Letter to Reader
Title Page
Dedication
Books by Shelley Cooper
About the Author
PRAISE FOR SHELLEY COOPER’S DEBUT INTIMATE MOMENTS NOVEL, MAJOR DAD:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Copyright
“What do you want to hear from me, Kate?” he asked in a low voice. “How beautiful I think you are? How I haven’t been able to touch another woman since you left me? How I still want you so badly I ache?”
Slowly, her movements wary, she turned to face him. “I didn’t mean—”
“To goad me?” he cut in roughly, before automatically biting back his sudden surge of temper. When he was in control again, all that remained was a residue of frustration, a feeling that was becoming all too familiar since he’d agreed to be her bodyguard. At least that feeling he could handle.
Why this woman? he wondered. Why did Kate have the power no other woman possessed to rob him of his reason and steal his soul?
Dear Reader,
It’s summertime. The mercury’s rising, and so is the excitement level here at Silhouette Intimate Moments. Whatever you’re looking for—a family story, suspense and intrigue, or love with a ranchin’ man—we’ve got it for you in our lineup this month.
Beverly Barton starts things off with another installment in her fabulous miniseries THE PROTECTORS. Keeping Annie Safe will not cool you off, I’m afraid! Merline Lovelace is back with A Man of His Word, part of her MEN OF THE BAR H miniseries, while award winner Ingrid Weaver checks in with What the Baby Knew. If it’s edge-of-your-seat suspense you’re looking for, pick up the latest from Sally Tyler Hayes, Spies, Lies and Lovers. The Rancher’s Surrender is the latest from fresh new talent Jill Shalvis, while Shelley Cooper makes her second appearance with Guardian Groom.
You won’t want to miss a single one of these fabulous novels, or any of the books we’ll be bringing you in months to come. For guaranteed great reading, come to Silhouette Intimate Moments, where passion and excitement go hand in hand.
Enjoy!
Yours,
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Senior Editor
* * *
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
* * *
GUARDIAN GROOM
SHELLEY COOPER
To my mother, Gail Fleisher,
for instilling in me a love of books
To my father, Dale Wray, for showing, by example, that
tenderness and strength go hand in hand
And to their spouses, Joyce Wray and Norman Fleisher,
for embracing a most difficult role—that of stepparent—
and for doing it with grace, dignity and love
Books by Shelley Cooper
Silhouette Intimate Moments
Major Dad #876
Guardian Groom #942
SHELLEY COOPER
first experienced the power of words when she was in the eighth grade and wrote a paragraph about the circus for a class assignment. Her teacher returned it with an A and seven pluses scrawled across the top of the paper, along with a note thanking her for rekindling so vividly some cherished childhood memories. Since Shelley had never been to the circus, and had relied solely on her imagination to compose the paragraph, the teacher’s remarks were a revelation. Since then, Shelley has relied on her imagination to help her sell dozens of short stories and to write her first novel, Major Dad, a 1997 Romance Writers of America Golden Heart finalist in Best Long Contemporary. She hopes her books will be as moving to her readers as her circus paragraph was to that long-ago English teacher.
PRAISE FOR SHELLEY COOPER’S DEBUT INTIMATE MOMENTS NOVEL,MAJOR DAD:
“Gifted new author Shelley Cooper...is an intriguing new voice writing with a powerful, emotional intensity that will win her a big, big following.”
—Romantic Times Magazine
“Ms. Cooper’s story of a modern-day marriage of convenience is a touching tale about love and its power to heal even the most scarred hearts. The exciting plotline will interest the reader, but the fully developed characters and strong narration will keep her attention until the end. Fans will eagerly await this author’s next book. Wonderful!!”
—Rendezvous
Chapter 1
Kate Garibaldi never dreamed she would rile someone to the point where he’d try to kill her.
True, her job was to generate controversy, and she took pride in doing it well. As the author of Straight Talk, a nationally syndicated newspaper column, she aired her opinions daily on a wide variety of topics ranging from the current woeful state of politics to the latest craze in children’s toys. No subject matter was too insignificant, no theme too untouchable to come under her scrutiny.
Her mail, which consisted of as many letters of denunciation as praise, gave her an immense sense of satisfaction. To Kate, as well as her syndicate, indifference was the kiss of death. “I’d rather anger someone any day than bore him into a catatonic stupor,” she’d said during a recent radio interview. “Maybe if I anger someone enough, that person will then take action to right a wrong.”
However, when she’d uttered those fateful words, her death was definitely not one of the actions she’d had in mind. In fact, on the sunny June morning that changed her life forever, the thought of death—hers, or anyone else’s, for that matter—was the furthest thing from her mind.
“Howdy, Kate,” greeted the head clerk when she entered the one-room post office that was nestled in the South Hills of Pittsburgh. “Terrific column today.”
Kate smiled in genuine pleasure as she collected the mail from her post-office box. The column, which dealt with political ethics in general, and a well-known, popular politician with his eye on the presidency in particular, was one dear to her heart. “Thanks, Joe.”
