Her Texas Protector

Bodyguard Boone Wilder isn’t keen on his latest mission: watching over a pretty politician’s daughter. Boone is from quiet Texas Hill Country, and Kayla is a showy city gal. But once safely settled at the Wilder Ranch, Boone watches Kayla enjoy cooking with his family, caring for his relatives and bottle-feeding calves. There’s more to her than he ever knew. Still, the former soldier’s wounds are way too deep to let Kayla close. But when he discovers that someone wants to hurt Kayla, Boone must risk his heart to protect what he cares about most.

She hadn’t expected this.

Boone should be in the background, quietly observing. And yet here she sat with her bodyguard and his family, talking of cattle and fixing fences.

A hand settled on her back. She glanced at the man next to her; his dark eyes crinkled at the corners and his mouth quirked, revealing a dimple in his left cheek.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but a heavy knock on the front door interrupted. He pushed away from the table.

“I think I’ll get that.” His gaze landed on Kayla. “You stay right where you are until I say otherwise.”

“They wouldn’t come here,” she said.

“We don’t know what they would or wouldn’t do, because we don’t know who they are. Stay.” He walked away.

Kayla avoided looking at the people who still remained at the table. She knew they were looking at her. She knew that her life had invaded theirs.

And she knew that her bodyguard might seem like a relaxed cowboy, but he wasn’t. He was the man standing between her and the unknown.

BRENDA MINTON lives in the Ozarks with her husband, children, cats, dogs and strays. She is a pastor’s wife, Sunday school teacher, coffee addict and sleep-deprived. Not in that order. Her dream to be an author for Harlequin started somewhere in the pages of a romance novel about a young American woman stranded in a Spanish castle. Her dreams came true, and twenty-plus books later, she is an author hoping to inspire young girls to dream.

Her Rancher Bodyguard

Brenda Minton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution,

or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword?

—Romans 8:35

To those who persevere.

To my family and friends,

for the support and prayers.

And to Melissa and Giselle.

Without you, I’d be a mess.

Thank you for everything!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

From bodyguard to babysitter. Boone Wilder leaned against the exterior brick wall of a closed boutique store in a pricey part of Austin, Texas. The sun had set more than an hour earlier and the temperature had cooled to a balmy eighty degrees. Not bad for early September. But he wished he was at home in Martin’s Crossing sipping iced tea on his front porch and not standing in front of a clothing store in Austin on a late-summer evening.

He should have argued a little more when his partner Daron McKay had asked him to take this case. Daron knew the subject and knew she wouldn’t listen to him. The third partner at MWP Bodyguard Services, Lucy Palermo, was Boone’s backup. Daron had joked that Lucy couldn’t take lead because Lucy would just shoot the client if she got on her nerves.

Lucy hadn’t found that statement as amusing as Boone and Daron.

At the moment his client was across the street in a trendy café, sipping coffee and oblivious to his presence. That was how her dad, William Stanford, wanted it. Boone’s job was to keep Kayla Stanford out of trouble, without her being aware. He’d been following her for a week now, close enough to keep her safe, far enough away that she didn’t have a clue.

He’d like to keep it that way, with her not knowing of his existence. He was supposed to interfere in Kayla’s life only if she appeared to be in danger, or if she appeared to be on the verge of creating a scandal. Those were her father’s directives. Boone had talked to Kayla’s half brother Brody Martin, who had assured him that she had a way of generating controversy.

A group of people were walking down the sidewalk. He stepped back, leaned against the wall and pulled his hat low. He touched the brim as they walked past, just to be gentlemanly. One of the women, a little older, and wearing too much makeup, winked and then grabbed the arm of a friend. They smiled and talked loudly about his jeans and cowboy boots, their voices echoing against the brick buildings on each side of the street.

As he watched for Kayla Stanford to leave the café, Boone planned what he’d say to Daron. Yeah, this was a good job and the big fat check they’d been paid was welcome. But this was not what Boone had signed on for when he, Daron and Lucy had started their bodyguard business a little over a year ago. So far they’d managed to build a decent business by protecting politicians and doing security at various functions. Those were the jobs they were trained for. The three of them had served together in Afghanistan and they’d formed a bond.

Kayla Stanford, half sister of the Martins of Martin’s Crossing, was trouble. She needed a babysitter. Boone just didn’t want to be that guy.

Unfortunately he was.

Across the street the neon open sign went off in the café. He headed down the sidewalk, keeping an eye on his target. The place was still lit up inside. Most of the customers had long since left and he could see Kayla standing near the door with a group of friends. Her dark hair was pulled up in one of those messy buns his sisters loved, and she wore a dark red dress that was too short. His granny would have told her some nice lace around the hem would look pretty. He grinned at the thought.

Then Kayla kissed cheeks, hugged friends and did a cutesy finger wave. As she walked out the door, her smile faded away. That didn’t surprise him. He’d done some digging, talked to her family in Martin’s Crossing, read some headlines. He’d learned a lot from the articles, from pictures in society columns. Most of the articles were about her antics, her beauty and her style. But he’d seen more. He’d noticed dark shadows under her eyes. He’d seen desperation. Everyone thought she had it all, but he thought she had less than most.

And she covered up her unhappiness by acting out. A couple of months ago, it was a slow-speed chase with the police.

The only time she kept to herself and stayed scandal-free was when she visited her siblings in Martin’s Crossing. He’d never seen her in his hometown. She stayed at the ranch, holed up with her half sister Samantha Martin. Soon to be Samantha Jenkins.

Across the street she glanced around, and then walked down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. He’d guessed wrong. He’d thought she would cross the street and head for her car parked at the end of the block. When he glanced across the street, he noticed a shadow moving from the dark recesses of a building. Someone else seemed to be watching Kayla Stanford.

So much for an easy babysitting gig.

* * *

Someone was following her. Kayla walked faster, not taking time to glance back over her shoulder to see if she could get a look at the man. For two months, the feeling would come at the oddest times. The uneasy feeling as she walked down the street. The prickling of fear when she walked through the door of her apartment.

At first she’d convinced herself it was her imagination. And then she’d told herself it had to do with her lifestyle. She’d been partying hard for a few years, trying to numb herself against pain and anger. But a few months ago she’d quit everything, just to convince herself she was in her right mind and not imagining things.

The footsteps drew closer, speeding up to match her own hurried steps. She’d panicked when she first realized she’d gone in the opposite direction of her car. The farther she went, the darker it seemed to get. These weren’t the streets she wanted to be on late at night, alone.

She reached into the purse that hung close to her waist. Her fingers curled around a small can. She turned, prepared to scream, to fight. Before she could do either, a fist connected with the side of her jaw. She jolted back, trying to stay upright. A rough shove and she fell backward, landing hard, her head hitting the brick building at her back. She caught a glimpse of blond hair and glasses. But the features were a blur.

Blinking, she fought to stay conscious. She heard a shout. Heard footsteps pounding. A hand reached for her arm. Unwilling to go down without a fight, she sat up, aimed and sprayed.

“Oh, man, you sprayed the wrong guy.” The words sounded as if they were coming through a tunnel. She tried to focus but her eyes were burning and her head throbbed.

“Go away,” she managed to croak out.

“Babysitting. I’m reduced to babysitting a woman who can’t even spray the right man.” Hands were on her arms. A face peered into hers. “Sorry, but I’m not going away.”

“I’ll spray you again.” She meant for the words to sound strong but they came out garbled and weak. She was still sitting on the sidewalk, her head resting on her knees. She took a deep breath that did nothing to ease the stabbing pain in her back and the headache that had clamped down on her skull.

