by Desiree Holt
Jasmine nodded. “I promise.”
Libby sighed. “Okay, then. I’d best be getting on home. I’m calling you tonight to check on you, though.”
Jasmine grinned. “I’ll look forward to it.”
*****
Caleb Branam sat in the booth in the coffee shop and tried to smile at his friend.
“You trying to be a do-gooder, Aron?”
Aron McCoy just looked at him. “I’m trying to help you get your head out of your ass.”
Caleb ran his hands up the sides of his face and across the top of his head. “Hmm. Seems like it’s still in the right place.”
Aron snorted. “I should have known. A wiseass, just like at the University of Texas.”
Caleb chuckled. “Is that better or worse than being a smartass?” The smile disappeared. “You have to stop trying to ‘fix’ me, buddy. Some people are just permanently broken.”
“So that means what? You’ll just hide away in your cabin up in the hills, relying on your disability funds to pay for your beer and skittles?”
Caleb managed a chuckle. “I might if I knew what skittles were.”
Aron leaned forward. “I’m serious, Caleb. Everyone has disasters in their lives, but they deal with it. There are a lot of people much worse off than you are.”
“Really?” He took a sip of his coffee. “You know a lot of people with a bad leg and ugly burns?”
Aron gave him that steely look which had worked on assholes when they were in college.
“I know people who have no legs and whose burns are a lot worse than yours.”
“I feel sorry for them.”
“I’m sure they’ll appreciate it because they don’t feel sorry for themselves.”
Caleb shifted in his seat. Too long in one position and the leg he’d broken in three places became stiff and sore.
“So, did you suggest coffee just to give you an opportunity to bust my chops?”
“No.” Aron shook his head. “I may have a real opportunity for you if you aren’t stupid enough to turn it down.”
Caleb gave him a suspicious glare. “What kind of opportunity?”
“Liberty’s cousin is dealing with a spot of trouble and may need your protective services. When she mentioned it to me, I thought of you right away.”
“Yeah?” Caleb snorted. “Haven’t you heard? The last assignment I took made a wreck of me and killed two of my team members. I wouldn’t suggest anyone rely on my skills or intelligence as a bodyguard.”
“Fine.” Aron finished his coffee and slammed the mug down. “Be a hermit. Curl up in a ball and die. But your brain still works, and I’ll bet your marksman skills haven’t suffered. But if you want to waste it all, fine by me.” He tossed an envelope on the table. “My cell number—if you ever decide to join the human race again—and a picture of a possible client, although she doesn’t know it yet.”
Caleb sat there a long time after Aron left. Running into him in Kerrville had been pure chance, and not necessarily a good one. Aron had no idea what he asked. Maybe a few years ago he’d have been interested, but not now. After two tours with the SEALs, he’d joined Grey Holden’s hotshot private security and protection agency, The Omega Team. For a couple of years, it had been great—interesting jobs and outstanding pay.
Then, a year ago, he’d taken a team on a hostage rescue mission that had gone FUBAR all the way. No one knew how. It was one of those Murphy’s Law things, no matter how you planned. But, in the ensuing chaos, they’d indeed rescued the hostage. Two of his men had been killed, and he had broken his leg in three places and suffered burns on his arm and back from a fire the hostage takers had set to slow them down.
Grey and his partner, Athena Madero, had talked to him until they were blue in the face, but he carried the blame on his shoulders. When he’d finished with the hospital and rehab, he’d handed in his resignation, used some of his combat pay he’d never spent to buy a little cabin high in the hills of—where else?—the Hill Country, just outside the little town of Boerne, and plunked his ass down there, vowing to stay forever.
Somehow, Aron McCoy had heard about what happened, dug him up, and came to see him. He thought he’d closed that door for good but damn! Luck sure wasn’t on his side. He hardly ever came into town, but here in Kerrville today, there was Aron, bumping into him coming out of the hardware store. Now, he’d gotten dragged in here for coffee.
Shit.