Joe’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Course, I happen to agree with you. The guy really can’t be trusted. I expect, though, that box’ll soon be overflowing with letters from people who think otherwise.”
“I’m counting on it,” she replied with a chuckle, then raised her hand in salute. “See you tomorrow.”
Out on the crowded sidewalk, she moved off to one side and paused to leaf through the pile of envelopes. Since one of her nephews collected postmarks, she always made sure to check for new additions to his collection. With letters from Bismark, North Dakota and Honolulu, Hawaii, today was going to be a bonanza for Bobby.
Turning her face to the sky, Kate closed her eyes and delighted in the feel of the sun against her skin. She spent so much time staring at a computer screen that she truly relished these few odd minutes every morning when she took a break to collect her mail
“You’re dead.”
The words, growled menacingly behind her, sent a chill up her spine. Her first thought was that someone was playing a trick on her. A not-so-funny trick.
“I don’t think—”
Before she could turn to give the prankster a lecture on the protocol of practical joke playing, a pair of hands pressed against the middle of her back and shoved. Hard.
Steve.
Kate’s feet left the sidewalk, and she felt t
he sickening sensation of unplanned flight. Mail went soaring in a graceful arc. Palms skidded across asphalt Knees, left bare and unprotected by her shorts, landed with a bone-jarring thud. Her head whipped forward, causing her cheek to graze against her shoulder and her front teeth to sink into her bottom lip. Through a haze of pain, she saw a Port Authority bus barreling toward her.
Steve.
Panic coursed through her, propelling her heart into her throat. She couldn’t move. Brakes squealed a protest The smell of burning rubber filled her nostrils. Anxious onlookers cried out in alarm.
The bus was close enough for Kate to read the look of horror on the driver’s face. She squeezed her eyes shut. Holding her breath, she braced herself for the inevitable.
Steve, Steve, Steve.
A mixture of hot air and gasoline fumes smacked her in the face, and then...nothing. Slowly, cautiously, Kate opened her eyes. Less than an inch separated her nose from the bus’s chrome bumper. The bus’s unmoving chrome bumper. At the realization, her pent-up breath rushed out of her lungs, and she went limp.
A second later, the bus driver was at her side. “Are you okay?” he cried, helping her to her feet. “Did I hit you?”
Knees trembling and heart thundering, Kate stared uncomprehendingly at the mail that lay scattered in the street. She should pick it up, she knew, but at the moment she just didn’t have the strength.
“N-no, you d-d-didn’t h-hit me.” She drew a deep, uneven breath and tried again. “I’m okay.”
“Oh, thank goodness. For a minute there, I thought you were a goner.”
For a minute there, she’d thought so, too.
You’re dead. The words echoed in her brain, making her scalp prickle and raising the hair on the back of her neck. Someone had pushed her into the middle of a busy street. Even more incredible, when faced with what had seemed certain death, thoughts of her ex-husband had helped her to hang on. It was a toss-up as to which event was the more unsettling.
“Someone tried to kill me,” she murmured, amazed.
“What was that?” the bus driver asked.
A white light filled her vision. The outline of the man’s body blurred and divided, until she saw three of him standing before her. She blinked once, twice, but the three bus drivers refused to coalesce into one middle-aged man.
“Someone...” The world began to spin. “Excuse me, but I think I’m going to faint.”
Did that high, wavering voice belong to her? impossible. She never fainted. Fainting was reserved for women who scared easily, a trait her six older brothers had erased from her DNA when she was a child.
“Hold on.” Taking her by the arm, the bus driver led her to the curb. “Put your head between your knees. Breathe deeply.”
With no strength left to protest, she obeyed. Over the roaring in her ears, Kate heard him asking if anyone had seen what had happened. The replies he received all mentioned how congested the sidewalk had been, and that she’d probably fallen from the press of the crowd. No one raised the possibility that she’d been pushed.
Kate felt a surge of hope. Maybe she’d imagined the whole thing. Since she spent much of her time in the world of her imagination, the thought wasn’t so far-fetched. What she knew she hadn’t imagined—and couldn’t ignore—was the unexpected yearning for a man she’d spent the past eighteen months trying to forget. What had that been all about?
When she raised her head a minute later, the world had righted itself once more. Only one bus driver sat at her side, and he was a kindly looking man with gray hair and bright blue eyes. The tag on his shirt read Gus Stover.
“Good.” He beamed at her. “There’s some color in your face. A minute ago, it was as white as your blouse.”
Thanks to her Italian forebears, and depending upon her exposure to the sun, Kate’s normal skin tone hovered between a mixture of burnished copper and gold. For Gus Stover to describe her as pale was truly saying something.
“You gave me quite a scare,” he went on. “I’ve been driving a bus for over thirty years, and nothing like this has ever happened to me before.”
She had to smile. “Believe me, Mr. Stover, nothing like this has ever happened to me, either. Sorry I scared you.”