“Take a deep breath,” he ordered, ignoring her threats. Strong fingers felt her back. She winced. Those same fingers moved to her scalp. She let out a yelp. “Relax. And drop the pepper spray. I’m the rescuer, not the assailant. He’s long gone.”

She blinked a few times, trying to focus on the stranger looming over her. Tall and lean with ropy muscles, the man fit the “tall, dark and handsome” label to a T. He wore a dark cowboy hat, T-shirt and jeans. Something he’d said sank in. “Babysitting?”

“We’ve been hired by your father to keep track of you. And it looks as if you need us more than he realized.”

“I can take care of myself.” Her vision swam a little as she rubbed her jaw, wiggling it to make sure it wasn’t broken.

“Of course you can take care of yourself. Do you know who that was?” he asked.

She shook her head and the movement cost her. The pain radiated from her head down. Her stomach wasn’t faring much better.

The man looming over her dialed his phone. “Lucy, can you pick us up? About two blocks down from the restaurant....No, I’m not fine. Neither is she. She’s got a pretty good gash on the back of her head. And she sprayed me with pepper spray....Stop laughing. I’m going to have to take my contacts out so you’ll have to drive us to the hospital.”

After ending the call he swiped a finger across each eye and tossed contact lenses she couldn’t see. But she did see that his eyes were watering and he tried to wipe the moisture with the tail of his shirt.

“Big baby,” Kayla muttered. She felt a little bit sick. The world wasn’t quite as sharp as it should have been. She wanted to tell him but she couldn’t get the words out.

“Can you get up?”

He squatted next to her and peered at her face. His features swam. She tried to shake her head but that resulted in a wave of nausea. Something pressed against the back of her head. She tried to push his hand away but he couldn’t be budged.

“You’re bleeding,” he said.

“I’m going to...” She didn’t say more. The world went dark and the last thing she remembered were strong arms picking her up as he yelled for Lucy to open the door.

* * *

Kayla came to as they were pulling up to the hospital. From a distance, she heard voices. They were discussing her father and being hired to keep her out of trouble. That was all she’d ever been to her father. Trouble. She struggled to sit up, pulling free from the arm that held her close.

“You’re not trouble,” he whispered. The words, the way he said them, took her by surprise. She wanted to believe him.

She sat up, closing her eyes when the world spun a little bit out of control. The back door opened and night air, humid and warm, clashed with the air-conditioned interior of the SUV.

“Come on, sunshine, let’s get you checked out.”

“How do I know you’re not the one I should be afraid of?” She scooted toward the door where he stood.

He gave her a sympathetic look and she noticed that his eyes, dark brown and thick-lashed, were still red and watery from the pepper spray.

“I guess you’ll have to trust me. As a rule, muggers don’t typically take their victims to the emergency room.” He reached for her, holding her steady when she wobbled. His hands were strong, calloused and strangely gentle.

“I’m going to park and I’ll meet you inside,” the woman driving the SUV called out. “Are you going to be okay, Boone?”

“I can’t see much but other than that, great. Don’t be too long,” her rescuer responded.

“Your name is Boone?” Kayla asked as he led her toward the entrance of the ER.

“Boone Wilder.”

“I’ve heard that name before.” She had to stop for a second. Her head was pounding and she felt sick.

“I’m from Martin’s Crossing.” He slipped his hand from hers and put an arm around her back. “Are you going to make it?”

“Of course. I don’t even need to be here.”

“I think we’ll get a second opinion on that.”

“I could refuse treatment,” she said as they headed up the sidewalk toward the entrance.

“Yeah, you could. But it’s hard to refuse treatment if you’re unconscious.”

“How did you become my babysitter, Boone Wilder?” She blinked away the blurriness and kept walking, aware that he was studying her as if he thought she might fall over.

“Your father hired our bodyguard service to keep you out of trouble for the duration of this election. I don’t think he realized you were actually in need of a bodyguard. Any idea who that was back there?”

“Not a clue.”

“But since you were armed with pepper spray, I’m guessing this wasn’t random?”

“It’s been going on for a couple of months.” She stopped as another wave of dizziness hit, making her vision swim.

Without warning she was scooped into his arms. Again.

“You don’t have to carry me,” she protested, albeit weakly.

“No, of course not. But I also don’t want you passing out in the parking lot. Relax. You’re not as light as you look.”

“Charming.”

He flashed white teeth and a dimple. “I try.”

She felt him limp a bit as they headed toward the door. “I can walk.”

“Probably.”

To distract herself she studied his face. Lean and handsome, but rugged. She had never been attracted to the type. As she perused his features she noticed a scar on his cheek. It was a few inches long and jagged. There was a similar scar on his neck, just above his collarbone. Without thinking, she touched it.

He flinched.

“I’m sorry. What happened?” She pulled back, suddenly unsure.

“Nothing personal,” he growled. “But it isn’t any of your business.”

“Of course it isn’t. I’d love to tell you my life isn’t any of your business. But I guess my dad has taken that right from me.”

“And if we hadn’t been there tonight?”

She shivered and his arms tightened. They walked through the doors of the ER and he settled her in a wheelchair that had been left near the entrance. She brought her legs up and huddled tight to warm herself. Boone pushed her to the front desk. There were questions to answer, paperwork to fill out, and then they were directed through double doors where a nurse met them.

“Right this way.” The nurse motioned them to follow her to a room midway down the hall.

“She’s cold. Can you get her a blanket?” Boone said as he pushed her into the room.

“I should call your dad,” he said to her.

“Don’t bother.” Kayla blinked away tears that she told herself were the result of the blow to her head and nothing more. “He’s out of town.”

“Still,” he said, sounding insistent. She wished he’d go away. But if he did, she’d be alone. She was tired of being alone.

What did that say about her life, that she was so lonely she wanted this man, this stranger, to stay with her? There was something comforting about his presence.

“I’ll call your sister, then,” he said. He pulled off his cowboy hat and brushed a hand through short, dark hair. His eyes still watered.

“You should get your eyes cleaned out,” Kayla offered.

The nurse gave him a good look as she helped Kayla onto the bed. “I’ll have an aid flush your eyes out. Right now let’s get you settled. I’ll be right back and we’ll get you changed into a gown.”

Kayla gripped the edge of the bed as another wave of dizziness hit. “I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into this. And for the pepper spray. I’ll pay to replace your contacts.”

“No need to apologize.” His voice rumbled close by. She felt his hand on her foot. He was removing her shoes. First one and then the other. She forced her eyes open and watched him. He was looking down so she had a view of the crown of his head, of his dark hair.

“Thank you.” She managed to get the words out, closing her eyes again to block his concerned expression and the tumultuous emotions that bounced around inside her.

Needing someone was not her thing.

“You’re welcome,” he said, standing up. “Is there anything else I can do?”

She shook her head, the movement costing her. She put a hand to her temple. “Make this headache go away?”

He put a hand on her shoulder briefly. “I’m sure they’ll give you something.”

And then he was moving toward the door and the nurse was there, agreeing that they would get her something for pain.

“I can’t,” Kayla tried to explain. The nurse gave her a curious look. “No narcotics.”

Boone Wilder, babysitter, bodyguard, whatever he thought of himself, stopped at the door. “I’ll be here when you get back from CT. And we’ll have to call the police and file a report.”

The door slid open and his partner stepped inside. She wasn’t tall but Kayla got the impression this woman with her long dark hair, dark eyes and pretty face could intimidate almost anyone.

“Kayla Stanford, this is Lucy Palermo. We’re partners in MPW Bodyguard services.” Boone waved at the other woman in introduction.

“Palermo. Wilder. What does the M stand for?” Kayla asked as she leaned back on the bed.

“McKay. Daron McKay,” Boone said.

“Of course.” She covered her eyes with her hand to block the bright fluorescent lighting. “Our dads have worked together in the past.”

