Bodyguard/Husband

by Mallory Kane

  “It’s addressed to my aunt Jenny at a post office box in Maryland.”

  “Your aunt Jenny.” She marveled at the care and thought he put into every action. Considering all possibilities, thinking of every contingency.

  She went in with him to mail his package.

  Mr. Ames, the postmaster, eyed him like a curious bird, tilting his head and peering over his half-glasses. “So this is your new husband, Holly? What’s your name, son?”

  Jack glanced at Holly as he set the box down on the counter. “O’Hara. Jack O’Hara.”

  “Well, Jack O’Hara. You know you got the prize, don’t you? We don’t know what we’d do without Holly here in Maze. So you better be good to her, you understand?”

  “Yes. I’m beginning to.”

  Mr. Ames looked at the label on the box. “Overnight, eh? So, Jack, what do you do?”

  The question startled Holly. They’d never gotten around to talking about how they would field these questions. Now they were out here in the midst of the people who had known her all her life, and she had no idea how her new husband was going to respond.

  Jack leaned an elbow on the counter. “I’m a writer,” he said easily.

  “Ah. A writer. Well, I guess that explains how you can just pick up and move down here. So what do you write?”

  Holly did her best not to let her panic show. What would a real wife do? Hoping Mr. Ames wouldn’t send one of his probing questions her way, she jerkily slid her arm around Jack’s waist, stifling a startled yelp as her fingers touched the gun at his back.

  “Honey, we’re going to be late,” she said, putting what she hoped was a loving tone into her voice.

  “I freelance,” Jack told Mr. Ames. “I was at the seminar Holly attended, doing a series of articles on strength training for a fitness magazine. Of course—” he straightened and casually put his arm around Holly’s shoulder “—I have to confess, right now I’m having a little trouble concentrating. We’re still honeymooning, you know.”

  Mr. Ames chuckled and his eyebrows went up another notch as Jack pulled Holly closer. She had the alarming notion Jack might kiss her, right here in the post office.

  As Jack pressed his lips against her hair, sending shivers over her scalp, the bell on the door jangled. She pushed away and saw Bob Winger.

  When he saw Holly, his face brightened like a flashlight with a new battery. “Holly, hi!”

  “Hi, Bob.” She looked up at Jack. “Bob, this is Jack O’Hara, my husband.”

  Jack held out his hand, but for a few seconds, Bob just stood there, as if stunned.

  “H-husband?” he stammered. “Well, that’s certainly a surprise. Um, congratulations.”

  “I got your phone messages, Bob,” Holly said, “but I haven’t had a chance to call.” She felt herself blush when Jack put his arm around her shoulder as if staking his territory.

  “I’m afraid I’ve been monopolizing her time,” Jack said. “I’m sure I’ll see you around, once we’re more settled. Holly tells me you teach English and American literature at the high school.”

  Bob nodded and wiped his hand down the front of his pants.

  “Sorry to run,” Holly said, “but we’re on our way to Uncle Virgil’s house.”

  As they headed toward the door, Jack leaned down to whisper in her ear. “So that’s Bob of the lunches that aren’t dates?”

  Embarrassed by his casual familiarity, she ducked out from under his arm, and almost collided with another customer.

  “Excuse me— Oh!” It was Thomas Frasier, Brad’s father. Holly’s smile suddenly felt frozen. “Mr. Frasier, how are you?”

  The older man’s broad face and fair hair were just like his son’s. It always pained Holly to see him—not only because of the resemblance, but also because of his undisguised hostility toward her. Thomas Frasier believed Holly had ruined his only son’s promising future. He had never forgiven her for marrying Brad.

  Frasier shot her a venom-laced look and pushed past her without speaking.

  “Mr. Frasier.” Jack’s voice held the perfect note of deference. Holly cringed. Of course he knew who her ex-father-in-law was. She pushed open the exit door, but Jack didn’t take the hint.

  He nodded at the shorter man and held out his hand. “I’m Jack O’Hara, Holly’s husband.”

  Brad’s father looked at Jack’s hand. He didn’t offer his own. “I know who you are,” he growled.