The waitress came by with the coffeepot and gestured over his empty mug. At first, he thought to refuse but then thought, what the hell, he only had himself to go home to. By choice, of course. So he nodded at her for a refill. While he sipped the hot brew, he decided to take a look in the little envelope Aron had left. It contained two things—a slip of paper with Aron’s name and phone number, and a photograph. A head shot.
Caleb looked at the photo then did a double take, staring at it again. Music helped him while away his self-imposed isolation. Country rock music. And here, right in front of him, was a shot of the hottest up-and-coming female singer in years. Jasmine Grey. Shit! Aron’s wife was related to her?
No, don’t even think about it, his poor ragged soul whispered.
He finished his coffee, threw some money down on the table, and eased his way out of the booth. He’d figured out how to do things requiring flexibility in his leg without letting people know most of it was gone. Without stopping to consider it, he grabbed the envelope and stuck it in his pocket then limped out to his truck.
*****
“So, how are you doing? Really?”
Carson Wagner sat across the table from Jasmine on her patio, studying her with that analyzing look she knew so well.
“Good. All things considered.”
She wasn’t about to tell him she still woke up in the middle of the night with the feel of Cobra’s hands on her. This was a battle she’d determined to fight herself.
“Are you sure? Because we have stuff to talk about, good stuff, but I want to make sure you’re ready to move forward.”
“Carson, it’s been three weeks. I’m okay. The best part of the whole episode, if there is a best part, is the band and Gary broke into the room and yanked him off me before he could do any real damage.”
“And thank the lord for that. Okay, if you’re sure, take a look at what I have here.” He reached into his briefcase, pulled out a folder, opened it, and set it on the table before her.
Jasmine’s eyes widened as she read the information. The next step in her career was a big one.
“Wow, Carson, I don’t know what to say.”
Jasmine continued to study the sheets of paper in front of her, a prospective tour schedule built around the requests he’d received and the proposal for her new album. They were meeting on her patio, the same place she’d sat with Liberty, since her house, at the moment, was woefully short of furniture.
Carson Wagner leaned back in his chair, the big umbrella shading him from the sun, wearing that bland expression on his face she’d come to know so well. The one that said, Talk away then we’ll get down to business.
She laughed. “I know that look. You’ll let me have my say then finagle me around to your way of thinking.”
Carson grinned at her. “Actually, it’s your way of thinking, in the end. That’s why we’re so good together.”
“Is that the reason?” She took a swallow of iced tea.
“I like to think it’s because you know I’d never force you into something you don’t want.”
“I do.” Jasmine fiddled with her ponytail. “I want to do this but I need a little time to get my head together after what happened with Cobra.”
“You’re not letting the attack spook you, are you?” Carson asked.
“No.” She shook her head. “I won’t give the jerk that much power over me. I just want to be…cautious.”
“Okay, let’s look at this. You’ve got some great opportunities here, things we thought might not come around for months yet. Wi
th Sweet Dixie learning your song and having you perform it with them on stage, your stock is higher than a kite. Are you ready to jump on this while it’s hot?”
“I am, but what if he shows up at a gig I’m playing, or when I’m doing an interview?”
“I’ve thought of that, and I have a solution, providing it works for you.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “You’re going to put a hit out on him?”
Carson laughed. “Not that I wouldn’t like to. But your cousin called with a suggestion and—”
“Oh, my god!” she broke in. “My cousin? Which bigmouth was it? I’ll smack them silly for mixing in my business.”
“Just hold on a minute.” He took her hand and clasped it in both of his. “People have your best interest at heart.”
“She must have worked damn fast,” Jasmine spit out, “because she was just here yesterday when I got the call from you about Cobra.”
“Actually, it was Aron McCoy who called me.” His lips twitched as he tried to conceal a grin. “But he does make a good case. And he even has someone lined up.”
“Oh, for god’s sake.” She pushed her chair back, leaped to her feet, and began pacing the patio. “I thought I put that to bed with her yesterday.”