“That’s what Daron told us,” Lucy said with just the slightest Hispanic accent.

The nurse rested a hand on Kayla’s arm. “Time to get you into that hospital gown.”

“We’ll be out in the hall,” Boone said as he settled his hat back on his head.

“You don’t have to stay,” Kayla shot back, knowing he wouldn’t listen.

“You can’t get rid of us that easily.”

Of course she couldn’t. And even though she’d said the words, she didn’t mean them. Even strangers who had been paid to keep tabs on her were better than nothing.

She was so tired of being alone.

Chapter Two

Sunshine streamed through the bedroom window of her apartment. Kayla closed her eyes and wished away the brightness. Worse, someone was singing. She put a hand to her head where it ached. Minor concussion, staples in the back of her head and a bruise on her shoulder. The doctor last night had told her she was fortunate. It could have been worse.

The police report they’d taken after the CT scan and stitches had furthered that theory. They wrote it off as an attempted mugging. She’d allowed them to think so. Fortunately Boone Wilder hadn’t been around to add his opinion.

But he was here now. She was sure it was him singing about sunshine.

She groaned, rolled over and gingerly pushed herself to a sitting position on the edge of her bed.

“Welcome back to the land of the living.” Lucy Palermo’s softly accented voice took her by surprise.

Kayla turned and saw her sitting in the chair in the corner, a book in her lap. Her dark hair was braided and she wore a T-shirt and yoga pants.

“I suppose that’s a good thing,” Kayla said as she stood. “Oh, wow, standing is overrated.”

“Take it easy.” Lucy rushed to Kayla’s side.

“I’m not going to fall.” Kayla took a deep breath. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“I’ll be here if you need anything.”

“I don’t need anything,” Kayla said, then she sighed, because it wasn’t the other woman’s fault. “I’m a grown woman and I should have a say in whether or not I allow bodyguards to follow me.”

Lucy shrugged. “I agree. Unfortunately that isn’t up to me.”

The singing grew louder, and Kayla cringed. “Does he have to sing?”

“Yeah, unfortunately he does. You’ll get used to it. Or buy earplugs.”

She made it to the door of the bathroom but hesitated at the opening. “Is that bacon I smell?”

Lucy rolled her dark eyes. “Yeah, he insists on a big breakfast every morning. Do you want to eat before you shower?”

“No, that’s okay. I’m not hungry.”

Dark eyes swept her from top to bottom. “You might not be hungry, but you look as though you haven’t had a decent meal in weeks.”

“I don’t think my dad hired you to make sure I eat.”

“No, I guess he didn’t.” Lucy opened her book and let the subject drop.

Kayla didn’t want food. She closed her eyes and counted to ten as she leaned against the door frame. But she’d have to count to a million to get through this, through strangers in her home, through the fear that stalked her every day, through the cravings that still dogged her at times. Through the emotional roller coaster of losing the mother she hadn’t ever really known. Could you lose someone you never had?

The aroma of breakfast invaded her senses. The bacon smelled so good. She tried to remember the last time she’d had a decent breakfast, something other than a doughnut and coffee. Or just coffee. She couldn’t remember.

“I’ll be out in ten minutes,” she told Lucy as she closed the door behind her.

Fifteen minutes later she emerged. Boone Wilder in jeans, a T-shirt, cowboy hat and no shoes was standing in her kitchen at the sink washing dishes. She glanced past him, to the full pot of coffee, the plate of biscuits and the pan of gravy.

He tossed her a smile over his shoulder. “Hey, sunshine, ’bout time you crawled out of bed.”

She glanced at the clock. Barely eight in the morning. “It isn’t as if I slept until noon.”

“No, I guess not. Grab some breakfast. We have a lot to do today.”

Her mouth watered. She shook her head. “I don’t eat breakfast.”

He looked at her in mock horror. “What? It’s the most important meal of the day.”

Was he always this cheerful? She shook her head and ignored the tantalizing aroma that filled her kitchen. She rarely cooked, and if she did it was a frozen dinner, something on the grill or takeout reheated in the microwave. Boone Wilder was filling a plate with biscuits, gravy and bacon.

He shoved the plate into her hands and nodded toward the seat on the other side of the counter. “Eat.”

She lifted the plate to inhale. “You made this?”

“Of course.”

She took a seat on the opposite side of the counter. “What is it we have to do today?”

He poured her a cup of coffee and slid it across the counter. “First, I need a tux.”

“Why, are you going to a wedding?” She eyed him over the rim of her coffee mug. She hoped he was the best man, not the groom.

“Nope, I’m taking you to the ball, Cinderella.”

“Sorry, but no. I’m not fond of the wicked stepmother.”

“But I’d make such a snazzy Prince Charming,” he said as he lifted his coffee cup in salute. “Do you have something against the prince, the singing animals or wicked stepmothers?”

“All of the above.” She gave him a long look that forced a sharp comment. “Especially handsome princes with cowboy hats and big smiles.”

“Ouch.” He touched his hand to his heart. “Sorry, but we don’t have a choice.”

“Then, tell me what we’re really doing because I’m too old for fairy tales.”

“We’re going to your dad’s fund-raiser. I’m supposed to make sure you show up and that you behave.”

She took a bite of biscuit. “He knows me so well.”

That was what this was all about. It wasn’t about her safety. It was about his campaign. His career. And making sure she didn’t mess up either one. She was twenty-four years old and he still doubted her ability to be a Stanford. Truth be told, she doubted it, too. If he hadn’t done the DNA test, she would have been positive she wasn’t his offspring, so different were they.

She was her mother’s daughter. The embarrassment. He’d never actually called her that. Her youngest half brother, Michael, had. She’d heard him tell a friend to ignore her, that she was dropped off on the doorstep as a baby and her mother was insane.

“You okay?” Boone Wilder’s voice was softly concerned, taking her by surprise.

She looked up from the empty plate and gave him her best carefree smile. “Of course. I’m just deciding what to wear.”

“Of course you are.”

“We could let him know I have a concussion and maybe he’ll let us off the hook.”

“I already tried that. He said if you can walk, he wants you there.”

“Of course he did. Dear old Dad, he’s all heart.”

He refilled her mug, then his. “For what it’s worth, he did sound concerned.”

“Did he?” That was a surprise. She carried her plate to the sink and rinsed it. “Where’s Lucy?”

“On your patio. She said you have the best view in the city.” Boone took the rinsed plate and opened the door of the dishwasher.

“I’m sorry about last night. I’m sure you didn’t plan for a fun Friday night at the ER.”

“We were working. So nothing to apologize for.”

Of course. Her dad was probably paying them a decent amount for their babysitting services. “If you have your measurements, we can send out for a tux. No need to go shopping. And I already have a dress.”

“I do have my measurements. But I’d give anything to not go shopping.”

She noticed he rubbed his shoulder as he said it. Her gaze was drawn again to the scar on his face, and then lower to the one on his neck.

“Shrapnel,” he said.

She met his dark gaze. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”

“No one ever does.”

“Iraq?”

“Afghanistan.” He set his cup on the counter. “About that monkey suit I have to wear...”

She nodded and headed for her room and her cell phone she’d left there. When she walked through the door of her bedroom, she noticed the bouquet of flowers on her dresser. Her dad had probably sent them. His way of being there when he wasn’t.

She found the card buried amid the blooms and opened it.

You shouldn’t have run, because now we’re going to play dirty. Your secrets remain secrets. We get the money. Tell your father.

She grabbed the flowers and hurried from her room, carrying them in front of her. She ignored Boone as she opened the trash can and shoved the flowers inside, vase and all. She ripped up the card and tossed it in, shuddering as the scraps of paper fluttered among the bloodred blooms.

