“You still haven’t told me what that guy was doing.”
“I know. Do you think Dottie will hand over a couple of doughnuts without complaining when I get in there?” He walked around the side of the car, his hands gentle as he slid them around her waist and helped her out, supporting her weight when she swayed.
“Your plan isn’t going to work, Ryder.”
“Plan?” He raised a sandy eyebrow, his eyes glittering in the late-afternoon sunlight.
“To keep me off balance and distracted.”
“If I were trying to distract you, we wouldn’t be standing around talking about it.” His gaze dropped to her lips and heat zipped through her belly, landed right square in her heart.
It pounded and flipped and danced, carrying her closer to the precipice she wanted to avoid.
“I’m not easily distracted, Ryder.”
“No?” He leaned down, his lips so close to hers, she could feel the warmth of his breath. She wanted to close her eyes, sway toward him, let whatever would happen happen, but she wasn’t that big of a fool.
“No. Come on. Let’s get those doughnuts.”
“You’re running away,” he called out as she tried to hurry to the bakery door, and she didn’t argue, because it was true.
She was running as fast as her beat-up, stitched-up, aching body would move.
Ryder still made it to the door before she did, holding it open as she stepped into the bakery. The store overflowed with people who greeted her as she walked inside. She knew most of them by name, but she didn’t pause to chat, didn’t look over her shoulder to see if Ryder followed.
She knew he was there.
Knew it by the warmth that spread along her nape, the heat that seeped through her. She sidled past Dottie, ignoring her hard look, offered Zane a quick smile and grabbed a spare apron from a hook on the wall.
Vanilla.
Chocolate.
Cinnamon.
Sugar.
The scents were familiar and comforting, washing over her as she gingerly tugged the apron over her head.
This she knew.
This she understood.
This world of pans and baking products and business.
This she could handle.
She’d let Ryder do his thing. She’d do hers. Eventually, the guy who’d shot her and killed Maureen would be found and put in jail. Life would go on. Ryder would move on.
And Shelby would move right back into her routine. Only, she’d have a new security system in her house and her bakery, and a new hole in her heart.
She frowned, working flour, water, butter and sugar into a sweet dough, her muscles tightening and protesting with every movement.
She didn’t care, didn’t stop, because losing herself in bread dough was a whole lot less painful than losing herself in Ryder.
She had to keep that in mind.
She would keep it in mind.
Two strikes and she was out.
There wouldn’t be a third, but every time Shelby looked into Ryder’s eyes, she couldn’t help wishing there could be.
TEN
Maybe work hadn’t been such a good idea.
Shelby winced as she lifted the oversize round base of Terri Anderson’s wedding cake.
“It’s already seven o’clock, Shelby Ann. You said you were leaving at four. Go home and let me handle that cake. I’ll take the bus home when I’m done,” Dottie groused, but they both knew she couldn’t have lifted the cake. At seventy-eight, Dottie was just beginning to slow down. What she lacked in energy, she made up for in attitude, and she’d been shoving it down Shelby’s throat since the bakery closed two hours ago.
“You’ve been here since three this morning. You’re the one who should go home, and you know that Zane said he’d come back and pick you up when you were ready. You don’t have to take the bus.” Shelby panted as she hefted the second layer of the cake and slid it into the walk-in fridge with the other, a sharp pain shooting through her back at the movement.
She groaned, rubbing the muscles beneath her stitches but finding no relief.
“See? You’ve reinjured yourself.”
“I’ll be fine. I just need a minute.” She wiped cold sweat from her brow.
“You wouldn’t need a minute if you were home in bed where you should be.”
“Point taken, Dottie. Now, call Zane, grab your stuff and go home. I’ll work better without you standing over me.” Shelby sighed as she lifted the final tier of the cake. The crumb coat would harden overnight, and she’d cover the cake in rich buttercream the next day.
No fondant for Terri.
Just a few dozen sugar flowers that Shelby had to craft before the nuptials the following day. She’d promised Terri she’d get it done when the bride had called frantic after hearing the news about Shelby’s hospitalization.
Seventeen hours before she had to deliver the cake, and the flowers weren’t made, the cakes had just been crumb coated, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to lift the tiers when it came time to stack them, but Shelby would finish.
It was going to be a long night.
She glanced at her clipboard, flipped through to the other cake orders. Just the one for the coming weekend.
Then three more for the following weekend.
By that time, she should be feeling more herself and less like a slug.
She grabbed the tools she needed, set them on the counter and pulled a chair from her office, ignoring Dottie’s glowering stare. Usually, she didn’t sit while she worked, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
“You’re not going to make those flowers tonight. You’re going to drive me home.” It wasn’t a question, and Shelby chose to ignore Dottie’s grumbled comment.
“Are you ignoring me, Shelby Ann? Because if you are, your poor grandmother will turn over in her grave. The disgrace of knowing that her granddaughter wasn’t raised well enough—”
“Dottie, please, go call Zane.”
