Ranger Pride

by Layla Chase

  “Probably the company will reimburse you for the full cost.” Hank leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together over his chambray shirt. “That way when a similar job arises, I’ll know who to assign.” A grin spread his mouth, and his green eyes twinkled.

  “Let’s hope that’s not for a while.” Rhys smiled, but he couldn’t have been more serious. “I’m more comfortable in camo and Wranglers than slacks.”

  Hank’s expression tightened. “I know I mentioned you having a week or so off, but…” A beep sounded from his monitor, and he sat upright to glance at the screen.

  “And?” Rhys fought the irritation flooding his body at the thought of anything coming between him and his relaxation.

  “Give me a sec here.” Hank typed for a few moments and then looked up. “We got an urgent request this morning for a job starting tomorrow that should last for the holiday weekend. Radar, I’m stretched thin. In the past two weeks, I’ve made seven assignments for new clients. I don’t even have my computer guy, Chase Adams, who is occupied with audio engineering in Texas for Sadie’s friend, Fiona. Plus Jamie and Tessa are working up near Flathead Lake in northern Montana.”

  He scrubbed a hand down his face. How could he refuse this job and expect others to roll his way? “I’ve been looking forward to some down time.”

  “This assignment will be close to that. You’ll go in undercover as a ranch hand and do surveillance, electronic and visual, on a single individual. The woman’s visiting her family on a local guest ranch.”

  His expertise in the Army had been special reconnaissance. Setting up hidden mics and cameras was no big deal. “Is she famous or something?” Rhys glanced over his shoulder, suddenly remembering Hank’s wife had been an in-demand film star. “Is that why she needs a bodyguard?”

  “We’ve been hired by the CEO of a foundation from the Midwest. He’s concerned about her being the target of a stalker.”

  If the stalker was in the Midwest, why worry about her while she’s in Montana? “I don’t know. Something’s not adding up.”

  Frowning, Hank leaned his forearms on the desk. “Can’t give you any more specifics until you agree to the assignment. Client confidentiality and all.”

  In Rhys’ first six months back in country, he’d needed to decompress. To get used to civilian life again, but doing that away from his folks. The nightmares were too frequent and violent to disguise. He’d needed semi-isolation. His cousin, Clint, astutely pointed out the availability of free room and board on the New Mexico vineyard he co-owned. While there tending the vines and doing repairs, Rhys acquired the habit of daily horseback rides. “Guest ranch, huh? Is that like a working dude ranch?”

  “Pretty much with trail rides, barbecues, hay rides, apple picking. Some guests do ranch chores.” His eyebrows winged high. “So, you’ll accept?”

  What were a few more days before he was off the clock? Extra pay meant being one step closer to a place of his own. “Sure.”

  “Thanks.” Hank smiled and reached for a folder resting on the top of his inbox. “Here’s the background information. And I’ll print out the agreement for your signature.”

  Rhys flipped open the folder to expose the top page beneath. In the upper corner was a photo of a studious-looking woman in a business suit, hair pulled back from her face, and dark-rimmed glasses. Her pale skin indicated she hadn’t been outside in weeks. Plant a perimeter of electronic surveillance then sit back and keep track of a bank of monitors. This would be a cupcake assignment.

  Chapter Two

  “Folks, we’re starting our descent to Bozeman Yellowstone International Airport. Please bring your seats and tray tables to an upright position.”

  At the attendant’s announcement, Caitlyn straightened the chair from its reclined position, stretched her arms as far as the limited space allowed, and gazed outside. To the west stood the craggy Crazy Mountains. Their majesty always tugged something in her chest. Probably because she was used to seeing only flat farm lands and erect stone buildings.

  Moments later, the plane touched down and braked before pulling into a slot.

  A cart approached on the tarmac to collect the luggage.

  She watched the hubbub of normal airport activity and once again felt grateful for those who performed their jobs to transport her safely. After gathering her computer bag, purse, and jacket from the overhead bin, she walked off the plane onto the bridge that led to the terminal.

  Using her frequent flyer miles for a first-class upgrade had been worth every penny. Although she’d intended to use the two-and-a-half-hour flight to work on her testimony, she’d dozed for most of that interval instead. Now she felt energized, ready to reconnect with her cousins, and face whatever entertainment they had planned. The threat of two nights ago was almost forgotten.