“What’s that all about?” Boone’s voice rumbled in her ear. She shook her head, unable to answer.

He reached past her, retrieving the pieces of card.

“Who delivered these?” he asked as he pieced the card together on the counter.

“Like I know? I was sleeping. You were here when they were delivered.” Her voice shook. She really didn’t want to sound shaky or afraid. She didn’t want to give this unknown person that kind of power over her.

“No, actually, I wasn’t. The flowers were on your dresser when we got here last night. You were pretty wiped out and probably didn’t notice.”

“They were in here already?”

“Yeah, darlin’, they were here. On your dresser. You didn’t know you had flowers?”

“No. I didn’t know.”

“Well, that’s a problem,” Boone said, as casual as if he was talking about the weather.

“So what do we do?” Lucy asked as she walked in from the living room.

“We go on about our business.” Boone shrugged as he said it. “And we all sit down and get honest about what’s going on here. Your dad said he wants you front and center at campaign events. And you’re trying to push this off as an overzealous admirer. Neither of you is being honest. What secrets is this guy talking about?”

“I don’t know. Maybe my drug use. Most people know about my mom. Maybe this person believes there’s more to her story. I don’t know.”

“I’m not buying any of it.” Boone grabbed a ziplock bag out of a drawer and brushed the pieces of note into it. “We’ll see if we can salvage any prints.”

“I didn’t know that they were contacting my dad,” Kayla said. She tried to remember something, anything about her attacker.

“He wanted to protect you. You were obviously trying to protect him,” Lucy chimed in.

“Yes, we’re all about protecting one another.” Kayla walked away, unwilling to dwell on the pain of knowing how untrue those words were.

Boone followed her out to the deck. She walked to the ledge and looked out over the city of Austin. It was an incredible view. She blinked back tears that threatened to blur her vision. She would not cry.

A hand, strong and warm, rested on her shoulder, pulled her a little bit close, then moved away. She found herself wanting to slide close to him, to allow the comfort of his touch to continue. She could use a hug right now.

Great, she was getting sappy. She could imagine the look on his face if she told him she needed a hug. He’d get that goofy grin on his face and pull the Prince-Charming-to-the-rescue act. No, she didn’t need that.

Take a deep breath. Blink away the tears. Be the Kayla people expected.

“We should order that tux now. Wouldn’t want to disappoint my father and show up in jeans and boots. And ruin his black tie affair.”

He laughed. “No, we wouldn’t want to do that. Glad you’re back, Stanford. I would miss this sweet sarcasm if it got all mixed up with other emotions.”

“Yes, I do like predictable.”

He tipped back his black cowboy hat and winked. “Predictable is one thing you’re not.”

* * *

That evening Lucy drove them to the clubhouse of the Summer Springs Country Club. “I’ll be waiting out here for you all. Try not to get in trouble.”

“Because Lucy doesn’t want to have to shoot anyone,” Boone quipped, hoping to lighten the mood. He winked at his partner and she grinned back. “We’ll be good, Luce. And keep an eye out for our blond and handsome friend who likes to leave roses and concussions as a calling card.”

“Will do, partner.”

Boone opened the door and then stepped back to allow his date to exit the vehicle. She wore a black evening dress, with pearls around her neck and all that dark hair pulled back in some kind of fancy bun.

“You clean up pretty good, Kayla Stanford.” He offered her his arm and she settled her fingers on the crook of his elbow. “You smell good, too.”

“Charming.”

“That’s Prince Charming to you.”

She sighed. “Are you ever serious?”

“I thought you were cornering the market on serious. And I have to say, I’m a little disappointed. You’re not living up to your reputation.”

“I’m turning over a new leaf,” she offered. He didn’t push. He’d seen the book for the twelve-step program in her apartment, worn with pages dog-eared. He got it. They all had stuff they had to battle.

“Well, then, let’s do this.” He led her toward the entrance of the stone-and-stucco building. People were milling about at the entrance. Security checked IDs at the door.

Kayla tightened her grip on his arm.

“You okay?”

She nodded and kept walking. “I’m good. I really dislike these functions. I always feel like I don’t belong. You know, square, square, square, oval.”

“You’re the oval?”

A hint of a smile tilted her pretty lips. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Well, tonight you’re with another oval. Have a little faith, Kayla.”

“Faith?” She smiled at that. “Now you sound like the Martins.”

“They’re good people.”

“Yes, they are. They’ve all accepted me. Helped me.”

“If the Martins like you, then you’ve got decent people in your corner.” He patted the hand on his elbow.

She shot him a look. “Let’s not get all emotional, cowboy. You’re my bodyguard, not my therapist.”

“You got that right.” Boone took a quick look around. Because he was her bodyguard, not a therapist. And definitely not her date.

This wasn’t new territory for him, slipping into the role of fixer. He’d learned a few hard lessons on that, the most important one in Afghanistan. He had the scars as a reminder.

He tried to remember the rules. Don’t get taken in by sad stories, by soft looks or a pretty face. Definitely don’t get personal with a client.

He had his own family to worry about. They needed him present in their lives, not sidetracked. Kayla needed him unemotional if he was going to keep her safe.

At the door the security detail checked their names against the list of invited guests. Boone let out a low whistle as they were ushered inside.

“Don’t be too impressed,” Kayla warned.

“I’m not impressed, I just didn’t realize money could be wasted this way. I bet I could fence our entire property with the money they spent on these light fixtures.”

She looked up, blinking, as if she’d never noticed those fancy crystal fixtures before. “I guess you probably could. We could take one with us, if you’d like?”

He laughed. “There’s the Kayla I’ve heard so much about. What do we do first?”

“Socialize,” she said. “I’m sure everyone is mingling, discussing politics and their neighbors and how to take down the person they pretend is their best friend.”

“Sounds like a great time. I can’t believe you don’t enjoy these events.”

She flicked a piece of lint off the collar of his tuxedo and smiled up at him. “I find ways to enjoy myself.”

The statement, casual with a hint of a grin and a mischievous twinkle in her blue eyes, sounded warning bells. He gave her a careful look and she widened those same blue eyes in a less-than-perfect imitation of innocence.

“Not tonight,” he warned.

“Spoilsport.”

“No, just the guy who wants to keep you safe. I can’t do that if you pull a stunt.”

“I’m not going to do anything, I promise. Come with me. Time to greet my father.”

She led him through double doors and into a large room complete with linen-covered tables, candlelight, a small orchestra in the far corner and of course dozens of people. Boone took a careful look around the room. So these were the people who paid hundreds of dollars a plate just to say they’d attended or contributed. Impressive.

“There’s my father.” She nodded in the direction of a stately gray-haired man, his tuxedo obviously not rented.

“Should we make our presence known?”

“Soon. He’s talking to supporters. The woman coming up behind him is my stepmother, Marietta. My half brother Andrew is talking to that group. He’s very good at being good.”

She said it in such a way that meant she didn’t dislike Andrew. As if his being good wasn’t a horrible thing.

“We should mingle, correct?” Boone put a hand to her back and guided her around the room. She froze beneath his touch as he headed her toward a table of drinks.

“No, let’s not. Please.”

“There’s iced tea and lemonade.”

“It isn’t about the drinks, Wilder. It’s just...there are people here I prefer to avoid. At all costs.”

“Okay. Would any of them be the one who is stalking you?” He settled his gaze on the table, on the people gathered. Most were older men, a few women. He didn’t see anyone who should make her panic.

She took in a deep breath and gave a quick look around the room. “No one in that group. But I’d prefer to avoid them all the same.”

“Kayla, you’re here,” a woman called out. Kayla turned, straightening as she did. Poised but trembling.