“Jasmine? Listen to me. Come sit down and hear me out.”
In a huff, she dropped back into her chair. It wasn’t that the bodyguard idea didn’t have merit. She just hated feeling manipulated. Her cousin Liberty McCoy was a master at that if she thought it was for your own good. Besides, she’d seen others on tour with their personal bodyguards and always found it a little pretentious.
“What?” She glared at him.
“We want to be sensible about this, right?”
“But—”
He held up a hand. “Bad as the situation was, at least we had hopes of Cobra being locked up.” He leaned forward. “You think I don’t know how everything affected you? Don’t appreciate it? Honey, that’s a devastating, frightening situation.”
“Having Cobra slip the leash, so to speak, doesn’t help any,” she pointed out. Her bravado withered and disappeared, leaving fear in its place. “How do I do it, Carson? Go back out there when that night is still fresh in my mind? Try to keep myself from looking at every face to see if it’s his. Or, worse yet, someone else who’s trying to do the same thing.”
“Cobra was a different kind of situation, Jas. Not like your average stalker, of which, thank the lord, you haven’t had any. But, now, we’ll be prepared. You can’t hide that incredible talent of yours, keep it locked away, because of some asshole.”
She blew out a breath. “He sure did take the shine off the whole thing.”
“Don’t let him ruin this for you. Let me talk to this guy your cousin thinks would be a great protector for you. He comes with outstanding credentials.”
Jasmine frowned. “If he’s so outstanding, how come he’s available?”
“According to Aron, he’s been taking some time off.”
“Oh, great. Sounds like he’s dealing with a problem. I’ve got my own, thanks.”
“Just let me talk to him,” Carson pleaded. “If I think he’s wrong for this, we’ll revisit the situation.” He smiled at her. “Let’s take advantage of the opportunity we’ve all worked so hard for.”
That little phrase did it for her. She had to remember she wasn’t the only one on the brink of success here. The band—except for Cobra—had worked their collective ass off for this, and Carson had put his rep on the line for her.
“Okay. Talk to this guy and see what kind of feel you get for him.”
Carson squeezed her hand. “Good girl. And you get to working on that new material. Meanwhile, I’ve got feelers out for a new bass player.”
“Thanks, Carson.” They both rose and she gave him a hug. “When will you talk to this guy?”
“I’m going to call Aron back and see if he can set it up for tomorrow.” He gave her a last little big brother type squeeze. “We’ll take care of you, Jas. Don’t worry. I want you to be able to enjoy your success.”
She did, too. Then a thought popped into her head.
“What about all the tour stops? Cobra could be at any of them.”
“If we hire this guy as your bodyguard, he’ll talk to the off-duty cops these venues hire for security. We won’t give out names or the background. Just tell them there’s a guy been giving us some shit, could be dangerous, and this is what he looks like.”
“Okay.” Her muscles eased a fraction. “Thanks. Let me know what happens with the bodyguard.”
“You bet.”
“And, Carson? Thanks for everything. I mean it.”
“It’s what I do, Jas.” He winked at her, stuck his Stetson on his head, took his briefcase, and walked out to his car.
Jasmine stood in the driveway watching him drive away. She should have figured Aron would call Carson. Liberty’d probably told him Carson was coming down to see her today, and the two of them figured to do an end run around her. In a way, she was relieved and grateful her cousin took such an interest in her life. Libby kept her grounded and looked out for her, and it gave her a nice feeling of security.
She looked at her watch. Four o’clock. Just in case this bodyguard thing worked out, she’d need more than a stick or two of furniture in her house. She pulled her cell out of her pocket and dialed Libby.
“Since you’re making so much mischief in my life already, how’d you like to go furniture shopping?”
