What Happens at the Ranch...

by Christy Jeffries

  “That’s a relief,” Uncle Rider said, his mouth barely noticeable under his thick handlebar mustache. “I’d hate to have to break your little boyfriend’s perfect little nose for leavin’ you unattended in a delicate situation.”

  At the overt reminder of her boyfriend, a flush of embarrassment spread through Tessa and made her doubly aware of the way the agent’s protective grip kept her firmly rooted to his muscular side. Up until this point, Grayson’s lips had been in a straight, unyielding line. Following her uncle’s threat toward the junior congressman from California, though, his mouth softened and might’ve even twitched with the hint of a grin.

  Tessa had negotiated multimillion-dollar contracts with networks and had made grown men cry during live interviews. She wasn’t going to stand by and have her health and her personal life called into question in front of a bunch of strangers.

  “I’m not the least bit delicate or in need of anyone defending my honor.” She snatched her coat from her aunt’s arm and held up her palm when both men moved at once to assist her. “Now, if everyone will excuse me, I need to make my way to the family limos.”

  Grayson’s smirk disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. He put two fingers to the earpiece that could’ve been broadcasting the University of Wyoming basketball game or the latest Taylor Swift album for all they knew. “Sorry, Miss King. The last limo just rolled out of the church driveway.”

  “Well, I’m not staying here.” She straightened her spine. “I’m going to the cemetery, even if I have to drive myself there in that ambulance.”

  * * *

  Grayson mentally calculated the distance from the medical evaluation area to the parked ambulance on the other side of the staging tent. Not that he thought Tessa could outrun him in her condition, or in those sexy high heels that made her legs look like they went on for miles.

  Still. He should probably keep his hand on her upper arm. Just in case she did make a run for it. Unfortunately, when he loosened his fingers, his knuckles grazed the side of her breast and a jolt of electricity shot through him.

  “My truck’s parked out back, Kitten.” Rider King’s drawl was slower and more countrified than his twin brother’s had been, but just as determined. “If the medic clears you, you can ride with me and Freckles.”

  Grayson didn’t care one way or the other who Tessa King rode with as long as someone else took responsibility for her and she was no longer his problem.

  “Agent Wyatt will need to come with us, obviously.” Freckles shot a pointed look at Rider before fixing an innocent gaze on Tessa. “Just in case you faint again, darlin’.”

  A groan of protest caught in Grayson’s throat.

  “Look—” Tessa took a few steps, jerking her arm away from him “—I’m totally fine.”

  “I know you’re fine now.” Freckles tsked through her painted lips. “But what if you get weak again when we’re walking from the truck to the cemetery? Your uncle and I are both too old and frail to carry you.”

  “Who you callin’ frail, woma—” Rider’s protest was interrupted by a sharp, bony elbow to his midsection. He rolled his eyes before clearing his throat. “I guess my sciatica is actin’ up a bit after being squished in those damn wooden pews for so long.”

  “Let’s go, then.” Tessa turned toward the tent exit, a woman used to having others fall in line with her every whim. Too bad her wobbly legs were getting in the way of what Grayson assumed was a normally confident strut.

  The couple—who may have been old but appeared to be about as frail as a pair of four-wheel-drive tow trucks—followed her. Grayson’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he checked the display screen before falling behind a few paces.

  Maddie. She never called when she knew he was working unless it was an absolute emergency. And he never would have answered in the middle of a work crisis if there weren’t already two missed calls from her. His heart slammed into his throat and he desperately slid his finger across the screen to answer.

  “Are you okay?” Grayson tried to keep the panic from his lowered voice as his eyes tracked the movement of everyone else in the tent. After all, he still had an unwilling detail assignment to protect.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Was that Tessa King you just swooped up in your arms on live TV?”

  His voice sounded gruff, even to his own ears. “Maddie, you know I’m on duty.”

  “Then why’d you answer the phone?” his sister asked.

  “Because I thought something might be wrong.”