The stepmother was bearing down on them. Marietta Stanford was tall with pale blond hair, a pinched mouth and less-than-friendly gray eyes. Boone didn’t know much about this world, but to his inexperienced eye he’d call her expensive and high maintenance.

“Of course I am. I couldn’t very well stay home, could I, Mother?”

Marietta Stanford’s nostrils flared. “Don’t start.”

Kayla smiled. “Right, I forgot. My father wanted me here. So I’m here.”

Boone moved a little closer, offering the protection of his nearness. That wasn’t his job, but if he was going to protect someone, he’d protect from all corners.

“Try to show some class tonight,” Marietta warned. And then she smiled, as if they’d been talking about the weather. “The pearls are a lovely touch.”

“For what it’s worth, I think she has the market cornered on class.” Boone winked at Kayla and was rewarded with a smile.

They moved away from her stepmother.

“Thank you,” Kayla whispered.

“No problem. Everyone needs someone in their corner.”

She nodded. “That’s a novel idea. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the restroom.”

“You’re okay?”

“Of course,” she said as they maneuvered through the room.

For the next five minutes he stood at the door waiting for Kayla to reappear. He glanced at his watch, then smiled at the group of women who gave him cautious looks as they walked in and out.

Finally he called Lucy. “She escaped.”

Lucy laughed. “Already?”

“She said she needed to use the restroom. I’ve been waiting here for a long time. People are starting to stare.”

“I’ll walk around back. See if you can get someone to go in. Maybe she’s just hiding in there.”

“Yeah, I will. Stay on the line.”

He looked around and as he did he caught a glimpse of a familiar profile.

“Luce, see if you can find her pronto. We have trouble in here. A certain blond with glasses.”

“Will do.”

As he hurried across the room, someone grabbed his arm, bringing him to a dead stop.

“Boone Wilder?” The older man had a firm grip, Boone would give him that.

“Yes, sir. You must be Mr. Stanford.”

“I am. And where’s my daughter?”

“She’s in the restroom. But, sir, I just saw the man who attacked her last night. If you don’t mind having this conversation later...”

“What? Where?” William Stanford glanced around. So did Boone. There were several hundred people in attendance and it seemed that half of them were gathered in the lobby.

“Great. He’s gone.”

“Of course he is. Or he never existed. My daughter has a wild imagination. This isn’t the first story she’s created and it won’t be the last.”

“The attack last night wasn’t her imagination. The concussion and the bruise on her jaw are not imaginary.” Boone continued to watch the crowd. He briefly looked at his client. “And the letters the two of you are getting, letters you failed to divulge, are not imaginary.”

A flicker of concern briefly settled in Mr. Stanford’s eyes. “She’s getting them, too?”

“Yes, she is. I don’t want to jump to conclusions but I think there might have been more to last night’s attack. It could be that their next step is to kidnap your daughter. Someone has something on you other than your daughter’s very public behavior. You’d best figure out what it is.”

Another man approached them, tall with graying hair and sharp, dark eyes. Boone guessed him to be in his late forties.

“Boone Wilder, this is my law partner and campaign manager, Paul Whitman,” William Stanford said.

“Mr. Whitman.” Boone shook his hand. It was a little too soft and a little too snaky. He refocused on his client. “I’m going to ask that you excuse your daughter from this event.”

“Has something happened to our little Kayla?” Mr. Whitman asked in a voice that matched his snaky appearance. “She does tend to fabricate stories.”

Boone caught a quick look between the two men. And Mr. Stanford’s was a definite warning to the other man.

“Being attacked isn’t a story,” Boone defended Kayla for the second time.

“Then, I’m going to ask that you keep my daughter not only out of trouble but out of harm’s way. I don’t want her hurt.”

“We might need to remove her from Austin.” Boone looked down at his phone and the text from Lucy. She had Kayla.

“I need my family around me during this election, Wilder.”

“Yes, sir. But you also hired me to keep your daughter safe. That’s my priority here, not your campaign.”

Someone called out and Mr. Stanford raised a hand to put them off. “I agree. But before you take her anywhere, you let me know. If you can’t reach me, then leave a message at my office, or let Paul know.”

No, Boone didn’t think he’d be leaving any messages with Paul Whitman. “I’ll let you know. For now, though, we’re leaving this event.”

“Where is my daughter, Mr. Wilder?”

“With my partner, Lucy Palermo. They’re outside in the vehicle and waiting for me.”

“Then, you should go,” he said. “Keep her safe, Wilder.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Boone headed out to the waiting SUV. He got in the backseat. Kayla was in the front. She didn’t turn to look at him.

“Nice move, Stanford. Did you go out the window?”

“Not now, Boone.” Lucy drove away from the building.

“Why not now? She’s in danger and rather than staying safe, she’s jumping out windows so she doesn’t have to go to Daddy’s fancy dinner party.”

Lucy shot him a meaningful look. “Not. Now.”

He raised both hands in surrender. “Fine, not now.”

That was when he realized there were tears streaming down Kayla’s cheeks. He sighed and leaned back in his seat, but he was far from relaxed. Protecting Kayla Stanford was supposed to be an easy job. Keep her out of trouble and make sure she showed up on time for her father’s campaign events.

He hadn’t considered she’d need a friend more than she needed a bodyguard.

Chapter Three

Kayla woke up early Monday morning. She blamed her new schedule on the cowboy and his partner, who had taken up residence in her apartment. They kept country hours, in bed shortly after ten and up by six in the morning.

She enjoyed sleeping in. If she didn’t sleep late, there would be too many hours in a day to live, to think, to try to be happy. And to fail. Her dad had asked her to go to work for him, to use her college degree in prelaw. He’d suggested teaching if she didn’t want that. She didn’t want any part of her father’s world. She knew it too well, knew the underhanded dealings and the backstabbing.

She tiptoed out of her room, leaving Lucy asleep on the cot she’d insisted on. Boone was asleep on her couch, stretched out, arm over his face, and snoring. She pinched his nose closed to stop the racket.

He jumped up off the sofa, gasping and flailing.

“Are you trying to kill me?”

She laughed. “No, I just wanted you to stop snoring.”

“That was a definite attempt on my life. And I don’t snore.” He glanced at his watch. “Why are you up so early?”

“Because my apartment has been invaded and I can no longer sleep late.”

“Tough, Stanford. Go back to sleep so I can sleep late.”

“You don’t sleep late,” she accused.

“Sometimes I do. Today is one of those days.”

“Too bad, because today is a day I’d like to go shopping and maybe grab some lunch.”

“Have fun with that.”

“You’re my date,” she shot back.

“No, I’m your bodyguard. There’s a difference. And I think shopping is dangerous for my health.”

“I need ranch clothes because you seem to think I’m going to have to be removed from Austin.” She sat down in the chair across from him as he leaned back and brushed a hand through his short dark hair.

“I’ve seen your closet. You don’t need clothes.”

“Maybe not, but I can’t take another day cooped up inside. Lucy has to run to Stephenville today to check on her mom. So I’m stuck with you. And we’re going shopping.”

“Can I have coffee at least?”

“Yes, you can have coffee. I’ll even prove my worth by making it. I do know how to do a few things.”

He gave her a serious look. “Stanford, I’m not the one who doubts your abilities. You are.”

“Great, we’re getting Freudian again. I’ll make the coffee and you climb back under the rock you crawled out of.”

He groaned and stood. “I was happy under that rock.”

He followed her to the kitchen, and as she started the coffee, he rummaged through the refrigerator. “I should have gone to the store.”

“I have toaster pastries in the cabinet,” she told him.

“I’m not a fan of starting my morning with pure sugar.”

She slid the sugar jar down the counter and grinned. “Go for it, it might sweeten you up.”

