Navy Seal Protector

A sexy hometown hero returns to rescue the one who got away

Ten years ago, bad boy Nick Anderson left home—and a brokenhearted Shelby Stillwater in his wake. Now the retired navy SEAL has inherited the family ranch Shelby calls home. Almost in foreclosure, the property is being sabotaged to force a sale...and Shelby is in mortal danger.

As Nick and Shelby work together to stop the vandals, old passions and new threats arise. The ranch carries painful memories, and Nick’s not sure if he’s willing to work to save the land. But as he finds new purpose and a new home, he remains determined to keep Shelby from harm...even if it means risking everything he holds dear in the process.

“Six o’clock sharp. Wear something more civilized than jeans.”

“I have some black silk boxers that are formal. That do?”

Flushing, she scowled at him. “Stop it, Nick.”

Then his cocky grin dropped and his gaze turned serious. “You’ll be safer with me here, Shelby. I’m not going to leave until I find out who’s been doing these things and threatening you and the ranch. I promise you, I will catch them.”

With a nod, he headed out the door. “I’ll bring my things over later. Need to have a look around the place first.”

As she watched him walk down the steps, a warm tingle raced down her spine. Not from his quiet words or the relief they brought, but the awareness of him as a man and the unspoken intent lingering in his eyes, a sensual promise that could lead them straight down the road where they’d left off ten years ago.

And straight back into hell.

* * *

Dear Reader,

Everyone remembers their first crush. Sometimes we may wonder what happened to that cute guy who broke our hearts and got away.

Shelby Stillwater isn’t left wondering anymore when handsome Nick Anderson comes waltzing back into town after ten long years. Nick is the cute guy who was her first crush. Protective of her in high school, he was her best friend, until the day when he caught her crying and kissed her.

Nick abandoned her afterward, and Shelby never forgave him for walking away. But when Nick comes back to Tennessee for his father’s funeral, Shelby knows there is more at stake than opening wounds from the past. Someone has been sabotaging the Belle Creek ranch, where she lives, putting its operation deeper into debt. Shelby needs Nick’s help to save the only home she’s ever known.

For Nick, a former SEAL who has felt lost ever since leaving the navy, seeing Shelby fires his blood once more. He could never forget the soft feel of her mouth beneath his, or how her kiss drove him mad with desire. Now the old feelings have returned. Nick is a classic nomad, running away from his feelings. It will take all his self-control and discipline to work with Shelby to find the criminals trying to force him into selling Belle Creek to a powerful developer.

I hope you enjoy Navy SEAL Protector and Nick and Shelby’s reunion romance. It’s a story of two lost souls who never forgot each other, and of a homecoming they will always remember.

Happy reading!

Bonnie Vanak

Navy SEAL Protector

Bonnie Vanak

www.millsandboon.co.uk

New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author BONNIE VANAK is passionate about romance novels and telling stories. A former newspaper reporter, she worked as a journalist for a large international charity for several years, traveling to countries such as Haiti to report on the sufferings of the poor. Bonnie lives in Florida with her husband, Frank, and is a member of Romance Writers of America. She loves to hear from readers. She can be reached through her website, bonnievanak.com.

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For Frank, my hero. I love you, always.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

No one was kicking her out of her home, even if she had to work double shifts until she dropped.

Shelby Stillwater swiped a hand across her sweating brow, righted the white cowboy hat on her head and then watched as the bartender poured another frosty pitcher of golden beer. Friday night at the Bucking Bronc Steak House. Tips should be good tonight, as long as she could avoid the ungentlemanly slurs and smile, smile, smile.

Brown curls bobbing as she walked and the white fringe at the hem of her short skirt swaying like reeds in a hard wind, she carried the pitcher to table fourteen. The gray-haired geezer with a belly spilling in a waterfall over his silver belt buckle tried to squeeze her bottom, but she danced away.

“C’mere, sweet thang,” he called out in a slur. “Lemme take another look at you.”

Look at this, she silently fumed, tempted to flip him her middle finger. Instead, she headed for another table, pad in hand, her back and feet feeling as if twin weights were dumped on them. The group of ten businessmen from Nashville had ordered enough food to feed a small country. Their bill was solidly into the triple digits and they might give her a triple-digit tip if she could avoid the octopus with the wandering hands.

A big tip meant a store-bought cake instead of homemade for Timmy. His sixth birthday was in a few days and she planned to celebrate it in style.

Shelby bustled through orders, patiently allowing a patron to switch tables three times “because the lighting isn’t good here,” and returned a steak when a grumpy woman said it was rare, even though the woman had ordered it extra rare. She generally liked waitressing and most guests were well-mannered locals who treated her well. But with the big country-music convention in the next town this weekend, the out-of-town guests were taxing her patience.

