Navy SEAL Protector

by Bonnie Vanak

  But something else was there as well. A glint of white paper. A note?

  He pulled it out. The bold, black lettering was clear, along with the intent.

  Welcome home, loser. Now get out of town. We don’t need no failures here in Barlow.

  Chapter 6

  Nick kept quiet during dinner that night. He didn’t want to talk, only observe. Someone didn’t want him here, and he was determined to find out who it was. Fortunately Timmy hadn’t seen the bag, or guessed what the contents were.

  Harmless as threats went. Except the note’s nasty words jerked his chain as effectively as if Silas himself had penned them. How well he remembered his father leaving him notes around the ranch as reminders to finish his chores. Notes that lacked any affection, but were as stern as his father’s voice.

  Loser.

  Failure.

  I’m neither. I became a SEAL and left all that behind.

  But deep inside, the hurt little boy he’d been still remembered how painful it was to hear Silas lecture him, and shake his head in fatherly disapproval. How old had he been when the first lectures started? Eleven, maybe. Shortly after his mother died, and his father became more sullen and angry, and turned his scrutiny to Nick. Nick had sorely missed his mom, who showered him with love and kisses. The day she’d died, he’d taken one of the ranch ATVs out on a joyride, and ended up turning over in the creek bed. He’d cried and cried.

  Silas hadn’t comforted him. Instead, the old man caned his ass. The ATV was valuable farm equipment.

  Nick tucked that sour memory back into his mind, focusing on the present. Silas was dead, and all his disapproval went with him. The note was a nasty trick left by someone who didn’t like the prodigal son returning home.

  He hadn’t seen the elusive Natalie, either, but as he’d left the stables, a sleek black Jag had pulled away, gravel spitting beneath the tires. It could have been Natalie who tossed the bag at him. Until he questioned her, he didn’t know.

  Or it could even be someone sitting at this table.

  He had less reason to suspect Natalie, unless she was vindictive and didn’t like the way he’d rejected her last night. But Nick never had been one for fancy, polished women.

  His gaze shot over to Shelby. No, his tastes were singular, running to sassy, pretty brunettes with kind hearts.

  Felicity had insisted on everyone dining together “in honor of our dear, departed Silas.” Even Shelby and Timmy sat at the polished inlaid dining table in the formal room. Candles in silver holders flickered as light from the crystal chandelier overhead glinted on the gold-rimmed china.

  He’d grown up with wealth and privilege, but Silas had been more a practical sort, especially after Nick’s mother died. Meals were usually taken in the smaller kitchen, and formal dinners were for holidays. Nick suspected Felicity wasn’t the same.

  After leaving Shelby’s apartment, Nick had dug around the barn, looking for answers. Hank told him they’d found Readalot, their champion jumper, dead one morning. Nothing suspicious. The horse had simply died. Maybe it was colic. Dan had filed a report and the insurance company paid up.

  But Nick knew there were ways of killing horses that would make it look natural. Electrical shock, for one. Insurance claims had been paid out, a pretty sum of fifty thousand dollars. Not enough to pay down the debt on the ranch, but no chump change, either.

  His gaze whipped over to the diamond hanging around Felicity’s neck.

  “That’s a very pretty necklace, Felicity. A gift?” he asked, then sipped his red wine.

  She preened. “Dan gave it to me on our tenth wedding anniversary last month.”

  Nice gift. Dan’s wife had expensive tastes. What if the saboteur was Dan himself? Or even Felicity? Quick cash, instead of waiting for the next horse competition or for stud fees? Readalot was the ranch’s prized possession. When he died, there went their chances of income. It would nudge Silas closer to selling.

  Felicity sipped wine from the crystal goblet. He noted Shelby had left hers untouched. Shelby never touched a drop of alcohol. After growing up with two drunkards for parents and being the one to care for her younger sister, he understood.

  Dan’s wife turned to him. “Nicolas, if you’re headed to Kurt Mohler’s office Monday, you can borrow one of the ranch vehicles. It has a GPS. Kurt’s office is difficult to find downtown. I’m sure you will want to sign the papers to sell the ranch and then be on your way.”