  “Sir, I’m glad to meet you. I know you wish your son’s widow well. I look forward to getting to know you and the rest of the people in Maze.”

  Frasier never met his gaze. He barely looked at Holly. “Better tell your new husband to watch his step around here. It’s not a very friendly place for strangers.”

  Stepping around Jack without further acknowledgment, he approached the counter. “Ames, I’ve got a book I need to mail.”

  Holly caught Jack’s eye and silently gestured with a nod. He glanced back at Thomas Frasier, then followed her out.

  Relieved that Jack didn’t intend to pursue his conversation with Mr. Frasier, Holly headed for the car.

  Once Jack was in the driver’s seat, she pleaded with him. “There are so many things you don’t understand. Please don’t bait Mr. Frasier. He’s never gotten over Brad’s death.”

  “Why not?”

  “Are you a robot?” she cried, shocked at his response. “What kind of question is that? Because people never get over the death of a loved one. Brad was his son! He was just twenty-four. Nobody should die that young. He had his whole life ahead of him.”

  Jack sent her an unfathomable look. “That doesn’t explain his hostility. I thought everybody in Maze adored you.”

  She shrugged, her heart aching. If Uncle Virgil had told Jack everything, why hadn’t he told him about her and Brad? She rubbed her temple. She didn’t want to talk about this.

  “Holly?” Jack’s voice took on a new timbre, a soothing, seductive tone. “I’m your husband. We’re being watched.” He put his fingers on the side of her face and urged her to look at him. “Smile for me.”

  She raised her gaze to his, and saw a soft, smoky concern there that sent her heart racing and lodged a lump in her throat. She gave him a tremulous smile. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Brad’s father glaring at them from the post office doorway, as Bob walked down the sidewalk.

  Jack was just acting. She was surprised at how much that reminder hurt.

  She forced her smile to stay in place, and touched his hand where it lingered on her cheek, aware that this was only the beginning of many falsely loving touches she was destined to endure before this nightmare was over.

  Jack leaned over and kissed her, the hard line of his mouth softening, his lips warm, sure and slow. She closed her eyes, held captive by his mouth and the surge of need that erupted inside her. All thoughts of Brad’s father flew out of her head. Her lips parted and his tongue touched hers. Then he pulled away, ducking his head briefly before he met her gaze.

  The hunger was there, she was sure of it, before he morphed back into the actor playing his role.

  “What’s Brad’s father got against you?”

  “What?” she murmured, half mesmerized by his kiss and his dark gaze.

  “Holly.” He sounded impatient. “I’m a trained observer. I recognize hatred when I see it.”

  Hatred? The fantasy of yearning his kiss had stirred waned and she was thrust back into the real world, a world where a killer was stalking her.

  “Mr. Frasier blamed me for ruining Brad’s pro football career. Several pro teams were watching him during his first year of college. I—thought I might be pregnant.”

  He sat up a little straighter and stared at her. “You were pregnant? That’s not in my report.”

  She shook her head, remembering the mixture of joy and fear she’d felt when she looked at the little blue stick.

  “We were engaged, so we just moved up the wedding date and Brad registered for the fall semester
. None of the pro teams had come forward with a concrete offer anyway. But then…the pregnancy test must have been wrong.”

  “Or you miscarried?” His words were gentle.

  She shook her head. It didn’t matter now. The baby she’d wanted simply hadn’t been meant to be. The tiny knot of grief and regret that lurked deep inside her throbbed painfully.

  “Do you have to do this?” Her anger flared. Why was he dredging up old pain, making it new again? “Do you have to slice up every minute detail of my life like a mad scientist searching for a cancer cell?”

  Jack’s gaze turned cold. “Yes. I have to consider every angle. What if Brad’s death was an accident, but his father is obsessed with making sure you can never destroy another man’s life again?”

  Holly stared at him. He’d voiced her own fears. She put her hand on her chest where his sharp-edged words stabbed her heart with guilt. Never destroy another man’s life.

  “You think it could be Brad’s father? I thought you said the man was an obsessed admirer. Someone who thinks I’m in love with him.”

