Snowbound with the Bodyguard & The Cowboy's Secret Twins: Snowbound with the Bodyguard / The Cowboy's Secret Twins

“Logically, I know that, but emotionally, I just have this terrible need to get out of town, to get as far away as possible,” she replied. “I just want to stay safe.”

“I told you that you’d be safe here,” he said. “When that bus comes, I’ll personally see you safely aboard and in the meantime nobody is going to harm you while you’re in my home.”

A new burst of gratitude filled her. She’d taken a terrible chance coming into the home of a stranger, but Dalton had proven himself to be nothing other than a good, honorable man. She leaned back on the sofa. “So, what do you do when you aren’t bodyguarding?” she asked. She’d been in his home for twenty-four hours but didn’t really know anything about him.

“I mentioned before I like to read, and when the weather’s nice I do a little work at the family ranch.”

“Family ranch?” She could easily imagine him, long legs astride a powerful horse, a cowboy hat pulled down low over his brow.

“My dad has a huge ranch north of town. It’s become something of a family compound. My brother Tanner has a house on the property, and Clay and his wife, Libby, have been talking about building there.”

“Hmm, that sounds nice. It must be wonderful to have such a close, loving family unit. I used to wonder what it would be like to have a whole mess of siblings.”

He laughed, a deep low sound that warmed her. “Believe me, it’s not as wonderful as it sounds. You wait in line for the bathroom, you wait to be served at the table, you share everything you’re given and there’s incessant noise.”

She searched his features. “But there must have been something wonderful in it.”

He frowned, the gesture doing nothing to detract from his handsomeness. His gaze drifted to the window and he stared out for a long moment before answering. When he looked back at her the deep lines in his face had softened.

“I suppose there was something wonderful about it,” he said as if conceding a huge point. “I definitely never felt lonely and I knew my family always had my back when I got into trouble.”

“And did you do that often?” she asked. “Get into trouble?”

His eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief. “Probably more than my share, although nothing serious. What about you? Were you a wild child or one of those Goody Two-shoes who always played by the rules?”

It was the first conversation they’d had where she didn’t feel on edge, wasn’t afraid of screwing up the lies she’d already told with new lies. Maybe she was feeling more relaxed because the snowplows sounded like imminent escape.

“I was in-between,” she said. “I’m sure my grandmother would tell you that I had some wild moments and like your Smokey, she didn’t hesitate to burn my butt if I needed it. But I never broke any laws or anything like that.”

“That’s a relief. I wouldn’t want to be harboring a criminal in my house,” he said, his green eyes teasing.

She returned his smile. In different circumstances she had a feeling it would have been easy to like Dalton…

really like him. Although he seemed reserved, when he smiled at her she wanted to break through that reserve and get to the heart of the man.

But she couldn’t afford to be attracted to him. As soon as the streets were cleared she’d be out of his apartment and as far away from Cotter Creek as she could get.

This was nothing more than a temporary respite from the drama that her life had become on the afternoon that Sheriff Brandon Sinclair had walked into the café.

“I’ll bet you spend a lot of time with your family,” she said.

“Not really. Oh, we get together for the usual holidays, but most of the time I’m perfectly satisfied alone.”

“Still, I imagine it’s a good feeling to know that they’re there if you need them,” she replied.

Sammy cooed like a dove as he found his own fingers, his legs kicking with happiness. She watched Dalton as his gaze went to her son. Dalton looked back at her. “You’ve got a tough road ahead of you.”

“What do you mean?”

“A single mother, no father in the picture and you mentioned that you don’t have your GED yet. You’ve got an uphill battle ahead of you.”

“I know,” she agreed, suddenly sober as she gazed down at Sammy. “I might have grown up poor in a trailer park, but I’m going to make something of myself so that Sammy has everything he needs.” She heard the angry resolve in her own voice, a resolve that had strengthened when Sinclair had told her that she was nothing but trailer trash and nobody would believe her if she told what he’d done.

“There’s nothing wrong with being poor, or growing up in a trailer park,” Dalton said softly.

She smiled. “Spoken like a man who has never known what it’s like to be poor.”