Shelby returned the credit card to table fourteen. Waterfall Belly belched, signed the check and the men left, talking loudly.

She peeked at the bill and stared at the tip.

A measly twelve dollars for a three-hundred-and-fifty-dollar bill? Anger simmered, but she refused to surrender to it. Already skating on thin ice with Bill, if she ran after the customers and told them what she thought of their “tip,” then...

Instead, she shoved the check into her apron and pushed on.

Later, she’d kick off the white cowboy boots, put up her feet and have a glass of white wine while watching Steel Magnolias, a favorite comfort movie. Gone were the days when her mother, in a rare moment of sobriety, would cuddle up next to her on the sofa and they’d watch the movie while munching on a tub of popcorn. Mom had named her after the tragic Shelby in the film. This Shelby preferred to think she was more the Ouiser type, tough and pragmatic.

I’m more like a tin daisy. But I’ve had it worse.

Living in her family’s car when they were evicted because her daddy couldn’t hold down a job was worse. Going to school in ragged clothing that she’d mended herself because Mama was sleeping off a hangover was worse.

But eighteen years ago, when Silas Anderson gave her father a job at the Belle Creek Ranch, things started to turn around. A sudden bout of grief made her pause and catch her breath. Silas had died last week. Funeral tomorrow. She’d felt genuine sorrow for the man’s passing. Silas had been more of a father to her than her drunken dad.

She’d put her own money into the ranch, reducing her salary for the job she did as the ranch bookkeeper, and paid for small repairs when things got broken. Lately, lots of things had been broken. Shelby would do anything to keep her little apartment above the garage. The Belle Creek was home. Silas and Dan, his nephew and the ranch manager, had allowed her to live rent-free for the past ten years.

Even though the ranch could face foreclosure, she felt confident things would work out with her help.

Timmy loved the ranch, more than he adored cake. I’ll make Timmy the biggest, best birthday cake with his favorite cinnamon icing. Maybe add sprinkles—he’s crazy about colored sprinkles...

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a grizzled, silver-headed man sit at a booth in her section. He wore a faded olive drab jacket decorated with many patches. Old Vern, who’d served many tours in ’Nam. Shelby forgot about the lousy tip. With a big smile, she headed for him.

“Hi, Vern. How are you?”

The elderly man brightened. “Right as rain, Shelby.”

For a few minutes she listened to him talk about everything from the weather to his grandchildren. Vern came in every Friday, probably for the company. He lived alone, and she knew he had little money. So every Friday, she paid for his meal on the sly, telling him they had a “special” for vets.

Seeing her manager frown and start toward her, she promised Vern to put in his order straightaway.

After doing so, head pounding from the grinding country music pumping through the speakers, her feet hurting, Shelby decided to steal a five-minute break. She headed into the back room that served as the employee quarters. Rows of steel-gray lockers lined the walls, where the women and men could safely stash valuables. There was a painkiller calling her name right now and...

Shelby ground to an abrupt halt.

The padlock on her locker hung open. Someone had snipped it clean through, probably with bolt cutters. Same as last Friday night.

Blood pulsing through her body, breathing ragged, she whipped her head around. No one about. Not even the lingering odor of cigarette smoke that hung in the air when Ann sneaked back here to take a few puffs.

Who could have done this?

She had to find out. If someone stole her purse, her one credit card that wasn’t already maxed out...

Or worse.

Shelby inched toward the locker, eyes pinned to the dangling padlock. With a hand that shook, she removed the lock and set it down on the bench seat. Please, don’t let it be like last week...

One, two, three!

She flung open the door and stepped back.

A nauseating odor slammed into her and she gagged. Shelby blinked hard, looking at the top shelf and the cause of the noxious smell.

A dead rat.

Shelby grabbed her purse where it hung on a hook inside the locker, her fingers fumbling for the clasp. Sure enough, just like last week, a white note with typed letters was stuffed inside it.

Leave the Belle Creek before we make you leave.

Shelby dropped her purse. Bile rose in her throat, but she forced it down. Had to get rid of the rat before some happy customer came tripping back here in search of the restroom, freaked and called the county board of health. If Bill saw this, he’d fire her. Last week someone had dumped a dozen dead cockroaches into her locker. Bill had seen those and written her up. The manager had been on her case because Natalie, the new owner, had disliked Shelby ever since high school.

Shelby found a black plastic garbage bag and gloves. The dead rat was out the door and into the Dumpster shortly after. As she washed her hands in the bathroom sink, Ann sauntered into the ladies room.

Ann stopped short and gave her a quizzical look. “You okay, Shel? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

No, a dead rat. “Just tired.”