  Jack took her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “That’s the most likely scenario, but it’s not impossible that this is motivated by revenge.” Jack pulled up to a stop sign. “Whoever it is, I’m going to do my best to get him. Now, before we run into anyone else, let’s talk about how we met and what I do for a living.”

  Holly pulled her hand away, unable to bear his touch right then. He was methodically cataloging everyone in her hometown and categorizing them by the likelihood that they could be the killer. “You just tell me what you want me to know. I can’t even think right now.”

  “Why don’t we start with directions to your uncle’s house? Do I keep going straight?”

  She sat up and looked out the window, glad to have something mundane to focus on. “Another block, and turn right at the Baptist church.”

  As Jack made the turn, Holly saw the Baptist preacher, Gil Mason, out pruning the shrubs by the church. When he looked up and waved, she waved back.

  “We’ve only known each other a couple of weeks, right? So no one will expect us to know too much about each other.”

  Holly shook her head. “We’re in the Deep South, Jack. People will ask about your family history before they ask your name. So, have you ever actually done any freelance writing?”

  “No.”

  “Do you really have an aunt in Maryland?”

  “No.”

  She sighed at his monosyllabic answers. “Okay, why don’t you give me the sound-bite version of your life.”

  Jack handled the car easily and efficiently, his large, elegant hands lightly caressing the wheel. “I’m thirty-three. Live in Chicago. Never married before. I freelance while I’m working on my novel. I’m a good cook and a better lover, and once I saw you at the fitness seminar I couldn’t let you out of my sight.”

  “Oh, dear,” Holly groaned, feeling her face heat up at his words. At least he was concise, and thorough. Although adding that “better lover” remark was just mean. She tried to banish the memory of the vision that had greeted her upon waking this morning. Jack lying in her bed, draped in her new white sheets.

  She swallowed hard as they approached Uncle Virgil’s house. “Here we are. It’s the white house with the blue shutters.”

  There were three or four neighbors outside, watering their lawns, walking their dogs, or just sitting on their front porch watching traffic go by. Holly waved at each of them, feeling their curious glances like little crawly things on her skin.

  Jack pulled into the driveway and grinned at her. “Is that enough information for a start?”

  She looked at him and her heart fluttered in her breast. She tried to tell herself it was because of his embarrassing words, not the disarming grin that transformed his face and made him look impossibly handsome. “I can’t tell anybody that.”

  “Maybe not, but you’ll think it every time someone asks you about me. And that pretty pink blush will be worth more than a thousand words.”

  Holly groaned, knowing he was right. “I don’t blu—”

  Jack’s hand came around her neck and he kissed her. This time it wasn’t a sweet, comforting kiss. This kiss was hot, hard and intimate. His lips covered hers and his tongue teased her mouth open before she had a chance to react.

  Holly forgot to breathe. His thumb caressed the skin just below her ear and she felt it all the way through her. All her fears, all her worries, melted beneath the strong assurance of his kiss. No one had ever taken such utter and complete control of her senses. His breathing grew rapid and ragged as her heart pounded and desire surged through her like summer lightning.

  Just as she lifted her head and leaned toward him, craving more, he pulled away, leaving her half stunned. His eyes were stormy and troubled as he straightened and removed his hand from her neck.

  “There,” he said hoarsely. “That should stir some gossip. Now, let’s go meet your family.”

  Chapter Six

  Holly’s great-aunt Bode was having a bad day. She hadn’t been the same since her stroke. She sat in her rocking chair and hummed, her toneless serenade punctuated by wracking coughs. Her faded blue eyes stared vacantly. Her salt-and-pepper hair was messy and tangled, and her dress had food stains down the front.

  Uncle Virgil looked haggard as he took the teakettle off the stove. “Come on in, Holly, Jack,” he said, retrieving a box of tea bags from the cabinet. “Holly, come make the tea. You know the right amount of sugar to put in it.”

  “Okay. Hi, Aunt Bode.” Holly kissed the paper-thin skin of her aunt’s cheek, then walked over to the kitchen area. “Didn’t the home attendant show up?”

