“Your job is to protect me, not comfort me.”

Acting purely on instinct, Jack shoved the bedroom door fully open and then brushed the back of his hand against Peggy Jo’s flushed cheek. “My job is to take care of you. And that includes giving you a shoulder to cry on, if you need it.”

“I don’t need—”

He placed his index finger over her lips, adeptly silencing her rejection. “If you’re feeling a little shaky right now, that’s to be expected. And if you don’t want any of your friends to see you weak, then turn to me, Miss Peggy Jo. I’m your man.”

She stared at him, and for a couple of seconds he thought she was going to succumb. But suddenly the barriers came back up. “You’re mistaken, Mr. Parker. You’re my bodyguard. Nothing more. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go to bed.”

Dear Reader,

The year is almost over, but the excitement continues here at Intimate Moments. Reader favorite Ruth Langan launches a new miniseries, THE LASSITER LAW, with By Honor Bound. Law enforcement is the Lassiter family legacy—and love is their future. Be there to see it all happen.

Our FIRSTBORN SONS continuity is almost at an end. This month’s installment is Born in Secret, by Kylie Brant. Next month Alexandra Sellers finishes up this six-book series, which leads right into ROMANCING THE CROWN, our new twelve-book Intimate Moments continuity continuing the saga of the Montebellan royal family. THE PROTECTORS, by Beverly Barton, is one of our most popular ongoing miniseries, so don’t miss this seasonal offering, Jack’s Christmas Mission. Judith Duncan takes you back to the WIDE OPEN SPACES of Alberta, Canada, for The Renegade and the Heiress, a romantic wilderness adventure you won’t soon forget. Finish up the month with Once Forbidden… by Carla Cassidy, the latest in her miniseries THE DELANEY HEIRS, and That Kind of Girl, the second novel by exciting new talent Kim McKade.

And in case you’d like a sneak preview of next month, our Christmas gifts to you include the above-mentioned conclusion to FIRSTBORN SONS, Born Royal, as well as Brand-New Heartache, award-winning Maggie Shayne’s latest of THE OKLAHOMA ALL-GIRL BRANDS. See you then!

Yours,

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor

Jack’s Christmas Mission
Beverly Barton

BEVERLY BARTON

has been in love with romance since her grandfather gave her an illustrated book of Beauty and the Beast. An avid reader since childhood, Beverly wrote her first book at the age of nine. After marriage to her own “hero” and the births of her daughter and son, Beverly chose to be a full-time homemaker, aka wife, mother, friend and volunteer. The author of over thirty-five books, Beverly is a member of Romance Writers of America and helped found the Heart of Dixie chapter in Alabama. She has won numerous awards and has made the Waldenbooks and USA Today bestseller lists.

In loving memory of my sister-in-law Winnie Sue Bradford, whose beautiful smile and boisterous laughter brightened the world around her. We love you, Sis.

Contents

Prologue

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

Epilogue

Prologue

“I love you to death!”

Peggy Jo Riley stared in disbelief at the message scrawled in red paint on the mirror. Half a second later her mind registered that not only was her dressing room at WLOK totally ransacked but that her secret admirer had somehow gotten inside the television studio and into her private quarters, adjacent to her office. An adrenaline rush surged through her body, jangling her nerves. Her mouth opened to scream, but the sound froze in her throat, becoming a silent cry. What if he were still in here somewhere? Hiding in a closet? Behind the paneled screen where she often changed clothes? Beneath the daybed? Her accelerated heartbeat roared inside her head, temporarily deafening her to all other sounds.

The sudden touch of a hand on her shoulder jarred Peggy Jo into action. She yelled as she whirled around to face her attacker, ready to retaliate with the self-defense tactics she had learned from the experts who had appeared on her television show last year.

“Don’t!” the woman cried. “It’s me. Jill.”

With fear still pumping through her system like an insidious poison, Peggy Jo took several deep, calming breaths as she looked directly at her agent, Jill Lennard. Suddenly she remembered that Jill had driven in from Atlanta today because they had made plans to go out for dinner, after she taped two episodes of Self-Made Woman.

“Oh, God, Jill, I’m sorry,” Peggy Jo said. “I almost attacked you. I thought—”

Jill shoved past Peggy Jo to take a closer look at the dressing room. Shaking her head, she voiced a strong curse word. “No wonder you went berserk when I touched you. I was afraid this would happen. This is absolutely the last straw.” Jill backed out of the room. “Come on, we’re getting the station’s security to check for an intruder, and then we’re calling the police.”

“How could he have gotten in here?” Peggy Jo didn’t resist when Jill grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the dressing room and into her office.

“I don’t know how it could have happened, but after this, maybe Chet Compton will listen to me. As the station’s manager, it’s his job to make sure there’s enough security to see to it that no unauthorized people can just wander around in the building. This incident goes to show you what I’ve been trying to tell you for months now—this guy, whoever the hell he is, isn’t going to stop with just writing you dozens of sick fan letters and making threatening phone calls.” Jill gave Peggy Jo a gentle shove. “Sit.”

Peggy Jo plopped down in the chair behind her desk. “I’ll call security first, just in case he’s still in the studio.” Her hand shook as she picked up the telephone receiver.

Jill nodded and said, “Right. Call studio security, then call the local police. And if that detective dares to suggest that these threats aren’t real, that I’m probably behind them as some sort of publicity stunt, I’ll strangle him.”

As Peggy Jo dialed an inside line, she clutched the receiver tightly and curled her other hand into a fist to stop the trembling. “I thought…no, I hoped it wouldn’t come to this. I just don’t understand why this is happening. It’s not as if I’m some national celebrity.”

“Look, honey,” Jill said, rummaging in her purse for her cell phone, “I’m going to contact the Dundee Security Agency right now. You need around-the-clock protection.”

“No, don’t. I’ve told you I don’t want a bodyguard.”

“You can’t refuse,” Jill said, as she continued scrambling around in her oversize black shoulder bag until she came up with her address book. “You promised me that if things went beyond harassing letters and phone calls, you’d let me contact the Dundee Agency. I’m holding you to your promise.”

Peggy Jo sighed, then nodded agreement just as the studio security officer answered his phone. She explained hurriedly what had happened. He assured her that he’d give the studio a thorough check for an intruder and notify Mr. Compton about what had happened.

She simply couldn’t believe things had reached this point. And why now? Just when she had the world by the tail, when everything was almost perfect in her life. After all the years of struggling to overcome the past and be the best person she could be, at long last everything had fallen into place. Professionally and personally, she’d never had it so good. Her local Chattanooga television program Self-Made Woman was going into national syndication after the first of the year, and she’d be making more money than she’d ever dreamed possible. And her second self-help book had made the New York Times extended list and gone into a third printing. Her private life was filled with peace and contentment. She had a beautiful, healthy six-year-old daughter, who was the joy of her life. And even if she didn’t have a significant other, she didn’t lack for male companionship whenever she wanted it. And best of all, those relationships were always on her terms. She had come a long way from the days when she had allowed a man to run her life.

The minute she finished talking to Ted Wilkes, head of security, she dialed the police and was immediately put through to Detective Gifford. Despite the hint of distrust in his voice, the burly fifty-year-old police veteran told Peggy Jo that he would come to the studio posthaste. As she hung up the receiver, she heard the last few words of her agent’s conversation.

“Then we can expect him first thing tomorrow morning?” Jill said. “Good. Thanks, Ellen. I appreciate your sending one of your top agents for this job. Peggy Jo is more than a client. She’s a good friend.”

“Him?” Peggy Jo snarled. “They’re sending a man?”

“Yes, they’re sending one of their top agents. A guy named Jack Parker. Ellen assures me that he’s the best.”

“I don’t want a male bodyguard,” Peggy Jo said. “When we discussed this and I promised to agree to a bodyguard, you said you’d get a female agent.”

“I tried. Honest I did.” Jill widened her big brown eyes, a you-must-believe-me expression on her face. “The Dundee Agency has only a handful of female agents, and right now they’re all on assignments or they’ve already taken off for the Thanksgiving holiday this weekend.”

Peggy Jo groaned. Great! That’s all she needed, some big, sweaty, bossy man in her face twenty-four hours a day. It wasn’t that she hated men. There were a few she genuinely liked. But she’d had her fill—personally—of swaggering, chest-beating, womanizing hell-raisers. She’d been married to one a long time ago, and that experience had left a bitter taste in her mouth. And her own father had taught her how disloyal and unreliable men can be. No, Peggy Jo Riley depended on no one except Peggy Jo Riley, and the thought of a bodyguard, especially a male bodyguard, didn’t sit well with her.

She intended to lay down some ground rules with Mr. Jack Parker the moment they met. He had to know, up front, that she wasn’t a helpless female who loved the idea of being protected by some big, strong man. She intended to make it perfectly clear to him that he was her employee and she was the boss. She would be issuing the orders and making the decisions. And if he didn’t like it, he could just go straight back to Atlanta. Or straight to hell, for all she cared. Nobody—absolutely nobody—told Peggy Jo Riley what she could and couldn’t do. Least of all some man!

Chapter 1

J ack Parker checked into the Reed House hotel in downtown Chattanooga, paid the bellhop an extra twenty bucks to bring him a bottle of Crown Royal, then turned on the sports channel and tossed his black Stetson on the bed. He had approximately twelve hours to acquaint himself with the details of this new case, one he’d been reluctant to take. He had heard about the Dundee Agency’s new client, Peggy Jo Riley, and knew her type well. The type who preached that men where the bane of every woman’s existence, and all the ills of society could be laid at the feet of the male sex. Hell, who hadn’t heard of the latest guru to American womankind, the up-and-coming Chattanooga talk-show hostess whose program was going into national syndication the first of the year?

Jack shoved his Stetson aside on the bed, then lifted his duffel bag, laid it on the spread and unzipped it. He removed a video tape of Peggy Jo’s show, Self-Made Woman, a paperback copy of her latest book, Putting Yourself First, and a file folder of information about the woman herself.

Good thing he’d eaten on the drive over from Atlanta. He’d picked up a couple of barbecue sandwiches and a bag of chips. That would tide him over until breakfast. He’d be up past midnight going over the information, skimming the book and studying the video. The more he knew about Peggy Jo, her lifestyle and her daily routine, the better able he’d be to protect her and to hopefully figure out who was harassing her. With her attitude, she had probably pissed off half the men in the state, but only a real nut case would become a stalker and pose a threat to her.

