“YOU’RE IN DANGER.”

Bakery owner Shelby Simons can’t deny a stalker is after her. Still, knowing she’s at risk is one thing. Admitting she needs a bodyguard is quite another. Especially when the bodyguard is Ryder Malone. The former SEAL is too big, too tough and way too attractive. Yet Ryder won’t take no for an answer. If she can’t find a place for him in her life, he’ll make one, working undercover to protect Shelby and find her attacker. But as Ryder and Shelby get closer to answers—and each other—the killer starts closing in….

Heroes for Hire

Seeking the truth—at any cost.

Ryder scooped Shelby up, racing back across the yard as another explosion rocked the house.

It threw him to his knees, but he kept his arms tight around Shelby’s soft, limp body.

“What happened?” she gasped, coughing on the acrid fumes.

“Explosion.”

“Maureen’s in there!” She shoved away, jumped to her feet and ran straight back toward the inferno.

He followed, heat searing his cheeks. “There’s nothing we can do to help her.”

She turned, tears trekking down her cheeks. Near her temple was a deep cut that oozed blood. She didn’t seem to feel the pain of it. Didn’t seem to know she was hurt.

Memories threatened to overtake Ryder. He shoved the images down deep as fire continued to lick along the facade of the house.

Shelby stopped in her tracks, her face lit by flames and stained with soot.

Ryder took her arm and urged her to the front yard. There might be another explosion, and he didn’t want Shelby anywhere near the building if there was.

SHIRLEE McCOY

has always loved making up stories. As a child, she daydreamed elaborate tales in which she was the heroine—gutsy, strong and invincible. Though she soon grew out of her superhero fantasies, her love for storytelling never diminished. She knew early that she wanted to write inspirational fiction, and she began writing her first novel when she was a teenager. Still, it wasn’t until her third son was born that she truly began pursuing her dream of being published. Three years later, she sold her first book. Now a busy mother of five, Shirlee is a homeschool mom by day and an inspirational author by night. She and her husband and children live in the Pacific Northwest and share their house with a dog, two cats and a bird. You can visit her website, www.shirleemccoy.com, or email her at shirlee@shirleemccoy.com.

Undercover Bodyguard
Shirlee
McCoy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Because you are my help,

I sing in the shadow of your wings.

My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.

—Psalms 63:7–8

To my friends at An Orphan’s Wish who work tirelessly to shower His love on China’s orphaned children. May God continue to bless your efforts.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

EPILOGUE

DEAR READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

“Come on, Old Blue, don’t fail me now!” Shelby Simons turned the key in the ignition of her 1958 Cadillac and prayed that this time, the engine would turn over.

It didn’t, of course.

That would have made her morning just a little too easy.

“Fine. Stay here. I can walk the four blocks to Maureen Lewis’s place,” she grumbled.

She grabbed two large bakery boxes from the backseat and closed Old Blue’s door with a little too much force. She loved the car, but it was as fickle as its original owner, Grandma Beulah, had been.

The scent of chocolate wafted from the boxes as Shelby picked her way across the bakery’s empty parking lot, and her stomach growled. Stupid diet. Eight days of starving herself, and she still could barely fit into the little black dress her sister had sent from Paris.

But Shelby would fit into it before the Spokane Business Association’s black-tie dinner that she’d planned to attend with Andrew Willis.

Andrew, her ex-fiancé, who’d promised her a million dreams and given her nothing but lies.

Now, he’d be attending the function with Stephanie Parsons, and Shelby would be going alone, because there was no way she was going to stay home moping about her newly single status. Sure, she’d been planning a wedding two short months ago, but God had had other plans, and Shelby had to believe they were better than the ones she’d made for herself.

Marriage.

Family.

Forever with someone who loved her.

She sighed, hefting the bakery boxes a little higher and doing her best to ignore the fragrant aroma that drifted from them. Maureen would be pleased with the assortment of pastries Shelby was providing for the early-morning kickoff to Maureen’s birthday bash. She’d invited Shelby to attend the breakfast and the New York shopping spree she and her closest friends were going on afterward, but unlike Maureen, Shelby wasn’t a bestselling true-crime writer with plenty of money to throw around. She had bills to pay and a business to run. Being at the bakery she’d opened five years ago was the only way to do it. Though, she had to admit, flying to New York to shop sounded like a lot more fun.

She walked up South Hill, heading toward 21st Street, the quiet morning making her feel more lonely than usual. Two months, and she was over Andrew. If she were honest, she’d admit that she’d been over him two minutes after she’d caught him kissing Stephanie and broken their engagement. But she still craved the connection she’d had with him, still missed having someone she could call when she was walking up a dark street by herself and felt vulnerable and alone. Not that Andrew would have appreciated an early-morning call, but she’d always thought that once they were married…

She cut the thought off before it could form.

She hadn’t agreed to marry him because she’d thought she could change him. She’d agreed because she’d thought she’d loved him. More importantly, she’d thought he had loved her.

Obviously, she’d been wrong on both counts.

If she’d loved him, her heart would still be broken.

If he’d loved her, he wouldn’t have fallen for Stephanie while he was engaged to Shelby.

Shelby frowned, not sure why she was thinking about Andrew. She had plenty on her plate without worrying about the past. She had three deliveries to make and a car that wouldn’t start. Maybe Maureen would lend her one of the three cars she owned. If Shelby arrived on time. Maureen was a stickler for punctuality, and if Shelby was even a minute late making the 5:20 delivery, Maureen would not be happy.

She picked up her pace. One more block. She could do that in three minutes. Which was exactly how much time she had left. Up ahead, a dark figure bounded around the corner of Maureen’s street, jogging toward Shelby with a swift pace that bordered on a run.

She stepped off the sidewalk as he neared, her heart doing a funny little dance. Dark sunglasses on a nondescript face, a jacket zipped up to his neck, a hood pulled over his hair—he looked like trouble.

Why else would he be wearing sunglasses before dawn?

Why else would he have black leather gloves on his hands?

She fished her cell phone from her apron pocket, knowing the battery was dead and wishing she’d remembered to charge it before a guy who looked like a serial killer jogged by. She pressed the phone to her ear anyway, holding an imaginary conversation and praying he would just keep going.

He did, but she couldn’t shake the fear that shivered along her spine as he turned his head, seemed to look right at her.

Shelby clutched the boxes a little closer, watching his progress as he approached 20th Street.

Should she knock on someone’s door and ask to use a phone?

What would she say if she did?

There’s a guy jogging down South Hill wearing gloves and sunglasses and looking scary didn’t seem all that compelling.

He stopped abruptly, stood in the shadows of the old manor house that some development company was restoring. Turned to face her. He was a block away, but she could feel his eyes behind those dark glasses, feel them staring straight into hers. Her heart thrummed painfully as he took a step toward her.

One step, but she had a feeling he planned to take more.

Terror froze her in place, every nightmare she’d ever had coming true as he took another step.

A car passed, its lights splashing over Shelby, drawing her attention away from the approaching threat for a split second. When she looked back, the man had disappeared.

