Her Private Bodyguard. Gayle Wilson
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abrasiveness of his early-morning beard brushed her temple. After a moment, he turned to look in the direction in which the stallion was rapidly disappearing, thundering over the dry ground.
Val knew he could run for several miles without encountering any fencing. As for the other obstacles he might tangle with on that high desert range, that was in the hands of fate. She said a quick prayer for the horse’s safety, watching him grow smaller and smaller as he raced toward the backdrop of the mountains.
When the stallion was no more than a dark speck, Grey turned to her, his voice touched with the same humor she had heard in it yesterday. “Is he always like that? ’Cause if he is, lady, you’ve got a hell of a lot of nerve.”
“He’s never done anything like that before,” Val said truthfully.
“Any idea what set him off?” Sellers asked, echoing her own questions.
She shook her head, trying to think what could have happened in the stall to make him so edgy. And there had been nothing at all on the way to the corral that had called for that reaction. She had no explanation for the horse’s uncharacteristic antics.
“All I know is, he’s going to get hurt out there,” she said, struggling against Grey’s hold. His arm was still wrapped around her rib cage, her small breasts resting on top of it.
He loosened it at her first movement, and she began to push awkwardly off his lap, embarrassed by the intimate position of their bodies. Emergency, she told herself, determined not to overreact as she had yesterday.
He would think she was some kind of neurotic. Afraid of men. Afraid of having any contact with them.
She got to her feet, but when she put weight on her leg, a shard of agony lanced through her damaged knee. The vertigo closed in again. When the world swam back into focus, seconds later, thankfully she wasn’t back on the ground. She was still standing, but she was leaning against Grey. His arm was around her again, supporting her competently and impersonally.
“I hit my head,” she explained, looking up into his eyes.
In the morning light they were like smoke, less opaque than last night. Suddenly he took her chin in his hand and turned her head. She was too surprised to resist, despite the flutter inside that his touch set off.
She quickly realized Grey wasn’t looking at her face, however. He was examining her temple, the one that had struck the wooden railing when Kronus had knocked her down. She watched his eyes widen slightly before they came back to meet hers.
“Looks like you’re going to need a few stitches,” he said.
She put her fingers over the injury, finding it unerringly, although she hadn’t been conscious of pain. She winced as she touched the gash.
Vertigo threatened once more, and, determined not to faint in his arms like some stupid Victorian, Val bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to compete with the burn at her temple and the ache in her knee. Although it hurt like hell, the sharpness of the bite had the desired effect, clearing her head.
“It’s nothing,” she said, more worried about her stud than about herself.
“Might leave a scar if you don’t get it sewed up.”
When she laughed, his eyes widened again. Did he really think she cared about a scar? Of course, he couldn’t know how many of those she already had. And she sure wasn’t concerned enough about this little cut to drive into civilization to get it stitched up. She had more important things to attend to. Like seeing to her most recent investment, whose black hide was at this moment very vulnerable, as he ran like a mad thing over some pretty rough territory.
“I have to catch him,” she said, pulling away from Grey’s hold. Thankfully, there was no vertigo when she moved this time.
Limping heavily, each step sheer torture, she made it as far as the fence, a matter of two feet, before she realized that catching the black was going to be an impossibility. She could barely walk, much less do what she needed to do to find him and bring him back.
“By the time you get mounted,” Grey said, “he’ll have disappeared. And you aren’t going to track him on that ground.”
It was possible she could still ride, she decided, assessing the pain in her knee with the ease of long practice, but he was right about the other. Even if that rocky ground lent itself to tracking, she couldn’t manage the dismounting and remounting that process would almost certainly require.
“I can’t just let him go.”
“You can until we get that tended to,” Grey said.
“But he’s my animal. My responsibility,” she protested.
“And you’re mine, Ms. Beaufort,” he said quietly. “Or have you forgotten?”
She had. She’d forgotten that this man had been sent out here to be her bodyguard. Bodyguard, she thought again, ridiculing the concept. And she never responded well to being told she couldn’t do something. At least, not since her accident.
“This is different,” she argued, her eyes drawn back to the fading trail of dust.
“Nothing in my instructions said there were things I’m not supposed to protect you from. I think that covers concussions and possible bleeding inside the skull. And I told you,” he said, “I’ve already spent their retainer. I’ll go get the car.”
She grabbed for his arm, jarring her leg again, and got sleeve instead. “I can’t just leave him out there.”
“I don’t think you’ve got much choice,” Grey said.
She didn’t, she admitted. At least, not as far as getting on a horse and hunting Kronus down was concerned. However, there was nothing to say that Grey couldn’t do that for her.
Of course, he wasn’t getting paid to look after her stud. That was not why Beneficial Life had given him that retainer he kept talking about. But what did she have to lose by asking him? she thought. Except maybe her pride. And she would gladly trade that to have Kronus safe and sound.
“You could go after him,” she suggested softly.
“I could. If I didn’t have you to look after.”
“You don’t need to look after me. I’m not in any danger. He’s the one who could get hurt. And,” she added, thinking this might sway him, “he’s a very valuable piece of horseflesh.”
That was the absolute truth. The stud represented every bit of the profit she had made last year. That wasn’t the primary reason she wanted Grey to go after him, of course. She just didn’t want the horse to be seriously injured. Maybe he’d calm down after he’d run himself out, and then—
“My responsibility is doing the job I was paid to do,” Grey said.
“Meaning you’d want to be paid to go after the horse?” she asked. “I think that can be arranged. Will you take a check? I’m afraid I don’t have much cash on hand. Of course, I may not have enough for you in my bank account. Just how much is it going to cost me, Mr. Sellers, to get you to go after my horse?”
There was a silence before he said, “It must be hell to be that cynical.”
“Not cynical,” she denied. “Just experienced. Money seems to have an almost mystical influence on people.”
“Not on me, Ms. Beaufort. Sorry to disappoint you. And the sooner we get that place on your head treated, the sooner I can get back out here and try to track your horse.”
“By then it may be too late.”
“Take it or leave it,” he said, stooping to pick up the black Stetson from the ground and beating it against his leg to knock the dust off.
“I should have known a horse wouldn’t mean much to someone like you,” she said angrily. She wasn’t even sure what she meant by that, but it felt good to make the accusation.