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“Okay. Bodyguard it is.” She met Sam’s gaze and felt a flush on her face that spread clear through her. The thought of him guarding her body sent a shiver down her spine.
“I know you’re not crazy about the situation. Neither am I. But we’re stuck with each other. The way I see it, things will go more smoothly if you follow some ground rules.”
“Let’s be clear.” Jamie stared up at him. “You can list ground rules from now until hell freezes over, but I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do.”
The stubbornness glittering in her eyes did amazing things to her particular shade of hazel. The obstinate expression canceled out the brown and gold and turned them to bright green. And beautiful. A man could lose himself in those angry eyes.
Something’s Gotta Give
Teresa Southwick
www.millsandboon.co.uk
TERESA SOUTHWICK
lives with her husband in Las Vegas, the city that reinvents itself every day. An avid fan of romance novels, she is delighted to be living out her dream of writing for Silhouette Books.
Do you need a man? The 75TH semi-annual Charity City Auction
This is your chance to find the right one for that “honey do” list.
Could you use a weekend warrior? Ex-Army Ranger Riley Dixon is the guy for you. He’s donating a survival weekend guaranteed to get your heart rate up.
What about that home repair you’ve been putting off? Dashing Des O’Donnell, former Charity City High football hero, now owner and president of his own construction company, is offering a repair of your choice.
Personal security issues? Defend your honor? Savvy Sam Brimstone, recently of the LAPD and a hotshot detective, is your man.
These are just a sampling of the jaw-dropping guys available to the highest bidder. Ladies, don’t miss the chance to buy a guy—no strings attached.
Cash, check, credit and debit cards gratefully accepted by the Charity City Philanthropic Foundation.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Chapter One
If anyone had told him he’d wind up on the wrong side of the law, Sam Brimstone would’ve said they’d taken one too many shots to the head.
But here he was looking up at the beefy, balding judge who stared right back at him from the bench. “Samuel Owen Brimstone, the charge against you is one count of assault and battery. How do you plead?”
There was the sixty-four-million-dollar question. Once upon a time Sam had been a decorated detective with a big-city police department, working for law and order. Now the law in Charity City, Texas had its sights locked and loaded on him. That’s what he got for butting into something that was none of his business. He’d be back on the highway doing seventy-five miles an hour to nowhere if he hadn’t decked a bozo hustling a hardworking bar-and-grill waitress.
Where the gray area came in was that Sam knew he’d been spoiling for a fight, and the bozo had obliged by giving him motive and opportunity.
“Mr. Brimstone, the court doesn’t have all day. Did you, or did you not, start an altercation last night at the Lone Star Bar and Grill?”
“Depends on your definition of altercation.”
“Can I take that as a yes?”
“Yes, what?” Sam asked.
“Yes you threw the first punch.”
“You can.”
“Can what?” the judge asked, barely controlling his exasperation.
Sam smiled. Small consolation that his initials spelled SOB and he was living up to them. A man had to take comfort wherever he could. “I threw the first punch, Your Honor.”
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
“He had it coming.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“So you’re pleading guilty?”
Sam was guilty of more than assault and battery. It was the reason he’d left the LAPD. A woman had died because of him. The law didn’t hold him accountable, but his conscience was something else. So he’d take responsibility for hitting a guy who deserved it. Besides, he didn’t have any priors. Probably he’d get off with a warning and a lecture about anger management, then be on his way.
“Yes.” He noted the judge’s raised eyebrow and decided not to push it. “I’m pleading guilty.”
“Okay, son. I’m sentencing you to thirty days community service.”
“Thirty days!” What the hell was going on? He’d already spent the night in jail for doing the wrong thing, right reason. “That seems excessive,” he said, suddenly developing an anger-management problem. “I’m just passing through town. Anywhere else, these charges would be dismissed with time served.”
“This isn’t anywhere else. It’s Charity City.” He glared down from the bench. “Do you have somewhere else you need to be?”