  “You always think something is wrong, Gray.”

  No, he didn’t. But he didn’t have time to be suckered into an argument with his little sister right that second. “Listen, I’ll call you back when I can.”

  Grayson disconnected the call as he quickened his own pace, hoping to cover his mounting frustration. Switching back into agent mode, which he’d never really left, he radioed the command center to advise his team of the change in plans and a description of the alternate vehicle. “Be advised, I’ll be escorting Precision to the secondary location.”

  After all, protective detail included all members of the King family. Even the stubborn, feisty and way too beautiful ones.

  “Roger that,” the team leader replied over the radio. “The counter assault team is in position, so ensure that the driver adheres to the motorcade route.”

  Snipers and agents in tactical gear had been placed at designated locations along the road between the church and the private cemetery at Twin Kings Ranch. If Grayson planned to rely on the additional layer of long-range security, he needed to get Tessa on the move ASAP.

  Normally, procedure would’ve required him to ride shotgun, but by the time Grayson had double-timed it to the truck to catch up, Rider was already assisting his eighty-something-year-old ex-wife into the front seat of the cab.

  Instead of wasting any more time trying to play musical chairs, Grayson climbed in next to Tessa on the backseat and tried to ignore the long-distance camera lenses aimed in their direction.

  “Oh, I forgot. You left your purse on the pew, darlin’.” Freckles passed a black satiny clutch thing to Tessa over the headrest. “The president gave it to me after the service. Did you know she and I both went to the same boarding school? Obviously, we graduated in different years—”

  “Where’s my can of chewing tobacco?” Rider grumbled when he hefted himself into the driver’s seat. “I need a dip.”

  “Suck on this instead,” Freckles said, shoving a white tablet beneath the man’s gray bushy mustache. “But don’t bite into it. Here. You kids have one, too.”

  Grayson immediately regretted taking the offered peppermint that was strong enough to make his eyes water. But at least the potency of the extra-strength mints kept everyone from talking.

  In fact, nobody said a word as the truck pulled onto the street and merged into the long line of prescreened cars heading out of the small town. Thankfully, now that the public ceremony was over, most of the high-profile guests—including the president and her husband—would continue on to the airport in Jackson Hole, taking most of the news vans with them. Only family, close friends and the approved camera people from Tessa’s network had been invited to the private family plot on Twin Kings Ranch where Roper King would be laid to rest.

  As more and more cars peeled off for the main highway, Tessa reached into her purse and pulled out a small pink tube. She deftly applied some shiny stuff to her mouth without using a mirror, and Grayson felt a stab of envy toward the little wand that softly traced her lips.

  He shifted in his seat and readjusted his sunglasses.

  His phone buzzed again in his pocket. This time when he checked the screen, he ignored the inquiring text from Maddie. Responding would only encourage her to send more annoying questions that were none of her business.

  When they drove by the guard shack at the entrance to the sec
ond-largest privately owned ranch in Wyoming, the posted agents nodded. As the truck passed through the log-crafted gates, Grayson remembered the first time he’d ever been to Twin Kings. Roper King had paid out of pocket to have all fifty-thousand-plus acres of the ranch reinforced by the Technical Security Division. Despite the added electrical fencing, infrared cameras and bulletproof glass, the property was absurdly beautiful and surprisingly efficient and well run.

  After half a mile down a tree-lined driveway, the twelve-thousand-square-foot main house sat on a grassy knoll framed by the famous Teton mountain range in the distance. The stables and barn, on the other side of the driveway, were equally as imposing. Or, at least, they were to someone like him who’d grown up in a tiny subdivision outside Baltimore.

  They passed the trail that led to numerous outbuildings such as the cookhouse, the corrals and a pair of matching bunkhouses—one to house the cowboys and one to house the special agents on duty—that seemed to be purposely hidden from view of the main house. It was as though the wealthy occupants didn’t appreciate the reminder that they had to share their vast property holdings with the hired help.