After taking off his denim jacket, Jack sat on the edge of the bed to remove his black boots. As he massaged his feet, he thought about why he’d asked Ellen, Dundee’s CEO, to give this case to another agent. Could he be totally honest with himself? He sure hadn’t been up front with Ellen. What he should have said was, “I don’t want to have to guard some man-hating feminist twenty-four/seven because her attitude sticks in my craw.” Because Jack knew better than anyone that a woman could be just as guilty of mistreating a man as a man could of mistreating a woman. As a boy he had watched his mother slowly but surely drive his father to suicide. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the ladies; on the contrary, he loved the ladies and they loved him. But because he understood the dangers of commitment, nobody owned Jack Parker. No woman would ever rope and tie him and put her personal brand on his backside. Love ’em and leave ’em had been his philosophy since he’d been a teenager. And so far, that motto had served him well.

Jack realized that he and Peggy Jo Riley would mix like oil and water. When he had pointed out to Ellen that a female agent would probably be more to Ms. Riley’s liking, Ellen had laughed.

“She requested a female agent, but unfortunately Lucie, J.J. and Kate are all on assignments,” Ellen had said. “And you’re my only experienced agent who’s free, so you’re taking this assignment. Get your gear together and head for Chattanooga pronto.”

Jack padded barefoot across the carpeted floor, switched channels and inserted the tape into the video machine. By the time he had unbuttoned his shirt and unbuckled his belt, the theme music for Self-Made Woman reverberated throughout the hotel room. A jazzy instrumental rendition of a once-popular song by Helen Reddy that he recognized immediately. “I Am Woman.” The announcer introduced the hostess of the show to resounding applause from her audience. Jack plopped down in a chair in front of the TV and studied his new client as she marched front and center.

Peggy Jo Riley was no ordinary woman. One look told him that she was tough, self-confident and aggressive. He was a pretty good judge of women. He’d known more than his share and could usually size up a filly immediately and never be proven wrong. Ms. Riley spoke with a soft, country Southern accent that could easily melt the polar ice cap. As he listened to her rhetoric, he surmised several things—that she was intelligent, charming and had a fairy godmother complex. She wanted to help all the women of the world to fix their problems, be it problems with men, with work, with feelings of inadequacy or incompetence. No wonder the media was comparing her to Oprah.

As he watched and listened, Jack automatically began sizing her up, checking out her physical attributes or lack thereof. He’d never preferred a specific type. He liked ’em all. Blondes, brunettes and redheads. Short, tall, thin, plump. The bimbo type as well as the brainy type. So why was it that he knew instantly that Miss Peggy Jo wasn’t his type?

Hell, what difference did it make? He wasn’t going to be wooing her into his bed. She was a client, an assignment, just like any other. But he couldn’t remember when he’d dreaded taking on a case as much as he did this one.

As he watched Peggy Jo speaking, laughing and commiserating with her female guests, he did an immediate reevaluation. On this particular show she didn’t come across as a man hater, despite the fact that one of her guests was a male therapist who specialized in treating men who abused their wives and children.

Jack noticed the way her eyes glazed with tears when she spoke with a victim and the firmness of her handshake when she thanked the therapist for his valuable input. This was a woman who cared—genuinely cared.

When a knock sounded at the door, Jack paused the video, then stood and traipsed across the room. He opened the door, took the bottle of whisky from the bellhop and thanked him. After pouring himself half a glass of liquor, he picked up the file folder and carried it with him to the chair before restarting the video. Alternately he glanced at the TV screen and read a few pages of data on his client. He just couldn’t connect the high school drop-out and abused teenage wife he was reading about with the self-confident television hostess he saw on screen.

Peggy Jo was no raving beauty, but with her green eyes and freckles she possessed a healthy, clean-cut vibrance. She wore her long, dark-red hair pulled away from her full cheeks and square jaw, but allowed it to hang freely halfway down her back. A neat yet feminine style. She was plump, by today’s standards, not that he heeded today’s standards. Probably five-five, with an ample bosom, small waist and broad hips. Not a large woman, but Rubenesque. She dressed conservatively, in a classic camel tan jacket and black slacks and wore gold jewelry that glistened in the harsh studio lighting.

“Well, Jacky-boy,” he said aloud, “you’re going to have your hands full with this one. She sure is a contradiction. She looks like the type of woman made for loving, but her bio reads like a woman who’d sooner jump into a box of rattlesnakes than into bed with a man.”

He had a sinking feeling that his good-ole-boy charm wouldn’t work on this woman. He knew before even meeting her that this was going to be the most difficult bodyguard case he’d ever handled for Dundee.

Hetty met Peggy Jo at the front door, a concerned look on her wrinkled face and a sad gleam in her brown eyes. Peggy Jo had found a prize in Wendy’s nanny, who also served as her housekeeper. Hetty Ballard was a childless widow who had worked with children all her life, first as a grade school teacher and after retirement, as a baby-sitter. Hetty loved children and in the six years she had been with Peggy Jo and Wendy, the woman had become family; a substitute mother to Peggy Jo and a grandmother to Wendy.

After taking Peggy Jo’s coat the moment she removed it, Hetty hung the black wool garment in the hall closet. “That man called here a few minutes ago. He said to tell you that he’s at the Reed House and he’ll meet you at the station first thing in the morning.”

“Jack Parker is already in Chattanooga?” Peggy Jo headed down the hallway toward her daughter’s room.

“He sounded like a real nice man,” Hetty said. “Got a good Texas accent and was real charming.”

Peggy Jo stopped abruptly, glanced over her shoulder and frowned at Hetty. “We’ve hired the man to be my bodyguard. Our relationship will be completely professional. So, if you have any ideas of trying to put any kind of romantic spin on his living here at the house, you can forget it right now.”

“You’re accusing me unjustly.” Hetty followed Peggy Jo down the hall. “I promised you, after my last attempt at matchmaking, that I would stay out of your love life.” Hetty lowered her voice to a whisper. “Or lack thereof.”

Although she had heard it quite clearly, Peggy Jo ignored the last comment as she opened the door to Wendy’s room.

“She’s supposed to be asleep, but my guess is that she’s been trying to stay awake until you got home,” Hetty said.

Only a soft pink night-light illuminated the darkness in Wendy’s bedroom, an area of pastel colors that created a perfect vision of a little girl’s haven. Peggy Jo had decorated the room from memories of the room she had always wanted as a child but never had. White French Provincial furniture. A canopy bed. Frilly pink curtains and bedspread. A Victorian dollhouse. One wall filled with shelves containing a doll collector’s dream come true. And stuffed animals of every size and variety. And inside the walk-in closet were enough clothes to dress half a dozen six-year-olds.

“Mommy?” Lifting her head from the lace-adorned pillow, the raven-haired child smiled the moment she saw her mother.

Peggy Jo rushed over and sat on the side of the bed. “You’re supposed to be asleep. It’s after nine.”

Wendy scooted out from beneath the covers and threw her arms around Peggy Jo’s neck. “I couldn’t go to sleep until you got home. I wanted to tell you that Missy’s got the flu and Mrs. Carson’s going to let me be an angel in the play. You’ve got to call Missy’s mother and see if we can use her costume.”

Peggy Jo hugged her daughter to her, savoring the bliss of being loved and needed by this special child. She had decided years ago to never remarry, so for an old-fashioned woman like she was, that meant never having children. But when her friend Ginny had died in a car accident, along with her husband, Wendy had been left an orphan at six months old. Adopting Wendy had been an easy decision. Peggy Jo’s maternal yearnings could be fulfilled without compromising her moral standards and without risking a second marriage. She had given Wendy all the love in her heart and everything that money could buy, including a private school. But recently Wendy had begun asking why Peggy Jo couldn’t get her a daddy.

“I’ll call Missy’s mother first thing tomorrow,” Peggy Jo said. “Right now, I have something to tell you.”

On the drive home from the station, she had thought about how she would explain to Wendy that a man would be moving into their home tomorrow. The last thing she wanted Wendy to do was become attached to a hired bodyguard. But for the past several months Wendy had become as obsessed as Hetty with finding her mother a mate. Every man Peggy Jo dated became a potential daddy candidate.

“Sweetie, we’re going to have a houseguest.” Peggy Jo eased Wendy onto her lap. Wendy’s big blue eyes rounded in surprise. “His name is Jack Parker, and he’s a bodyguard. Since Mommy’s TV show is going to be seen all over the United States and Mommy is going to be famous, Aunt Jill thinks I need someone to look after me.”

God, she hoped that explanation made sense to a six-year-old. She had gone over several different versions, and this one seemed simple and honest, without being frightening.

“Oh, Mommy, we’re going to have a man around the house,” Wendy mimicked Hetty’s repetitive declaration that what they needed was a man around the house. “He’s going to take care of you and me, and I can tell Missy and Jennifer and Martha Jane that I do so have a daddy.”

“No, Wendy.” Peggy Jo clasped her daughter’s chin gently. “Mr. Parker isn’t going to be your daddy and he isn’t going to take care of us. What have I told you about us girls?”

Wendy’s smile quickly turned into a frown. Her rosebud mouth became a pout. “That we don’t need a man to take care of us. That we can take care of ourselves.”

“That’s right.”

“But you said he was going to look after you,” Wendy whined. “Daddies look after mommies and little girls, don’t they?”

She wished she could tell Wendy that, yes, all daddies look after their wives and little girls, but she had never lied to her child and she wasn’t going to now. “Some daddies do, sweetie, but some daddies don’t. That’s why it’s very important for us girls to always know how to take care of ourselves and never depend on any man.”

Peggy Jo knew that some women had fathers and husbands who had never let them down, who had always taken care of them and looked after them, but she hadn’t been that lucky. She had been forced, at an early age, to face the harsh reality that some men were uncaring.

“I know. There is no Prince Charming,” Wendy said as she cuddled close to her mother. “Fairy tales aren’t real. They’re just made-up stories.”

“That’s right,” Peggy Jo said. “Life can be wonderful and beautiful, but it can never be like it is in fairy tales. Life is what we make it. It’s up to us to make it good for ourselves.” She loved her daughter far too much to fill her head with hopeless dreams of happily-ever-after when that dream so seldom came true in real life. Others might think her hard-hearted for giving Wendy a realistic view of love and life and relationships, but she knew better. As a mother, it was her job to protect her child and that’s what she was doing.

