Her Rancher Bodyguard

by Brenda Minton

  “I don’t think so, cat.”

  She exposed her belly for him to pet. He obliged and then moved her to the end of the sofa to a throw pillow that must have been placed there for her. She curled up on it and seemed perfectly content.

  Boone raised his left pant leg, rubbed the aching muscles until they relaxed, and then he unhooked the prosthetic leg. He placed it on the floor under the coffee table. It was computerized, a complex thing that adjusted to his gait. He didn’t want it stepped on or broken.

  He rubbed his leg and stretched, and then he grabbed a pin off the table and rolled up the leg of his jeans to secure it.

  “Boone?”

  He looked up. “Stanford.”

  He looked down at his leg and then back to the woman standing in the center of the living room, a cup of cocoa in a hand that trembled. She was going to spill it on his mom’s new carpet.

  “Don’t spill that,” he said quietly, bringing her back to earth.

  She managed to get the cocoa to him without spilling it. “I didn’t know.”

  “You didn’t need to know.”

  “Of course.” She sat next to him. The room was dark except for the soft glow of the porch light through the window. The cat’s purring broke the silence. It felt too intimate but he didn’t know how to say it without drawing attention to the fact.

  “Afghanistan?” she asked, bringing the subject back to his leg.

  “Yeah, Afghanistan.”

  Silence again, other than the purring of Sheba.

  “So we all have secrets,” she finally said.

  “Some secrets are dangerous. Some are just nonissues. This happened a few years ago. It’s just a part of my life now, and unless the skin breaks down, I’m good. I don’t classify it as a secret.”

  “My secrets, my life...” She broke off, shaking her head.

  “You don’t have to tell me your secrets, Kayla. It isn’t necessary. Unless you want to. And if you talk, I’ll listen.”

  She grabbed the hot chocolate from his hands and took a sip, then she held the cup. He’d meant for her to share hot chocolate and secrets with his mom. Maybe he should remind her of that fact. His mom was the listener. He was the bodyguard.

  “My dad’s campaign adviser has been his law partner for years.”

  “Mr. Whitman.”

  “Yes.”

  “I see.” He retrieved the chocolate from her and took a drink but he gave it back when she reached for it.

  His mom appeared in the doorway of the living room. She stood for a moment watching the two of them and then disappeared again, leaving him to be the one who listened to secrets. He had a feeling the secrets were going to make him want to hurt someone.

  They sat in silence a long time. At some point she set the cup down and reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his. Upstairs someone was watching a late-night show, and the sound of audience laughter carried. Sheba continued to purr. And in the kitchen he could hear his mom washing dishes and the radio playing gospel music. She loved her alone time at night.

  “My dad didn’t believe me.” The words were whispered but they sounded loud in the quiet of that room. Her fingers tightened on his and she leaned a little in his direction. “He was my dad. I trusted him. He should have trusted me. Instead, he told me he couldn’t believe I’d make up something like that about a man who would do anything for me.”

  She laughed a humorless laugh. “Do anything for me. Which is funny, because Paul Whitman made me promise not to tell, but before that he’d promised he’d do anything for me. And if I told, he’d make sure no one ever believed me again.”

  “Someone should have believed you,” Boone said as she tried to pull her hand from his. But he couldn’t let her go. He couldn’t let her run. “I believe you.”

  “Yes,” she whispered on a broken sob. “Someone should have.”

  She pulled free from his hand and he let her go, let her curl up inside herself on the corner of the sofa, the cat pulled close for comfort. And this was why Kayla Stanford fought everything and everyone. She was broken and trying to trick the world into thinking she was whole.

  He reached for her but she shrank from his touch. He picked up the blanket he’d left folded on a nearby footstool, covered her and stood. He balanced next to her, looking down at a woman who appeared confident but was hiding a hurting kid deep inside. The girl who had needed her father’s protection was still seeking that security from him.

  “I’ll do whatever I can to help you,” he promised, knowing he shouldn’t. “But right now, I’ll get my mom. She’s not going to leave you alone tonight.”

  She nodded, brushing hair back from her face. “Boone, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He made his way from the room, hopping on a right leg that had adjusted and gotten stronger over the past few years. He made it to the kitchen and his mom gave him a look.

  “Crutches, Boone.”

  “Too much trouble. You’re needed in the living room. I think I should go and leave the two of you alone. But I’ll apologize now for the long night you’re going to have.”

  “Don’t apologize. You see, when someone is hurting they are like a sore. It can only hold the pain so long and then it’s going to erupt.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s the most beautiful way of putting it, Mom, but I guess it’s accurate.”

  She shrugged and handed him a plate of banana bread. “Eat something. Kayla will be fine here. Don’t try to go home like that. Crutches, son.”

  He kissed her cheek. “You’re the best.”

  She smiled up at him. “And you are a good son. You have a good heart.”

  “My heart is intact, don’t worry.”

  She picked up another plate. “So you say. But you know, someday your heart is going to...”

  “Good night, Mom.” He headed for the closet in the utility room. “Crutches in here?”