“You’re right,” he conceded. “I was lucky never to have to worry about finances. The bodyguard business pays well and we all share in the profits of both the business and the ranch.”

“Did you always want to be a bodyguard?”

“When I was ten I wanted to be a rodeo clown,” he said. “When I was twelve I wanted to be an astronaut, then a treasure hunter and a gold miner.”

She laughed. “For me it was a movie star, a ballerina then a princess.” She sobered. “It never entered my mind that in reality I’d be an abused woman on the run with a small baby.”

“Your sister will take you in?”

“Of course,” she replied around the lump of fear that swelled in her throat. She had no idea where she was going, no idea what she’d find when she arrived. Her only support system was a sixty-eight-year-old woman with a bad heart.

Dalton ran a hand through his thick dark hair, not breaking eye contact with her. “Why do I get the feeling that you aren’t telling me everything?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said and looked down at Sammy, who had begun to fuss. “I’d better get him a bottle,” she said as she got up from the sofa.

It was a relief to escape those piercing, intelligent eyes of his. She didn’t know what he saw that made him think she was keeping secrets, but there was no way she could tell him the truth. And in any case, it didn’t matter. She would be gone soon enough.

She fixed Sammy his bottle, then picked him up off the floor. “I think I’m going to go ahead and call it a night,” she said.

He nodded. “Unless it will freak you out entirely, I’m planning on sleeping here on the sofa tonight. I like George a lot, but his sofa is small and last night he kept me up until long after midnight telling me stories I’d heard a dozen times before.”

She was surprised to realize the idea didn’t freak her out. She trusted him to remain the perfect gentleman he’d already been. “Would you rather stay in your own bed? Sammy and I could bunk in here,” she offered.

“No, I’ll be just fine. Good night, Jane,” he said.

She wished she could hear her real name on his lips, but fear still ruled her decisions, including the decision to tell him little white lies, as much as she hated it. “Good night, Dalton.”

Even though it was relatively early, Janette breathed a sigh of exhaustion as she got ready for bed. It was hard work watching every word that fell from her mouth and being careful not to say too much or too little.

When she was in her nightgown she moved to the window and stared outside. The street in front of Dalton’s had been plowed, leaving piles of snow on either side that glistened in the streetlights.

The sooner she got on the bus the better she’d feel, but escaping this part of the country certainly didn’t ease the fear that was a constant inside her.

She might escape Sinclair but then she’d have to face settling into a new place, finding work and taking care of Sammy and earning enough money to send for Nana. Dalton was right. She had a tough road ahead of her.

Sammy finished his bottle, and she sang softly to him until he fell asleep. It took her longer to sleep and when she finally succumbed, the dream began almost immediately.

“Well, well, don’t we look all sexy in that little skirt,” Sinclair said, and there was something in his eyes that made her suddenly afraid.

Janette held out her driver’s license, but he didn’t take it from her. Instead those cold, blue eyes of his swept leisurely down her body. “You were going awfully fast. You doing drugs?”

“I don’t do drugs, Sheriff,” she exclaimed.

“I’m going to have to frisk you to make sure you have nothing illegal on you.” He stepped closer to her and she smelled the scent of him, a stale sweat odor mingling with an overly sweet cologne.

Unconsciously she took a step backward, heart pounding painfully hard. He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you fight me, girl. I’ll have you in handcuffs so fast your pretty little head will spin.” He grinned. “Or maybe I’ll just have to shoot you for resisting.” And then he put his hands on her.

Hands. Everywhere on her. And hot breath on her face. And in her dream she did something she hadn’t been able to do that night.

She screamed.

* * *

The scream pulled Dalton from a dream of a naked Jane in his bed. He shot upright on the sofa, for a moment not knowing what it was that had awakened him. Then it came again, a scream of such terror it raised the hairs on his arms, on the nape of his neck.

Jane!

He stumbled from the sofa and into the bedroom, adrenaline surging and heart pounding. He flipped on the overhead light and instantly realized Jane was in the middle of a nightmare. She thrashed on the bed, flailing her arms and legs as if fighting for her life.