“Okay, Mommy. I won’t pretend that Mr. Parker is my daddy. I promise.”

Peggy Jo sighed. “Mr. Parker is going to work for me. I’m going pay him a salary to be around all the time and make sure nobody bothers me.”

“Will he keep me from bothering you?” Wendy asked, with wide-eyed innocence.

Peggy Jo hugged Wendy close, then chuckling softly, she lifted her child and put her back into bed. After pulling the covers up to Wendy’s chin, Peggy Jo kissed her.

“You never bother me, sweetpea. And Mr. Parker will never keep you away from me. I’ll tell him that Ms. Wendy Riley can see me and talk to me any time she pleases.”

After yawning, Wendy smiled. “I love you, Mommy.”

“I love you, too.”

When Peggy Jo exited the room and closed the door behind her, she made her way down the hall to the kitchen. Hetty sat at the table, a mug of hot chocolate in her hand and another waiting for Peggy Jo, who immediately pulled out an oak Windsor chair and sat across from Hetty.

“I knew that after the day you’ve had, you’d need something chocolate.” Hetty nodded toward the Santa mug. As soon as Peggy Jo tasted the delicious drink, Hetty asked, “So, how did you explain to Wendy that we’ve got a man moving in with us tomorrow?”

“It wasn’t easy.” Peggy Jo sipped the cocoa. “At first she thought Mr. Parker might be her new daddy, but I cleared that up right away.” Peggy Jo glowered at her housekeeper. “If you hadn’t talked so much about our needing a man around here, she wouldn’t have—”

“Don’t blame me because that child wants a daddy. All of her friends have daddies, even the ones whose parents are divorced.”

“I can give Wendy everything else she needs and wants, but I cannot give her a daddy.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Hetty glanced at the ceiling, her expression making a statement.

“Both. Can’t and won’t. Marriage is just fine for a lot of women, but not for me. After my own father deserted me, and Buck treated me like dirt, I swore that I’d never let another man have any control over my life. And that’s a promise I intend to keep.”

“All men aren’t like your father and Buck Forbes,” Hetty said. “My Jim was a wonderful man. I wish you had known him. He would have changed your mind about men.”

“We’ve had this discussion before, and there’s no point in beating a dead horse.” With the mug in hand, Peggy Jo scooted back her chair and stood. “Just make sure the guest bedroom is ready for Mr. Parker. He’ll be coming home with me tomorrow evening.”

“I’m fixing a pot roast and my blackberry jam cake. I’ve never known a man who didn’t like my country cooking. And we sure do want to make Mr. Parker feel right at home, don’t we?”

Peggy Jo rolled her eyes, shook her head and left a chuckling Hetty alone in the kitchen. If she wasn’t genuinely frightened by this unknown person who was terrorizing her, Peggy Jo wouldn’t even consider allowing a man to become her twenty-four-hour-a-day companion. But despite her determination to never rely on another man as long as she lived, she realized that under these circumstances, she would be a fool not to hire a bodyguard. And if there was one thing Peggy Jo Riley never intended to be—ever again—it was a fool.

The next morning, as she was going over her notes for the taping, WLOK’s station manager, Chet Compton, came into her office. He handed Peggy Jo a cup of coffee, then placed his hand on her shoulder.

“You’re here bright and early this morning,” he said, his voice low as he leaned over to speak to her. “Something wrong?”

Peggy Jo tensed, but didn’t move away from the man she had dated on and off for the past several years. When Chet had gotten serious and started acting territorial, she had ended their personal relationship, which she had considered to be nothing more than two good friends dating. Chet had not taken the rejection kindly, and for months afterward, tension had suffused the station whenever Chet came into Studio B, where they broadcast the show live daily and taped other shows for holidays and vacations.

“I’m expecting someone to meet me here around eight,” she said. “Jill has hired a bodyguard for me, and he’ll start work today.”

“A bodyguard? Do you think that’s necessary?” Chet squeezed her shoulder. “I think there’s enough manpower around the station to keep an eye on you. You must know that not only am I your willing slave, but so are most of the guys who work here, especially Ross Brewster. That guy would walk over hot coals for you.”

“None of you, including Ross, is a professional. And after what happened in my dressing room yesterday, Jill and I agree that I need a trained bodyguard with me until this stalker is caught.”

Peggy Jo eased away from Chet and moved across the set to inspect the job the production manager had done in arranging the Christmas decorations. The three programs they’d tape today would be shown the week after Christmas and she wanted everything to be perfect. She had a reputation for being detail oriented and often hard to please, but only those with sloppy work habits ever complained.

Chet followed her. “So, does the set meet with your approval?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She nodded. “When Leda and Burt come in this morning, I want to see them first thing and explain why I’ve hired a bodyguard. So, please don’t put your own spin on it before I’ve spoken to them.”

“Hey, you hired both of them. They’re your people, not mine.”

Peggy Jo forced a smile. Chet hadn’t been thrilled with her when, after her former director left WLOK, she had hired Leda Seager to replace him, without consulting with Chet first. And Chet had been adamantly opposed to her demanding that the show’s original production manager be fired for incompetence. He had also rejected Peggy Jo’s choice of a replacement—Burt Morgan, a brilliant young African-American man who had a knack for dealing with the crew. When he hadn’t come up with any compelling argument against Burt, Peggy Jo had hired him. She was glad she did.

Peggy Jo picked up the loosely structured script for today’s first show off the seat of her chair, then sat, the script in one hand and the coffee mug in the other. She spoke to Chet, but didn’t look at him. “I need to go over this script. Is there anything you want to talk to me about this morning? Some other reason you’re here on my set?”

“Apparently not.” He turned and stormed off the set.

She wasn’t usually so rude, but she’d learned that with Chet she had to be. The guy took even normal friendliness as a come-on. Peggy Jo laid the script in her lap, then glanced up in time to see Chet’s back as he retreated out the door, almost running into Ross Brewster, the station’s twenty-year-old gofer. Chet grumbled. Ross apologized, then hurried toward Peggy Jo, a small white paper bag in his gloved hands.

She liked Ross, though she was careful not to encourage his boyish crush on her. Why was it that when she’d been a teenager, she’d had a problem getting guys to notice her, and now, when she didn’t give a damn, she seemed to attract men like honey attracted bears?

Ross rushed forward and offered her the white paper bag. “Cream cheese Danish,” he said. “I know it’s your favorite. I came by the bakery on my way here. You’re early this morning, aren’t you? I thought I’d get here first.”

Peggy Jo accepted the gift graciously, even opened the bag to smell the mouth-watering confection, before she handed it back to Ross. “Thanks. I appreciate your thinking of me, but—”

“Look, I know Chet has already told me to back off.” His shoulders slumped as he took the bag. “And I know what he must be thinking. But, honest to goodness, Peggy Jo, I’m not stalking you. I think you’re the absolute greatest, but I’d never harass you.”

“When did Chet tell you to back off?” she asked.

“Last week,” Ross said. “He told me that he thought I was the one stalking you and said if I didn’t stop immediately, he’d fire me.”

“Damn,” Peggy Jo cursed under her breath. “Ross, I apologize for Chet. I don’t think you’re my stalker. All I was going to say is that I appreciated your thinking of me, but I’m deliberately cutting back on sweets from today until Christmas. Otherwise, I’d wind up with five or ten extra pounds come New Year’s day.”

Ross’s pale cheeks flushed scarlet. “I’ll get rid of these right away. Would you like me to run out and get you some fruit. A banana or an apple or—”

She lifted the coffee mug. “How about pouring out this slop and making some fresh coffee in the pot in my office?”

“I’ll get to it right away. And, thanks, Peggy Jo, for believing me about not being your stalker.”

While he glanced over his shoulder, smiling like an idiot, Ross headed for the door and ran smack-dab into a big man wearing a black Stetson. Peggy Jo’s stomach did a nervous flip-flop. Was this…? It had to be him. A stranger in a Stetson, jeans, denim jacket and black boots. Heaven help her, the Dundee Agency had sent her a cowboy. A big, rugged John Wayne wanna-be.

The man grabbed Ross by the shoulders to steady him, then laughed good-naturedly. “Gotta watch where you’re going, son, or you’ll wind up in a heap of trouble.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” Ross all but ran out the door and down the hall.

Peggy Jo swallowed hard. The tall, broad-shouldered cowboy entered Studio B, and when he saw her, he removed his hat and smiled. The bottom dropped out of Peggy Jo’s stomach. Jack Parker was drop-dead gorgeous in a rough, rowdy, hard-edged way that she bet few women could resist. And he had a killer smile that implied he knew just how damn appealing he was.

She would have to send this guy packing as fast as possible. No way in hell was she going to let herself fall victim to this good ole boy’s devastating charm.

Chapter 2

“H owdy, ma’am,” Jack said. “I’m the Dundee agent you hired. Jack Parker.” He held out his hand.

The woman stared at his proffered hand, hesitated, then clasped it in hers. He liked the feel of her small, soft hand and the strength of her firm handshake. But he was a bit uncertain about the way she looked him square in the eye. He was accustomed to ladies being a little more subtle and not quite so straightforward. But, being the man he was, he couldn’t help noticing how green her eyes were and how long her thick, dark lashes were. Under different circumstances and with a different woman, he would have commented on her eyes. But knowing what he did about this particular lady, he figured she wouldn’t take kindly to a compliment that she was sure to see as flirting.

When he held on to her hand a minute too long, she jerked free and stepped backward just enough to show him that she needed a perimeter of personal space around her in order to feel comfortable. Jack prided himself on being a good judge of body language, so he heeded her message.

“I suppose, to be polite, I should say it’s nice to meet you and I’m glad you’re here.” Peggy Jo maintained direct eye contact with him. “But in all honesty, Mr. Parker, I really don’t want a bodyguard and I greatly resent the fact that I need one.”

“Call me Jack,” he said, and smiled. But when she didn’t return the friendly gesture, he realized he’d been right about this woman. His gut instincts had warned him that she wasn’t going to be easily charmed, that she was going to make this assignment the job from hell. And his gut instincts were seldom wrong. “By all means, Ms. Riley, be honest with me.”

“I’m sorry if I’m being impolite, but—”

“Why don’t we clear the air immediately?” he suggested. “You hired me because you need protection, and you want the Dundee Agency to put its manpower and brainpower to work on finding out who your stalker is. But you hate the idea of having a strange man being with you twenty-four/seven.”