“No, sir. I’m between jobs.”
“Is there a financial hardship putting yourself up in town? If so, the county would be happy to arrange accommodations,” the judge said pointedly.
“Thanks, anyway, but I’ve sampled cell block hospitality. I can afford a room.”
He was pretty well off, thanks to all work, no play, a side job doing private investigations and the hefty inheritance his bastard of a defense attorney father had left him, even though he didn’t want any part of dear old absentee Dad’s blood money. But the judge didn’t need to know any of that.
“Okay, son, it’s the opinion of this court that thirty days is a fair and equitable sentence.”
“I’ve seen armed robbers get less than thirty days,” Sam blurted out angrily.
“Keep talking and I can go forty-five.” Sam started to protest, and the judge’s eyes narrowed in warning. He closed his mouth and Judge Gibson continued. “Your thirty days will be auctioned off at the philanthropic public sale that we here in Charity City like to call Buy-a-Guy. Proceeds go to a foundation to fund the town’s charitable endeavors.”
“Let me get this straight,” Sam said. “I’m being sold for thirty days?”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“Last time I checked, buying and selling human beings was against the law.”
“It still is. This is community service.”
“What do I have to do?”
“Your pertinent information will be listed on the town Web site and anyone who’s in need of your particular skills will pay for them.”
“What if I don’t have any skills?”
The judge looked down at the paperwork in front of him. “Says here you’re LAPD. A detective. Retired. You any good?”
“At being retired?” Sam shrugged. There was that whole SOB thing again. “Haven’t been at it long enough to find out.”
“Smart-ass you’re good at,” the judge commented wryly. “What about police work?”
“I put away my share of bad guys.” Some he couldn’t keep behind bars.
“I know someone who could use a good detective.”
“So this is a setup.” Sam wasn’t asking. The crafty old judge had known his background and availability when he’d handed down the sentence.
“No. You broke the law. These are the consequences.”
“Harsh consequences given the circumstances.”
“Guess you shouldn’t have given up your right to an attorney. And remaining silent wouldn’t have done you any harm, either.”
This wasn’t the first time he should have kept his mouth shut. “I want to change my plea.”
“Can’t. It’s already entered into the record.”
Sam was seething. “I’m being scammed and we both know it.”
“You say scam, I say justice. Since I’m the one wearing the black robe, my say goes.” The judge glared as he pointed. “And before you open your mouth again, I’m warning you. One more outburst and you’ve got sixty days.”
Sam clenched his jaw.
The irony was he hadn’t intended to stop in this town, but the highway billboard had caught his attention. Charity City, The Town That Lives Up To Its Name. Then he’d remembered that his friend Hayden Blackthorn had moved here to open a branch office for his company, Blackthorn Investigations.
That’s when Sam had decided to pull into the Lone Star Bar and Grill in order to look up his old friend. Charity might begin at home but he was a long way from there.
“I think your parents bought you a man last night.”
“No way, Abby.”
“Yes, way.”
Jamie Gibson had thought that eating lunch in her office would be less stressful than hassling a crowded restaurant. Now she wasn’t so sure. Abby Walsh had become her friend after she’d handled her divorce from a husband as flaky as a French pastry. The guy had gone to Hollywood to audition for a reality show and never came back. More proof, as if Jamie needed any, that men couldn’t be counted on.
“My parents bought a man?” She shifted the phone to her other ear as she unwrapped her sandwich. That revelation cranked up her stress level by a couple notches.
“Yeah. You weren’t at the auction last night to keep them in line,” Abby said.
“I had briefs to write.”
“Riddle me this—if you have to work overtime to write them, why are they called briefs?”
“Named by a man,” they both said together.
“I’d much rather have spent the evening with you and Molly,” Jamie added, taking a sip from her drink.
Her gaze slid to the framed picture on her desk of herself with her two friends—brown-haired, blue-eyed Abby Walsh and redheaded Molly Preston. She’d hated missing her evening with them. And apparently it wouldn’t have hurt to keep an eye on her folks. “What happened? They bought a man?”