She wanted to believe he’d turned down 20th Street and gone on his way, but she could still feel his gaze, hot and ugly and terrifying. She stepped back, afraid to turn her back to the unseen threat, worried that he’d be on her before she even knew he was coming.

Never turn your back on a predator.

That’s what Grandma Beulah had always said, but then, Beulah had been a B movie actress and had spent more time in Beverly Hills than the great outdoors. Shelby couldn’t claim to know much more than Beulah had about predators, but she knew that standing around waiting for a creepy jogger to lunge from the shadows wasn’t going to do her any good.

She pivoted and took off, glancing back and seeing nothing. She was still terrified, still sure she could feel him breathing down her neck, and she half expected to be tackled from behind at any second.

She turned down Maureen’s street. Five houses to go, and she could ring Maureen’s doorbell, see her friend’s cheerful smile. Maybe then she’d be able to convince herself that Sunglasses Guy was nothing more than an early-morning jogger.

An engine revved and headlights splashed across the cracked sidewalk, spilling onto lush yards filled with blooming daffodils and flowering shrubs. Shelby glanced over her shoulder, spotted a black Hummer rolling along the street. There was no one on the sidewalk. No hint that she’d been chased or that her fear was well-founded. She slowed to a walk, lungs burning, heart thundering as she waited for the Hummer to pass.

It pulled up beside her, going so slowly she could easily have outrun it. Big and black with tinted windows, it had plenty of room in the back to stuff a woman.

Had Sunglasses Guy come after her?

Her pulse jumped at the thought. She couldn’t see through the tinted glass, but she was sure she felt his dark gaze. She ran the last few steps to Maureen’s driveway, her hair standing on end when the Hummer pulled in behind her. The driver’s door opened, and Shelby didn’t wait to see if Sunglasses Guy would get out. She dropped the pastries and ran for Maureen’s door, her pulse jumping as someone snagged the back of her apron and pulled her to a stop.

She screamed, fists swinging, lungs filling for another scream.

“Cool it, Shelby Ann. I’m not in the mood to have my nose broken.” The voice was familiar, but she swung again anyway, her knuckles brushing a firm jaw.

“I said, cool it.” He grabbed her hand, held it in a grip that she couldn’t loosen no matter how desperately she tried.

“Let me go!” she yelled, looking up, up and up into the face of her attacker.

The familiar face of her attacker.

She knew him!

Not Sunglasses Guy.

Hercules. The muscular, too-good-looking-to-be-for-real guy who’d been coming into Just Desserts at the crack of dawn every morning for the past four months, watching her intently as she filled his order. Two doughnuts and a large coffee. Black. To go. She’d noticed him the first day he’d walked into the bakery, and she’d been noticing him ever since. What woman wouldn’t? The guy should be on the front cover of a bodybuilder magazine.

“What are you doing here?” She managed to sputter, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Looking for you.”

“Well, you found me and scared me, and now I’ve ruined three dozen pastries.” Her voice shook as she tugged away. “Maureen is not going to be happy.”

“I’m sure they’re salvageable.” He lifted the boxes, opened the one on the top and frowned. “Some of them.”

“None of them. I’m going to have to go back for more.” She huffed, eyeing the smashed tops of several muffins, her pulse racing for a reason that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the man standing beside her. There was just something about his dark, knowing gaze that unbalanced her, and having him there, talking to her, looking straight into her eyes, studying her face…

Unbalanced was exactly how she felt.

She frowned, pulling the boxes from his hands. “You said you were looking for me. Did Dottie send you?” Dottie had been part of Shelby’s life for as long as she could remember. A good friend of Beulah’s, she’d shown up at the bakery a week after Beulah’s funeral, and she’d been hanging around ever since.

“She said you didn’t take your car out for the delivery, and she was worried about you walking here alone.”

“My car wouldn’t start, so I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Next time, call someone to give you a ride.”

“Before dawn? Who would I call?” she asked, and he shrugged.

“A friend. Family. Someone who can make sure you get where you’re going and back safely.”

“I’ve been getting where I’m going and back safely for years, Herc—” She stopped short of calling him what she’d been calling him in her head since the first day she’d seen him. “I guess you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“Ryder Malone.”

“Well, like I said, Ryder, I’ve been running my own business and getting by just fine for five years. I’m not sure what possessed Dottie to worry now, but you can go back to what you were doing before she sent you out looking for me.” She took a step toward Maureen’s door, but Ryder pulled her up short.

“What I was doing was waiting for my doughnuts and coffee. Dottie won’t sell them to me until I get you back to the bakery in one piece, so going back to what I was doing isn’t going to accomplish anything.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake! What is that woman up to now?” she muttered, shoving the boxes toward him. “Here. Hold these. I’ll tell Maureen that I need to run back to the bakery. If you don’t mind giving me a ride, we should be able to get things cleared up pretty quickly and get you on your way.”

“No problem.” He took a ruined muffin from the top box and bit into it. “Still tastes great. Are you sure your customer won’t—”

“I’m sure.” She cut him off, anxious to give Maureen the bad news and get back to the bakery. She had too much to do to waste time, and she planned to tell Dottie that. Of all the things the woman had done in the four years she’d been working at the bakery, sending Ryder Malone out searching for Shelby took the cake.

A sad attempt at matchmaking. That’s what it was, and Shelby did not have the patience for it.

She marched to Maureen’s front door, bracing herself for the tantrum she knew was coming. As much as she liked the vivacious, spontaneous fifty-year-old, Shelby thought Maureen was a little too much like her mother and sister. Sweet but spoiled. Kind, as long as things were going her way.

Right now, things were not going Maureen’s way, and Shelby expected to hear about it.

She rang the doorbell of the beautiful Victorian, glancing at her watch as she did so. Already five minutes late, and she still had to return to the bakery to get new product. Maureen was not going to be happy.

As a matter of fact, Shelby was surprised she hadn’t already opened the door and demanded an explanation. Now that she thought about it, Shelby was surprised there were no lights on, no sign that Maureen was getting ready for her fiftieth birthday celebration. An early breakfast, a limo ride to the airport and an early flight out to New York City.

Be there by 5:20 a.m., Shelby. Not a minute later. Our flight leaves at 8:30, and the girls will be showing up on my doorstep at 6:00 expecting a birthday breakfast to die for.

Maureen’s words rang in Shelby’s ears, anxiety simmering in her stomach as she peered into the narrow window beside the door. Nothing. Not even a hint of movement.

Concerned, she rang the doorbell again and heard something. A muffled sound that came from deep within the house.

And then the world exploded.

Glass sprayed from the windows to either side of the door. Heat blazed from flames that shot from somewhere.

Everywhere.

Another explosion, and she was flying, spinning, hurtling through space. Away from the burning door. Away from the shattered glass. Away from the lightening morning and deep blue sky. Flying and whirling into darkness so black and deep she knew she’d never escape it.

TWO

The force of the explosion knocked Ryder Malone from his feet. He went down hard, his thigh cramping, his pulse racing, a thousand memories trying to drag him into the past. He ignored them, jumping to his feet and running across the grass that separated him from Shelby Simons. Pretty, amusing, uncomplicated Shelby Simons. Owner of the only bakery in town that knew how to make a doughnut right.