Her eyes widened, apparently surprised by his frankness.

“It’s not necessary that you like me,” he told her. “But it is necessary that you trust me. Can you do that?”

She took a deep breath. “I’m not sure. It’s difficult for me to trust others, especially men.”

“Don’t think of me as a man.” Jack noted the startled look on her face and barely restrained a chuckle. “Think of me as your protector, someone whose sole purpose is to keep you safe from harm.”

“I’m used to taking care of myself. I hate the idea of having to rely on anyone else to protect me.”

“I admire your self-reliance, but with an unknown stalker determined to keep you off balance, the only smart thing to do is rely on me and the Dundee Agency until we apprehend this guy and take you out of harm’s way.”

“Yes, of course. I understand.” Peggy Jo nervously rubbed her hands together. “I promise that I’ll do my best to cooperate with you, as long as you remember that I’m your employer.”

“Meaning?” Jack knew damn well what she meant. She wanted him to agree that she was the boss. Heck, she could call herself whatever she wanted—employer, boss, the one in charge—as long as she realized that he was the expert and if he issued her an order, she’d damn well better obey it.

“Meaning just that. I’m the employer and you’re the employee. Our relationship is strictly business. No first names. No unnecessary familiarity.” Peggy Jo finally broke eye contact as she surveyed Jack from head to toe, leisurely, as if she were studying him under a microscope. “And as soon as the Dundee Agency has a female bodyguard available, I want you replaced.”

Jack laid his hand over his heart and sighed dramatically. “Oh, Miss Peggy Jo, you wound me, you do. You haven’t even given me a chance to prove my worth and already you’re talking about replacing me.”

“Cut the crap, Parker,” she said, her expression somber. “Your ‘aw shucks, ma’am’ attitude is wasted on me.”

“You’re one tough cookie, aren’t you, Miss Peggy Jo? Tell me, is ball-busting a second job for you or just a hobby?”

She gasped. The nerve of the man! How dare he speak to her that way. Just who did he think he was? Obviously, he didn’t know a damn thing about her or he would have realized that she didn’t take back talk from anyone—and never from a man!

“Let’s get one thing straight—” Peggy Jo punched the tip of her index finger into Jack’s chest “—if you make another remark like that, I’ll fire you and get Dundee to send me another agent. One with a more agreeable attitude.”

The man laughed. He actually laughed. Right in her face! She felt her skin burning, felt a heated flush creeping up her neck. He glanced down at where her finger hovered over his chest. When she jerked it away, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. A wild rush of adrenaline pumped through her body at his touch. Their gazes collided. She tugged to free herself, but he held tight.

“I apologize, Miss Peggy Jo,” he said, a warm, winning smile on his face. “I’m not usually such a jackass. As a matter of fact, I’m known for my Southern charm, but I figured charm wouldn’t work with you, so I tried a different tactic. Obviously, I made a mistake. So how about forgiving me and letting us start all over again?”

The pressure of his grip on her wrist lessened until she could have easily broken loose. But she didn’t. She stood there for an endless moment, their gazes locked, her breathing ragged, and allowed his statement to sink into her befuddled brain. She didn’t like the way this man made her feel—all soft and hot and feminine. And vulnerable.

“I think you switched tactics on me again, didn’t you?” When she pulled on her wrist, he released her. “If I have to choose between the jerk and the charmer, then I’ll take the charmer. But you’re right—all the charm in the world won’t work on me, Mr. Parker. I’m immune.”

“Does this mean you aren’t going to fire me?”

He was still grinning, damn him, as if he knew perfectly well that if she fired him after his sincere apology, then she’d have to admit to herself that she couldn’t stand her ground against him.

“No, I’m not firing you. But keep in mind that I can dismiss you at any time.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted her and clicked his heels.

“So, now what?” she asked.

“We start by going over some ground rules,” he replied, a mischievous twinkle in his golden-brown eyes. “My ground rules.”

Before Peggy Jo could comment, she looked past Jack to where Ross Brewster stood just inside the doorway, a couple of mugs in his hands. She motioned for Ross to come to her.

Jack glanced over his shoulder. “Who’s this guy?” Jack asked, and when Peggy Jo glared at Jack questioningly, he explained, “I need to know the identities of all the people who work here at WLOK and what their positions are and their relationships to you.”

Peggy Jo nodded, understanding his need for this information. “This is Ross Brewster,” she said as Ross approached her.

“I’ve brought you some fresh coffee,” Ross said, handing a mug to Peggy Jo. “And I brought some for you, too.”

Jack accepted the bright purple mug emblazoned with the WLOK emblem. “Thanks.”

“Ross is a student at UTC,” Peggy Jo said. “He works here at the studio every morning before classes and various hours between classes.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jack said, and shook hands with the young man. “I’m Jack Parker, Miss Peggy Jo’s bodyguard. We’ll probably be seeing a great deal of each other for a while.”

Ross visibly flinched. “A bodyguard?”

“Yes,” Peggy Jo said. “With the stalker getting more bold—bold enough to ransack my dressing room here at the studio without being caught—I decided that it was in my best interest to hire someone to watch my back.”

“I think that’s a really good idea,” Ross said, his gaze scanning Jack from head to toe. “Do you carry a gun?”

Jack grinned. “Sure do.” But he made no move to reveal the whereabouts of his weapon.

Ross swallowed, then cleared his throat. “Oh, yeah. Mr. Compton said to tell you that Leda and Burt are here.”

“Thanks.”

Ross smiled, then walked backward, exiting slowly, melting away like snow in the sunshine.

Peggy Jo turned her attention back to Jack and before he could ask her, she said, “Leda Seager is the director of Self-Made Woman and Burt Morgan is our production manager. I wanted to speak to them and explain about your presence on the set…well, actually, your presence in my life. I asked Chet to let me speak to them first. I was afraid that if he told them about you, he would…well, he might—”

“Chet? Chet Compton, the station manager. Right?”

“Yes, but how did you know?”

“His name stuck in my mind after I read your file that Dundee put together quickly and gave me before I left Atlanta yesterday. If I recall correctly, Chet’s also a former boyfriend of yours.”

“Chet was never my boyfriend,” she corrected. “He and I dated occasionally, but we’ve never been anything except friends. And not even that anymore. We’re business associates and that’s all.”

“Who broke whose heart?”

“What?”

“If you two were friends before you started dating and now that you don’t date any longer, you aren’t friends, then that tells me somebody took the relationship seriously and got hurt when it ended.”

“You’re quite astute, aren’t you?” Peggy Jo sipped her coffee. “Chet wanted more than friendship. I didn’t.”

“Any chance Chet is your stalker?”

Peggy Jo wanted to reply in the negative, but she couldn’t. Chet had a temperamental nature and tended to be possessive. She didn’t like the idea of suspecting him, but she knew she couldn’t rule out the possibility.

“Probably not,” she said. “But it’s possible.”

“And what about Ross? It’s obvious the boy’s got a crush on you.”

Peggy Jo shrugged. “I doubt it’s Ross. He’s such a sweet boy. But then again, I suppose he could be considered a suspect.”

Jack harrumphed. “Just how many lovesick fools do you have in your life?”

Peggy Jo narrowed her gaze and glowered at him. “What happened to that good-ole-boy charm of yours?”

“Sorry, ma’am.” The corners of his mouth lifted, but didn’t quite form a smile. “Let me rephrase that. How many men do you suspect might be your stalker?”

Before Peggy Jo could answer his question, Leda and Burt entered the studio. She glanced at her watch and realized that she had only a couple of minutes to introduce Jack Parker and explain his presence before it was time for a quick rehearsal. They would begin taping the first of the Christmas week episodes in less than an hour. And the audience would be allowed into the studio in about thirty minutes.

“I’ll go over all the possible suspects with you on my lunch break later today,” Peggy Jo said. “But for now, come meet two very important people who have helped advance my television career.”

Jack stood on the sidelines, off to himself just enough to keep a close watch on his client without being seen by either the camera or the small local audience that fitted snugly into the studio. As he watched and listened to Peggy Jo Riley doing her thing, he marveled at how adept she was at putting her guests at ease, even those with whom she disagreed. Why hadn’t she used a little of that charisma with him? he wondered. She’d been downright hostile. Of course, he hadn’t put his best foot forward with her, either. The score was pretty much even in the ornery and unpleasant department. Face it, Jacky-boy, you aren’t used to women taking an instant dislike to you. Miss Peggy Jo kinda bruised your ego, didn’t she?

When she had threatened to fire him, why had he all but pleaded with her for a second chance? Ego! Male ego! It would be one thing if he quit, but another thing altogether if she fired him. He intended to contact Ellen tonight and tell her that he wanted a female agent to replace him on this job as soon as one became available. That way both he and the client would be happier.

The well-rounded young woman Peggy Jo had introduced to him as Kayla Greene, her assistant, came up beside him and said softly, “Isn’t she wonderful?”

“Huh?” Jack glanced at the friendly Ms. Greene, whose gaze was glued to the set where her boss lady was discussing with a dietician how to eat well during Christmas without putting on extra pounds.

“I’m talking about our Peggy Jo,” Kayla said, keeping her voice low. “Isn’t she wonderful? Everybody in the whole state of Tennessee just loves her. That’s why I can’t figure out why anyone would want to hurt her. Do you think it’s possible that her stalker is just some misguided guy who’s in love with her?”

“Sure, the guy stalking her could think he’s in love with her, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous.”

“I’m really glad that Ms. Lennard talked Peggy Jo into hiring you. If anything happened to her, we’d all be just devastated.”

Jack laid his hand on Kayla’s plump shoulder. She gazed up at him and smiled. He indicated with a nod that he wanted her to move back farther away from the set. She followed him into the nearby corner.

“What is it?” she asked, her blue-gray eyes sparkling and her round cheeks flushing a rosy pink.

“I was wondering if you’ve got any idea about who Miss Peggy Jo’s stalker might be,” Jack said. “You probably know everyone she works with and the guys she dates and—”

“I’ve got my suspicions, that’s for sure. If it’s somebody who cares about her, then it might be Mr. Compton. He’s been peeved at her ever since she stopped dating him.”

“Yeah, I already know about him, and he’s at the top of my list. But what about someone else? What about Ross Brewster or Burt Morgan?”