“First things first. I got the ex-army ranger.”
Jamie frowned. “The one who donated the weekend campout you wanted?” She was dying to take a bite of her sandwich but didn’t want to chew in her friend’s ear.
“That’s the one. Kimmie is determined to get her Bluebonnets outdoor badges, and since I don’t know a tent pole from a fishing rod, Riley Dixon is our man. He donated the weekend for sale because the foundation gave him the start-up capital for his security business.”
“Good for him.” Jamie knew that Abby’s daughter would be thrilled with the campout. “Now what about my folks?” she prompted.
“Yeah. I’m getting to that. But first I have to tell you about Molly.”
“Okay. But can you move it along. You’re killing me here, and I’ve got to eat my lunch. This is like waiting for the other shoe to fall.”
“If you’ll stop interrupting, I’ll tell you everything.” She took a breath. “Molly made me bid on Des O’Donnell.”
“Didn’t Des take over the family construction company after his father passed away?”
“Yes. And he donated a home repair for auction because his company got the contract to do the new wing at the preschool where Molly teaches.”
“And she made you do the bidding?” Jamie asked.
“Yeah. I have no idea why she was being so secretive, but everyone thinks I bought two men. Mayor Wentworth had some fun with that.”
“I bet he did. So are you finished toying with me yet? What did my parents do?”
“One of the guys for sale was an ex-LAPD detective and they bought him.”
Jamie groaned, suddenly losing all interest in her food. “Probably not for a busboy at the restaurant.”
“I don’t think so. Your folks give new meaning to the words overprotective,” Abby agreed. “I’m sure they’d have followed you and Stu to New York if they could have found a way.”
Anger and pain sliced through Jamie along with memories of that time. Stu had urged her to go with him to the big city, and, starry-eyed and in love, she’d agreed. Her parents had been deeply disappointed that she’d be so far away, not to mention disapproving of the guy she’d be so far away with. They’d been right, as it turned out. Shortly after the move, Stu had walked out on her.
“I almost wish they had come with us,” Jamie said. “But I’m sure the phone company is grateful they stayed in Charity City and racked up a gazillion long-distance minutes.”
She worked at making light of it, but the pain of that time—not just Stu’s abandonment, but what happened after—she’d never get over it. And she couldn’t talk about it with the people who mattered most. All anyone knew was that he’d broken it off. Her parents worried about her too much, and she’d learned to keep things from them—ironically, to protect them. She’d never tell them what she’d gone through alone.
And now it was in the past. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and the loss she’d suffered had made her strong enough to face almost anything.
“Yeah,” Abby said. “Stu was a jerk.”
If you only knew how much, Jamie thought. “He probably still is. But I do wish my parents would learn to let go.”
“So, I guess you didn’t know about their Buy-a-Guy purchase?”
“You guess right.” She sighed and wrapped up the untouched sandwich. “When I got back to the office after court this morning, there was a message from my mom. That’s probably why she called.”
“There’s always a chance it has nothing to do with you.”
Jamie laughed. “Very funny. There’s a better chance that I could flap my arms and fly to the moon.”
“Yeah. Well. At least forewarned is forearmed.”
“Always looking for the silver lining, huh, Ab?”
“What can I say? I’m a glass-is-half-full kind of gal.”
“Thanks for the heads-up. Give Kimmie a kiss for me.”
“Will do. Take care. Good luck. Bye.”
After hanging up, Jamie looked at the message slip again. Forewarned is forearmed, she thought. She couldn’t return the call now because their restaurant was always busy at lunchtime, and besides, it was time for her to get back to work. But they would definitely talk after the dinner rush, and Jamie would make a case for discouraging the folks from whatever interfering they had planned.
“You always work this late?” The voice was gravel rough and breathtakingly masculine.