The doorbell rang. He glanced at her, all cowboy, sleepy and a little bit grumpy. A dark brow shot up. He pushed himself away from the counter and headed for the front door. She watched from the safety of the kitchen as he looked through the peephole.

“Who is it?”

He put a finger to his lips and pointed toward the bedroom. She obeyed, even though she wanted to stay, not only to see who it was, but because he shouldn’t be left alone. But the look on his face told her she shouldn’t argue.

Lucy was just waking up when Kayla walked into the room.

“Who’s here?” she asked, brushing long hair from her face.

Kayla peeked out the door but Lucy pushed it closed. “I’m not sure who it is,” she admitted.

“Then, I doubt Boone wants your head sticking out.” Then Lucy was strapping on a sidearm and slipping out of the room, leaving Kayla very much alone and in the dark.

Minutes later the door opened and Lucy peeked in.

“All clear.”

“Who was it?” Kayla asked as she followed the other woman to the kitchen.

“Absolutely no one,” Lucy answered as she poured herself a cup of coffee. She took a sip and frowned. “Did you make this?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t ever do that again.” Lucy poured the coffee down the drain. “There wasn’t anyone at the door. There was a letter.”

“Where’s Boone?”

“Checking the building.”

Kayla headed for the door. “Alone?”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Lucy followed, pulling her back before she could reach for the doorknob.

“I want to make sure he’s okay.”

“And this is how it starts,” Lucy said with an exaggerated roll of her dark brown eyes. “He’s got pretty eyes, they say. He’s a gentleman, they sigh.”

“I don’t care about his eyes. I’d rather him not get shot in my building.” Kayla went back to the kitchen. “It would make a mess in the hallway.”

Lucy laughed. “I’m not sure I like you, but you’re okay.”

She was used to people not really liking her. But for some reason, this hurt more than usual.

“Boone can take care of himself,” Lucy continued. “He’s smart and he’s well trained.”

The front door opened. Kayla didn’t look, because if she looked Lucy would draw conclusions that weren’t accurate. It wasn’t his eyes, his smile or anything else. As she poured more water into the coffeemaker, she realized she didn’t know what it was about Boone. She didn’t really want to delve into it because it might cost her.

“I’m not sure how they’re slipping out of here, but they’re gone.” He limped as he headed for a seat at the bar.

“You okay?” Lucy asked, as she finished making the coffee that Kayla had started.

He arched a dark brow at her.

“And you have the letter?” Kayla asked, not asking about his health. It was obviously a topic he wanted to avoid.

He pulled on latex gloves and held the letter up for Kayla to see. “Recognize that handwriting?”

“It’s the same as the other letters. I don’t know who it belongs to.”

He slid a knife under the seal and pulled out a letter and a picture. His brows drew together as he read and his mouth tugged at the corner. Was he laughing at this, as if it were a game?

“It isn’t funny, Wilder. This is my life.”

He held up a picture. “Care to explain why you were crossing the border, princess?”

She leaned against the counter and buried her face in her hands. Next to her Lucy snickered. Kayla didn’t blame her. If she wasn’t so humiliated, she’d laugh, too. In the past she would have laughed with them. It was all a big joke. But not really. In truth it was her way of striking back at her father for hurting her.

“Well?” His voice was soft, luring her out of her thoughts.

“It was after my mom died. I went to Mexico. Two weeks of stupidity. I was slowly killing myself, intentionally, unintentionally, I’m not sure. I lost my passport.”

“You could have called Daddy,” Lucy said.

“I could have, but what fun would there have been in that? A friend stayed behind with me. We met some people. And somehow we ended up being smuggled across the border. The rest of our group met up with us and brought us home.”

“You really think that’s a game?” Lucy said sharply.

“No, it isn’t a game. I’d like to think I’m a somewhat better person now. I’m still working on it, though.”

Lucy raised both hands. “Yeah, okay. What about the letter, Boone?”

He spread it out on the counter. “It’s a warning. Requesting the first payment or the story gets leaked to the press. And it warns us not to let you out of our sight.”

“What do I do now?”

Boone slid the note back inside the envelope. “It’s time to go to the police with this information. I know your father wants to keep it quiet, but someone tried to hurt you. That same someone has followed you. They’ve been in your apartment.”

“He isn’t going to agree with you,” Kayla warned. “This is stuff he’d like to keep private and someone wants to make it public. Going to the police...”

“Might stop them. If it’s made public, they’ll stop trying to get money for secrets that are no longer secrets. Or scandals that aren’t scandals, but public knowledge.”

Kayla walked away, taking the darkest of her secrets with her, away from the prying eyes of two people who didn’t care, not about her. They cared about doing their jobs. They cared enough to keep her safe. But her past was hers. As angry as she was with her father, she wouldn’t let other people destroy him.

“Hey, we have to deal with this.” Boone followed her to the deck. The sun was beating down and the concrete was hot under her feet. She sat down and he pulled up another chair to sit facing her.

“I’m not going to the police,” she said, determined to have her way in this.

“We don’t have a choice. I’m going to call your dad and he’ll back me up on this. I don’t know what it is between the two of you, but I’m pretty sure you both care more than you let on.”

“Yes, we care.” She looked away, to the potted palm in the corner and the flowerpot that she’d picked up at a discount store because it looked cheerful. She didn’t know what it was called or how she’d managed to keep it alive.

“Are there more letters?”

She shook her head. “I threw them away. At first I just thought it was a nuisance. But then I started feeling as if I was being followed, and I’m sure they’ve been in my apartment more than once.”

“And your dad has gotten letters, too?”

“Yeah, he’s gotten letters.”

He leaned back in the chair and stretched his jean-clad legs in front of him. “Well, Kayla, I guess it’s time we headed for Martin’s Crossing.”

“Why?”

“Because I know I can keep you safe there while the police try to figure out who’s blackmailing your dad.”

“You can keep me safe here,” she insisted, not liking the pleading tone in her voice.

“I can keep you safer on my own turf.”

Martin’s Crossing. She shouldn’t have minded the idea of going to the place her siblings called home. But she wasn’t a Martin of Martin’s Crossing. She was their half sister. The only thing they had in common was the mother who had abandoned them all.

“I guess refusing to go won’t work.”

He laughed at that. “’Fraid not. Before long you’ll be wishing I was the only Wilder in your life.”

* * *

By ten o’clock that evening Boone and Kayla were heading for the Wilder Ranch. Lucy had been turned loose to head home for a few days.

Exhausted by a day that had included police reports and long conversations with her father, Kayla slept the ride away, which helped her avoid answering any more of Boone’s questions. She didn’t want to explain the things best left in the past. Those subjects were walls between herself and her father. Lack of trust loomed as the largest barrier in their ever-fragile relationship.

She didn’t want Boone inside those walls.

She woke up as they drove through Martin’s Crossing. Her head had been at a strange angle and her neck ached. She rubbed it, aware that Boone had probably seen her drool in her sleep.

“We’re home,” he said, his voice softly husky in the dark interior of the truck.

Home. It wasn’t her home, even though it had become familiar to her in the past year. The main street where her brother Duke owned Duke’s No Bar and Grill. Across the street was the shop his wife, Oregon, owned, Oregon’s All Things. Duke’s wife was crafty and artistic. She made clothes, hand-painted Christmas ornaments and other pretty items. The grocery store was to the right of Oregon’s. Lefty Mueller’s store, where he sold wooden Christmas carousels and other hand-carved art, was to the left. Kayla was a city girl but Martin’s Crossing held a certain appeal. But not long-term. Not for her.

For some reason the thought invoked a melancholy that took her by surprise, sending a few tears trickling down her cheeks. She kept her gaze on the passing scenery and brushed away the tears.