When Kayla shook her head, her halo of chestnut-brown curls bounced about her moon-pie face. “It’s not either of them. Ross is such a sweet guy and Mr. Morgan is super-nice. They both adore Peggy Jo.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Jack patted his Stetson on his leg. “So, Chet Compton is your only suspect?”

“I didn’t say that. I just said it might be him. But if I were a betting person, I’d put my money on either Buck Forbes or Tia Tuesday.”

“According to my files, Buck Forbes is Miss Peggy Jo’s ex-husband, so I can see why you’d consider him a suspect, but who is Tia Tuesday?”

“Tia? She’s the airhead bimbo on a local rival station who has an exercise-and-fitness show on at the same time Self-Made Woman airs. Our show has been beating hers in the ratings ever since her show debuted last year, and the woman has made no secret that she despises Peggy Jo. She’s been saying some pretty mean things ever since Peggy Jo’s show got picked up for national syndication.”

“Is that it?” Jack asked. “Anybody else?”

“Those are the only people I know about, but couldn’t the stalker be somebody Peggy Jo doesn’t know?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah, that’s always a possibility.” He patted Kayla on the shoulder. “Thanks for you help.”

“Anytime. I’d do anything for Peggy Jo.”

Jack glanced back at the set where his client was finishing up the last shot of the segment with the dietician. As soon as the spot concluded, Peggy Jo shook hands with her guest and thanked her profusely, then turned and walked off the set. She came straight toward Jack, walking with a confident strut, as if she owned the world. There was something downright appealing about a woman who was that self-assured. He couldn’t help wondering if her cocksure attitude was for real or just for show.

“You weren’t interrogating Kayla, were you?” Peggy Jo asked, her voice slightly on edge.

“I asked her a few questions,” Jack said, his tone defensive. “After all, she is your assistant and I thought she might have some insight into who your stalker might be.”

“Let me guess—her number-one suspect is Tia Tuesday.” Laughing softly, Peggy Jo shook her head. “Tia might dislike me, but she isn’t my stalker. For one thing the woman can’t go anywhere in Chattanooga without being recognized. Believe me she has the most recognizable boobs in town.”

“Ah, one of those.” Jack couldn’t stop the wide grin that spread across his face. “But even the most recognizable boobs in Chattanooga could hire somebody to do her dirty work for her.”

“Okay, you’re right.” Peggy Jo reached out to touch his arm, but paused, her hand in midair. “Look, we’ll talk on my lunch break. Right now, I need to freshen my makeup and glance over the information on my next guest, a counselor who’s going to discuss dealing with depression during the holidays.”

Jack nodded, then when she headed toward the door that opened into the corridor that led to her office, he followed her. The minute she realized he was marching along behind her, she stopped and turned to face him.

“I’m just going to the powder room,” she said.

“Where you go, I go.”

“You are not going into the bathroom with me!”

“No, but I’ll be standing guard right outside. So just holler if you need me.”

“Wipe that smirk off your face, Mr. Parker. I hardly think I’ll be accosted in the bathroom. And I’m perfectly capable of doing anything I need to do in there without your assistance.”

With that said, she turned and stomped down the hallway, shoved open the door to her office and made a beeline straight to her private bathroom. Jack leaned against the doorjamb, crossed one ankle over the other and waited.

Usually an optimist, Jack didn’t understand why he couldn’t shake this pessimistic feeling he had that things with Miss Peggy Jo were bound to get worse. It was clear as the nose on his face that the woman was determined to dislike him. And even though she was well-known as a feminist, he didn’t think she hated all men. No, her feelings of animosity toward him were personal. But what could it be about him that rubbed her the wrong way? He wasn’t bad looking. He was fairly smart. And he had a likable personality. Most ladies found him downright irresistible.

Heck, maybe he reminded her of her ex-husband in some way. If that were the case, he’d just have to show Miss Peggy Jo that he wasn’t anything like Buck Forbes. He’d never struck a woman in his entire life, not even with provocation. Why, he’d rather cut off his right hand than to ever hit a member of the fair sex.

Jack noticed a shadow outside the office door. Just as he took a step forward, a perky young lady carrying a bouquet of red roses came prancing into the room.

“A delivery for Ms. Riley,” she said.

“Do you work here or are you delivering for the florist?” Jack asked, wondering if the station’s security people had allowed a delivery person to simply walk into Peggy Jo’s private office.

“I work for Humphrey’s Florist,” she replied.

Jack growled under his breath.

“Sir, is something wrong?”

“No. At least nothing that’s your fault.”

“Where shall I put these?”

“Set them on the desk.” He inclined his head toward the ornate cherry desk.

She hurriedly placed the arrangement on the desk, and when Jack reached for his wallet, she shook her head. “It’s already been taken care of by the person who sent them.”

The minute the woman left, Jack walked across the room, snatched the attached card from the flowers and opened the small envelope. But before he could look at the card, Peggy Jo emerged from the bathroom, took one look at the roses and cursed.

“Damn! Get those things out of here. Right now!” She glared at the gorgeous floral arrangement as if it were a grotesque two-headed snake.

“You want these roses tossed out?” he asked. “You don’t even know who they’re from.”

“I don’t care who sent them,” she said. “Anyone who knows me well enough to be sending me flowers would know better than to send me red roses.”

An alarm went off in Jack’s head. He glanced at the card he held in his hand. Hellfire! Peggy Jo’s sicko stalker had no doubt sent the flowers.

“What does it say?” she asked.

He hesitated, then lifted his gaze and looked her square in the eye. “‘Red roses for a dead lady.’”

Her mouth rounded in a soundless gasp. “They’re from him.”

“It would appear so.” Jack stuck the note in his pocket, then lifted the clear glass vase and dumped vase, flowers, water and all into the nearby wastebasket. “I’ll contact the florist and see if they have any idea who the sender was.”

“Do you think they’ll know?” Peggy Jo stood ramrod stiff as she gazed at the wastebasket.

“Probably not. Our stalker will be smart enough not to give himself away by letting himself be identified by the florist.”

Why the hell did she keep staring at the discarded flowers? It was as if they held her under some sort of demonic spell. What was the significance of red roses? And why did she hate the one flower that most women adored?

“Miss Peggy Jo?”

“What?” Still she continued to stare, as if hypnotized by the floral arrangement that she had told him to deep six.

“How about filling me in on the fascination you have for those dumped flowers?”

She snapped her head around and all but growled at him. “I’m not fascinated, I’m repulsed.”

“Why?”

“Why? How can you ask such a question. The person who is tormenting me sent those flowers, and you ask me why they repulse me.”

“You told me to get rid of the roses before you knew who they were from. Come on, level with me. Remember I’m the one guy you’re supposed to be able to trust.”

With her gaze boring a hole into him, she said, “My ex-husband used to send me red roses to apologize. Every time Buck beat the hell out of me, he sent me red roses the next day and a note saying ‘I’m sorry.’”

Chapter 3

J ack sat beside Peggy Jo as she drove along the busy downtown street in the late-afternoon rush-hour traffic. He hadn’t been surprised when she had rejected his offer to drive. Just another example of her I-gotta-be-in-charge-at-all-times attitude. He had turned in his rental car and explained to his client the necessity of him being with her at all times, and that most definitely included when she was en route to and from work. Her stalker knew where she worked and probably knew where she lived. It would be a simple matter for him—or her—to follow Peggy Jo, perhaps even to cause a minor accident in order to force Peggy Jo out of her car. There were so many clever ways for a stalker to make personal contact with his or her victim. Although everyone, including the client herself, believed her harasser to be male, Jack wasn’t ready to rule out the possibility that the culprit might be female. It would be easy enough for a woman to hire a man to make the phone calls for her.

Despite Peggy Jo’s adamant assurance that it was highly unlikely that her ex-husband was her stalker, Jack put Buck Forbes at the top of the list. When he’d suggested that Forbes should be considered as their number-one suspect, Peggy Jo had reminded him that she hadn’t seen or heard from her ex in thirteen years, so why would he suddenly begin harassing her? Put like that, it didn’t make much sense. But stranger things had been known to happen, so getting the police and the Dundee Agency to check out Buck Forbes was a top priority. Of course, the upcoming Thanksgiving holidays might slow things down a bit. That and the fact that the local police department had been less than cooperative.

The drive across the Market Street Bridge from the downtown business district to North Chattanooga took them across the Tennessee River. Sunset came early in late November, so the streetlights were already shining brightly, eliminating the darkness as Peggy Jo and Jack made their way toward home.

“So, how long have you lived here?” Jack asked.

“Here in Chattanooga or here at my present address?”

“Both.”

“I was born and raised here,” she replied. “But you must already know that. Surely your file of information on me states those mundane facts.”

“I’m trying to make conversation,” Jack said. “You know, just being friendly. Trying to break the ice.”

“This isn’t a date, Mr. Parker.” She cut her eyes in his direction for a brief glower, then returned her gaze to the road ahead. “There’s no need for idle chitchat.”

“Look, hon—Miss Peggy Jo, we’re going to be spending a lot of time together during the next few weeks or longer, so it might be nice for both of us if we tried to get along, if we made an effort to like each other.”

He felt rather than saw her tense. What was it with this gal? Had an abusive husband turned her off so completely that she couldn’t even be civil to a man? She was like a spooked filly who didn’t want any human hands on her.

“So, tell me about him,” Jack said.

“About who?”

“Your ex-husband. All I’ve got in my files is his name, the dates of your marriage and divorce. Stuff like that.”

“What do you want to know?” Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “Do you want to know how many times he beat me, how many times he told me what a stupid, ugly, fat, worthless piece of trash I was? Or would you like to hear the gory details of how he nearly killed me? How he did kill our unborn child?” Her voice cracked at this last admission.

Jack’s guts knotted painfully. The very thought that a man would raise a hand to a woman, let alone beat her, enraged Jack. God help him, if he could get his hands on Buck Forbes right this minute, he might kill him. He knew he’d sure like to give the sorry bastard a taste of what he’d given Peggy Jo. The man had actually hit his pregnant wife!

“You lost a child because of—”

“I was four months pregnant. I came home fifteen minutes late from my job as a receptionist, and he accused me of cheating on him with my boss. The accusation was ridiculous, of course, but that didn’t matter. He beat me until I was unconscious. I woke up several hours later in the hospital. I’d suffered a miscarriage.”