Owner of the sweetest smile he’d seen in years.

She intrigued him. Her quiet joy, her easy humor, the comfortable way she interacted with the people who entered her bakery, all those qualities set to a backdrop of quiet beauty and stunning blue eyes.

Now, she lay facedown on the ground, bits of shingle and wood falling around her like glowing confetti. They coated her back and her thick dark hair, covered the ground around her prone figure. Flames shot from broken windows on either side of the thick wood door she’d been standing in front of. A few inches to the left or right, and she’d have been sliced to bits.

He brushed an ember from silky curls, felt the pulse point in her neck. It beat slow and steady.

Alive.

No time to check for injuries. Not with the fire raging out of control and the house groaning beneath the onslaught of flames.

He scooped her up, racing back across the yard as another explosion rocked the house. It threw him to his knees, but he kept his arms tight around Shelby’s soft, limp body.

Neighbors spilled from their homes, frantic cries mixing with the roar of the blaze that consumed the beautiful Victorian, the sounds background noise to Ryder’s racing thoughts. He’d seen explosions, felt them, lived through them. He hadn’t expected one in Spokane. Not on a sleepy spring morning.

“Shelby?” He brushed thick hair from her cheek, and she shifted, her eyes slowly opening.

“What happened?” She gasped, coughing on the acrid fumes that poured from the burning shell of the old house.

“Some kind of explosion.”

“Explosion? Maureen!” She shoved away, jumped to her feet and ran straight back toward the inferno.

He snagged the bow of her apron, pulling her to a stop, and she swung around, her eyes wide with horror. “Maureen is in there.”

“There’s nothing we can do for her now,” he said truthfully, and she yanked from his hold, spun away, running toward the house again.

He followed, heat searing his cheeks as flames whooshed through the roof and windows, consuming wood and melting wiring, the scent suffocating.

“Shelby! She’s dead. There’s nothing we can do to help her,” he shouted, grabbing her apron again.

“She’s my friend. I have to try.”

“And kill yourself in the process? I can’t let you do that.” He wouldn’t let her do that, but she turned, tears trekking down her cheeks, leaving white trails in her soot-stained face. A large knot peeked out from beneath silky curls near her temple, the swollen flesh surrounding a deep cut that oozed blood. She didn’t seem to feel the pain of it. Didn’t seem to know she was hurt.

“It’s her birthday, Ryder. Her fiftieth. She can’t be dead.”

He touched her cheek, tried to make her see the futility of the situation. “People die on their birthdays all the time.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean Maureen is dead. Maybe she survived the explosion. Maybe she’s upstairs, trying to find a way through the smoke and flames. I can’t just stand here and watch her house burn around her.”

“Shelby—”

She’d turned away again, racing around to the back of the house, dark hair glowing gold in the firelight.

He followed, his thigh aching, the memories threatening to overtake him.

Smoke.

Flames.

His comrades consumed by it.

Ryder consumed.

He shoved the images down deep, refusing them the way he had so many times in the six years since an explosive device had taken the lives of four of the ten navy SEALs who’d been sent to hunt a high-level terrorist in Afghanistan.

Fire licked along the facade of the house, blazing across the back-porch roof, snapping and crackling as it ate its way up wood posts. Engulfed, the back door offered no hope of entry, the shattered windows only serving as a conduit for black smoke and red-gold flames to pour out.

Death had come calling, and it had taken every living thing in its path.

Shelby stopped in her tracks, her face lit by flames.

“She really is dead, isn’t she?” she asked quietly, the words barely carrying over the fire’s crackling hiss. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with blood and soot, but her voice was steady, her gaze direct.

“Yes.”

“It’s her birthday.” She repeated the information as if doing so would somehow change what had happened to her friend.

“I know. Come on.” He took her arm, urging her to the front yard. Two explosions had already rocked the house. There might be another, and he didn’t want Shelby anywhere near the building if there was.

Three fire trucks were parked at the curb, firefighters hooking a hose to the hydrant across the street. The ordered chaos of the scene strummed along Ryder’s nerves, making him anxious and antsy. He’d wanted a couple of doughnuts and some coffee, and he’d gotten trouble instead. Not a good morning. That was for sure.

He hurried Shelby across the street, and a tall, thin firefighter stopped them there, his gaze jumping from Ryder to Shelby.

“You okay, folks?” he asked.

“We’re fine, but my friend Maureen…” Shelby didn’t finish.

“Is she inside?”

“Yes.”

“Anyone else in there that you know of?”

“No. She lived alone.”

“Okay. We’ll do what we can to find her, but it doesn’t look good.”

“I know.” Shelby offered a watery smile, and Ryder’s heart constricted, the feeling both surprising and uncomfortable. He’d noticed Shelby and her sweet smile every time he’d gone into her bakery, but noticing wasn’t the same as feeling something for her.

And he was feeling.

Sympathy, concern, curiosity about the woman who seemed both strong and vulnerable.

“I’m going to send an EMT over. You need to get the cut on your head looked at.” The firefighter hurried away, and Shelby put a hand to her temple, fingering the lump that still oozed blood.

“It doesn’t even hurt,” she said, shivering as she looked at her bloodied fingers.

“Shock will do that to you. Here.” Ryder shrugged out of his jacket and draped it around her shoulders, his knuckles brushing the silky flesh beneath her jaw as he adjusted the collar.

She stilled, something flashed in the depth of her eyes. Fear? Anxiety? It was there and gone too quickly for him to read.

“Thanks. I’ve never been so cold in my life. I guess that’s another thing sho—” Her voice trailed off, her eyes widening as she caught sight of his side holster. “That’s a gun.”

“Right.”

“You’re carrying a weapon.”

“Right.”

“But…why?”

“I’m in the security business. I protect people and property.”

“You’re a bodyguard?”

“A security contractor.”

“Which is the same as a bodyguard.”

“If you want.”

“What I want is to go back to last night and insist that Maureen spend it at my place.”

“It would be nice if life had a do-over button, Shelby Ann, but it doesn’t.”

“I know. I just wish that I’d had a chance to save her.” She swayed, her face colorless. He slid an arm around her waist, motioning to the EMT who was making his way toward them.

“Ma’am, why don’t you sit down and let me have a look at your head?”

“I’m all right.”

“You’re bleeding, and you may have a concussion.” The EMT used gloved fingers to probe Shelby’s wound, and she stiffened.

“Ow!”

“Looks like you’re going to need a few stitches. The doctor may want to do a CAT scan to rule out any fractures or brain bleeds. Let’s get you transported to the hospital and see what’s what.”

“I really don’t need to go to the hospital,” Shelby protested.

“You really do,” Ryder responded, urging her onto a stretcher that had been wheeled over by two other EMTs.

“But—”

“Just relax, ma’am, and let us do all the work.” They rolled her away as she continued to protest.