“Where do your parents live?” she asked, turning from the window and pulling her hair back from her face.

“A few minutes out of town.” He kept driving, the radio playing country music and the open windows letting in warm summer air. “You okay?”

“Of course.”

He cleared his throat, then let out a heartfelt sigh. “You were crying.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I have sisters, I know tears of sadness, tears of frustration. All brands of tears.”

“Okay, Mr. Tear Expert, why was I crying?”

“I’m not sure of the exact reason, but if you want to talk...”

“I’d rather not.”

“Sometimes it helps,” he prodded.

“Really? I don’t see you wearing your heart on your sleeve.”

“No, I guess I don’t.”

She stared out the open window, enjoying the humid breeze that lifted hair that had come loose. Outside the landscape was dark except for an occasional security light that flashed an orange glow across a lawn or outbuilding and the silvery light of a nearly full moon. Cattle were dark silhouettes grazing in the fields.

They turned up a narrow, rutted driveway. Ahead she could see a two-story white farmhouse. The front-porch light was on. In the distance she could see the dark shapes that meant numerous outbuildings.

“I hope you don’t mind the country.”

“It isn’t my favorite.”

He laughed a little. “Well, you’ll either sink or swim, sunshine.”

Sunshine. She’d never had a nickname. She’d never been anyone’s sunshine. It didn’t mean anything to him. But it meant something to her. Something that she couldn’t quite define.

Sunshine was definitely better than Cinderella.

“Here we are. Home sweet home. I promise you, you’re in for a real experience. We are a pretty crazy bunch.”

“I can handle it.”

“I’m sure you can.” He got out of the truck, and she followed.

He held her suitcase and handed her the smaller overnight bag that accompanied it. “Let’s get you settled.”

“Don’t you live here?”

He shook his head. “No. I bought a little RV. It’s hooked up to power over by the barn.”

“But you’re going to be close by, right?” She felt as if he was suddenly drifting out of reach. She took a deep breath. He was practically a stranger. Not her lifeline.

“I’ll be around more than you can stand. But I prefer my own space. I’m not much for company and big crowds. Believe me, you’re going to have your share of people. You’ll want solitude when you’re done with this month on the Wilder Ranch.”

“Month?”

He shrugged it off. “We aren’t sending you out on your own until we know who is behind the threats and the attack. Maybe it wasn’t the same guy.”

“I kind of think it is.”

She followed him up the steps and as they got to the front door, it opened. Standing on the other side of the screen door was a woman past middle age. Her dark hair was short and framed a classically beautiful face.

“You must be Kayla,” the woman said, an almost imperceptible Hispanic accent, giving the words a soft lilt. “I’m Maria Wilder.”

“Mrs. Wilder, thank you for letting me stay with you.”

Boone’s mother laughed. “Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t met everyone.”

Boone opened the door and motioned Kayla inside. She glanced back, worried he wouldn’t go in with her. But he did. The lifeline was intact.

“I’m putting you upstairs in Boone’s old room. Janie is just down the hall from you with Essie and Allie. Michaela is across the hall. Jase and Lucas are on the other side of her. We’re downstairs if you need anything.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’m so sorry for putting you out this way,” she started to explain.

Maria Wilder waved a hand. “Don’t be silly. We don’t mind.”

She led Kayla up the stairs to a bedroom that was small but bright and airy. A quilt covered the twin bed. A rocking chair nearby had another quilt folded over the arm. Braided rugs in soft spring colors were scattered on the wood floor.

“It isn’t much but it’s clean. And most of Boone’s smelly past has been evicted. Shoes, clothes, high school uniforms that got shoved in corners and forgotten.” Maria Wilder turned down the blanket on the bed.

“It’s perfect.”

Boone’s mother gave her a quick hug. “Are you hungry?”

“Prepare to be fattened up, Stanford.”

His mother swatted at his arm. “Behave. No one likes to go to bed hungry. And young ladies don’t like to be told they need to be ‘fattened up.’”

“I’m fine, but thank you. We grabbed fast food on our way.”

Maria made a face. “Bah. Fast food isn’t real food.”

“Really, I’m fine. But thank you. I’m looking forward to a good night’s sleep.”

Maria glanced at her watch. “You should go to bed now. Morning comes early around here.”

Kayla covered a yawn. She agreed, it was bedtime. She looked at Boone, who was already heading for the door. The limp she’d noticed previously was more pronounced tonight.

“Get some sleep and try not to worry.” He stopped just short of exiting.

She nodded. Of course she wouldn’t worry. She was in a strange home with people she didn’t know. And someone she didn’t know wanted to harm her. What did she have to worry about?

“Stanford?”

She met the dark gaze of her protector.

He smiled that easy smile of his. “Don’t worry.”

Of course.

“If you need anything,” Maria said, “don’t hesitate, just ask.”

They left and she was alone. What she truly needed, they couldn’t give her. She didn’t even know how to put a name on the empty spaces in her heart. For several years she’d filled those spaces up with anger, with rebellion and a lifestyle that had worn her out physically and emotionally.

She always wondered about the people who seemed emotionally whole and happy. How did they do it, find that happiness?

Alone she sat on the edge of the bed, her hands splayed on the cottony softness of the quilt. On the stand next to the bed was a Bible. It was small, leather bound and worn. Her gaze wandered from that small book to the needlepoint picture on the wall with a Bible verse she’d heard most of her life. “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

The words were lovely and encouraging. But her heart still felt empty.

* * *

“She’s a lovely girl,” Boone’s mom said as she followed him out to his truck. He opened the door of the old Ford and leaned against it.

“Mom, go ahead and say what you want to say. I need to get home and get some sleep.”

“You need to get off your feet.”

“Yeah, that, too.” He took a seat behind the wheel of the truck, his hand on the key.

“Just be careful. She’s pretty and lonely.”

And there it was. He let out a long sigh. His mom knew him better than anyone. She also had a hard time remembering that her kids were growing up. “No need to worry. I’m going to do my job and then return her to her family.”

“She doesn’t have a family, not really.”

He leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. “Now I know where I get the fixer complex. From you. You’re worried about me getting too involved.” He opened his eyes and smiled at her. “But you know that you’re just as bad.”

She laughed. “I won’t deny that. I look at this girl, and I see that she’s lonely and hurting and could easily fall in love with her rescuer.”

“I’ve been hired to do a job. I’ll make sure all she feels for me is annoyance.”

His mother patted his cheek and smiled. “You’re so handsome, my son. And so clueless.”

“Stop.” He leaned and gave her a hug. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

He headed down the driveway to the RV. It always felt good to come home, even to his thirty-foot camper. The place was quiet. It had a front deck he’d built earlier in the spring. His dog was curled up on a patio chair, waiting for him. Yeah, home sweet home.

He limped up the steps and sat down on the chair next to the dog, propping his feet up on the footstool. Man, it felt good to stretch. He reached, rubbing the calf muscle of his right leg. The pain eased.

He let out a deep breath and relaxed again.

The collie that had been sleeping half crawled into his lap, resting her head on his leg. He brushed a hand down her neck. “Good girl.”

She pushed at his hand with her nose.

“You’re right, time to go inside.”

He eased to his feet and headed inside. The door wasn’t locked. It never was. He flipped on a light and headed for the kitchen. Halfway across the small living area, he stopped and took a step back.

“What in the world are you doing in my house?” he yelled at the man sprawled on his couch.

“Sleeping,” Daron McKay grumbled. “And I could sleep a lot better without all the yelling. Did you get her settled?”

Daron tossed off the afghan and brushed a hand over his face as he sat up. Boone limped across the room and settled into the recliner.

“Yeah, my mom has her. And is already worried about feeding her. And keeping her safe from me. Or maybe me safe from her.”