Heart pounding, Jamie swiveled her chair away from her computer monitor and faced the man in the doorway. She hadn’t been expecting anyone and the interruption startled her. He was big, probably just over six feet. His brown hair was cut short, and his eyes were the most unusual pale shade of blue. The black T-shirt he wore tucked into worn jeans was molded to an impressive set of muscles on his upper chest and arms. And he was magazine-cover handsome. Stu had been handsome, too. Probably still was, she thought irritably.
“Office hours are over,” she said. “I can see if there’s an appointment available tomorrow…”
One very broad shoulder lifted lazily. “That’s not why I’m here.”
He stirred then, every movement graceful and sort of predatory as he strolled closer. Jamie stood, for all the good it would do her. If he meant her harm, the best she could do with her own five foot two, 105 pounds, would be to put up token resistance. Make too big a mess to cover up. Scratch him. Get DNA under her fingernails. And…and nothing. She’d been watching too much Law and Order on TV, she realized.
He kept moving until he got to her desk. “Name’s Sam Brimstone. So what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”
Hmm. “You don’t approve of law offices?”
“It’s not the building. It’s the ethics.”
“You don’t like lawyers.”
“Chalk one up for the counselor.”
“If you feel that way, why are you here?” Her gaze narrowed. “Did my parents send you?”
“Yes. I guess you might say I’m your bodyguard.”
Oh, great. So much for intercepting her mother and talking her out of the plan. But one could never go wrong being polite.
She held out her hand. “Jamie Gibson. Nice to meet you.”
“Same here.” His large palm all but swallowed hers. “By the way—nice people your folks.”
“Yes, they are. But I don’t get it,” she said, then let out a long breath. “My parents are so overprotective they’d wrap me in plastic and put me on the shelf if they could. And you’re a total stranger. Why would they trust you?”
It was one thing to buy the time a man donated for auction, but making him her bodyguard was something else.
“They checked out my references.”
“And those are?”
“While I was with the LAPD, I moonlighted and did some work for Hayden Blackthorn.”
“Of Blackthorn Investigations?”
“You know him?”
She nodded. “This law office has used the agency’s services, and my parents have become good friends with him and his mother, Margaret, since they moved to Charity City a couple years ago.”
“Hayden and I knew each other pretty well. Apparently, he said some good stuff because Roy and Louise acted like I have wings and a halo.”
He was on a first-name basis with her parents? “So, is that why you moved here? To work for your friend?”
“Nope. I just dropped in to say hi.”
“Then I don’t get it. Why would you volunteer time for the auction?”
“Wasn’t exactly voluntary. More in the nature of community service. Judge Gibson—”
“Uncle Harry?”
His eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his wide chest. “I thought something was fishy.”
“What do you mean?”
“For starters, the punishment should fit the crime. I stopped in the bar for a beer. While trying to mind my own business, Bo Taggart decided to play fast and loose with one of the waitresses and I decked him.”
“In my humble opinion, Mr. Brimstone, you’ve already done the community a service. Why would my uncle be so tough?”
“Because I played into his hands by pleading guilty.”
Oh, great. A family conspiracy. “Surely your attorney advised against it,” she protested.
“Didn’t have one. Like I said, I don’t believe in them.”
Hmm. A cop who didn’t believe in attorneys. He probably had his reasons, but she didn’t want to know. The sooner they settled this misunderstanding, the better.
“And so here you are doing community service for…”
“Thirty days.”
Her eyes widened. “You must have really ticked him off.”
“And vice versa. When I called him, on the scam in progress, he threatened me with sixty days to deal with my anger-management issues.”
She couldn’t say that she wouldn’t feel the same under the circumstances. But maybe there was more Sam wasn’t saying. “My uncle is a good, fair judge. Why would he throw the book at you?”
“Because he could.”
“Define could.”
“I’m between jobs and it’s not a financial hardship to put myself up here in town for thirty days. And—”
“There’s more?”
“Oh, yeah. I used to be a detective. The town auction was coming up. And your family thinks you need a cop on your side.”