  “Yes, they are. I’m only saying...” she started again.

  “Mom, this isn’t the time. You can trust me to know my own heart. I’m happy with my life the way it is right now.”

  “You’re not getting any younger.” The words followed him out the back door. “Hey, you left a leg in my living room.”

  “I’ll get it tomorrow.”

  He would never call himself a chicken, or even a coward, for running. He would call himself wise. He would call leaving at that moment self-preservation. Because his mom had two sides. The side that wanted to protect her son and the side that thought he would be happiest if he married and gave her grandchildren.

  And he knew that Kayla needed more tonight than he could give. She needed to be held. She needed to cry. She needed to hear from a woman who had survived that she would survive.

  No, he would never call himself a coward. He was the guy who would be sleeping in his truck, making sure no one set foot on this property and that no one hurt her again.

  Not even him.

  Chapter Seven

  Kayla managed a few hours of sleep after a lot of crying and a lot of talking with Maria Wilder. It had felt good. For the first time in ten years someone had listened and believed her. She’d told Boone’s mom about being a little lost in her early teens. Her dad had been busy with his career. Her stepmother had been busy being his wife and a mother to her two boys. She hadn’t signed on to raise his daughter. There had been nannies for that. But nannies weren’t mothers. They didn’t explain what a girl growing into a woman needed to know. And they didn’t take the place of a father who was suddenly too busy.

  Kayla had been a victim in the making, the girl no one was really paying attention to. And Paul Whitman had known. He’d watched her drifting from her family. He’d offered rides home from school, a movie. He’d offered her time.
He’d taken advantage and left her with no one to turn to.

  She was the victim. At some point during the night, Maria Wilder had finally convinced her of that fact. And for the first time in years she felt the pieces fitting together again. Not whole, but closer than she’d been in a long time.

  She sat up and looked out the window. Boone’s truck was parked in the drive. She leaned over the sofa, and saw the prosthetic leg he’d left behind. It was an amazing piece of equipment, even attached to the leather cowboy boot. He would need it this morning.

  She slipped her feet into her shoes and then grabbed the blanket, slipping it around her shoulders before she headed out the front door. Boone’s dog, Sally, was sitting at the edge of the porch. The collie followed her down the steps and across the yard.

  When she got to the truck, she tapped the boot against the window. He woke up with a start, reaching for something in his glove box. And then he saw her. He slid a hand across his face, rubbing the shadow of whiskers that had grown overnight.

  He was beautiful, she thought. He was more than a handsome cowboy with dark eyes and dark hair, his skin bronzed from a life in the sun. No, he was more than that. Because of the kindness that settled in his eyes and the roguish smile that sometimes caught her by surprise.

  But he was temporary. Yet this temporary stop in his life might have changed her life. Maybe that had been God’s plan all along.

  “You have my leg,” he mumbled through the closed window of the truck. She opened the door.

  “I thought you might want this.” She handed it over.

  “Yeah, I might. Did you get any sleep?” he asked.

  “A little. No one else is up.”

  “It’s Saturday. They might sleep in a little. Want to help me start breakfast?”

  She glanced from him to the house. “Yeah, sure.”

  He pushed the door a little wider and hopped down from the truck. She glanced down, surprised that again she couldn’t tell he wore the prosthetic.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” he asked, lifting one leg and then the other.

  “Very.”

  “And you have questions?”

  Of course she did. “How did it happen?”

  He tugged the blanket up around her shoulders. “That’s a long story.”

  “It’s none of my business.”

  “No, it’s okay. It’s just that it was another time, definitely another place and maybe another me. Daron and I wanted to help a family. A mother, a little brother, a sister.”

  She heard the catch in his voice and she touched his arm. He stopped walking and looked down at her. “Boone, I’m sorry.”

  He continued walking. “Me, too. The boy approached us one day and told us there were men in his mother’s house and he was worried. I don’t know, maybe he was telling the truth and he was afraid or maybe it was all a setup. I’ll never know because the IED went off as a group of us headed that way to see if we could help. One of our guys died in that explosion. He left a pregnant wife behind. His little girl is three now.”

  “You didn’t hurt them.”

  “No, I didn’t. But I could have been more perceptive, could have been more focused. We’d gotten too relaxed, maybe. I don’t know.”

  He led her through the house to the kitchen. Jase was already up. He was starting a pot of coffee and eating a snack cake.

  “Hey, didn’t realize there was anyone else up,” he said.

  “I was in my truck. Kayla was on the sofa.” Boone grabbed a carton of eggs out of the fridge. “I’m going to make scrambled eggs, toast and bacon. You eating with us this morning, Doc? Or was that chocolate cake it for you?”

  “Yeah, I’m eating if you’re cooking. Does Kayla cook?”

  She laughed at that. “No, Kayla has never cooked.”

  “Then, Kayla should learn,” Boone quipped. “Today is the first day of the rest of your life.”

  “Dramatic,” Kayla informed him. “But I will learn to cook. After all, someday I’m going to be on my own. No one will be around to fix me omelets or biscuits and gravy.”