Sammy cried out, too, and his eyes fluttered open, but he settled back to sleep, as if accustomed to his mother having bad dreams. “Jane,” Dalton called softly.

She moaned, whipping her head from side to side, but she didn’t open her eyes. He approached her, trying not to notice that the sheets had slipped down to her waist and the pale blue silk nightgown she wore did little to hide her full breasts.

The fight or flight adrenaline that had filled him at the sound of her scream now transformed to another kind of energy as a surge of desire struck him midsection.

“Jane,” he said again as he moved closer to the edge of the bed. Still she didn’t respond. He was going to have to touch that soft-looking pale skin and he knew he was going to find it far too pleasant.

“Jane, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.” He leaned over and took her by the shoulders.

Her eyelids snapped open and she looked at him, wildness in the depths of her eyes. She stared at him and the wildness left as recognition struck. She released a little gasp and to his surprise launched herself out of the bed and into his embrace.

She trembled in his arms and sobbed silently into the crook of his neck. He tentatively slid a hand down the cool material that covered her back. “Shh, it was just a dream,” he said softly.

It would be easier to comfort her if he wasn’t bare-chested, if he wasn’t so intensely aware of every point where her bare skin made contact with his.

She raised her face to look at him. Her eyes were misty with tears but her full lips parted as if in invitation or some kind of strange desperation.

He didn’t think about kissing her ahead of time. He didn’t consciously plan to. It just happened. One minute he was gazing at her face and the next minute his mouth covered hers. He didn’t just kiss her, she kissed him back, her mouth opening against his as he pulled her closer to him.

The kiss lasted only a second or two, then she pulled away from him, a horrified look on her face. “I’m sorry,” she said, her cheeks blossoming with high color.

“No…I’m sorry,” he replied stiffly. “You were screaming and obviously having a nightmare and I…I just meant to wake you.”

She released a breathless, embarrassed laugh. “I’m definitely awake.”

“Then I’ll just…uh…let you go back to sleep.” Dalton backed out of the room, afraid that if he remained another minute longer he’d want to kiss her again.

What was he doing? he wondered as he threw himself back on the sofa. Every nerve in his body was electrified, every muscle tense. His response to that kiss stunned him. He knew virtually nothing about Jane Craig except that her skin had been soft as silk and her lips had been hot and willing.

It was possible by tomorrow she’d be gone. It was even more certain that he didn’t want to be involved with her. He didn’t want to know what she dreamed about, he didn’t want to share his life with her in any way, shape or form. It had been wrong to kiss her, because all he could think about now was how much he wanted to kiss her again.

He fell asleep dreaming of the sweet heat of her mouth and awakened the next morning stiff and sore from the night on the sofa. He got up, nearly tripping over Sammy’s diaper bag on the floor. He swallowed a curse.

By the time he’d made coffee, some of the stiffness of his muscles had begun to ease, as had his foul mood. He sat at the table, his hands wrapped around a mug of fresh brew. Even though it wasn’t quite seven o’clock he could hear the sounds of plows already at work.

Maybe the bus would come this afternoon, he thought. That would be a good thing. He could see Jane and Sammy to the bus stop, wish them well on their way, then return to his solitary life without temptation. And Jane Craig had become a definite temptation.

He still sat at the table with thoughts of Jane when a knock sounded on his door. He jumped up from the table and hurried to answer. He pulled open the door to see his brother Zack standing on his landing, his gloved hands holding a shovel.

“Hey, bro, just thought I’d check in to see if you survived the storm. I just finished clearing off the driveway and your car and thought you might have a hot cup of coffee for me.”

Dalton held the door tightly. Please, please don’t tell anyone I’m here. Jane’s words pounded in his head as he stared at his brother. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said. “And you don’t want to come in here, Zack,” he finally said. “I’ve got the flu, been throwing up off and on all night.”

Zack frowned and took a step backward as if to avoid any germs floating in the air between them. “You need anything? We’ve about got all the major roads cleared in town and some of the stores are opening this morning.”