  Since Grayson had been briefed by the same advance logistics teams every time he’d flown out here on Air Force Two, he knew there were dozens of agents in all-terrain vehicles stationed along the perimeter, also trying to remain out of sight.

  It took another mile to wind up onto the snow-covered ridge that held several gravestones and an amazing view of the Snake River. Cars were already parked behind the hearse, and, due to the narrowness of the recently plowed dirt road usually only accessed by horse or ATV, Rider pulled the passenger side of his truck right against the fence line.

  Grayson hopped out of the backseat and immediately scanned the area around him for potential threats before reaching to assist Tessa.

  “I can do it,” she muttered, ignoring his hand as she awkwardly shimmied herself across the leather bench seat. The motion caused the hem of her black cashmere coat to slide up her legs, giving him a glimpse of the toned muscles of her outer thigh. He took a step back and resisted the urge to loosen his suddenly tight necktie.

  But not before she caught him looking.

  A charming shade of pink made its way up her cheeks as she tried to adjust her dress over her exposed thigh. Unfortunately, she was so preoccupied with her modesty that her high heel missed the side step outside the door and she practically tumbled into Grayson’s arms.

  This time, though, instead of grabbing her upper arms to steady her, Grayson’s hands landed on either side of her narrow waist. Tessa’s surprised oomph came out in a rush of air and he could smell traces of mint on her breath. She tried to pull away, but he held her in place.

  “Take a second and get your footing,” he commanded, knowing better than to ask if she was okay or otherwise imply that the mighty and fearless Tessa King needed any sort of assistance.

  She stared into his eyes—their faces separated by mere inches—and instead of arguing, she took several deep breaths. Beneath his palms, he felt the muscles below her rib cage contract and expand until they finally relaxed.

  “Sorry about that.” Her apology caught Grayson by surprise; up until now, she hadn’t offered him so much as a “thank you” for rescuing her earlier. “I haven’t been home in so long, I forgot how impossible it would be to walk around the ranch in these stupid heels. Especially during winter.”

  “No worries,” he said, trying not to think about how great her legs looked in those stupid—but extremely sexy—heels. If talking about shoes kept her from hyperventilating, he would just have to deal with it.

  “Please tell me the cameras didn’t catch me nearly falling.”

  Grayson jutted his chin toward the flag-draped coffin being placed over the freshly dug grave. “Nope, they’re pretty much focused on where they need to be.”

  “Oh God.” She sucked in a shallow breath as her eyes followed his. A shudder ran through her body, revealing the emotion she was clearly fighting to hide. “Getting through this might be a bit harder than I’d first thought it’d be.”

  Grayson had a feeling she was no longer talking about navigating the terrain in her stilettos. Her aunt and uncle had already moved toward the small crowd of people standing near the piles of lavish floral arrangements, leaving him on his own to talk her down before she had another panic attack.

  “Take a deep breath in through your nose,” he instructed then demonstrated. Grayson used to do the same demonstration for his anxious mom whenever she’d paced the hospital waiting rooms, working herself up as she waited for his little sister to come out of surgery. “Now out through your mouth.”

  His fingers were still splayed around Tessa’s waist and her hands had latched onto his forearms. He didn’t want to point out that if any of the cameras turned in their direction, the tabloids would have a field day with the image. That would only get her more amped up.

  Tessa’s uncle had mentioned a boyfriend. Where the hell was that guy? Why wasn’t he taking care of her? As soon as the thought went through Grayson’s mind, the muscles in his shoulders coiled and something primal surged through his nerve endings.

  “I think I’m okay now,” she finally said as the minister began reading from an open book.

  There were several rows of chairs set under a canopy for the family. He jerked his head in that direction. “Do you want me to walk you over to your seat?”

  “Actually, do you mind if we just stand over here?” She gestured to a nearby copse of trees.

  We.