Her friend dabbed on fresh lipstick and touched up her hair. “Well, I’ve got something to put the spark back in your tank. Sexy-guy alert, table nine. Panty-melting hot.”

“Takes a lot more than sexy to dissolve my underwear,” Shelby joked back.

“You need a life,” her friend said with a good-natured grin. “Or don’t wear panties at all. Want to grab a drink after work at the Tipsy Cowboy?”

Ann had a brazen attitude, bleached blond hair and wore her skirts too high, but she was the best friend Shelby ever had.

“Rain check. Dan’s wife is babysitting Timmy as a favor and I don’t want to be late.”

Ann patted her shoulder. “You work too hard, hon. Let me know if I can help in any way.”

The kindness nearly made her dissolve into tears. Ann had boarded her horse at the Belle Creek, giving the ranch much-needed income, even if it was only rough board and not full. Shelby smiled. “You’ve already done enough, hon. I’ll be fine.”

As her friend left, Shelby realized the dull throbbing behind her temples had turned into a fierce headache. She stashed her purse behind boxes of sanitary napkins in the employee lounge and headed back onto the floor. Maybe the rest of the night would be uneventful. Please let it be calm, please...

The devil himself sat at table nine.

She forgot to breathe, forgot the dead rat in her locker. Forgot who she was. Good thing she wore a brass tag with her name on it. Time rolled back in a fog.

That kiss, those sinfully sexy eyes, smoldering at her as he lowered his mouth to hers...

You never forgot your first kiss. And no woman who still had a pulse ever forgot Nick Anderson.

Dark blond hair curled at the ends as it rested against the collar of his black shirt. He wore it longer now, and he was thicker in the shoulders and chest. He was a man now, instead of the teenager he’d been when she’d sobbed and told him to get out of her life. Still had the same languid grace as he relaxed back in the imitation-leather booth, his dark gaze scanning the restaurant with the same cool, searing intensity displayed ten years ago. Nick looked hungry, as if he needed a good meal...or a bad woman.

Already the dynamic inside the Bucking Bronc had changed. Female waitstaff sashayed instead of scurried and the men stood a little taller. No one here could best Nick’s six feet three inches. Or his mouth...

Two men stopped by his table and chatted. Nick’s heroism as a former Navy SEAL was a source of pride in these parts. She overheard a few invite him to sit with them and pay for his dinner, but Nick politely refused.

He must be back for his dad’s funeral. She’d been so busy trying to find ways to save his father’s ranch, she’d almost forgotten he existed.

Almost.

Shelby took her order pad from her apron. Tonight she had to have a steel backbone. Forget the honey-sweet flower attitude. The man deserved pure vinegar.

Be courteous. The pencil nearly snapped in her tight grip. “May I take your drink order?”

He turned. Soft light from the overhead lamp put the angles of his face into sharp relief. Shelby bit back a gasp at the jagged scar carved on one angular cheek. It looked as if a vicious animal had torn his skin apart.

It made him no less handsome; indeed, it made him look more ruthless and dangerous.

Nick dropped the guarded expression, replaced it with a heavy-lidded assessment. “Shelby Stillwater. You are a lovely sight for weary eyes like mine. What are you doing here, darling?”

At sixteen, the compliment would have thrilled her. Now she was older and wiser to his charms. “I’m working. And you?”

Nick’s gaze shuttered and a slight tension rippled through his muscled body. “I returned for the funeral.”

His Deep South accent was barely noticeable. And this Nick was different. Still charming and suave, but something lurked beneath the surface. Not the scar—Shelby dismissed that, for she’d never let such superficial markings bother her. But shadows lingered in his dark eyes.

“Nice of you to finally come home. Too bad you were too late to say goodbye to your father.”

His expression darkened. “Soon as Dan found me and contacted me, I was on my way back here. I dropped everything because he was sick.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said in a gentler tone. No matter if Nick didn’t care when Silas fell ill, the man was still his father.

He gave a rough nod.

“Where are you staying?” She didn’t want to be polite to this man, who’d broken her heart ten years ago when he’d pushed her aside like the boys in high school who called her “trailer trash.” But Nick was Silas’s son, and for the sake of honoring his dad, she’d mind her tongue.

Long as he didn’t kiss her again. Your tongue wouldn’t mind that, huh?

Shelby told her dancing female hormones to get lost and mentally recalled the dead rat. Worked wonders for lowering a libido.

“At the ranch.” Nick stretched an arm along the booth as he watched her.

She managed to conceal her surprise. “I’m sure your cousins will be happy to see you.”

Nick’s gaze turned hard. “Doubt it. Dan and Jake won’t want me around long.”

She blinked in surprise. “You’re always welcome, Nick. You were the one who left.”