Ryder figured he’d have a chat with the fire marshal and then find a place to buy some coffee, eat one of the protein bars that he kept in his glove compartment and get on with his day.

He scanned the mass of people fighting the blaze, searching for the one who might be in charge. A dog yapped from the bushes at the edge of the yard, but he ignored it, focusing on the task, determined to follow through on his plan.

“Wait! Stop!” Shelby’s cry sent adrenaline pumping through him, and he turned.

She hung over the side of the stretcher as she whistled and called to something. If she leaned any farther, she’d fall on her head. The EMTs seemed helpless to stop her.

Ryder was not.

He covered the ground between them quickly, grabbing her arm and hauling her up. “Are you nuts? You’re going to break your neck!”

“That’s Mazy. I’m sure of it.” She pointed to the edge of the yard.

“Mazy who?”

“Mazy. Maureen’s dog. She’s probably scared to death. Come here, Mazy. Here, girl,” she called, leaning over the side of the stretcher again.

“Cut it out before you kill yourself!” He grabbed her arm again. Hauled her up again.

“But—”

“I’ll go look for the dog. You stay put.” Disgusted, he tramped across the yard, following the sound of yapping dog until he found a little white puffball cowering in the bushes. It looked more like a piece of fluff than a dog, but he picked it up anyway, ignoring its rumbling growl.

“This her?” He held the puffball out for Shelby to see, and she teared up.

“Yes. Poor thing. She must be so scared and confused.”

“I’ll take her to the shelter. She’ll get good—”

“No! The other dogs will eat her alive.”

She had a point. To a bigger dog, Mazy would probably look like a tasty morsel. “I can leave her here. Maybe Maureen had family or friends who will come and get her.”

“You can’t leave her here. She’ll be—”

“Scared and confused?”

“Yes.” She offered a half smile. “Listen, I hate to ask, but could you bring her to the hospital? I’ll have someone meet us there and bring her to my place. That way, she won’t run off while she’s waiting for rescue.”

Bring the dog to the hospital?

He frowned at the little beast, and he was pretty sure it frowned back, but Shelby was waiting, her eyes big and dark with concern, and no refused to make its way past his lips.

“Okay, but if she chews the upholstery in my truck, she’s toast.”

“Mazy has good manners. She’ll behave.” Shelby smiled the same sweet smile she greeted him with every time he walked into her bakery, and his pulse jumped, his blood warming.

He’d dated plenty of beautiful women during his time in the navy. After his injury and recovery, he’d been more selective, dating just a few women before he’d found Danielle. Gorgeous, driven and strong in her faith, she’d been the kind of woman he’d thought he could make a good life with, but after two years of dating, the relationship had felt hollow, Danielle’s clawing, grasping need to get ahead putting a wedge between them.

He’d wanted a cozy home in the suburbs of New York City, a few kids, maybe a dog. She’d wanted a high-rise apartment in Manhattan, no kids, no pets. Nothing but work and money.

In the end, they hadn’t found a way to make their goals mesh.

When he’d broken up with her, he hadn’t bothered looking for another relationship. Ryder had had plenty of opportunity to find The One. But he hadn’t, and he figured she wasn’t out there.

But Shelby appealed to him, everything about her soft and warm and inviting. No matter how much he’d tried to ignore her, he couldn’t. Four months of visiting her bakery, and he was no closer to understanding why.

She was pretty, sure, but that wasn’t it.

When he looked into her eyes, it was like looking into her soul, and Ryder wanted to keep on looking.

He wasn’t sure what to think about that.

Wasn’t sure if he should think anything about it.

He’d come to Spokane to open another branch of his company, Personal Securities Incorporated. One year, that’s what he’d planned to devote to setting things up. In eight months, he’d be going home to New York City. He didn’t have time to get involved in a relationship, and he wasn’t sure he would have wanted to if he did have the time.

But he couldn’t seem to stay away from Shelby and her quaint bakery and easy smile.

He frowned, the dog whining and wiggling as the sirens blared and the ambulance sped away.

THREE

No way was Shelby ever going to let Dr. Jarrod Estes sew her up. She’d dated the man for about two minutes after she’d found Andrew and Stephanie kissing outside of Andrew’s apartment building. One date with the most sought-after bachelor at Grace Christian Church, because Shelby had wanted to feel as if she wasn’t the biggest loser on the planet. One date had been plenty. Jarrod had spent more time checking his text messages than talking to her, and Shelby had decided there and then that she was done with the dating scene.

Done.

Finished.

No more men.

Ever.

She’d made some lame excuse about leaving an oven on at the bakery and excused herself halfway through the entrée. Now the man she’d ditched on their first date was coming at her with a needle.

“Really, Jarrod, I don’t think stitches are necessary.” She eased off the exam table, her bare toes curling against cold tile, the acrid scent of smoke wafting from her hair.

Smoke from the explosions and fire that had killed Maureen.

Tears clogged her throat, but she’d already cried so much that her eyes were hot and dry.

“Shelby, I know you’ve had a tough morning, and I know you’re anxious to get out of here and take some time to grieve, but you do need stitches.” Jarrod dropped the needle back on the tray, glanced at his watch and sighed. “Tell you what, why don’t I call Dottie and have her come to hold your hand?”

“Do not call Dottie.” That was the last thing Shelby needed.

“How about one of your friends, then? Someone from church? Jasmine or Faith?” He leaned forward in his chair, a hint of impatience in his tone.

“I wouldn’t want them to drive all the way here. Besides, I’m opting out of the stitches. I’m sure my head will heal just fine.”

“It’s going to scar,” he warned.

“I can think of worse things.” She scooped up her clothes and the jacket Ryder had thrown over her shoulders. Since Jarrod didn’t seem keen on leaving the room, she’d find a restroom and change there. Sure, Ryder had said he’d bring Mazy to the hospital, but Shelby had seen the look in his eyes, and she figured he was about as likely to follow through as she was to let Jarrod stitch her up. She hadn’t even bothered calling someone to come get the dog.

The only good man is a dead husband with a good life-insurance policy.

Another one of Beulah’s truisms. One Shelby’s mother and sister wholeheartedly believed. Shelby had tried to believe something different. She’d opened herself up to love, tried to create what Beulah and her mother had insisted was impossible—forever with a man who loved her for who she was.

Tried twice times, actually.

Once in college.

Once with Andrew.

Both had been disastrous.

She didn’t plan to try again.

“Thanks for everything, Jarrod. See you at church Sunday.” She yanked the door open, colliding with a rock-hard chest.

“What’s the hurry, Shelby Ann?” Broad hands grabbed her waist as she caught her balance.

She knew the voice, the hands, the dark chocolate eyes that stared into hers.

Ryder.

Her heart jumped in acknowledgment, her body humming with an awareness she knew she shouldn’t be feeling. “You came.”

“I said I would,” he responded, frowning slightly. “Is your friend around here somewhere? That dog and I aren’t getting along, and I want her out of my car ASAP.”

“Mazy gets along with everyone.”

“She’s not getting along with me. So, where’s your friend?” He glanced at Jarrod, at the otherwise empty hospital room and then turned the full force of his gaze on Shelby again.