“Nah, I’m fine. I just think I might be contagious so it wouldn’t be a good idea for you to come inside, but I really appreciate you cleaning off the driveway. I’m sure George appreciates it, too. I’d love for you to come in, but I’m really not feeling well.” Dalton couldn’t tell if Zack believed him or not but he breathed a sigh of relief as Zack backed down the stairs, promising to check in on him later.

Dalton closed the door, hating the fact that he’d lied to his brother for reasons he didn’t quite understand. If Jane’s abusive ex-boyfriend had somehow tracked her to Cotter Creek, then why on earth would it matter if the local sheriff knew about it?

He turned to see Jane standing in the bedroom doorway, Sammy in her arms. “Thank you,” she said.

“Don’t thank me. I’m not happy about lying to my family.” He walked back into the kitchen, aware of her following just behind him.

When he saw that she was about to prepare a bottle for Sammy, he held out his hands to take the kid from her arms. As always, Sammy looked delighted to see him. He launched himself into Dalton’s arms with a big grin that lit up his entire little face.

“Is this kid ever in a bad mood?” Dalton asked as he sat in a chair. Sammy smelled like baby powder and lotion, a pleasant scent that reminded Dalton of dreams half-forgotten and abandoned.

“Rarely,” she replied, moving to the sink. As she stood with her back to him he couldn’t help but notice again the tight fit of her worn jeans across her butt. She had a great butt. Besides the jeans she wore a pink sweater that hugged her slender curves and complemented her blond coloring.

She fixed the bottle, then took Sammy from his arms and sat in the chair next to his, her hair falling softly around her shoulders. “If the streets are clear enough maybe it would be best if I found someplace else to go until the bus runs again.”

She looked so small, so utterly vulnerable, and at that moment Sammy smiled at him around his bottle’s nipple, the gesture sending a stream of formula down the side of his mouth.

“That isn’t necessary,” he replied. “Zack just told me the streets are practically clear, so I imagine that the bus will run tomorrow.”

“Good.” She held his gaze. “About last night…”

“You had a nightmare. I comforted you. That’s all there was to it.” He got up to pour himself another cup of coffee. “You want some breakfast? I was thinking maybe I’d make a stack of pancakes.”

“You don’t have to go to all that trouble for me,” she protested.

He grinned at her. “I’m more than willing to go to that kind of trouble for me.”

She returned his smile. “Well, in that case pancakes sound wonderful.”

Breakfast was pleasant. Sammy entertained with coos and grins as his mother and Dalton ate pancakes and talked. The conversation was marked with a new easiness that he suspected came from the fact that they both saw the end of their confinement together.

She made him laugh as she shared with him funny stories about her grandmother. He noticed that in none of the stories did she mention the older sister she was supposedly on her way to visit, but he didn’t call her on it. Instead he simply enjoyed the way her eyes sparkled as she spoke of the old woman who had raised her.

She might not have graduated high school, but she was smart as a whip. She argued politics with him and spoke easily of current affairs. He had a feeling she would do well no matter what path she chose in life.

The rest of the day passed pleasantly. As Sammy took a late-afternoon nap, Dalton and Jane sat at the table and played poker with toothpicks as chips.

“You’re one heck of a bluffer,” he said after she’d won her third pot.

She laughed. “If you think I’m good, you should play with Nana. She’s the ultimate poker player in the family. In fact, she gets together once a week with some of the other ladies in the trailer park and they tell everyone they’re playing bridge, but they really play poker.”

He laughed, but his laughter was cut short by a knock on his door. “Sit tight. I’ll get rid of whoever it is.” She cast him a grateful look as he got up from the table.

It was probably one of his other brothers coming to check in on him. He’d have to play the sick card again. Hopefully he could bluff as well as Jane when it came to fooling his family members.

He pulled open the door to see a burly, dark-haired man he’d never seen before standing there. He wore the khaki pants and coat of law enforcement. “Yes?”

“Dalton West?”

“Yeah, I’m Dalton.”

“I’m Sheriff Brandon Sinclair from over in Sandstone. I hate to bother you, but I’m looking for a woman named Janette Black. She’s traveling with a baby and I have reason to believe she might have come here.” His gaze went over Dalton’s shoulder, as if trying to see inside the apartment.