  Wonder who came to meet me? Moving with the rest of the crowd, she headed down the stairs toward baggage claim. If not so anxious to see her family, she’d take a moment or two to gaze at the wonderful artwork depicting this area of the state. The architecture looked natural in a western setting—thick wooden posts and ceiling beams gave a sense of a mountain cabin. And the spacious windows highlighted the region’s best features past the runways—the prairie and the mountains. The rich scent of coffee teased her nose, and she was tempted to stop for an espresso. Scanning the arrival lobby for the sight of a familiar face, she blinked and then moved her head back to the left. Her heart stuttered, and she sucked her lower lip into her mouth.

  Leaning a shoulder against one of the sturdy wooden posts was a cowboy out of a novel by one of her favorite romance authors. Straw Stetson sat atop too-long brown hair, a black T-shirt stretched across a muscled chest, denims that hugged all the right places, and well-worn boots. This wet dream of a man held a sign with her name.

  What? Am I still on the plane and dreaming this scenario?

  Realization dawned, and she bit back a groan. Jude must be setting her up. As she took slow steps in his direction, Caitlyn squinted at the potential places where her cousin could hide before jumping out and snapping a picture of what must be shock and awe on Caitlyn’s face. When she’d made connections in airports via a name placard for her business travels, she’d never been met by a sign holder who looked like him. But, by the time only a two-foot space remained between her and the handsome man, no mischievously grinning blonde had popped out. This wasn’t a set-up. “You’re holding my name.”

  He straightened and frowned, his gaze searching her face. “That’s not all I’d like to hold.”

  “Excuse me.” Gasping, she stepped back. “What did you say?”

  “I meant luggage, of course.” After a quick glance at the sign, he cleared his throat. “You’re sure you’re Caitlyn Auliffe, ma’am?”

  Ma’am? Where had the cousins found this cowboy? “Have been all my life.” Maybe he was a local ex-rodeo competitor and lived through one-too-many kicks to the head. The sisters had a history of bringing home strays.

  “Tell me what your luggage looks like, and I’ll grab it.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Then I’ll drive you out to the ranch.”

  “A large silver hard case with a red-white-and-blue-striped ribbon tied to the handle.”

  Raising a forefinger to tap the brim of his hat, he nodded. Then he turned and walked toward the baggage carousels, tossing away the sign at the first trash can.

  Was that rhythmic saunter for her benefit, or did he naturally move with such long-legged ease? Heat bloomed in her cheeks, and she took a couple deep breaths. Mostly so she wouldn’t drool. Unable to resist, she kept him in sight, noting where he stopped near the mid-point of the carousel. He rose onto his toes to check on the progress, and his thighs strained the jeans. But then he leaned forward to grab a navy suitcase for a silver-haired woman, and the denim cupped his taut ass just right.

  Good thing the drive to Dream Vistas usually took only twenty minutes. She wasn’t sure if she could be in a confined truck cab with him and kee
p control of her runaway lust. The ding of an arriving text message sounded, and she grabbed her phone from her purse. After typing a response to Malin that she was on the ground and waiting on luggage, she glanced up to see the cowboy rolling both her suitcase and the navy one in her direction. And he helps little old ladies. Warmth invaded her heart. He proved quite the contrast next to the short lady dressed in a lilac velour jogging suit.

  The senior toddled along at his side. “I just can’t thank you enough, young man, for your help. Maybe I should have packed a smaller bag, but I had presents for my grandchildren. My grandson always runs late, even though I purposely told him my flight landed twenty minutes before the actual time.” Shaking her head didn’t move her tight curls as she tsk-tsked. “But he probably looked at that new-fangled phone he’s always holding.” She flicked a hand. “Like the one that gal has.”

  Caitlyn heard the derision in the petite woman’s tone and felt like hiding the phone behind her back, but she stood her ground. Not that she hadn’t heard similar comments from her own family about how frequently she checked her electronics. But from a stranger?

  “Uh, Mrs. Greenville, this gal is who I’m collecting. She’s a guest of Dream Vistas Ranch.” He glanced up and met her gaze. Then he flicked a finger on the handle. “This what you call a ribbon?”