Yep. Dark chocolate eyes. Only they weren’t sweet, they were hard and intense.

“I…didn’t call anyone. I didn’t think you’d actually come. You can just leave her…”

“Where?”

“Well…” Where could he leave her? “Just give me a minute to get changed and I’ll get her.” She tried to step past him, but he blocked her path.

“It’s going to take more than a minute to get your head stitched up.” He edged her backward.

“I’m not planning to have it stitched up.”

“Shelby, will you please just let me get this done?” Jarrod asked, exasperated and not even trying to hide it.

“Fine.” She walked back to the exam table, dropped her clothes and the coat on the chair beside it.

“Don’t worry. You’re going to feel this first stick, and then you won’t feel a thing.” Jarrod leaned toward her, the needle pointed straight at her face, and she felt every bit of blood drain from her head.

“You’re not going to faint, are you?” Ryder put a hand on her shoulder.

“That would be preferable to the alternative.”

“Which would be?”

“Staying conscious for the entire horrifying procedure.”

Ryder laughed, the sound rusty and gruff. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

“I guess that depends on which side of the needle you’re on.” Shelby winced as Jarrod shot her with the anesthetic.

“That’s the worst of it, Shelby. Let’s give it a minute to take effect. So—” Jarrod turned his attention to Ryder “—were you at Maureen’s, too?”

“Yes.” Ryder didn’t offer more than that, and Shelby wondered if Jarrod would take the hint and stop asking questions.

He didn’t.

“You work at the bakery with Shelby?”

“Why would you say that?” Ryder asked, and Jarrod frowned.

“Shelby said she was making a delivery when Maureen’s house exploded.”

“Shelby was making a delivery.”

“And you were with her?”

“Is there a reason you want to know, Doctor?” Ryder asked as Jarrod lifted a needle and bent close to Shelby’s head.

“Just curious. I was shocked to hear about the explosion and Maureen’s death. I’m just trying to figure out how everything went down.” Jarrod had the good grace to flush, his neck and cheeks going deep red.

“That’s the job of the police and fire marshal. It may take a while for them to figure it out. The house is pretty much rubble. I’m not sure how easy it will be to piece together what happened.”

“Did they find Maureen’s…Maureen?” Shelby asked, and Ryder nodded.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Poor Maureen.” The tears Shelby had thought were completely dried up began again, slipping down her cheeks as Jarrod worked.

“If it makes you feel any better, she didn’t suffer. If the initial explosion didn’t kill her, the smoke overcame her so quickly, she didn’t have time to be scared,” Ryder offered, patting her back as Jarrod continued his slow, methodical stitching.

“Dead is dead. She should be flying to New York right now, celebrating with her friends. Not lying in a morgue,” Shelby said, taking a tissue Ryder shoved toward her.

“She’s celebrating in a different way.” Jarrod’s easy platitude did more to irritate Shelby than it did to comfort her. She knew Maureen was a Christian, but that didn’t make her death any less tragic.

“I think, if given the choice, she’d rather be on the plane.”

“Right,” Jarrod conceded, stepping back. “Okay, you’re all set. I’m going to send a nurse in with aftercare instructions. See your personal physician tomorrow. The stitches will need to come out in ten days.”

“Thanks.” She stood on wobbling legs, grabbing the closest thing to her, which just happened to be Ryder’s arm. She jerked back, the spark of electricity that shot through her palm an unwelcome surprise.

What was it about the man that made her heart race every time she looked in his eyes? That made heat shoot through her when she touched his arm?

It certainly wasn’t his winning smile or charming personality. The guy looked like a carved statue of a Roman centurion, all hard angles and cold calculation.

“I need to get changed,” she mumbled, turning away.

“I’ll be right outside.” He stepped into the hall and closed the door.

Alone, Shelby dressed quickly, pulling on her white polo shirt and the faded jeans that were just a little looser than they’d been when she’d broken up with Andrew. Ten pounds lost so she could fit into a fancy black dress. It all seemed futile now, the worry, the wondering if she’d look beautiful enough to make Andrew regret his lying, cheating ways, a waste of time.

She sighed as she tied her lilac apron. Just Desserts’ insignia emblazoned on the front, it was the only uniform she required for people working at the bakery. It was Beulah’s favorite color and a nod to the grandmother who’d provided the funds to open the shop. Today, Shelby’s normally immaculate apron was soot marred and grass stained, splotches of blood mixing with the green-and-black mess, a modern painting that spoke of chaos and tragedy. She’d have to throw it away. No way would she ever get the stains out, and she couldn’t imagine wearing it without crying.

Someone knocked on the door, and she pulled it open, expecting Ryder to be standing impatiently on the other side.

“Hold your horses, big guy. I’m almost…” Her voice trailed off as she looked into the face of a stocky, middle-aged man.

“Sorry. I thought you were someone else.” She glanced down the hall, surprised at how disappointed she was to see it empty.

“Mr. Malone is speaking with the sheriff. I’m sure he’ll be back shortly. I’m Fire Chief Timothy Saddles, Spokane County Fire Marshal. How are you feeling?”

“Okay. All things considered.”

“It’s been a rough morning. I’m sorry to say your friend lost her life in the fire.”

“Ryder…Mr. Malone told me you’d found her remains.”

“We did. They’ve been sent to the medical examiner and will be released to the family once he’s finished.”

Medical examiner? That made Maureen’s death sound less like an accident and more like…

Murder?

Shelby’s pulse jumped, her thoughts spinning back to those moments before she’d rung Maureen’s doorbell, back to the man with the sunglasses jogging away from Maureen’s street.

“Is that common procedure? I thought the medical examiner only made rulings on suspicious deaths.”

“Not really, ma’am. His job is to determine cause of death when an examination by a physician can’t determine it. In this case, we’re assuming the explosion killed the deceased, but assumptions don’t make for good investigations. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Go ahead.”

“Mr. Malone said you were making a delivery to the deceased’s—”

“Maureen.”

“Pardon?”

“The deceased was Maureen. A bestselling author, a mother, a good friend. I was making a delivery to her place because it was her birthday, and she had invited a dozen friends to go on a shopping trip to New York City. They were going to meet at her house, have some breakfast and then take a limo to the airport.”

“My apologies if I sounded callous, Ms. Simons. What time did you arrive at Maureen’s house?”

“At 5:25. Five minutes later than she had asked me to be there.”

“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary? Anything different about the house?”

“There was a guy jogging down South Hill as I was heading up it. I saw him come off her street.”

“Plenty of people jog on South Hill,” Chief Saddles said as he jotted something in a small notebook.

“I know, but he was wearing sunglasses and gloves. It struck me as…odd.”

“Did you get a good look at his face?”

“He was Caucasian. Medium complexion. Maybe five-ten. I didn’t see his hair. It was covered by a hood.”

“It was a chilly morning. A hood and jacket wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. Gloves, either, for that matter. We’ll ask around, though. Maybe he lives in one of the houses on 21st.”

Maybe.

But Shelby couldn’t help shuddering as she remembered the way he’d turned, taken a step toward her.