“The name’s Gus. And I’m just glad you’re okay, Miss...?”
“Kate,” she supplied.
“I’m glad you’re okay, Kate. How did you end up in the middle of the street like that?”
Was she pushed? Much as she would like to deny it, her ears still rang from the rasp of a deep, malevolent voice; her back still tingled from where a pair of man’s hands had pressed against her. Besides, not even in her imagination did a person go from standing three feet from the curb to crouching on all fours in the middle of a busy street. Unless, that is, she’d had help getting there. No, she was definitely pushed.
Judging by the words snarled into her ear, whoever had done the pushing had meant to do her harm. It was no prank. Her mind tried to recoil from the thought, but she wouldn’t let it. Someone had tried to hurt her, maybe even kill her. The question was, who? Why? And what was she going to do about it?
For the moment, she felt too shaken and confused to come up with any concrete answers. The only thing she was certain of was that she couldn’t confide her suspicions to Gus. For one thing, the poor man had had enough of a shock for one day. For another, she’d always made it a point to solve her problems on her own.
Gus probably wouldn’t believe her, anyway. It was clear from the comments of the people around them that no one had witnessed her being pushed. If she started hurling accusations, Gus would most likely dismiss them as the ramblings of a woman who had just been through a traumatic experience. She wouldn’t blame him for thinking that way. She was having a hard time believing it herself.
Shrugging, she said, “Just clumsy, I guess. Don’t worry, I’ll be a lot more careful from now on.”
She’d have to be. Her life might depend on it. The thought made her blood run cold.
“Here’s your mail,” a woman said.
“Thanks.” She answered absently, taking the pile of letters and setting it beside her on the sidewalk.
A crowd had gathered to gawk. Horns blared behind the stalled bus.
“You’d better get going,” Kate told Gus.
“What about you? You should have those cuts tended to as soon as possible.”
What cuts? Looking down, she saw that both of her knees were bloody. She felt a stinging in her palms and turned them over. They were scraped raw from the asphalt. Funny, before she’d been aware of her injuries, she hadn’t felt a thing. Now that they’d been brought to her attention, they hurt like the dickens.
“Don’t worry about me. I only live three blocks away. I’ll take care of it.”
Gus didn’t seem so certain. “Are you sure? I could call for medical assistance on my transmitter.”
The last thing she wanted was more people fussing over her. What she did want, desperately, was to go home. Once she was safely inside the four walls of her seventy-five-year-old brick house, she’d be able to think with a clear head. She’d be able to decide what to do.
“What,” she joked, “drag an ambulance out for a couple of cuts and scrapes?” She nodded toward the bus. “Besides, your passengers look anxious to be on their way.”
“Sure you’re okay? Not going to pass out or anything?”
She summoned up what she hoped was a brilliant smile and gathered up her mail. “I’m just fine.”
For the second time, Gus helped her to her feet. Then, with obvious reluctance, he reboarded the bus. Before closing the door, he craned his head out and called, “Let’s be careful out there.”
Kate waved in acknowledgment, then watched as, with a hiss of hydraulics, the bus eased its way down the street. She felt suddenly alone, and terribly exposed. Was she still in danger? Was the man who had pushed her waiting to finish off the job? It was an indication of just how deeply the incident had shaken her that it had ta
ken her this long to wonder about that possibility.
The crowd had already begun to disperse when Kate turned around to step up onto the curb. Obviously, her little “incident” was just a tiny blip on the radar screen of their lives. It might prove for some interesting discussion over lunch, but most of them would have forgotten all about it by dinner. If only she could.
She found herself peering hard at the faces of the people she did see. Had one of them pushed her? It was hard to imagine. No one looked out of place. No one appeared sinister. But then, Ted Bundy had looked normal, too.
On that comforting thought, and with her gaze trained carefully on her surroundings, Kate headed home.
Though the day was warm, the woman wore a shapeless, ill-fitting, long-sleeved dress. She was gaunt, her skin stretched tautly over hollow cheeks. Her gestures were nervous. She started at every sound, her gaze darting around the reception area of Three Rivers Security, Inc., as if she expected the boogeyman to jump out of the shadows at any moment. A pair of oversize sunglasses did little to hide the bruises on her face.
Steve Gallagher knew with absolute certainty that the long sleeves hid dozens of similar black-and-blue marks. She’d been beaten mercilessly by the man who had taken vows to cherish and protect her until death did them part. It wasn’t the first time, and, if she stayed with him, it wouldn’t be the last. The unavoidable truth was that, if she didn’t get away from him, in all likelihood death would be parting them soon.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” she whispered, staring at the bus tickets he’d placed in her hand as though they were made of gold.
“You can thank me,” he replied in a gruff voice, “by taking your daughter and boarding that bus to Cleveland. The shelter there is expecting you.” To the bus tickets he added an envelope filled with twenty dollar bills. “You can stay there until you’re back on your feet again.”
Guardian Groom Page 1