  Boone shot her a look as he pulled a big bowl out of the cabinet. “Going to be a teacher, are you?”

  She managed a smile. “Yeah, I think I will be.”

  “Good for you,” Jase said as he tossed her a snack cake.

  “Drop the cake.” Boone pushed the bowl and the eggs in front of her. “Get busy, Stanford, you have a lot to learn.”

  “I know how to crack an egg.”

  “Yeah, but can you get it in the bowl without the shells?”

  She shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.”

  Boone left her to it and he started the bacon frying. Jase pulled up a stool and watched. She cracked an egg on the counter and pulled it apart over the bowl. Of course part of the shell fell in. Jase didn’t say a word. He just handed her a fork and took another sip of his coffee. She gave him a warning look when it seemed he might change his mind and say something.

  After a few tries she got the hang of it and managed to hand over a bowl of eggs, sans shells. She gave Boone a smug look. He handed the bowl back to her.

  “Whip them up with the fork and add some milk,” he ordered.

  “I thought that was your job.”

  He shook his head. “Nope, you’re making the eggs. Someday you might have a classroom of hungry kids. What are you going to feed them?”

  “Schools have cafeterias, Wilder.”

  He just went back to his bacon. She gave Jase a pleading look. While Boone’s back was turned, Jase took the bowl and the fork and whipped the eggs. She got the milk from the fridge and Jase added the right amount and handed the jug back to her.

  He didn’t even turn around. “Jase, let her do it.”

  “Eyes in the back of his head,” Jase grumbled as he handed her the fork and pushed the bowl of eggs in her direction.

  Kayla managed a shaky laugh. She hadn’t expected to laugh this morning. Not today, when her life might become a newspaper headline. Not today, when that same story could destroy her father’s career. She cared about that more than she’d expected to. She didn’t want him hurt. As much as she’d tried to hurt him with her actions over the past few years, she didn’t want this to be the thing that ended his career.

  “Hanging in there, Stanford?” Boone took the bowl of eggs from her.

  She watched as he poured them into a skillet. “Yeah, I’m good. I guess there isn’t going to be an Austin morning paper around here?”

  He laughed, a husky sound that shouldn’t have sent shivers down her spine. “No paper here. But we’ll take a look at the internet.”

  “Want me to get my computer?” Jase offered, already off the stool.

  “That would work.” Boone waited for his brother to leave the room and then he faced her again. “So you’re really okay?”

  “I woke up this morning feeling like a new person. Or maybe a person with faith. I expected that to get me through the day, but it isn’t going to be that easy, is it?”

  He opened his arms, a startling invitation that she found she couldn’t refuse. His arms, strong and comforting on a morning when she was starting what appeared to be a new life but with the old life still needing to be dealt with. She stepped into the circle of his embrace and he pulled her close. It was a brotherly, comforting hug, but it included his strength, his scent, his warmth. Before he let her go he kissed her near her temple. She drew in a breath at the gesture, so sweet.

  “You’re dangerous, Wilder.”

  “No, ma’am, I’m about as dangerous as a newborn puppy.”

  She laughed at that. “Yes, exactly. Everyone wants a puppy.”

  Jase returned with the computer, giving them each a careful look, shaking his head as he sat back down. He opened the laptop an
d fired it up. “Looking for anything special?”

  “Yes, and private.” Boone took the computer and did a quick search as she looked over his shoulder.

  The story was front page in the politics section. There was a picture of her at a party, wild-eyed, unfocused. The headline said Poor Little Party Girl.

  “They did it.”

  “Yeah, they did. But let’s read it all and see what we’re dealing with.” He spoke quietly, his arm coming around her, pulling her to his side. Together they read the article that told of secrets and a father who turned his back on his daughter.

  “They didn’t give up the whole story,” Boone spoke quietly. As though he thought a loud voice might shatter her. It wouldn’t, though. “They’re holding on to the rest. It’s their ace. They’ve got your dad’s attention and now they’ll set the hook and reel him in.”

  “I need to call him. I need for him to know that I wouldn’t have done this to him.”

  Boone turned her to face him. “He needs to call you and tell you that he should have been there for you. He should have believed you. He’s not the victim, Kayla. Don’t treat him like one.”

  She shivered, although she wasn’t cold. Boone wrapped her in his strong arms. “The story is still yours. They didn’t reveal it and you still have time.”

  “How much time?”

  Boone shrugged, his arms still around her. “I’m sure they’ll contact your dad today.”

  “I should go home.”

  “No, you shouldn’t. You’re staying here. You’re safe here. They want money, Kayla. But they also seem to want revenge. They’re striking out, targeting you, because they know you’re important to your dad.”

  “Right,” she whispered, for the first time letting go of the newfound strength and faith. She felt weak down to her toes.

  “You are important to him.”

  “I’m going to stir the eggs,” Jase said. Kayla looked up, seeing concern in his brown eyes. She’d forgotten his presence.

  “I’m sorry, Jase. You don’t need this on a Saturday morning.”

  He winked. “I’m not worried about myself, Kayla.”