  A shiver went down the back of his neck. We meant team. While Grayson didn’t mind being part of a tactical team or a sports team or even a math team—eighth grade state champions, thank you very much—he didn’t want anyone getting the idea that he was somehow paired up with Tessa King. It was too chummy, almost too intimate. He was supposed to watch over the family—not get personally involved with one of them.

  Unfortunately, by the way she kept her arm looped tightly through his as they stood off to the side of the rutted dirt road, they appeared to be much more than a we.

  Chapter Three

  Tessa remained numb throughout the entire graveside service. Tears might have trickled down her face when the uniformed soldiers handed her mother the folded flag, but Tessa didn’t feel them. And, really, if she were being honest, feeling nothing was so much better than the slew of sensations that had ricocheted and rioted inside her during the church ceremony.

  In fact, she’d only flinched when that first rifle blast went off during the twenty-one-gun salute. Luckily, the solid frame of the Secret Service agent wedged against her side prevented her from faltering.

  Feeling the weight of everyone’s curious stares—most probably sympathetic, though some were blatantly curious—she leaned closer to Grayson and whispered, “I don’t suppose you have an extra pair of sunglasses on you?”

  He reached up with his free hand and slowly removed the black plastic frames from his face. Tessa swallowed. His eyes were a startling shade of silvery gray and held both a hardness as well as a trace of tenderness. He gently slid the sunglasses onto her face and the dark lenses made her rethink her initial assessment of his earlier high-handedness in her so-called “rescue.”

  The borrowed sunglasses gave her a feeling of strength, almost like a cloak of invisibility, as she reached down and cupped a cold, damp handful of dirt. For the past two days, Tessa hadn’t been able to wrap her head around the fact that she would never see her father again. Staring at the gaping hole in the earth, the finality of it hit her and her empty stomach coiled into a hard knot.

  Her dad’s arms would no longer wrap her into one of his famous bear hugs. He’d never pour coffee into his favorite mug, the one she’d painted for him that read My Dad Is My Hero. His booming voice would no longer tell her to jump high and dive deep.

  This was it. He wasn’t com
ing back.

  Tessa’s mouth moved as she spoke, but her throat was too raw to say the words out loud. Goodbye, Daddy.

  She gave one last glance at her father’s casket before her brain was finally able to send a signal down through her legs, forcing one foot in front of the other. She’d somehow managed to make it several yards before feeling an unexpected tug on her right arm and a concerned whisper near her ear. “There you are, sweetheart!”

  The startled expression that crossed her face didn’t come from seeing her boyfriend suddenly appear at her side. She’d walked into the church with Davis Townsend earlier today, before they’d been directed to their assigned seats, and he’d insisted on wedging himself into the pew behind her. In the back of her mind, she’d known he would be at the cemetery. Rather, Tessa’s surprise arose from the fact that her left arm was still firmly locked against Grayson Wyatt’s side.

  The Secret Service agent had taken his protective duties seriously and she’d been so caught up in her own grief, she’d barely noticed that he’d been practically holding her up this entire time. And he didn’t seem inclined to release his steadying hold just yet. In fact, his shoulder brushed in front of hers as he pulled her in closer, as though shielding her from a perceived threat.

  “Davis,” she managed to say, too exhausted to force a smile toward the man she’d been dating for nearly two years. The man her siblings and uncle obnoxiously referred to as Congressman Smooth. “Have you been here the whole time?”

  “Of course I have, sweetheart. I rode here in the limo with Duke and Tom.” Davis glanced at Agent Wyatt before his pale blue eyes dipped to Tessa and Grayson’s joined arms. “Per protocol.”

  A camera shutter went off somewhere behind Tessa and her left leg buckled.

  “I’ve got you.” Grayson’s stiff forearm kept her from going down. “Just keep walking. We’re almost to the truck.”

  Davis, who was just as much a pro in front of the lens as Tessa, wiped the concern from his expression and pasted his famous campaign smile onto his face. His teeth barely moved as he lowered his voice and asked Grayson, “Is she drunk?”