Chapter Three
Caleb grumbled to himself as he drove down the two-lane country highway toward the address Carson Wagner had given him. He still couldn’t figure out how this happened so fast. Or how it even happened at all. One minute, he was happily miserable in his self-imposed isolation. He’d even learned to live without sex except for the occasional connection with his hand. The next, Aron McCoy had turned his life upside down. He’d thought it the fickle finger of fate they bumped into each other in Kerrville and nothing would do but they have coffee together. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Aron had managed to connect with him again on the one day he came into town to pick up stuff at the hardware store.
He’d been happy not having to talk to people. Be with people. He could wallow in his misery up in his isolated cabin and feel as sorry for himself as he wanted to. But that damn Aron had trekked up to his cabin, banged on his door, and told him to get himself cleaned up, he had a job for him. He should have flat out told the man no when the subject came up, but the man just wouldn’t take that for an answer anyway. He’d said yes to shut him up and get rid of him. He figured he could take the meeting, tell them he’d consider it, go home, call Aron, and tell him not no, but hell, no, and gone back to his misery.
So then how the hell did he find himself on this road driving to some rock star’s home?
A female rock star. He grunted. Okay, not a rock star. A country rock singer. What the fuck was the difference? He’d handled bodyguard detail for a couple of them while still on The Omega Team, and he hadn’t thought they were all that. One of them hadn’t been too bad, but the other was a real pain in his ass. Conceited, demanding, overdone on the makeup and lacking in the brains department. If this Jasmine Grey turned out to be like the latter, he’d be out of there so fast, his tires would be smoking.
“Take the next left and go one point four miles.”
The voice of his GPS had been giving him directions since he left the cabin, although he’d realized he hadn’t needed them. At least not much. His destination lay about five miles from where he lived.
“In point two miles turn left.”
The turn was just past where the road crossed over the Guadalupe River and took him along a narrow, winding road up, up, and up. He’d wondered what was way back here, and now he knew. Large plots of land with gorgeous homes, some large, some small. No sidewalks and— Wait! Someone riding a horse along the road?
Two more turns and he was at his destination—a big white house set way b
ack from the road, with windows and a long porch across the front. As he followed the upper curve of the driveway, he looked out across the vista and saw the porch had a view covering miles of scenery, including the two giant hills called the Twin Sisters. He came to a stop in the parking area just to the right of the garage entrance. Aron’s truck was already there. Good. He’d promised to be there and he’d kept his word. No way did Caleb want to walk into this thing cold.
He climbed the porch steps, glad there were only three of them since his leg still didn’t work properly on stairs. He lifted a hand to ring the doorbell next to a double door, but Aron was already there, opening the door for him.
“Glad to see you made it, Ace.” He grinned and held out his hand.
“It’s not like you gave me a lot of choice,” he grumbled. The man had threatened to hogtie him and haul him bodily out of his cabin.
“Could you manage to get that scowl off your face before I introduce you to the client?”
“Client? I didn’t say yet I’d take the job.” Already, he got his back up.
“You will.” Aron grinned at him. “Come on inside.”
Caleb let his friend haul him into the house. He stepped into a huge room, like a family room, with living room, dining room, and kitchen all in one big space. Sunlight from the many windows cast a warm glow on the hardwood floor. But it wasn’t the room that made the big impression on him. It was the woman who came out from behind the island counter setting off the kitchen.
Sucker punched didn’t come close to how he felt.
He faced no snotty Miss Glitz. Quite the opposite. He guessed her to be about five foot eight, with auburn hair the color of fall leaves tied back in a neat ponytail. She wore not a stitch of makeup except something slick on her full lips, but, with her forest-green eyes, insanely thick lashes, and peaches-and-cream complexion, she didn’t need any. At least to his way of thinking.
Her simple green T-shirt fell just right across the slope of her breasts, and her jeans clung to her hips and long legs.
For the first time in more months than he cared to count, Caleb felt a stirring in his cock, a tingle in his balls. More than a year had passed since a woman appealed to him on any level. Now his body was going to get him into trouble when he least needed it to. He wanted to run his tongue over those full lips, maybe bite the lower one a little and swallow her tiny moan of pain.