Jamie recalled Abby telling her about his police background. “Are you any good?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, the double meaning hit her and a blush crept into her cheeks. “What I mean is—”
“I get your drift.” One corner of his mouth curved up before his frown returned. “Uncle Harry asked the same question. Some people thought I was a good detective, but they were wrong.”
“Why is that?” she asked, looking into blue eyes that had probably seen too much. No, no, no. Curse her soft-hearted streak. She refused to get sucked in, and held up her hand. “Forget it. I don’t need to know.”
What she needed was to get back to work. And to do that, she had to get Sam Brimstone out of her office. Buying her a man had crossed the line. Even by her parents’ standards.
“Look, Mr. Brimstone—”
“Sam.”
“Okay. Sam,” she repeated, annoyed at the husky tone that slid into her voice. “Here’s the thing, my parents arranged all this without my knowledge. They promised—”
“What?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She could see the questions in his eyes and wasn’t going there. “The point is if I’d known what they had in mind, I’d have stopped them.”
“They’ve got their reasons. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on,” he suggested.
She could at least do that. He would see why the bodyguard thing was over the top.
“I’ve had a series of hang-up phone calls in the middle of the night.”
“Heavy breathing?” he asked.
“No.”
Not until now. With him. A man who was the walking, talking definition of raw sexuality. And how inappropriate was she? This wasn’t a half hour episode of Sex and the City. This was real life. Her life. And she didn’t want a guy complicating things. Especially a stranger who was just passing through.
A man she’d known in law school and moved across the country to be with had dumped her and turned his back when she was losing their baby. The miscarriage was the worst thing she’d ever been through. If there was any up side—and that was a big if—she’d learned a valuable lesson. When the going gets tough, men just keep on going, and she didn’t care to count on another one. On top of that, her family had apparently conspired against Sam. Why would he be sympathetically disposed toward her?
“Did he ever say anything?” Sam prompted.
“Hmm?” She blinked and tried to focus her thoughts. “Oh. No. He just calls between midnight and four in the morning. It was every night for a while.”
“You could have turned it off.”
“I finally did.” When exhaustion had set in. Unfortunately fatigue had loosened her tongue and she’d mentioned to her folks what was going on. “I still had my cell for emergencies, but then he started calling that number.”
“Your father said a photo of you is missing from his desk at the restaurant.”
She nodded. “Someone left the frame and just took the picture.”
“I see.” He rested a hip against the corner of her desk. “Did you report this to the police?”
“Yes. And they investigated. Followed every possible lead and came to a dead end. There wasn’t much to go on.” She sat in her chair, putting a little distance between them.
“I see,” he said again.
“Then the calls just abruptly stopped. I haven’t had one for several weeks now. My theory is that it was someone who was venting about something and the police involvement brought them to their senses. And now they’re over whatever was bugging them.”
“And your point is?”
She folded her hands on her desk. “I’m not an idiot. If I was the heroine in a bad B movie, I wouldn’t go outside to face the serial slasher without a well-equipped army. The police would be actively involved if there were a concrete threat. And let’s be clear, this harassment wasn’t even very original.”
“As harassment goes you’d prefer a horse’s head under your pillow?” he asked wryly.
“Very funny. You know what I mean. I’m no hero. If there was reason to be concerned, I’d have picked out my own bodyguard.”
One who looked nothing like Sam. A shorter guy with zero sex appeal and absolutely no animal magnetism.
“You’re a family law attorney, right?” he asked, lasering her with his blue-eyed gaze as he leaned forward and flattened his palms on her desk.
“Yes. Says so on the sign out front.”
“Then I’m sure you’re aware that domestic disturbance is the most volatile and deadly situation a cop faces.”
“Yes, but—”
“But, nothing. When families are involved, emotions run high.”
“And your point is?”
“Never underestimate anyone or anything. Ever.”
She stood, but still had to look up at him. “Good advice, Sam. I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks for stopping by. I sincerely apologize for any inconvenience my family caused you.”