Daron perked up at that. “Your mom is a smart woman. We should hire her.”

Boone tossed a pillow, hitting Daron in the head. “Go away.”

“You’re the one who told me the place is always unlocked.”

“I didn’t mean for you to move in here. You have a place of your own just down the road. A big place. Paid for by your dear old dad.”

“It’s too big and empty.” Daron shrugged and plopped back down on the couch. “I’ll pay for the food I eat and the inconvenience.”

“I like to be alone.”

“I know. It’s easier to pace all night if there’s no one watching.”

They both did a lot of pacing. For different reasons. He gave his business partner a long look and wondered just how bad Daron’s nights were. Since they usually stayed out of each other’s heads, Boone could only guess. And since they dealt with their shared grief, their shared memories of Afghanistan, by being men and not dealing with it, he wasn’t about to get all emotional now.

“My pacing is none of your business, McKay. We’re business partners, not the Texas version of the Odd Couple.”

Daron had stretched back out on the sofa and pulled the afghan up to his neck. “You can argue all you want, but you know you like my company. And if we’re the Odd Couple, I’m the clean freak and you’re the messy one. How is our client?”

“You’re the slob. And she’s scared. Even if she pretends she isn’t. And probably lonely. I don’t know.” Boone stretched his legs, relieving the knots in his muscles. “There’s something she isn’t telling us.”

“Charm it out of her.”

“You’re the charming one in this partnership. I’m all business. Luce is, well, Luce.”

“She’s only happy with a gun in her hand,” Daron quipped.

It wasn’t really the truth, but they liked to tease her.

“Yeah. So you charm Miss Stanford. I’ll keep her safe.”

“Nah,” Daron said. “I think I’ll let you try charming for once. I’m out on this one. She’s a handful and I’m not patient.”

“I was going to make a sandwich.” Boone pushed himself out of his chair. “Want one?”

“I ate all of your lunch meat. Sorry.”

“I’m changing my locks.” Boone headed for the kitchen, where he rummaged through the cabinets, not finding much to choose from. He grabbed a can of pasta and decided to eat it cold, out of the can.

Daron joined him in the kitchen, his face haggard, his dark blond hair going in all directions and his shirt untucked. For the supposed neat one, he was a mess. Boone accepted that it was going to be a long night. He could feel it in his bones. Literally. He could feel it in the places where skin and muscle had been ripped, in the bones that had been broken. He could feel it in his mind. And that was the worst.

For the first time he was thankful for the distraction of Kayla Stanford. And even for Daron. If he had something to focus on, he’d concentrate less on the pain, on the memories.

But Kayla Stanford proved to be the wrong place to direct his thoughts. Because when he thought about her, what came to mind was the haunted expression she tried to cover up with a smile. The way her scent, something oriental and complex, lingered in the cab of his truck. He sniffed the sleeve of his shirt, because he could still smell her perfume.

Daron gave him a long look, eyes narrowed and one corner of his mouth hiked up. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing. I smelled something. Probably you.” He made a show of smelling the canned pasta. “Maybe it’s this?”

“You’re losing it.” Daron grabbed Boone’s sleeve and inhaled. “And you smell like expensive perfume. Lucy doesn’t wear perfume.”

Boone couldn’t help it, he took another whiff. When he did, his eyes closed of their own volition. He thought he would picture her teasing smile. Instead, he pictured the woman sitting in his truck trying to hide the tears that slid down her cheeks.

Yeah, it was going to be a long night. He had her scent clinging to his shirt and the memory of her tears. The two combined equaled disaster as far as he was concerned.

Chapter Four

Someone screamed and Kayla shot straight out of the bed, her heart racing and her legs shaking as she stood in the middle of the unfamiliar room. White curtains covered a window that revealed a view of fields that stretched to the horizon and the distant hills of Texas Hill Country. A cat was curled up at the foot of her bed. A cat?

She looked at the calico feline, white with black and orange patches, and wondered how it had gotten in here. The cat stretched and blinked, fixing green eyes on her, as if she were the interloper.

The scream echoed through the house a second time and she realized it was more of a shriek. Someone else shouted, then a door slammed. Obviously the entire family was up. And if she hadn’t been mistaken last night when Mrs. Wilder gave the list of names and locations of her children, there were several of them.

Although she was tempted to hide away in her room, Kayla dressed and brushed her hair. Before walking out the door of her borrowed bedroom, she glanced back at the cat.

“Don’t you have mice to chase?”

The feline yawned, stretched and closed her eyes.

“I don’t like cats,” she said out loud. The cat didn’t seem to care.

“I don’t like them much myself. Did the screaming banshees downstairs wake you up?”

She spun to face a younger man, maybe in his early twenties. He had dark curly hair cut close to his head, snapping brown eyes, dimples and a big smile.

“I’m Jase.” He held out a hand. “I’m the middle brother and also the smart one. No offense to your bodyguard.”

She still hadn’t spoken. He took her by surprise, with his easy banter and open smile. A few months ago she would have flirted. But she had given it up along with everything else. For the past few months her goal had been a less complicated life.

This did not fit those plans.

“I would say ‘cat got your tongue.’” He glanced past her to the cat in her room. “But that’s pretty cliché.”

“Um, I’m just...” She couldn’t speak.

“Overwhelmed?”

“Maybe a little,” she admitted.

“The cat’s name is Sheba. As in queen of. She lives up to it. And she wouldn’t chase a mouse if it crawled across her paws. Let me walk you downstairs. There’s safety in numbers. And there’s probably some breakfast in the kitchen. We usually eat after we’ve fed the livestock.”

“You’ve already fed the livestock? What time is it?”

He laughed. “Just after seven. And yes, we’ve fed, pulled a calf and gathered eggs.”

“Pulled a calf where?”

He gave her a sideways glance and grinned. “Pulled meaning delivered. The calf wasn’t coming out on his own so we helped the mama with the delivery. There’s nothing like starting your morning with a new life. Which I guess is why I’m premed.”

While they’d been talking he’d led her downstairs and through the house to the big country kitchen, where it seemed half the county had congregated for breakfast.

Boone’s mom, Maria, was standing at the stove. Two young women who looked identical were setting the table. Another sister, a little older than them, was at the sink, auburn hair falling down to veil one side of her face. A toddler on pudgy legs, her curly blond hair in pigtails, was playing with bowls and wooden spoons.

“Welcome to our zoo,” Jase Wilder said with a big smile that included everyone in the room. “The twinkies over there are Esmerelda and Alejandra. Better known to all as Essie and Allie, named after our grandmothers. They’re not as identical as they like to pretend. In the kitchen is Mama Maria, whom you met last night. Michaela and her daughter, Molly. And my lovely sister Janie.”

Janie with the auburn hair shot him a look and said nothing. Jase smiled back and answered, “Yeah, I know, Lucas is your favorite.”

“Kayla, I hope we didn’t wake you.” Maria Wilder pointed at her twin daughters. “Those two can’t keep quiet for anything.”

The sister Janie half smiled her direction. “They’re excited because you’re staying here. And you know all about fashion. They want to enter a twin pageant in San Antonio.”

“Don’t let them push you around,” Michaela warned with a half tilt of her mouth. She appeared to be in her midtwenties and as she spoke she reached to pick up her little girl. “If you’re going to survive, you have to stand your ground and become great friends with the word no.”

Kayla would have answered but the conversation was interrupted by the sound of the front door closing and voices raised in discussion, and then Boone along with a younger man in his late teens, and possibly their father, entered the kitchen.

The older Wilder, gray haired and thin, pushed a walker. His steps were slow and steady. He glanced up at her and grinned. She saw the resemblance between him and his eldest son.

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