“Do you know what caused the explosion?” she asked, trying to refocus her thoughts and get ahold of her wild imagination. He hadn’t followed her, hadn’t tried to harm her, hadn’t done anything except jog by and look, then turn and look again.

As if he were memorizing her features.

Trying to make sure he’d recognize her if he saw her again.

“A gas leak in the heater. It looks like the heating unit cracked, gas escaped. One spark of electricity from old wiring and the whole place went up.”

“A spark? Like from someone ringing the doorbell?” Shelby asked, cold with the thought. Had she killed her friend?

“It’s possible. Either that, or Maureen turned on a light—”

“All the lights were off. The only electricity was from me ringing the doorbell twice. It’s my fault, isn’t it? I killed her.” She dropped into a chair, her stomach sick, those stupid tears back again.

“Of course you didn’t, ma’am.” The chief patted her arm awkwardly, and Shelby almost felt sorry for him.

“Everything okay in here?” Ryder stepped into the room, his height and oversize muscles dwarfing the average-size fire chief, his dark gaze on Shelby.

“You’re crying again.” He stated the obvious, and she frowned, irritated with him, with herself and with the fire chief, who hovered uneasily a few feet away.

“Because I just realized I killed my friend.”

“Ma’am, your friend may very well have been dead before the gas was ignited. The amount of gas it took to cause such a catastrophic explosion was enough to asphyxiate her while she slept.”

“That really doesn’t make me feel any better, Chief.” But she stood anyway, refusing to meet Ryder’s eyes as she shoved his jacket into his arms. “I really need to get to work. Are we done here?”

“Yes. Just give me your contact information, and I’ll call if I have any more questions.”

Shelby spouted off her home address and her cell-phone number, and gave the chief the bakery’s address for good measure.

“Will you call me once you have news from the medical examiner?” she asked.

“Of course. You’ll probably hear from me in a day or two. If not, give me a call.” He handed her a business card, and she shoved it in her apron pocket.

His findings wouldn’t change the fact that Maureen was dead, but they might ease some of the guilt Shelby was suddenly feeling.

She’d felt the same way when Beulah had died alone in a hospital in Beverly Hills while Shelby sat in an airport in Seattle waiting for her connecting flight. She’d been trying to get to her grandmother after receiving a late-night call from the nursing home saying Beulah had had a heart attack, but all the trying in the world hadn’t put her where she needed to be when she needed to be there.

And all the crying in the world couldn’t undo what had happened at Maureen’s house, because crying over spilled milk never got the mess cleaned up.

That’s what Beulah would have said, and Shelby knew it was true. When Dottie had shown up on her doorstep, homeless because she’d been kicked out of Beulah’s Beverly Hills rental property, Shelby had let her live in her spare room, offered her a job at the bakery, made her feel like family, because she’d known it was what Beulah would have wanted. Shelby hadn’t been able to be at her grandmother’s side when she’d died, but she had carried on the legacy of kindness and compassion that Beulah had shown to the people in her life.

She might not be able to bring Maureen back to life, but Shelby could press the fire marshal and the police to find the reason for Maureen’s death. It’s what Maureen would want. Complete disclosure. Absolute truth. Just like she always wrote in her true-crime books.

The fire chief left the room, his shoulders stooped, his hair mussed. He’d probably been sleeping when he’d been called out to Maureen’s place. Shelby had a feeling he wouldn’t be sleeping much in the next few days.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Ryder cupped her elbow, led her through the quiet hospital corridor. Shelby didn’t bother telling him she needed to wait for aftercare instructions, because she didn’t want to wait. She wanted to go to the bakery, lose herself in the process of creating cakes and cookies and pastries.

“Thanks again for bringing Mazy.”

“I probably should say it wasn’t a problem.”

“But it was?”

“She chewed a hole in my car’s upholstery, so yeah, it was.”

“I’ll pay you for the damage.”

“You weren’t the one who chewed the hole,” he growled, but Shelby thought there might be a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“No, but I did ask you to give her a ride here.”

“You asked. I said yes. I’m as culpable as you.”

“I can pay for half of the repair cost, then.”

“No need, but for future reference, when I say I’m going to do something, I follow through. I expect other people to do the same.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Not that she thought that she’d have any reason to.

Dating was out of the question. Men were off-limits.

If she wanted to remember that, she needed to stay far away from guys like Ryder.

She would stay far away from him. As soon as she got Mazy out of his car.

They stepped outside into the bright morning sunlight, the vivid blue sky and fluffy white clouds too beautiful for the ugliness of the day. Maureen would have been so pleased with the weather, the clear skies, everything about her fiftieth birthday. Mazy barked hysterically as Ryder led Shelby to his Hummer, and Shelby was sure she must know that her owner was dead.

Poor little dog.

“Be careful. She’s a menace,” Ryder warned as he opened the door.

“Hey, girl.” Shelby pulled Mazy into her arms, doing her best not to cry again. Unlike her mother and sister, who always looked beautiful when they cried, Shelby looked like a mess and felt even worse when the tears flowed. Blotchy skin, bright red nose, raging headache. She was heading for all three.

“Thanks again, Ryder. I’ll make sure to tell Dottie to keep you supplied with doughnuts and coffee when I’m not at the bakery.” She started to walk away, but Ryder snagged her hand, his palm rough and callused and way too wonderful.

“You’re not planning on walking to the bakery,” he said, his forehead creased, fine lines fanning out from his eyes. He had long, golden eyelashes and dark gold hair, and he really did look like a Roman statue come to life. Sleek, hard muscles and strong lines. Beautiful in a very masculine way.

“Yes, I am. It’s only two miles from here.”

“Maybe I should rephrase that. You’re not going to walk to the bakery.”

“Of course I am. I make deliveries here all the time, and when the weather is nice and the deliveries are small enough, I walk. It’ll take me a half hour, tops.”

“Not if you pass out from your head injury on the way there.”

“I haven’t passed out yet. There’s no reason to think I will.”

“Listen, Shelby Ann.” Ryder sighed, obviously holding on to his patience with difficulty. “I was supposed to be at work a half hour ago. I have a meeting in an hour. I’d really like to be there. If I drive you to the bakery, I’ll make it. If I follow you to the bakery to make sure you arrive safely, I won’t. So, get in the Hummer and let’s get going.”

“You don’t have to follow me.”

“Yeah. I do. So get in.” He lifted her off her feet, plopping her onto the passenger seat with ease.

“Hey!”

“Move your legs,” he ordered, nearly closing the door on her when she didn’t move fast enough.

“This is kidnapping,” she sputtered as he climbed in.

“If I were going to kidnap you, I’d make sure the dog wasn’t with you when I did it. One hole in the upholstery is enough.” His bland reply almost made Shelby smile.

“You’re a Neanderthal, you know that, Ryder?” she asked without heat as she fastened her seat belt. His hands had been on her waist, and she could still feel the imprint of his thumbs on her belly. Her soft haven’t-done-a-sit-up-in-ten-years belly.

She cracked open the window, letting crisp morning air cool her flushed cheeks.