Dalton tensed but offered the man a frown of confusion. “There’s no woman or baby here,” he said. “What makes you think she’d come to me? I’ve never heard of this Janette Black before.” That part, at least, was true. But it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that Jane was really Janette.

“She stole money from the café where she worked and when we went to find her just before the storm hit we discovered more serious crimes. Her grandmother has been murdered and Janette is a person of interest. Your name and phone number were on a piece of paper next to the old woman’s bed, so we thought maybe she’d come here.”

“Sorry, I’m afraid I can’t help you.” Dalton’s head whirled with the information Sheriff Sinclair had just given him. What in the hell was going on?

Sinclair studied him for a long moment, then held out a card. “If you see her, or if she tries to make contact with you, give me a call. She’s dangerous, Mr. West. She needs to be behind bars.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dalton said. He murmured a goodbye, then closed his door. He waited until he heard the sound of the sheriff’s boots going back down the stairs, then he went into the kitchen.

Janette sat at the table, her face devoid of all color. As she stared at him a deep, wrenching sob ripped from the back of her throat. “He killed Nana. First he raped me, and now he’s killed Nana,” she cried.

She jumped up from the chair. “I’m—I’m going to be sick.” She ran for the bathroom as Sammy began to cry.

Chapter 5

Janette stood in the bathroom fighting not only an all-encompassing grief, but wave after wave of nausea, as well. Just hearing his deep voice had made her ill. Knowing he’d been on the other side of the door had sickened her.

He’d found her.

He’d said he found a notepad with Dalton’s name and number next to Nana’s bed. There was no way Nana would have willingly given him that information. Oh God, she must have died trying to protect Janette and Sammy.

Blinded by her tears, she leaned weakly against the wall and wondered if it were possible to die of grief. She felt as if she were dying. Her heart felt as if it might explode at any moment.

Nana was dead.

Nana was dead.

Never again would Janette feel Nana’s arms around her, never again would she see the old woman’s eyes shining with love, her wrinkled face wreathed with laughter.

And Janette was wanted for her murder. That’s how he would get Sammy. He’d see her tried for a murder she hadn’t committed. She’d spend the rest of her life in prison, and Brandon Sinclair would have her precious boy. And her nana, the woman who had meant the world to her, was dead.

“Janette?” Dalton knocked on the door.

She sucked in air, trying to staunch the deep sobs that ripped through her. She didn’t want to face him, was afraid that he might believe all the horrible things that Sinclair had said. And if he did believe Sinclair, there was nothing to stop him from contacting the lawman and letting him know she was here.

“Janette, come on out. We need to talk.” His voice held a quiet command.

She grabbed a handful of tissues and wiped at her eyes, at her nose, then tossed the tissues into the trash. But she was reluctant to open the door, afraid to face him. What if she told him the truth and he didn’t believe her? She didn’t think she could handle it.

“Janette, you can’t stay in there all night.”

He was right. She couldn’t stay in the bathroom. She opened the door. He no longer held Sammy, but as she stepped out of the bathroom Dalton opened his arms to her. She walked into them as tears of rich, raw grief began to flow again.

His strong arms surrounded her, and they felt like shelter from a world that had been terrifying for a very long time. She cried into the front of his shirt, wondering how she was going to survive without Nana’s loving support.

After several minutes, Dalton released her and led her to the sofa. Sammy was once again on his blanket on the floor, staring up at the ceiling as if fascinated by the patterns the late-afternoon sunshine made as it drifted through the window.

Dalton sat next to her, his features inscrutable. “The truth, Janette. I need to know the whole truth,” he said softly. “You said he raped you. Were you talking about your old boyfriend?”

She had two choices. Continue with the lies she’d told him, or tell the truth about everything. Her heart banged against her ribs. “No.” The word whispered out of her on a wave of despair. She knew it was time to tell the truth. She had nothing to lose now and she wanted—needed—Dalton to know.

She grabbed a strand of her hair and twisted it around her finger. “There is no ex-boyfriend. The man who raped me, the man who killed my grandmother, is Sheriff Brandon Sinclair.”