  The direct look from his navy blue eyes stuttered her breath. With a shiver, she glanced down to see only the knot remained on her suitcase. That’s odd. She traveled all the time, and that ribbon had been in place for several years. “Must have been torn in transit.” With a shrug, she turned to the woman and smiled. “Hello, Mrs. Greenville, I’m Caitlyn Auliffe.” She held up her hand with the smartphone. “Sometimes, these boxes are lifesavers.”

  “Now, if Miss Auliffe wheels her own case, then I can help you.” He rolled the suitcase in her direction and held out his elbow to the smiling senior. “We’ll take yours over to the seats by the windows where you can watch for your grandson’s car.”

  Mrs. Greenville reached over and clasped his elbow. “Your parents did a good job of raising you right, Rhys Morgan.”

  “Why, thank you, ma’am.”

  So, that’s the cowboy’s name. Reece. Unusual. Caitlyn rested her computer bag on the suitcase and guided it across the floor as she checked her email. If anything urgent arrived since the plane took off, she wanted to make use of the airport’s Wi-Fi service here in Belgrade before they disappeared into the rolling foothills. AKA the hinterlands.

  Ah, one from Bertie. She tapped her finger on the screen and kept reading. Right until she bumped smack into a wall of warm male flesh. A mixture of musk and woodsy scents wrapped around her head. On reflex, she took a deep breath and then lifted her gaze. And noticed a cocked eyebrow and an even cockier grin. Awareness turned into irritation. “Excuse me.” She slid a step backward until air filled the gap between their bodies. But that air heated in an instant, and Caitlyn eased back another step.

  When had a man affected her like this? Especially one so different from those she usually dated. Men with razor-sharp haircuts and three-piece designer suits.

  “You all right?”

  No, I think I’m running a fever. “Of course.” Her nod was vigorous enough to set her unbound hair dancing around her face. She flipped a strand of wavy hair over her shoulder. Where was her clip? “Shall we go?”

  Rhys jerked his head twice toward Mrs. Greenville, who faced the windows. Then he leaned close. “Feels like we should wait until her grandson arrives.”

  The deep rasp of his voice so close to her ear sent a zing down her neck. When her nipples tingled in delicious response, Caitlyn knew she was in trouble. She inched away and shoved her arms into the jacket sleeves. “Air conditioning is a bit cool.” Then she plopped onto the bench, adjusted her mid-calf floral skirt to cover as much leg as possible, and faked total absorption in her emails. In no way would she let any more of her curious interest show.

  Over the next few minutes, Rhys got more information from Mrs. Greenville than Caitlyn knew about the next-door neighbors in her apartment building—and she’d lived there five years. So, maybe her first assessment about his intelligence was wrong. He was a nice man who had a laid-back attitude.

  “Oh, there’s my grandson.” Mrs. Greenville bounced on her toes and pointed. “He always flies an American flag from his radio antenna.”

  Antenna? Did cars still have those? Caitlyn glanced over her shoulder and spied an older model, open-air Jeep. The aerial rising several feet from the back bumper and roll bar indicated the vehicle was prepped for off-roading. Caitlyn bit back a smile. Best to let the sweet lady think that was a radio antenna. She’d worry less.

  The driver stood so his head extended through what would have been the roof and beckoned her with a whole-arm wave.

  “Well, I’d better hurry out there.” Mrs. Greenville reached for the handles of her suitcase.

  “Stay put.” Rhys settled his Stetson tighter on his head and strode toward the automatic doors. “Your grandson will be inside right quick to collect your bag.”

  Almost as if she had no control of her body, Caitlyn rose and turned to watch the impending showdown. Her pulse kicked up a notch. The pony-tailed twenty-something dropped to his seat, mouth agape. Rhys stood at the edge of the curb with arms crossed—a rigid stance that pulled his shirt tight across bunched muscles. She could count the individual bulges. He gave a head jerk that didn’t move the Stetson, and the grandson climbed out and trotted across the sidewalk. She couldn’t help but wonder what words had been exchanged or in what tone.

  “Well, bless his heart.” Mrs. Greenville pressed a soft hand on Caitlyn’s arm. “That cowboy of yours sure gets things done, doesn’t he?”