“I don’t want that tattooed kid to drive me. I want you to.”
“You sound like a spoiled child, you know that?”
“I’m way too old to be called a child.”
“Not if you’re acting like one.”
“I’m an old lady, Shelby Ann, and I want family to bring me home. Is that too much to ask?” Dottie changed tactics, and Shelby smiled at her predictability.
“You want to ride with me, then you’re going to have to wait, because I can’t go home until these flowers are done.”
“Do them in the morning.”
“The wedding is tomorrow night, which means I’m already a day behind where I should be. The flowers need to be made and then painted tonight, because they need to dry for at least—”
“I know how long they need to dry, girl. And I know that morning is plenty early enough to paint them.”
“I don’t like to do them the same day as the wedding, Dottie. You know that.”
“I also know that you’re not up to sitting here for the next five hours making flowers. You call Terri and tell her that the cake is going to have piping and icing roses. That’ll be good enough.”
“It’s her wedding, and she’s my friend. I’m not going to give her something less than what she asked for.” Besides, the truth was she really didn’t want to go home. Not when she wasn’t sure who would be there or what she’d find.
Bars on the windows, maybe?
Ryder making himself comfortable on her sofa?
Ryder.
At least he hadn’t hung around the bakery. He’d walked her in, done his security thing with his crew, said something about a meeting with the sheriff and left.
; He hadn’t returned. Which should have been fine with Shelby, but somehow it wasn’t.
She frowned as she rolled gum paste and started the first set of petals.
Five hours.
That’s about how long it would take to make and paint the flowers.
By the time she finished, the sun would be down, darkness cloaking the street and the sidewalk and anyone who might be lying in wait. She shuddered, fear clawing at her gut, Dottie’s soft snores drifting through the room.
Dottie’s snores?
She glanced at her grandmother’s best and oldest friend.
Head back against the wall, her bluish curls somehow deflated, her skin papery and pale, her bones brittle.
It wouldn’t take much to break one.
Wouldn’t take much to put a bullet through one, either.
What Shelby could easily recover from might kill a woman of Dottie’s age.
Not a good thought.
Not good at all.
“Dottie! Wake up!”
“Huh? What?”
“You fell asleep.” Now you’re going to get up and go home, so whoever tried to kill me won’t kill you.
“I was just resting my eyes, Shelby Ann. Now, why’d you have to go and ruin that?”
“Because, it’s nearly eight, and I want to bring you home before the sun goes down.”
“You said you weren’t leaving until you were done.”
“I changed my mind. Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Shelby winced as she stood to grab her purse, blood pulsing in the bruised flesh that surrounded the gunshot wound, reminding her of just how quickly the peaceful bakery could turn into a nightmare.
“You’re taking me home, and then you’re going home, too, right?”
“Then I’m coming back to finish the flowers.”
“Then I’m not leaving.”
“Of course you are, Dottie. All you’re doing is sleeping anyway.”
“I was not sleeping. I was resting my eyes, and if you’d wanted help, you should have asked.”
“I don’t want help. I want you to go home and get some sleep.”
“Well, you’re just going to have to keep on wanting, then, because I’m not going!”
“Stop being so stubborn!”
“Stop being so irresponsible!”
“What’s irresponsible about trying to get my job done?”
“Nothing, unless it’s going to get you killed!”
“You might both want to stop shouting. I could hear you outside.” The deep voice cut through their argument, and Shelby whirled, her heart racing.
“Do you have to keep doing that, Ryder?” she asked, and he raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“Scaring years off my life. At the rate I’m aging, I might not make it to my thirtieth birthday.”
“No need to worry about that, girl. You’re not going to make it to tomorrow if you keep acting like a fool,” Dottie muttered.
“What are you doing here, Ryder?” Shelby asked, completing ignoring Dottie’s words and her dark look.
“I came back to escort you home. I would have been here sooner, but I had some business I needed to take care of.”
“Business that includes the laptop your employee was looking at?”
“You really are persistent, Shelby Ann. You’re right. It did include that.”
“What information did he find?”
“I’ve got a man outside ready to give you a ride home, Dottie. I’ll stick around here and keep an eye on Shelby Ann, make sure she gets home safely.” He completely ignored the question, taking Dottie’s frail arm and leading her from the kitchen.
She went without a fuss, her shuffling footsteps worrying Shelby. Dottie might be ornery, but she was family, and Shelby loved her. If anything happened to her—
She refused to even think about it.
Ryder opened the front door, the sound of traffic and Dottie’s grousing drifting back to the kitchen.
“You’d better follow through on your promise, young man. If you don’t, I know people. I’d hate to sic them on you, but I will,” Dottie said, and Ryder mumbled something Shelby couldn’t hear.
The door closed, silence fell.