Everyone in town knew how Silas and Nick had clashed like two stubborn bulls in an arena, while Dan and Jake got along with the old man just fine. Shelby didn’t understand how Nick could leave home and only return for his father’s funeral.

Her parents had been drunks, and when they left town, Shelby barely noticed. But Nick came from a long line of solid, upstanding Barlow denizens. Andersons had served on the town council for as long as anyone could remember, and the Belle Creek had been an icon in the community for years, sponsoring 4-H competitions and Little League teams.

Something flickered behind his dark gaze. “I’m ready to order. Why don’t you sit a minute, take a load off? You look as if you’ve been running ragged.”

Pride struggled against the need to do exactly as he said. Weariness won. Shelby perched on the edge of the booth and put her pad on the table. Best not to show how much her hands shook, let him know his raw animal heat could still affect her, like a blast furnace. “Thanks.”

“Where are you laying your head at night these days, darling? Apartment in town?”

Nick’s deep, smoky voice made the question sound sinful and inviting. Shelby tapped her pencil against the battered order pad. “Silas converted the space above the garage into an apartment for myself and Timmy.”

The scar on his cheek turned white as his jaw tightened. “Timmy?”

“My nephew. My sister and her husband are living overseas in Iraq. He’s an engineer—got a very lucrative twenty-four-month contract.”

Nick’s mouth thinned, and he shook his head. “You couldn’t pay me enough to live there. Did three tours in Iraq. Managed to survive, despite all the suicide bombers.”

She knew this, knew it every day, and worried one day her sister and brother-in-law might not return home. “It’s why they left Timmy with me.”

“Still the same Shelby, living in the same place, taking care of everyone,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving hers. “Darling, are you ever going to leave the Belle Creek? That old place has been trapping you there for years.”

Shelby bristled at this truth. She’d given up her dream of traveling in order to care for Timmy. It was a reality she’d cheerfully accepted, but hearing it from his sexy mouth made it hurt. “My sister and her husband couldn’t pass up this chance to make good money. They’re moving back here when they return, and they promised I could live with them to save money for travel. Now, are you ready to order?”

“I’ll have sweet tea, salad with raspberry vinaigrette, the chicken, baked potato and carrots.”

“You like breasts or thighs?”

His eyes moved in a slow caress over her body that made all her hormones sing. “Both look good to me.”

Damn that color rising to her cheeks. Nick chuckled. “Breast meat. Grilled.”

After scribbling down the order, she stood. “Be right up.”

He smiled, a genuine smile that added tiny lines to the corners of his chocolate-brown eyes and dimpled his right cheek. A bedroom smile that she suspected had lured many women into his arms. “It’s good to see you again, Shelby. You’re the one person in this town I like seeing again.”

She wished she could say the same. The sooner Nick Anderson left, the better for her. The man had a habit of disarming her, shaking up her world. In a world that was already pretty rattled, she liked the idea of stability.

After she brought his food, Nick didn’t dig in right away, but kept looking at her, as if she was steak and he was starving. “It really is good to see you again, Sweet Pea Shelby.”

The nickname caught her off guard, and coaxed an uncertain smile to her mouth. “No one’s called me that in years.” Not since her parents had become more interested in alcohol than their daughters.

“Too bad,” he said softly.

For a moment she stood looking at him, her heart pounding like a war drum. Nick still had it. And damn her, she still wanted it.

Shelby hurried off to take another order. She stopped by to check on him ten minutes later. As she went to take his salad plate, his fingers brushed against hers. A tingle rushed down her spine and he stared at her.

Shelby became aware of her too-rapid pulse, the knot of desire centered low in her belly.

Vern waved at her and she turned, but Nick laced strong fingers around her wrist. “Wait,” he said softly. “Isn’t that Vern Dickerson?”

“He comes in here every Friday.” Her heart beat triple-time at the hint of steely strength restraining her, and yet his grip was gentle. “I think he’s lonely.”

Nick nodded. Without ceremony, he picked up his meal and glass, and walked over to Vern’s booth, sliding in opposite him. “Hi, there, sir. I’m Nick Anderson. Mind if I sit with you? I hate to eat alone. Don’t want to bother you, so I’ll leave if you wish.”

Vern beamed. As she left to take care of another customer, Vern began regaling Nick with stories of his time in ’Nam, Nick listening intently. Her heart softened.

When Vern excused himself to the restroom, Shelby stopped to refill Nick’s sweet tea.

“Sweet Pea, give me Vern’s check. A man who has served like he has shouldn’t have to worry about his next meal.”

“Already taken care of,” she told him. “And thank you.”

Nick blinked. “For what?”

“For spending time with an old man who is absolutely thrilled to sit with the hometown hero.”

His expression darkened. “He’s the real war hero.”