“God, honey, I’m sorry.” Jack’s hand reached for her in the semidarkness inside her car, but the moment he touched her, she cringed. He removed his hand instantly. He’d read in his file on her about the miscarriage, but hadn’t known it was a result of her husband’s brutality.

“I had put up with his cruelty for over three years. But after that night, I went to a shelter for abused women and I filed for a divorce.”

“All men aren’t like Buck Forbes.” Jack felt the need to defend his sex, to convince her that most men weren’t savage animals.

“I’m well aware of the fact that there are a lot of good, kind, loyal and loving men in the world. I just didn’t happen to have one of them for a father or a husband.”

Before Jack could respond, she pulled the Chrysler Sebring into the driveway of a large Craftsman-style house. The old house had a real sense of hominess to it, as if it had been built to accommodate a large family. He had noticed that the neighborhood, which was in the Riverview area, was comprised of both large and small houses, some neatly remodeled and others still in need of repair. His information on her residence stated that she lived in an older section of the city that was part of a mass renovation project.

Peggy Jo turned to face Jack. “Before we go inside, we need to go over a few ground rules.”

“Shoot.” Jack studied her face by the soft light of the nearby streetlight. An odd little spasm tightened inside him and he wondered at the cause.

“You’re a guest in my home, a temporary visitor.” She paused as if uncertain how to explain. “You’ll be treated with hospitality, of course, but…don’t try to ingratiate yourself to my housekeeper, Hetty, or to my daughter.”

Jack stared at her, puzzled by her statement. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me. In what way do you want me not to ingratiate myself to your housekeeper or your daughter? Are you saying don’t be charming, don’t make friends?”

“Exactly—don’t make friends. You’re a transitory fixture in our lives, and I don’t want Hetty trying to make something personal out of a relationship that is strictly business. And I certainly don’t want Wendy becoming attached to you in any way.”

Realization dawned. “Ah. I understand. You don’t want me playing daddy to your daughter. And you don’t want the housekeeper trying to play matchmaker for us.” Jack chuckled. Lordy. Lordy. He’d known some uptight women in his life, but Miss Peggy Jo sure did take the cake. Not only was she cautious and afraid for herself, but for her child, too. Poor little girl. And to be honest, he wasn’t sure whether he was referring to Wendy Riley or her mother.

“Just do the job you’ve been hired to do and keep your Southern charm to yourself.” With that said, Peggy Jo opened her car door, got out and rounded the hood.

Jack followed quickly, up the steps and onto the large wraparound porch. Before they reached the front door, it opened to reveal a stout, gray-haired woman standing just inside the foyer.

“Come on in, you two,” the housekeeper said, smiling broadly. “It’s getting cold out there.” She ushered them inside hurriedly, then held out her hand. “Let me take your jacket and hat, Mr. Parker.”

So, this was Hetty, Jack thought. A motherly type. Round and cheerful and fussing over them like a mother hen.

He handed her his denim jacket and black Stetson. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Her smile widened until it reached from ear to ear, deepening the faint lines around her brown eyes and in her rosy cheeks. “You can call me Hetty. I’m the housekeeper and nanny around here, but Peggy Jo will tell you that we’re all family in this house.”

“Nice to meet you, Hetty.” Jack offered her his hand. “You can call me Jack.”

Hetty hung his coat and hat on the ornate oak hall tree, then took his hand and gave it a firm shake. “I’m sure glad to meet you, young fella. We’re glad to have you with us. I’ve been telling Peggy Jo for months now that her crazy admirer wasn’t going away and what we needed—what she needed—was a man around here.”

“Well, Hetty, I’m your man.” Jack winked at her.

Hetty giggled. “My, my, I like you already.”

“If you two are finished with your mutual admiration society meeting…” Peggy Jo said with a look of exasperation.

“Oh, just ignore her,” Hetty said. “Come on in and meet the real boss around here.”

Peggy Jo sighed, then asked, “Where is Wendy?”

“She’s eating supper in the kitchen,” Hetty replied.

“Why is she eating now? She knew I’d be home in time for us to eat together.”

Hetty smiled, then glanced over at Jack. “Wendy had me set up things in the dining room for you and our guest, so the two of you could have supper together.”

“What!” Peggy Jo’s eyes narrowed to slits as she frowned.

“Don’t go fussing at her,” Hetty said. “She can’t help being excited. It’s the first time her mama has brought a man home with her.”

“This is ridiculous. I told her plainly that Mr. Parker is an employee, hired by me to…to watch over me.” Peggy Jo marched through the living room and into the dining room.

As Jack and Hetty followed, Hetty said, “You should know, for future reference, that her bark is much worse than her bite.”

“Yeah, I figured as much,” Jack replied. “But she sure does have a mighty fierce bark, doesn’t she?”

“Candles!” Peggy Jo shrieked. “Soft lighting, our best china, crystal and silver. Hetty Ballard, what sort of nonsense have you been putting in Wendy’s head about Mr. Parker and me?”

Nonplussed by the accusation against her, Hetty plopped a wide, meaty hand on her hip. “You’re accusing me unjustly. I’ve kept my mouth shut the whole livelong day. Wendy came up with this idea all on her own. And don’t you dare scold her, and I mean it. She thinks we’ve done something really special for you, and she can keep on thinking that if you don’t spoil this for her.”

“But I can’t let her think that there’s anything romantic going on between Mr. Parker and me,” Peggy Jo said. “I thought she understood last night when I explained the situation to her.”

“She’s a six-year-old who doesn’t have a daddy, and no matter what you tell her about Mr. Parker—” Hetty grinned “—about Jack, she’s going to hope…”

“I’ll have to speak with her again.” Peggy Jo headed for the kitchen. “We can’t have her dreaming up some romance—”

Hetty grabbed Peggy Jo’s arm, halting her. “Don’t spoil this for her. Not tonight. Save your talk for tomorrow. One day can’t hurt.”

Jack could tell that Peggy Jo was mulling the matter over in her mind, going through a battle trying to decide. Maybe he should step in and handle this situation.

“How about letting me talk to Wendy?” Jack suggested. “After you and I enjoy dinner by candlelight.”

Peggy Jo sighed; her shoulders drooped in defeat. “All right. I’ll wait until after dinner. But, Mr. Parker, I will explain your presence in our lives, in our home, to Wendy. Not you.”

If Hetty hadn’t become like a member of the family these past six years, Peggy Jo would fire her. Ever since Wendy started asking why she didn’t have a daddy, Hetty had spurred the child on in her requests for a father. And Hetty knew good and well that she never intended to remarry.

“Come on out to the kitchen and meet my daughter,” Peggy Jo said to Jack Parker, then glanced at Hetty. “Go ahead and serve dinner for us here in the dining room. But only tonight. If in the future Wendy comes up with any more nonsense like this, you’re not to encourage her.”

Peggy Jo couldn’t be truly angry with her daughter. She understood how much a father meant to a little girl—and to a big girl, too. Sometimes she felt guilty that she wasn’t able to give Wendy something as important as a father. To this day she missed her own father almost as much as she missed her mother. One of the most difficult things she had coped with in the therapy sessions she’d had during her time at the shelter and for years afterward, had been accepting the fact that although her father had still been alive during her difficult marriage, he hadn’t been able to be a real part of her life.

The moment she entered the kitchen, Wendy jumped up and came barreling toward Peggy Jo, then lifted her arms and cried out, “Mommy, you’re home!”

Peggy Jo picked up the fifty pounds of adorable mischief, who immediately straddled her legs around Peggy Jo’s waist. The two exchanged a big bear hug, then Wendy giggled as she stared at the man who came through the doorway directly behind Hetty.

“Are you the man who’s going to look after my mommy?” Wendy asked, squirming to be put down.

Peggy Jo obliged her by setting her back in the chair at the table. “This is Mr. Parker, the gentleman I told you I’d hired. He’s going to be our guest for a while.” Peggy Jo pointed to the plate of food in front of Wendy. “Now that you’ve met him, you can finish your supper and then one hour of TV before your bath.”

“Hey, there, Mr. Parker.” Wendy lifted her fork, but she didn’t take her eyes off Jack.

“Howdy, there, Miss Wendy.” He came forward, crouched to his haunches and shook hands with Wendy. “It’s mighty nice to meet you.”

“You know what—you talk like a cowboy.” Wendy hunched her shoulders and covered her mouth to smother a giggle.

Jack petted her under the chin, which made her giggle more. “Well, little darling, that’s because I am a cowboy. Born and raised in Texas on my daddy’s ranch.”

“You’ve got a daddy? Does he still live on his ranch?”

Peggy Jo noticed a flicker of something in Jack’s eyes, a momentary sadness mixed with something else. But the emotion lingered for no more than a flash. If she hadn’t been staring right at him, she would have missed the instant reaction to the mention of his father.

“Wendy, you’re being much too personal,” Peggy Jo said. “Mind your manners.”

Jack smiled at Wendy. “It’s okay, darling, you didn’t say anything wrong. The answer is yes, I had a daddy, but he died when I was thirteen.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Enough talk, missy,” Hetty said. “You finish off your pot roast, and as soon as I serve your mama and Mr. Park— Jack their supper in the dining room, I’ll cut you a piece of my jam cake.”

“Jam cake?” Jack rose to his feet and drew in a deep breath as if smelling the aroma of the special dessert.

“Made from scratch. My own dear mama’s recipe,” Hetty said.

“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.” Jack sighed dramatically. “Living in the house with three beautiful ladies and having jam cake on my first night here.”

Wendy and Hetty both cooed, like captivated fools. Jack Parker was a charmer all right. A snake charmer! He might have the other two “beautiful ladies” eating out of his hand before nightfall, but he didn’t impress her one bit. However, Peggy Jo reluctantly admitted that she’d have to be on guard. She had a sneaky feeling that Jack’s Texas sweet-talk had a way of wearing down a woman’s resistance, judging by the heat she felt inside her body. Heat that had nothing to do with her temper, she realized.

After dinner alone together in the candlelit dining room, Peggy Jo showed Jack upstairs. The food was the best he’d eaten in years. Hetty sure was a good cook. But the company had left a great deal to be desired. No matter how hard he tried to be captivating and witty, his efforts failed with Miss Peggy Jo. She was determined to remain unaffected by the charisma that had lured many a good ole gal straight into his arms. Of course, he didn’t want this particular gal in his arms. All he wanted was to make his job a little easier by putting her at ease around him. Undoubtedly, that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Peggy Jo Riley had constructed a ten-foot barbed-wire fence around herself, and only a fool would try trespassing. And Jack was nobody’s fool.