Good. That’s exactly what Shelby wanted. Peace. Silence. To be alone with her tools and her gum paste and her thoughts.
She sat at the counter again, went back to shaping petal after petal, silence swirling around her, a living, breathing entity that should have comforted her.
She knew silence, after all.
Had lived alone since her mother, Laura Beth, had told her it was time to make a go of things. You’re eighteen, Shelby Ann. It’s time to make your mark on the world. Try acting or modeling. You’re not classically beautiful, but you’ve got something sweet and lovely that translates well into pictures. That’s what she’d said as she’d handed Shelby the key to a small apartment just off Rodeo Drive, her second husband hovering behind her.
Chad Mitchell had made serious money buying and selling real estate in Hollywood. He was a player. A risk taker. A womanizer. He was also handsome, charming, very, very rich and a decade younger than Laura Beth.
Shelby’s older sister insisted that Laura had sent Shelby away so that she could maintain a facade of youth and keep her younger husband’s interest. For years, Shelby had refused to believe it, but the older she got, the more she observed her mother’s fly-by-night attitude and the easier it was to think her sister might have been right.
She sighed, not sure why she was thinking about the past.
Maybe Dottie’s mention of Beulah had sparked it.
Beulah had loved unconditionally with the kind of scriptural love that Shelby was always striving for. Selfless. Sacrificing. She so wanted to live those things out in her life, but she also wanted to experience them. She wanted to know the beauty of being the recipient of that kind of love.
She’d spent years believing that God would grant her that desire, but His plans for her life had taken her in a different direction. No white picket fence. No kids playing in the yard. No husband to share life’s burdens with. Just her work and her friends. It was enough. It had to be.
She was blessed, and she had no right to complain. Sure, she was going through a rough patch in her personal life, in every part of her life, but God would bring her through it just as He always did.
She might not have had a traditional childhood, but Beulah had insisted on church every Sunday morning when she was around, and Shelby had continued to attend when she wasn’t, forging a faith that neither her mother nor her sister had understood.
Beulah had understood, though, and she’d encouraged Shelby to seek God’s will for her life, cheering her on when she’d signed up for culinary school, offering her a loan when she’d decided to open a bakery, suggesting Spokane, Washington, as the perfect place to do it.
There Shelby was, in her successful bakery, a tray full of orchids beside her, her life full and somehow empty all at the same time.
She stood, trying to ease the cramp in her back. The muscles knotted, pulling so tight she couldn’t breathe or move or even think. She grabbed the counter, cold sweat beading her brow, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps because deeper ones hurt too much.
“What’s wrong?” Ryder stepped into the kitchen, and Shelby shook her head, because it was all she could manage.
“Try to relax.” His palms smoothed down her back, his fingers light as they probed, found the seized muscles near her incision.
“Don’t—”
But he’d already started kneading the spot, the pain increasing for a split second before it eased, his touch like liquid fire, melting tension.
Melting Shelby.
She shivered, tried to move away.
“Let me finish. If I don’t, the muscles will seize again,” he said, his gruff voice raking along her nerves, bringing them all to attention, and she knew she was so close to falling, she wasn’t sure she was even still standing on the edge.
She shifted again, trying to move away from his touch. “Ryder—”
“That guy you saw on the laptop at your place? He hacked into the mainframe of the sheriff’s department. The sheriff is worried that information has been leaking out, and he’s hoping it’s not leaking out of one of his men. He asked me to try to infiltrate the system, look up information about a case that’s been open for nearly a decade, because he wanted to see how easy it would be for someone else to get in. My man was able to do it with no trouble at all,” he said, his fingers and palms kneading and working.
“How is that connected to Maureen or me?” she asked, her words sluggish. She felt drugged, her muscles loose and warm. If she hadn’t been standing, she might have closed her eyes and fallen asleep.
“The open case revolved around a serial arsonist who’s been working in Washington. He’s taken out several businesses in Seattle and Spokane, burned down a private school in Olympia. State police have connected him to at least a dozen fires statewide. His M.O. matches the one used at Maureen’s place. Only, no one has ever been hurt before. The sheriff isn’t sure if someone leaked information about the case or if the guy who killed Maureen is the arsonist.”
“You could have told me all that earlier,” she said as his hands slid to her shoulders, found the sore muscles in her neck.
“Client confidentiality, Shelby Ann. There are always going to be things I can’t tell you about my work, but the sheriff asked me to share the information with you. He wants to keep you updated on the case, and he also wants to know if Maureen was working the serial-arsonist angle for a book.”
“She never mentioned it.”
“There’s one more thing.” His thumbs smoothed circles at the base of her neck, and she felt so limp, so liquidy she wasn’t even sure she cared what else he had to say.
“What?”
“While I was at the sheriff’s office, Hunter Lewis was brought in for questioning.”
Undercover Bodyguard Page 9