“A Neanderthal, huh?” Ryder smiled as he drove through the parking lot, and Shelby’s pulse had the nerve to jump in response.

“If the shoe fits…”

“Did they wear shoes back then?”

“They might have. Of course, even if they didn’t, a guy who picks a woman up and throws her in his car is still…” She lost her train of thought; a man at the corner of the hospital parking lot caught her attention.

Dark glasses that glinted in the light. Hood pulled over his hair.

Medium height.

Medium build.

As she watched, he pulled down the glasses, stared straight into her eyes, his gaze hollow and icy-blue.

“That’s him,” she shouted, as he turned and walked around the corner.

“Who?” Ryder braked, leaning past her and looking in the direction she pointed.

“The guy I saw this morning running from 21st Street. He’s heading down Main Street.”

“Stay in the car. I’ll go see what he has to say.”

He was out of the Hummer before Shelby could respond, moving quickly, bypassing a few pedestrians as he jogged around the corner and out of sight.

Going to find the guy with the icy-blue eyes.

Shelby shuddered, smoothing Mazy’s silky head. “He’ll be fine, right, girl?”

The dog whined, but it wasn’t the answer Shelby wanted.

She wanted to know absolutely for sure that Ryder wasn’t going to run into a trap and be brought down by the strange guy with the sunglasses.

Ten minutes passed. Then another ten.

Ryder had a meeting to get to, and Shelby had a desperate need to know he was okay.

She set Mazy on the seat.

“Stay here and don’t chew anything.” She tossed the command out as she opened the door and jumped out. The quick movement was a mistake. Her head spun, and she grabbed the door, steadying herself as she took deep gulps of air.

“I thought I told you to stay in the Hummer,” Ryder snapped, and Shelby jumped, her heart racing double-time as she met his dark eyes.

“I was worried about you.”

“You should have been worried about you. You’re pale as paper. Sit down before you fall down.” His tone was gruff, his hands gentle as he helped her back into the SUV.

“Did you find him?”

“No. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t there. There are plenty of places to hide around here, that’s for sure, and if he took off his hood and sunglasses, I could easily have looked right at him and not known it.” He glanced around the parking lot, his jacket pulled back just enough to show the edge of his shoulder holster.

A security contractor, that’s what he’d called himself. He looked like one. Tough and determined and very confident.

“I know it was him, Ryder. He was waiting for me.” She shuddered, and Ryder patted her knee. Heat radiated up her leg and settled deep in her belly. She ignored it. Ignored the flush that raced across her cheeks.

“Just because he’s the same guy you saw this morning doesn’t mean he was waiting for you. He might be indigent. It’s possible he spent the night at Manito Park and then came this way for something to eat.”

True. The park was just a few blocks away from Maureen’s, and the Union Gospel Mission was around the corner from the hospital. It all made perfect sense, but Shelby’s shivering fear wouldn’t leave.

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I’m going to call hospital security. See if they can pull up external security-camera footage for me. I want to get a good look at this guy.” He pulled out of the parking lot, the Hummer’s engine purring as he drove toward the bakery.

Shelby’s unsettled stomach churned and grumbled as Ryder talked to a hospital security officer on his hands-free phone, his tone brusque.

She closed her eyes. The day had started horribly, but it didn’t have to continue that way. She’d go to the bakery, work for a few hours, then take Mazy to her apartment, get her set up there. Maybe she’d forget that she’d rung the doorbell and sealed Maureen’s fate.

Maybe.

But Shelby doubted it.

A lone tear slid down her cheek, and she let it fall, because her friend was dead, because Shelby might have killed her and because there was absolutely nothing she could do to change any of it.

FOUR

Shelby seemed to be sleeping as Ryder parked in front of Just Desserts. Pale and drawn, a large bandage on her temple, she looked very young and very vulnerable. That worried him. She worried him. Despite what he’d told her, Ryder didn’t believe in coincidence, and he didn’t believe that the guy she’d seen was some random homeless person. He’d been there for Shelby. Ryder’s gut told him that, and he always listened to his gut.

He’d called the hospital security team and spoken to the head of security, but the thirty-second conversation had revealed little. They’d check their surveillance footage and said they’d report anything suspicious, but Ryder doubted a guy standing on the street corner would be viewed as that.

He frowned, eyeing the news vans parked in the bakery’s parking lot. Obviously, news of the fire, Maureen’s death and Shelby’s involvement had spread.

“Are we at the bakery?” Shelby opened her eyes and blinked groggily. Dark curls slid across her forehead and cheeks. Wild and silky-looking, they begged to be touched.

“I thought you were sleeping.”

“It takes me longer than five minutes to fall asleep. It didn’t sound as if your conversation with hospital security went well.” She scooped Mazy into her arms and got out of the Hummer. Ryder followed, falling into step beside her as she made her way across the crowded parking lot.

“They’re being as helpful as they can. I’ll call the sheriff later. He may be interested in viewing the footage.”

“Maybe, but you’re probably right. The guy was hanging around waiting for the mission to open.” She smiled as she walked into the bakery, the scent of vanilla and chocolate and rich yeast dough stroking Ryder’s senses almost as completely as Shelby did.

He frowned, not comfortable with the thought.

“Wow. This is…insane,” Shelby whispered, clutching his arm for a moment and releasing it just as quickly.

She was right.

The bakery was jam-packed.

“I’ll take care of it,” he responded, shoving his way through the crowd.

A team of reporters stood near the counter, shouting questions above the quiet roar of ordering patrons and busybody visitors. Shelby’s harried young employees scurried from person to person, answering questions, ringing up orders.

Ryder eased his way through the crowd, sidling up next to the loudest of three news crews.

“Leave,” he said quietly, and the anchorwoman frowned.

“Excuse me?” she asked as if she weren’t sure she’d heard him right.

“Ms. Simons won’t be answering any questions today. If you’re interested in an interview, you’ll have to call ahead of time and set up an appointment.”

“But—”

“You’ve been asked to leave, and now you’re trespassing. I suggest you take my advice and go before I call the police.” He left her openmouthed and unhappy, and moved on to the next crew.

Ten minutes later, the crowd had thinned to a manageable number, air circulated through the small bakery once again, the harried young girl and her tattooed male counterpart behind the counter were working in harmony once again.

Mission accomplished.

He turned to call Shelby over, but she’d disappeared. He could hear her voice drifting from the kitchen, and he knew she was safe.

He could leave, go to his meeting and get on with his day. Only he wasn’t sure he should leave before he made sure Shelby was okay.

As a matter of fact, he was certain he shouldn’t.

He walked to the counter, smiled at the blonde teenager. “Is Shelby in the back?”

“Yes, I think so. I mean, she could have walked out the back door, but she never does that.” She glanced over her shoulder, and Ryder took the opportunity to step around the counter.

“Sir! You can’t come back here.”

“I just did.” He smiled again and walked into the kitchen.

“What are you doing back here? Git!” A blue-haired lady came at him with a broom, and Ryder sidestepped her swing.