As he followed her upstairs, he heard the sound of childish laughter and splashing water. Hetty was probably giving Wendy her bath. Peggy Jo led him down the hall and into a large, neatly decorated room that had been painted an odd shade of brown. Sort of a reddish brown. The heavy wooden furniture appeared to be antique. Either that or really good reproduction pieces. He strolled in and took a good look around. He liked it just fine.

“This room has its own bath through there.” She pointed to the closed door on the right. “There’s a small TV in the armoire and a phone on the nightstand. And once you bring in your suitcase, feel free to use the closet and the empty top drawer in the dresser for your things.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I didn’t bring much. Just some underwear, socks, pajamas bottoms, a couple of shirts and jeans. I travel light and I’m not much for dressing up. But if you’d prefer that I wear a sport coat, I can—”

“How you dress is of no concern to me.” Peggy Jo stood tensely just inside the room. “Please, if you need anything, just let Hetty know.”

When she turned to leave, Jack caught up with her before she crossed the threshold. “Wait up.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“Where’s your bedroom?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t go getting yourself in a tizzy.” He hated that defensive expression on her face, the tense way she stood there, as if she were halfway afraid of him. Hell! He had put the fear of God into quite a few men, but never a woman. “I’m your bodyguard, remember. I’m here to protect you. If I’m to do my job the right way, I need to know certain things about this house and about your routine at home.”

As she sighed quietly, her shoulders relaxed. “Yes, of course. My bedroom is directly across the hall. Wendy’s bedroom is to your left, and Hetty’s room is next to Wendy’s.”

“Thanks.”

“Will that be all?”

“I notice you have a security system. I’ll need to know the codes.”

“Certainly. The password is sunshine. And the code is 1720.”

“Okay,” Jack said. “After I get settled in, I’ll need to ask you a few more questions.”

“By all means.”

She turned and sashayed across the hall and into her own room. What was it about her? Jack wondered. He’d seen women a lot better looking and most certainly with more appealing personalities, yet he found Peggy Jo intriguing. Was it because he saw her as a challenge? That had to be it. He sure wasn’t interested in her personally. He preferred his women a little less cool and defensive.

And apparently Miss Peggy Jo preferred her men—perhaps all men—to be kept at arm’s length.

The evening had passed fairly uneventfully, for which she was grateful. Wendy had been a little too mesmerized by Mr. Parker, and Hetty had been a little too solicitous. And Jack, as both Hetty and Wendy were calling him, had made himself a little too much at home to suit her. By the time he helped Peggy Jo tuck Wendy into bed, he was acting as if he were the man of the house. No doubt, Jack Parker was the type who simply took over, regardless of where he was.

As they left Wendy’s room, Jack placed his open palm across the small of Peggy Jo’s back. His hand was big and warm. And even such an innocent touch disturbed her greatly. She didn’t like to be touched. Not by men. And most definitely not by a large, rugged guy who towered over her by nearly nine inches. She rushed ahead of him in order to free herself from that massive hand.

Pausing in the doorway of her room, she waited for him, knowing that they had yet to finish up with their question-and-answer session.

“Do you want to go back downstairs?” he asked as he approached her.

“Not really. Hetty will close up. I’m tired and I’d like to take a long, hot bath and go to bed early.”

“Mmm-hmm. Why don’t you take that bath while I check things out downstairs and have a look around outside? I’ll lock up and arm the security system. Whatever other questions I have can wait until morning.”

“Thanks.” She took several steps inside her room, then paused and turned around to face him. “Despite my reservations about having a male bodyguard living here in the house, I am glad that you’re here. I’ll sleep better tonight knowing you’re close by. But I haven’t changed my mind about replacing you with a female bodyguard as soon as one is available.”

“I didn’t think you’d changed your mind,” Jack said. “But I’ll bet if you took a vote, Wendy and Hetty would vote to keep me.”

“Wendy and Hetty don’t have votes on this issue.”

“Pity.”

Jack turned and walked off, leaving her standing there staring at his back. As he descended the split staircase, he started whistling. He’d bet money that Miss Peggy Jo was still watching him. He could practically feel her heated glare boring into his back.

Just as he reached the foot of the stairs, the telephone rang. He stood still and waited for someone to answer it. The ringing stopped. He headed down the hallway toward the foyer. Suddenly he heard Peggy Jo’s voice calling him.

“Mr. Parker? Mr. Parker?”

He heard a sense of urgency in her voice. Damn, what was wrong? Before he reached the stairs, she called out again.

“Mr. Parker? Jack!”

He ran to the stairs, then took them two at a time. Peggy Jo met him on the landing where the staircase divided. She all but rushed into his arms. He reached out to steady her as their bodies collided.

Grabbing her shoulders, he said, “What is it? Are you all right?”

“It was him. On the phone.”

“Damn!”

“He said…he said for me to look on the back porch, that he’d left a present there for me.”

Jack felt her trembling, so without giving a thought to his actions, he pulled her into his arms to comfort her. And for just a moment she stayed there in the safety of his embrace, as if she truly liked the feel of his arms around her. But suddenly, when she realized what she was doing, Peggy Jo eased away from him, putting a foot of space between them.

“I’ll check the back porch,” Jack told her.

“Wait. I want to go with you.”

“There’s no need.”

“There’s every need,” she said. “Please don’t treat me like some weak, helpless female. This is my life, my problem, and I’m not going to back down just because I’m scared.”

Damn, he didn’t want to like her, didn’t want to admire her spunk. But he did. She was nothing like his mother. Nothing like so many of the women who claimed to be liberated females but in reality were as weak and clinging as their mothers and grandmothers had been.

“Come on, then,” he said. “Let’s go see what your secret admirer left for you.”

Chapter 4

P eggy Jo absolutely hated the fact that she was glad Jack Parker stood at her side as they opened the back door and walked out onto the porch. The escalating actions of her stalker unnerved her. And the very idea that the man had been to her home, on her back porch, gave her more than enough reason to be scared. Phone calls and letters had been annoying, but recent events—like the ransacking of her dressing room at the station—made her realize her life could well be in danger. Jill had done the right thing contacting the Dundee Agency before she returned to Atlanta last night. And even though Peggy Jo would have preferred a female agent, she wasn’t going to complain—ever again—about being protected by a macho hunk. A macho hunk with a gun! When he had gone out to her car for his bag, he’d removed his pistol from his hip holster, then taken a look around the house before he had allowed her to come outside. She’d thought she would never see the day when she would give any man the power to tell her what she could and couldn’t do. Yet there she had stood, waiting for Jack to give her the signal, letting her know it was okay. For now, at least.

She might not like being forced to rely on someone else, but she wasn’t stupid. Due to no fault of her own, some outside force was wreaking havoc on her peace of mind. She could well be in real danger. The only smart thing to do in a case like this was just what Jill had done. Call in a professional.

“There’s a box right beside the steps!” Peggy Jo’s heartbeat roared inside her head as she stared at the object plainly revealed by the overhead porch light.

“Just stay right here and let me take a look first.” Jack motioned for her to stay put.

She didn’t argue, didn’t even think about voicing a complaint. Nausea churned in her stomach as visions of all the horrible things that might be inside the box flashed through her mind. A dead animal. A poisonous snake. An explosive device of some sort.

Feeling as if her stomach had just turned inside out, Peggy Jo waited for Jack to examine the shoe-box size container. He took his time, looking at it, listening to it, feeling it. He did everything but lick the damn thing. After he lifted the lid and peered inside, he groaned.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Come see for yourself.” He held the box out in front of him.

Squaring her shoulders, she marched bravely forward, then cursed under her breath when she saw the contents of “the gift” her crazed admirer had left for her. She reached down and lifted the shiny jacket from her latest book, Putting Yourself First. A beard and mustache had been drawn in black marker on her publicity picture that graced the back of the jacket. And a monologue bubble had been drawn above her head, stating, “Kill all men!” Inside the box the broken spine of the hardback book lay open, and ripped-out pages had been torn in two or marred with black X marks.

“Well, at least it’s not a snake or a bomb.” Peggy Jo forced a weak smile. “The contents really don’t matter half as much as the fact that he was here, at my house. In my yard. On my back porch.”

“It seems obvious that this guy doesn’t like you. You’ve pissed him off in some way, and he wants you to know about it.”

“So it would seem.” Peggy Jo didn’t feel half as brave as she was pretending to be. “So, what now?”

“Put the book jacket back in the box,” Jack said. “We’ll want it all together when we turn it over to the police.”

“The police?”

“I believe Detective Gifford is the policeman you’ve been dealing with on this case. Right?”

Peggy Jo nodded.

“I’ll request that they contact him and I’ll make sure they understand that I expect them to go over the grounds thoroughly to see if they can find anything that I didn’t. They can take this box and its contents and have the crime lab go over everything with a fine-tooth comb.”

“I think Detective Gifford and the Chattanooga Police Department aren’t 100 percent sure that my stalker even exists. You know they’ve implied that Jill Lennard, my agent, created an imaginary stalker just to get me some extra publicity.”

“If that’s what they think, then it’s time they alter their opinion.” Jack grasped Peggy Jo’s arm and hauled her back into the kitchen. Once inside, he released her and laid the box on the table. “Why don’t you fix us something warm to drink, while I contact the police.”

A refusal danced on the tip of her tongue. She almost told him that she wasn’t going to fix him something to drink just because he was the man and she was the woman. But she thought better of the comment. She doubted he had meant anything sexist by his request. At least she could give him the benefit of the doubt. In fact, she wondered why she felt twice as tense around Jack as she did around any other man. Maybe it was precisely because his blatant masculinity was a constant reminder that she was still very much a woman.

“How about hot chocolate?” she asked, shrugging aside her uncomfortable thoughts.

He glanced back at her and grinned as he lifted the receiver off the wall phone. “That would be great. Thanks.”

Peggy Jo’s stomach fluttered. Reacting to Jack on a physical level surprised her. It wasn’t often that she felt attracted to a man in a sexual way. But there was something about this particular man, and her instincts warned her that if she didn’t keep up her guard, she’d be in deep trouble. Oh, girl, get real. What’s wrong with you? All the guy did was smile and say thanks. He didn’t award you a Nobel Prize or anything.

By the time she had the milk warming and the cocoa mix and two mugs sitting on the counter, Jack hung up the phone and turned to her.