  Uncle Virgil shook his head. “I wish you’d call them for me. Bode doesn’t like this new woman.”

  Holly wondered how many times the home attendant hadn’t shown up during the two weeks she’d been gone to the seminar. Why hadn’t Debi done anything? She sighed quietly. “Okay. I’ll call first thing in the morning. Where’s Debi?”

  “Debi’s right here.” Her sister’s voice sounded strained behind her. “But not for long.”

  Debi was dressed in a short leather skirt and a one-shouldered tank top. Her long bare legs were accentuated by high-heeled slides. She looked dangerously lovely, as only a tall, vital young woman can.

  “Where are you going?” Holly asked as she un-pinned Aunt Bode’s hair and began to brush it, trying to suppress her frustration that Debi had let their great-aunt sit all day with messy hair and food-stained clothes.

  “Out.” The single word was a challenge.

  Holly saw Jack studying Debi, his face typically expressionless but his eyes full of interest.

  Holly set the hairbrush down as Debi swung open the front door. “I’ll be right back,” she said to Jack and Uncle Virgil, and followed Debi out onto the porch.

  “What have you been doing all day? Aunt Bode’s hair hasn’t even been brushed.”

  Debi stopped halfway down the front steps and turned back. “What have I been doing? Chasing around after her, trying to keep her from hurting herself. You want to know why the home attendant didn’t show? Because Aunt Bode has decided she likes to throw food at people. What have you been doing all day, Miss Newlywed? Of course, I’m sure I know the answer to that.”

  Holly cringed at the acid in her sister’s voice. She tried to curb her impatience, but too much had happened in the past twenty-four hours and her nerves were shot.

  “You don’t know nearly as much as you think you do, Debi. Is it too much to ask for you to help with Aunt Bode? You’re living here rent-free. You’re not working. I cook dinner over here at least three nights a week. It would be different if you were in school, but apparently you’ve decided not to finish your degree.”

  Debi propped her fists on her hips. “You don’t know what I’ve decided. Registration isn’t over yet. I haven’t made up my mind. But what are you going to do about Aunt Bode if I do go back to school? She n
eeds to be in a home. I’m sure not going to spend my life waiting on her and Uncle Virgil. I’m not like you. I don’t feel the need to jump every time they even look like they need something. Of course, now that you’ve set up housekeeping with your hunky stranger of a husband you’ll probably end up leaving this one-horse town. Then what will I do?”

  Debi was really upset. Her eyes were bright with tears, her body stiff and straight, with her fists clenched at her sides, just like when she was a child.

  Holly’s heart softened at Debi’s vulnerability. “Debi, honey, I’m not planning to go away. Where did all this come from?”

  “Maybe it comes from me being afraid you’ve lost your mind. Where did he come from?”

  Holly swallowed, wondering how to answer Debi’s question. She’d never lied to her little sister before.

  “Jack O’Hara is no hometown boy, Hol. I don’t know where you found him or what possessed you to actually marry him, but he’s too sharp. Too intense. He’ll never live here. He’ll take you away.” She stopped, and tears glimmered in her eyes. She held up her hands. “Never mind. It’s your life. I don’t have any right—”

  “Debi, come on. You’re my sister. I love you.” Holly smiled and held out her arms. “It’s always been you and me, kid.” Debi might be a couple of inches taller than Holly, but she would always be her baby sister.

  Debi backed away. “I’ve gotta go. I’ve got people waiting for me.”

  Holly felt her sister’s rejection like a physical blow to her stomach. Debi had never refused a hug before. Holly took a step forward. “Debi, we need to talk about this. There’s more to it than you know.”

  Debi folded her arms and sighed, putting on a sulky, impatient expression, and Holly knew from experience that her sister had stopped listening.

  “Okay, go on. We’ll talk later. But try not to be too late getting back. You know how Uncle Virgil worries.”

  “Trust me, I know. When will everyone accept that I’m an adult? I don’t need people telling me what to do. You should be grateful I’m staying here so you can play house with your hunky new husband.”