  Before Caitlyn could disavow the woman’s assumption of them being a couple, she was being introduced to Sonny and wishing Mrs. Greenville a nice visit with her family.

  Then the sweet lady chattered away as the two walked from the terminal.

  Seeing Rhys still standing on the sidewalk, Caitlyn gathered her belongings and steered her suitcase along the same path. She came to a stop a couple feet behind the cowboy who maintained his watchful bulldog position.

  He didn’t move until the grandson loaded the suitcase, helped his grandmother into the vehicle, and the Jeep pulled away. Then he turned, took a long stride, and jerked backward, scraping his boots on the pavement so he didn’t crash into her.

  An act she wouldn’t have objected to. “Is the situation resolved to your satisfaction? Can we go now?”

  Narrowing his gaze, he reached for the handle and hefted the case onto his right shoulder. “Truck’s in Section C.”

  He lifted the case like it didn’t weigh the twenty-eight pounds she’d seen on the airport scale. On purpose, she gave him a few seconds’ head start. The view from behind was too good to pass up. Men like him didn’t exist in St. Paul. Or, if they did, she was hanging out in the wrong spots to meet them. By the time she climbed into the truck cab as gracefully as she could—when she’d chosen the skirt and sweater outfit she’d forgotten about the ranch’s trucks with oversized tires—the cab had filled with cool air. She let out a grateful sigh and set her bags near her feet.

  Rhys tapped his fingers on the top of the steering wheel. “Sorry if you’ve been inconvenienced, Miss Auliffe, but I don’t abide by people disrespecting their elders.” He jammed the gearshift into Drive and, after a quick glance over his left shoulder, pulled away from the curb.

  Now what could she say to that? His brook-no-argument tone had her feeling like she’d been the one who expected granny to tote her own bag. The air in the cab hung heavy with uncertainty. She tapped her password into her phone, effectively shutting him out during the ride to the ranch. Whatever flirty thing she thought they had going on vaporized. No matter, she had more important ways to occupy her time on this visit.

  Once the truck rolled under the metal arch proclaiming the ranch name, she let her hand drop to her lap so she co
uld soak in the beloved setting. Since the first time she visited the ranch—which was just called the ‘homestead’ back then—many buildings and improvements expanded the operation. As the demand grew for people coming to spend a week in fishing, horseback riding, hiking, or doing everyday ranch chores, more accommodations were built. First to be built was a staff cabin to house the summer hires. Then, a few studio cabins to accommodate a single guest, a couple, or a small family. About five years ago, the two-story Gallatin Cabin nestled in the edge of the forest had been constructed.

  Before the dust settled around the trunk, the passenger door wrenched open. “Katydid, you’re here.” A blonde-haired woman let loose a rebel yell.

  Caitlyn was pulled out of the cab and enveloped in a boisterous, bouncing hug. Judit, Jude for short, the free spirit of the Langstrom sisters. This time, she wore her hair in a short, spiky cut reminiscent of Michelle Pfeiffer in Ladyhawke. One of Caitlyn’s favorite historical fantasy movies. Grinning, she moved back to arm’s length and studied the twenty-five year old in her flouncy denim skirt and white eyelet peasant blouse. “Hey, Jude. You’re looking very chic with this bob.”

  “And you are too skinny, as usual.” Jude leaned forward and grabbed the computer bag. In a single move, she hung it from her shoulder before slipping an arm around Caitlyn’s waist. “We stocked your favorite merlot and that Irish white cheddar you can’t get enough of. Maybe that will put a pound or two on you.”

  Hearing the caring concern behind Jude’s words, Caitlyn allowed her cousin to sweep her up the flagstone walkway and into the tile foyer of the three-story ranch house. Work had kept her busy, and she had always hated to cook for one.

  Running footsteps and squeals came from the back of the house. “You’re finally here.” A grinning Malin stopped about three feet away and held open her arms.

  Caitlyn knew her own grin was a mile wide as she scurried across the floor. “Good to see you.” She rocked back and forth in her cousin’s embrace, a lump growing in her throat. These three cousins were more like sisters because, for the first twelve years of her life, they’d all lived in St. Paul. Before Uncle Artur inherited the Langstrom heritage homestead and moved the family to Montana.