  All eyes swung over to him. All but Shelby’s. She stared at her teacup as if trying to divine the leaves.

  “I’m not selling.”

  Three words that drained the blood from Felicity’s face. “But, but...”

  Dan covered his wife’s hand with his own. “Enough, Felicity. The ranch belongs to Nick now. It’s his to do with as he pleases.”

  Jake brought a forkful of green beans to his mouth and chewed. “Damn straight. The man can do as he pleases, Felicity.”

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Jake,” she snapped. “It’s a bad influence on the children.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Jake winked at Timmy, who giggled as he sipped his milk.

  Whee. If dinners together were this much fun, he’d spend his meals eating in town. Nick watched Shelby pour Timmy more milk from the pitcher. She was good with her nephew, had a real motherly streak.

  His thoughts drifted. What if he had explored beyond that kiss ten years ago and they’d made love? Would he have made her pregnant? Silas would have forced him to marry Shel, not that Nick would have minded her in his bed for the rest of his life. But any time Silas wanted him to do something, Nick resisted.

  But what if he hadn’t resisted? They’d have at least two kids by now...with sparkling eyes like hers and that sassy lil grin...

  He shook free the thought. He was a wandering man, not inclined to settle. Not even for the temptation of Shelby’s lush body beneath his every night.

  She fit into this life, this world in Tennessee. He no longer did.

  Then where the hell do you fit in?

  Dan asked Nick about his travels around the country. Nick told him about the nomadic lifestyle he’d lived since leaving the teams, doing odd jobs and then moving on to explore a new town. Shelby’s eyes lit with interest, while Felicity merely looked bored.

  Nick directed his attention to Shelby. “New Hampshire’s real sweet this time of year. Bite of fall in the air, the apples are crisp and the colors so sharp they explode.”

  She sighed. “I’ve always wanted to travel. Paris would be my dream destination, where I could study art, but I’ll take anywhere out of Barlow. When my sister and her husband get back, they said we’d live together in Nashville.”

  He lowered his voice. “Nashville is not out of town, Shel. Why don’t you pick up and leave when Timmy’s parents return?”

  For a moment wild hope ignited her gaze. Then it shuttered as she stabbed her vegetables with more effort than required.

  “It’s not as simple for a woman as it is for a man,” she muttered.

  “Nothing’s ever simple, Shel. You have to make it happen.”

  A loud pop exploded outside. Nick jumped to his feet as Felicity yelped.

  Timmy’s fork clattered to his plate as Shelby looked alarmed, but calm. His gaze immediately whipped over to Dan, whose expression was guarded.

  “What was that?” Jake demanded.

  Nick wasn’t going to wait to find out. He raced outside, followed by the others.

  A brown bag was on fire on the front stoop. Dan stamped on it, and his shoes came away covered in horse droppings. Mason laughed.

  “Daddy stepped in horse doodie!”

  Felicity hushed her son as Dan removed his shoes. Nick frowned, looking at the now extinguished horse droppings. As a prank, it was juvenile. Bu
t considering what else had happened on the ranch...and this happened while they were inside having dinner.

  Maybe whoever did this planned something much more sinister and this was a diversion. Lure everyone outside so there would be a clear target...

  “Get back inside, now!” he warned them.

  Fortunately, Dan must have concluded the same, for he herded his wife and children into the house, Jake and Timmy following close behind. Nick withdrew his weapon and cocked the slide. If someone was watching, they’d see he was armed.

  He noted Shelby had remained outside. “Shelby, go back inside before you become a target.”

  “No. This is my home, too. I need to catch the bastard who’s doing this.” That stubborn little jut of her lower lip and the line denting her forehead warned he’d have a hard time convincing her otherwise.

  Nick didn’t care. Someone had already gone after him. He wasn’t about to let Shelby become a target, too.

  “Get inside,” he ordered.