“They’re sending someone over right now,” he said. “And they’ll notify Detective Gifford.”

When the milk came to almost a boil, she took the pot off the hot stove. As she spooned the cocoa mix into their mugs, she said, “I assume you’ve worked on cases like mine before, haven’t you?”

“Yep.”

She poured the steaming milk into the mugs, then hurriedly stirred the milk to blend in the cocoa. “What usually happens? Do y’all catch the stalker? Does the stalker—”

“In most cases the stalker is caught and sent to prison. In a few cases the stalker is killed by the police or by the victim. And sometimes…sometimes, the stalker kills his or her victim.”

“Things have begun progressing quickly. He’s gone from letters and phone calls to ransacking my dressing room, sending me roses that everyone knows I detest, and now leaving me this little present.” She eyed the box on the table. “So, in your opinion, what comes next? Is there a way to predict what he’ll do now?”

“You can’t accurately predict what a deranged mind will come up with, but his actions are advancing fairly rapidly now, so my guess would be that he’s building up to a more personal contact.”

Peggy Jo handed Jack a cup of hot chocolate. He accepted it, nodded and mouthed a thank-you.

“Are you talking about face-to-face contact?” she asked.

“Not at first. Not yet. But we can expect him or her to do more things to let you know that he or she can get to you. At work. At home.” Jack sipped the rich, warm drink. “I think it’s time the FBI got involved. The CPD might have been reluctant to contact the Bureau since they suspected your stalker was a publicity hoax, but I’m going to insist the Feds be brought in as soon as possible.”

Peggy Jo pulled out a chair and sat at the table, then set her untouched cocoa on the place mat in front of her. “I don’t understand how a stalking case could be a federal matter.”

“There’s a federal statute that prohibits sending physical threats through the U.S. mail.” Jack pulled out a chair and sat down beside her. “Ms. Lennard faxed the Dundee Agency several of the letters your admirer sent to you. I think both of the ones I read would qualify as physical threats. Regardless of what they suspected, the police should have already called the FBI.”

“And what can the FBI do that the police and you can’t do?”

“We each serve a different purpose. The local police are duty bound to investigate any criminal activities that fall under their jurisdiction. The Dundee Agency provides you constant protection—” he thumped himself on the chest “—in the form of yours truly. And our firm can do private investigative work that the police either can’t do or won’t do. Then the Feds add another element. Just knowing that the FBI is involved might deter the stalker.”

“I see.”

“And getting a psychological profile on our stalker could help us unearth his identity. Dundee has a psycholinguistics expert, and we can compare his finding with the Bureau’s expert. The bottom line is that the more people we have working on this case, the better our odds of finding this person and keeping you safe.”

“My life was so simple, so uncomplicated, until six months ago.” Peggy Jo stared down into her mug. “I just don’t understand why anyone would be doing this to me.”

“Believe me, he has his reasons. They may be illogical and totally insane, but to him they’re reason enough to come after you, to torment you. It could be as simple as your having said something on one of your shows that he took offense at, or something in your book.” Jack eyed the box resting on the table. “Or it could be someone you know. A rejected suitor. A guy with a sick crush on you who has grown to hate you because you haven’t responded to his advances. The list goes on and on.”

“Chet Compton. Ross Brewster. Buck Forbes,” she said. “Each one of them might have reason to hate me.”

“And it could be a woman behind the threats, so don’t rule out your TV rival, Tia Tuesday. Or a female admirer with a loose screw.” Jack gestured by tapping his head. “Your assistant, Kayla. Or if you have a fan club, someone in that club.”

“My fan club? Surely, not someone who— The president of my fan club lives here in Chattanooga. Donel Elmore. But she’s a sweetheart of a person. She sends me Christmas gifts and birthday gifts. And I trust Kayla completely. I just can’t suspect everyone I know.”

“You can’t afford not to suspect everyone—with the possible exceptions of Hetty and Wendy. And me.”

That damn don’t-you-just-find-me-irresistible grin of Jack’s all but curled Peggy Jo’s toes. This is getting ridiculous, she told herself. She didn’t even like this man and yet when he smiled at her, her knees turned to Jell-O. The last thing she needed right now, at this time in her life, was some man that made her feel like a woman. A silly, fluttering female in heat!

She cleared her throat. “Does that include everyone at the station? Are you really asking me to suspect people I trust implicitly? People like Kayla and Leda and Burt?”

“I’m not asking you to suspect them. Not exactly. All I want you to do is be careful not to trust anyone too easily. If anyone you know has done or said anything that is suspect, then I want you to tell me. I’ve begun compiling a suspects list and once we get the profile done on your stalker, we can see if that profile fits anyone on our list.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Finally Peggy Jo lifted the mug to her lips and drank the lukewarm cocoa. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t hot. It was sweet and it was chocolate. What else did a woman need during a stressful time like this?

The doorbell rang. Peggy Jo gasped and trembled. Jack reached over and placed his hand on her shoulder. She stared at him for a brief moment and suddenly wanted to throw herself into his arms and cry. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, the strain was getting to her. Her nerves were shot.

“You stay here, and I’ll go to the door,” Jack told her. “It’s probably the police. I told them I’d be timing how long it took them to get here.”

“You didn’t.” Peggy Jo smiled.

“Oh, yes, ma’am, I did.”

An hour later, after the police questioned Peggy Jo and Jack as well as Hetty, who’d gotten up and come downstairs shortly after the doorbell rang, quiet descended on the Riverview house. Jack waited until Hetty and Peggy Jo had gone upstairs before he did a final check and armed the security system. As he turned off the last light downstairs, he hesitated a moment. He heard the soft, distant tinkling of music. Something sweet. An old-fashioned tune playing so quietly that at first he’d thought he was imagining the sound. What was it? Where was it coming from? As he climbed the stairs and walked down the hall toward his room, the music grew slightly louder, yet was still hushed and delicate. It sounded like a music box.

He glanced into Wendy’s room. She was sound asleep. The music wasn’t coming from there. Hetty, wrapped up in her flannel housecoat, stood in the doorway to her room. Her gaze locked with Jack’s. She nodded in the direction of Peggy Jo’s room. He understood that her gesture was to let him know exactly where the music was coming from. When he knocked on Peggy Jo’s door, he glanced back at Hetty. She smiled at him, then turned around and went into her room.

Peggy Jo opened the door just a crack and peered at Jack. “Yes, what is it?”

He grasped the side of the door and forced it open a few more inches. When he got a good look at her face, he saw that Peggy Jo had been crying. He glanced beyond her, inside her room. There in the center of her bed lay a large musical snow globe.

“I heard the music,” he said.

“Oh. It’s just that.” She pointed to the glass globe. “I didn’t realize anyone else could hear it, not with my door closed.”

“Are you all right?” he asked. Of course, she wasn’t all right, he realized. She’d been crying. And in his experience he found that when a strong, in-control woman like Peggy Jo cried, it meant something.

“I’m fine,” she replied. “Perfectly fine.”

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” He could tell she wasn’t fine, but she also wasn’t going to admit any momentary weakness to him.

“Mr. Parker, I didn’t hire you to be my psychiatrist or my counselor. Your job is to protect me, not comfort me.”

Acting purely on instinct, Jack shoved the door fully open and then brushed the back of his hand across Peggy Jo’s flushed cheek. “My job is to take care of you. And that includes giving you a shoulder to cry on, if you need it.”

“I don’t need—”

He placed his index finger over her lips, adeptly silencing her rejection. “If you’re feeling a little shaky right now, a little out of control, that’s to be expected. And if you don’t want Hetty or Wendy or any of your friends to see you being just the least bit weak, then turn to me, Miss Peggy Jo. I’m your man.”

When she stared at him and for a couple of seconds, he thought she was going to succumb, that she was going to let down her defenses just enough to seek his comfort. But suddenly the barriers came back up, the defensive mechanisms snapped back into place. “You’re mistaken, Mr. Parker. You’re my bodyguard. Nothing more.” She glared at him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go to bed.”

“All right.” He backed off, but when she started to close the door, he said, “Leave the door open, please.”

“I’d prefer it closed.”

“I insist that it stays open.”

“But—”

“Your choice…either the door stays open or I sleep in your room.”

She left the door open.

She wouldn’t cry anymore. Not tonight. Not unless she hid in the bathroom so no one could possibly hear her. As she lay in bed, the musical snow globe resting on her stomach, Peggy Jo wondered why she’d obeyed Jack Parker’s orders. When he’d given her a choice of either keeping the door open or him sleeping in her room, why hadn’t she reminded him that she was his boss, not the other way around? Answer that! she demanded of herself. Because you knew the man wasn’t bluffing. And you knew he was right.

She lifted the snow globe, turned it over and wound the musical mechanism. The theme from the old movie, Love Story, played softly, sweetly, reminding her of her mother. It had been her mother’s favorite song. When Peggy Jo had left home at seventeen, fleeing from her angry, jealous stepmother and her weak-willed father, she had taken only a suitcase of clothes and this one precious item—Marjorie Riley McNair’s treasured snow globe. Over the years this one possession of her mother’s had become a symbol of security and love, just as taking her mother’s maiden name had been a tribute to her mother’s memory. If only her mother hadn’t died when Peggy Jo was seven. If only her father hadn’t married Agnes when Peggy Jo was fourteen. If only her father hadn’t allowed his new wife to make life a living hell for the teenage Peggy Jo. If only Vernon McNair had given his own daughter half the love and attention he’d given his new wife and stepson. But years ago Peggy Jo had realized the uselessness of wasting too much time thinking if only. She seldom allowed herself to look back, to think about what might have been. Only on rare occasions when she wallowed in self-pity. She had so many regrets that she could spend a week just naming all of them. Of course, the biggest mistake she’d ever made was marrying Buck Forbes.

Don’t think about Buck! You have enough to worry about without reliving the three and a half miserable years you were married to that bastard!

She set the globe on the nightstand to her right, turned off the lamp and pulled the covers up to her neck. As she tossed and turned, adjusting and readjusting to find the most comfortable position for sleep, she started thinking about Jack Parker. And no matter how hard she tried to dismiss the man from her mind, she couldn’t. She shut her eyes tight and started silently chanting the words to the theme song of her TV show. Suddenly an image of Jack flashed through her mind. His wide, sexy smile. His broad shoulders. His big hands. His big feet. His big gun!

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