need to go shopping. And I already have a dress.”

“I do have my measurements. But I'd give anything to not go shopping.”

She noticed he rubbed his shoulder as he said it. Her gaze was drawn again to the scar on his face, and then lower to the one on his neck.

“Shrapnel,” he said.

She met his dark gaze. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare.”

“No one ever does.”

“Iraq?”

“Afghanistan.” He set his cup on the counter. “About that monkey suit I have to wear...”

She nodded and headed for her room and her cell phone she'd left there. When she walked through the door of her bedroom, she noticed the bouquet of flowers on her dresser. Her dad had probably sent them. His way of being there when he wasn't.

She found the card buried amid the blooms and opened it.

You shouldn't have run, because now we're going to play dirty. Your secrets remain secrets. We get the money. Tell your father.

She grabbed the flowers and hurried from her room, carrying them in front of her. She ignored Boone as she opened the trash can and shoved the flowers inside, vase and all. She ripped up the card and tossed it in, shuddering as the scraps of paper fluttered among the bloodred blooms.

“What's that all about?” Boone's voice rumbled in her ear. She shook her head, unable to answer.

He reached past her, retrieving the pieces of card.

“Who delivered these?” he asked as he pieced the card together on the counter.

“Like I know? I was sleeping. You were here when they were delivered.” Her voice shook. She really didn't want to sound shaky or afraid. She didn't want to give this unknown person that kind of power over her.

“No, actually, I wasn't. The flowers were on your dresser when we got here last night. You were pretty wiped out and probably didn't notice.”

“They were in here already?”

“Yeah, darlin', they were here. On your dresser. You didn't know you had flowers?”

“No. I didn't know.”

“Well, that's a problem,” Boone said, as casual as if he was talking about the weather.

“So what do we do?” Lucy asked as she walked in from the living room.

“We go on about our business.” Boone shrugged as he said it. “And we all sit down and get honest about what's going on here. Your dad said he wants you front and center at campaign events. And you're trying to push this off as an overzealous admirer. Neither of you is being honest. What secrets is this guy talking about?”

“I don't know. Maybe my drug use. Most people know about my mom. Maybe this person believes there's more to her story. I don't know.”

“I'm not buying any of it.” Boone grabbed a ziplock bag out of a drawer and brushed the pieces of note into it. “We'll see if we can salvage any prints.”

“I didn't know that they were contacting my dad,” Kayla said. She tried to remember something, anything about her attacker.

“He wanted to protect you. You were obviously trying to protect him,” Lucy chimed in.

“Yes, we're all about protecting one another.” Kayla walked away, unwilling to dwell on the pain of knowing how untrue those words were.

Boone followed her out to the deck. She walked to the ledge and looked out over the city of Austin. It was an incredible view. She blinked back tears that threatened to blur her vision. She would not cry.

A hand, strong and warm, rested on her shoulder, pulled her a little bit close, then moved away. She found herself wanting to slide close to him, to allow the comfort of his touch to continue. She could use a hug right now.

Great, she was getting sappy. She could imagine the look on his face if she told him she needed a hug. He'd get that goofy grin on his face and pull the Prince-Charming-to-the-rescue act. No, she didn't need that.

Take a deep breath. Blink away the tears. Be the Kayla people expected.

“We should order that tux now. Wouldn't want to disappoint my father and show up in jeans and boots. And ruin his black tie affair.”

He laughed. “No, we wouldn't want to do that. Glad you're back, Stanford. I would miss this sweet sarcasm if it got all mixed up with other emotions.”

“Yes, I do like predictable.”

He tipped back his black cowboy hat and winked. “Predictable is one thing you're not.”

* * *

That evening Lucy drove them to the clubhouse of the Summer Springs Country Club. “I'll be waiting out here for you all. Try not to get in trouble.”

“Because Lucy doesn't want to have to shoot anyone,” Boone quipped, hoping to lighten the mood. He winked at his partner and she grinned back. “We'll be good, Luce. And keep an eye out for our blond and handsome friend who likes to leave roses and concussions as a calling card.”

“Will do, partner.”

Boone opened the door and then stepped back to allow his date to exit the vehicle. She wore a black evening dress, with pearls around her neck and all that dark hair pulled back in some kind of fancy bun.

“You clean up pretty good, Kayla Stanford.” He offered her his arm and she settled her fingers on the crook of his elbow. “You smell good, too.”

“Charming.”

“That's
Prince
Charming to you.”

She sighed. “Are you ever serious?”

“I thought you were cornering the market on serious. And I have to say, I'm a little disappointed. You're not living up to your reputation.”

“I'm turning over a new leaf,” she offered. He didn't push. He'd seen the book for the twelve-step program in her apartment, worn with pages dog-eared. He got it. They all had stuff they had to battle.

“Well, then, let's do this.” He led her toward the entrance of the stone-and-stucco building. People were milling about at the entrance. Security checked IDs at the door.

Kayla tightened her grip on his arm.

“You okay?”

She nodded and kept walking. “I'm good. I really dislike these functions. I always feel like I don't belong. You know, square, square, square, oval.”

“You're the oval?”

A hint of a smile tilted her pretty lips. “Yeah, that's me.”

“Well, tonight you're with another oval. Have a little faith, Kayla.”

“Faith?” She smiled at that. “Now you sound like the Martins.”

“They're good people.”

“Yes, they are. They've all accepted me. Helped me.”

“If the Martins like you, then you've got decent people in your corner.” He patted the hand on his elbow.

She shot him a look. “Let's not get all emotional, cowboy. You're my bodyguard, not my therapist.”

“You got that right.” Boone took a quick look around. Because he was her bodyguard, not a therapist. And definitely not her date.

This wasn't new territory for him, slipping into the role of fixer. He'd learned a few hard lessons on that, the most important one in Afghanistan. He had the scars as a reminder.