Her Rancher Bodyguard

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.

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

Kayla 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.