  When she stared at him in mute defiance, he didn’t hesitate. Nick swept her into his arms, took her inside and gently deposited her on the living room sofa. “If you don’t promise to stay there, I’ll tie you up, Shel. I’ll handle this. Now, you going to stay put, or do I get the rope?”

  Anger glinted in her gaze, but she nodded.

  Nick headed outside again.

  The motion-activated lights switched on as he prowled over to the western half of the house. Using his cell-phone light, Nick circled the house and then headed for the garage and Shelby’s apartment. He didn’t like that the garage sat alone, unprotected, like a bull’s-eye. Good thing he was sleeping there tonight.

  He finished a preliminary search and found nothing. And then in the distance, he heard it.

  A truck motor turning over. Squeal of tires. Someone using the back road, leading to the dirt road and the highway.

  Damn it. Nick wished he had his NVGs. The night-vision goggles were perfect. Too damn dark to see who it was. He listened instead. Pickup truck, lightweight, with a bad muffler. But how the hell did he dump the manure and then get away on foot? No tracks. Maybe he’d been too busy looking down, when he should have looked up...

  Remembering the magnolia tree that he always used to climb to get in and out of his old bedroom, Nick glanced skyward. The branches hung over the porch. No one had trimmed it in a long time. Near the trunk, he found the faint outline of a footprint. Nick climbed the tree and went out onto the thick limb near the porch. Perfect place to hide after dropping the bag, fire a shot to grab attention and watch everyone’s reaction when they rushed outside.

  Cursing softly, he climbed back down. Whoever did this was very familiar with the ranch, and the house. They’d have to know that the magnolia only had one strong limb that touched the house.

  Frustration filled him. Nothing. Whoever did this was either very clever, very fast or both.

  Or perhaps they were closer than anyone realized.

  Nick dropped down from the tree, landing on his feet as the door opened. Shelby walked outside.

  “I told you to stay inside.”

  “Whoever did this—” she pointed to the extinguished bag “—is gone. Did you hear that truck?”

  He nodded. “Anyone you know needs a muffler repaired?”

  Shelby sighed. “Half the guys in town.”

  “Tell me about the ranch hands Dan hired. Any of them drive a light pickup with a bad muffler?”

  “No. They all have cars. There’s three to help with the horses. Jake’s now head trainer and gives lessons, since Big Jack left us.”

  “Where do they sleep at night? On the ranch?”

  “No. They quit around six, but Dan asked them to stay a little longer to feed and bed down the horses because of the funeral.”

  So any of the ranch hands could have tossed that bag at his head and sneaked out here to leave a calling card of horse droppings. It made no sense, though.

  Nick mounted the porch steps and squatted down by the burned bag of manure. In Dan’s haste to extinguish the fire, no one had noticed the second, smaller bag sitting nearby. It was a plain paper bag. With extreme care, he opened it.

  Inside was a crumpled T-shirt that stank to high heaven and a note.

  Shelby’s cute nose wrinkled as she peered into the bag. “Ugh. What is that? It smells like someone used it to clean up the stables.”

  Someone did. Nick gingerly lifted the note from the bag. It crackled as he read the big, black letters.

  You stink at life more than flaming horse apples, Nick Anderson. Leave before someone discovers your secret.

  He balled up the note in his hand and shook his head. “Kids playing around. Nothing more. Go inside. I’ll clean up this mess.”

  “I can help—”

  “No.”

  When Shelby left, he found a shovel and began working on the mess on the porch, his stomach twisted in knots. Someone was out to taunt him, make him leave. Someone knew how to push his buttons, knew that he’d pulled such a prank in childhood at old lady Whipple’s house. Silas had discovered it and stuffed his favorite T-shirt into the manure pile.

  And then forced him to wear it to the widow’s house to apologize.

  Except Silas hadn’t driven him to the widow’s house, but had gone to his friend’s home, where all his best buds had gathered to play video games.

  Nick never forgot, or forgave that humiliation. Never set flaming horse apples before someone’s door, either.