Dottie. The bane of his existence. Refusing to serve him coffee and doughnuts had been bad enough. Now she was trying to beat him with a broom. He grabbed it before she could swing again, slipping it out of her hands.

“Where’s Shelby?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Dottie! There’s no need to be rude.” Shelby stepped out of a walk-in pantry, a huge bag of flour clutched in her hands.

“That thing is as big as you are. You should have gotten that tattooed employee of yours to carry it.” Ryder took it from her hands, and she shrugged.

“I’m stronger than he is. Dottie, why don’t you go up front and help? They’re swamped up there.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then! I guess I’ll go.” Dottie huffed away.

“Sorry about that. Dottie has…issues.” Shelby opened the sack of flour and measured several cups into a standing mixer.

“Apparently I’m one of them.”

“Everyone is one of them.”

“Yet you employ her.”

“I inherited her from my grandmother. They were good friends. When Beulah passed away, I got Dottie.” She smiled, finally looking into his eyes. “I thought you’d left. You have that meeting to get to, remember?”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Aside from a raging headache, I’m fine.”

“You need to go home, Shelby. That was a pretty serious head injury you sustained.”

“It’s not the head injury that’s giving me a headache. It’s all the tears. I always get headaches when I cry.” She poured milk into the mixer, added eggs and soft butter and sugar, her hands pretty and efficient. He’d like to take her to the gun range. Show her how to handle a semiautomatic. He had a feeling she’d be a good shot.

“Yeah? Then I’ll have to be sure to never make you cry.”

“Why would you? You come in for doughnuts and coffee every day. That’s money in my pocket. Which makes me very happy.” She offered a tight smile and turned her attention to the bowl. Obviously, he’d hit a nerve.

“Is that doughnut batter? Because I never did get my breakfast,” he said.

“No. It’s sweet bread. I’m going to put it in the fridge to proof, and then I’m going home. I need to get Mazy settled, and I need to settle a little, too. It’s been a rough morning.” She covered the bowl with a damp cloth, slid it onto a rolling rack with ten other bowls and pushed everything into a walk-in refrigerator.

“Where’s the dog? I’ll get her for you and walk you to your car.”

“Ryder, I appreciate your help, but I don’t need it anymore.” She brushed flour from her apron, and he brushed it from her cheek, his fingers grazing silky flesh.

She stilled.

“Ryder…”

“You had flour on your cheek.”

“Oh. Okay.” She rubbed the spot he’d touched, not meeting his eyes.

“So, where’s the dog?”

“Dottie tied her up out back,” she responded and then pressed her lips together. “You tricked that out of me.”

“No trick, Shelby Ann. You’re exhausted and traumatized. Whether you want to admit it or not, you need a little help.”

She sighed. “Fine. Go get Mazy. I’ll meet you out front. My car is—”

“The big pink Cadillac.”

“How did you know?”

“It’s the only car that’s here every time you are.”

“Right. Okay. I’ll meet you out there in a couple of minutes. I just need to give my crew some instructions.” She hurried away. Ran, actually.

He walked out the back exit, freed the ungrateful Mazy and carried her to Shelby’s car. He waited there, holding the struggling dog as tightly as he could without squashing her. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Twenty. He called work, rescheduled the meeting for later in the afternoon, tapped his fingers on the Caddie’s hood.

Where was she?

Probably mixing another batch of sweet bread or keeping Dottie from attacking a patron. What she needed to be doing was resting. He shoved Mazy into the Hummer and walked into the bakery.

Shelby stood at one of the small booths, talking to an elderly couple, her blue eyes widening with surprise as she met his gaze.

“Time to go.” He took her arm, tugging her away.

“But I was—”

“Going home to take a nap, remember?”

“I know, but Dottie, Zane and Rae—”

“Can handle things just fine.” He led her outside, grabbing Mazy from the back of his Hummer and waiting while Shelby climbed into the Cadillac.

“Come on, Old Blue. Give me a break this time and start, okay?” she muttered as she turned the key in the ignition.

“I hate to break the news to you, Shelby. But your car is pink, not blue.” He leaned in the open door and set Mazy in Shelby’s lap, caught a whiff of vanilla and berry, his muscles tightening in response.

“I know. Terrible, isn’t it? Beulah left it to me in her will with specific instructions to keep it pink. If I had my way, though, she’d be blue.”

“She?”

“Of course. She’s not just a car. Blue is an old lady with history. She’s been through a lot, but she’s still nice to have around. Most of the time.”

“Like Dottie?”

“Exactly. Thanks again for all your help this morning. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been at Maureen’s place.” Her eyes grew moist with tears at the mention of her friend, but she didn’t let them fall. Instead, she closed the door, offered a quick wave and drove away.

He watched until the pink Cadillac disappeared from view, something in him soft for Shelby, soft for her easy smile and compassionate nature. To keep a woman like Dottie around, to drive an old pink car in memory of a woman who’d been gone for years, to run a successful bakery with a ragtag group of teens and a crotchety old woman behind the counter took a special kind of person.

Shelby was definitely that.

Ryder had been attracted to women before.

He’d even thought he might love a few of them, but none of them had touched his heart so easily, so completely as Shelby seemed to.

He rubbed the knotted muscles in his thigh before he climbed into the Hummer. He needed to work the pain out, run until the muscles heated and loosened, but he had a meeting to attend, a client to impress. He had a company to run and his own set of problems to deal with. The last thing he needed or wanted was to be pulled into someone else’s life or drama.

But with Shelby, he wasn’t sure he’d have to be pulled.

With Shelby, he had a feeling he’d end up fighting his way into her life, and he had a feeling it would be worth it.

Drama and all.

He pulled away from Just Desserts, his mind humming with the million things he had to do before the day ended. Plenty to keep him occupied, but Shelby’s sweet smile and berry-and-vanilla scent lingered just below the surface of his thoughts, reminding him of cool summer breezes and sparkling blue waters.

Laughter and joy and home.

All the things he’d craved most when he’d been in the arid Afghanistan countryside. Everything he’d longed for when he’d been lying in a hospital bed, listening while doctors told him he’d never walk again.

Six years ago, God had given Ryder a second chance at life, and Ryder had promised to live better and love more. He’d followed through on that, honoring his fallen comrades by building a successful security business and setting up scholarship funds for their children.

But the one thing he’d longed for most since those dark, pain-filled days had remained out of reach.

Family.

Not just his parents and siblings, but that deeper, all- consuming connection built between husband and wife and children. He’d seen its power as wives and children crowded around the beds of his surviving team members, felt it in the air as he visited the widows of those he’d served with, and he’d wanted it in a way that he never had before the explosion in Afghanistan.

Wanted it.

Sought it.

Thought he might have found it in Danielle. After they’d broken up, he’d decided that family wasn’t part of God’s plan for his life. Maybe he’d been right, but Ryder wasn’t the kind who turned away from an opportunity, and when he looked at Shelby, that’s what he saw.

An opportunity.

To look one more time for forever.

Maybe he’d find it.

Maybe he wouldn’t.

Either way, he had a feeling he was in for a bumpy ride.

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