  Someone else hadn’t forgotten, either. And they wanted to make sure he knew it and got the hell out of Dodge before something else happened.

  * * *

  The stress of the funeral and the day’s events took their toll. As they headed back to her apartment, Shelby felt stretched tighter than piano wire. She forced herself to keep calm for Timmy’s sake. Nick followed her up the stairs and after they went inside, he locked the door and drew the shades.

  Timmy tugged at her hand. “Aunt Shelby, if my mama and daddy die like Uncle Silas, will you stay with me forever?”

  Stunned, she crouched down. “No, honey, your parents will be fine.”

  She hugged him tight, wishing she could dispel all his fears. Parenting was a skill she hadn’t managed yet, but she tried her best. And each day brought new challenges.

  Timmy pouted. “I want to play trucks. Aunt Shelby, will you play with me?”

  Nick glanced at her. “Sit down, rest. I’ll handle him.”

  Grateful for the reprieve, for she’d spent many hours with Felicity arranging for the luncheon after the funeral, Shelby sat on the chair by the window and picked up a library book to read, but she was too tired. Soon she heard noises coming from Timmy’s bedroom.

  Curious, she headed there. At the opened door, she paused and her heart turned over. Nick, playing trucks with Timmy on the floor. His face scrunched up as he pushed a dump truck toward a stack of Legos. He might have been a big, bad Navy SEAL, but now all his concentration was centered on a very needy little boy.

  I could almost love you for that. Her smile dropped. Don’t go there.

  Shelby knocked on the doorjamb. Both of them looked up. “I was going to make tea. And warm milk for you, Timmy.”

  “I’m not thirsty,” the boy protested. “Warm milk is for babies like Mason.”

  “I drink warm milk all the time,” Nick told him.

  Timmy’s jaw dropped. “You? You’re a Navy SEAL.”

  “Warm milk is the preferred drink of SEALs.” Nick winked at him. Then he looked at Shelby. “Bath time?”

  At her nod, he continued, “Want me to supervise?”

  Grateful for his help, she nodded again. “I’ll heat the milk.”

  Leaving her nephew in Nick’s capable hands, she went into the kitche
n. The comfort of routine soothed her as she set the kettle on to boil. She wondered what Nick thought of what he’d come home to. He’d been so quiet after the flaming-manure incident, and acted odd when she’d tried to help him clean up. Nick hadn’t let her see the note, either.

  Shelby suspected it was targeted at him personally, and he didn’t want her knowing it. Too many other odd things had happened for her to question him about it. Right now she wanted the soothing ritual of routine in her kitchen.

  Nick came into the kitchen. “Timmy’s getting dressed. Thought I’d help out.”

  Nick’s big body seemed too large as he stirred the milk she’d poured into a saucepan and put on the stove. His hip brushed against hers and she tingled from the brief contact.

  “You know, if we were married, we’d be doing this for our kids at night,” he murmured.

  Shelby’s mouth quirked in a faint smile. “If we were married, I’d be doing this alone for our kids.”

  “How many?”

  “How many what?”

  “Kids would we have?”

  She considered. “Two, maybe. How many do you think we’d have by now?”

  “Five.”

  At his charming grin, she nearly dropped the two mugs. “Five kids! Do you know what that would be like?”

  Nick grabbed a mug from her hand, his fingers brushing hers and sending currents of awareness shooting through her. “With you, it’d be an adventure.”

  He winked again as he poured the milk into the mug. “We’d have to have that many, considering how often I’d let you leave our bed. It would be great fun making them.”

  Nick’s babies. She softened inside thinking about five golden-haired cherubs at their knees. Maybe three boys and two girls. And then she caught his grin and realized he didn’t meant anything by it.

  Nick was only making conversation. Her last nerve snapped like a rubber band.

  “Stop it, Nick. Just stop it.” She banged the mug down on the counter with a thud. “You’re not here to stay, and you’re never going to stick around, so stop teasing me.”

  Two lines dented his brow. “I told you I was sticking around for a while.”