Her Rancher Bodyguard. Brenda Minton
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“He’s smart and he’s well trained.”
The front door opened. Kayla didn’t look, because if she looked Lucy would draw conclusions that weren’t accurate. It wasn’t his eyes, his smile or anything else. As she poured more water into the coffeemaker, she realized she didn’t know what it was about Boone. She didn’t really want to delve into it because it might cost her.
“I’m not sure how they’re slipping out of here, but they’re gone.” He limped as he headed for a seat at the bar.
“You okay?” Lucy asked, as she finished making the coffee that Kayla had started.
He arched a dark brow at her.
“And you have the letter?” Kayla asked, not asking about his health. It was obviously a topic he wanted to avoid.
He pulled on latex gloves and held the letter up for Kayla to see. “Recognize that handwriting?”
“It’s the same as the other letters. I don’t know who it belongs to.”
He slid a knife under the seal and pulled out a letter and a picture. His brows drew together as he read and his mouth tugged at the corner. Was he laughing at this, as if it were a game?
“It isn’t funny, Wilder. This is my life.”
He held up a picture. “Care to explain why you were crossing the border, princess?”
She leaned against the counter and buried her face in her hands. Next to her Lucy snickered. Kayla didn’t blame her. If she wasn’t so humiliated, she’d laugh, too. In the past she would have laughed with them. It was all a big joke. But not really. In truth it was her way of striking back at her father for hurting her.
“Well?” His voice was soft, luring her out of her thoughts.
“It was after my mom died. I went to Mexico. Two weeks of stupidity. I was slowly killing myself, intentionally, unintentionally, I’m not sure. I lost my passport.”
“You could have called Daddy,” Lucy said.
“I could have, but what fun would there have been in that? A friend stayed behind with me. We met some people. And somehow we ended up being smuggled across the border. The rest of our group met up with us and brought us home.”
“You really think that’s a game?” Lucy said sharply.
“No, it isn’t a game. I’d like to think I’m a somewhat better person now. I’m still working on it, though.”
Lucy raised both hands. “Yeah, okay. What about the letter, Boone?”
He spread it out on the counter. “It’s a warning. Requesting the first payment or the story gets leaked to the press. And it warns us not to let you out of our sight.”
“What do I do now?”
Boone slid the note back inside the envelope. “It’s time to go to the police with this information. I know your father wants to keep it quiet, but someone tried to hurt you. That same someone has followed you. They’ve been in your apartment.”
“He isn’t going to agree with you,” Kayla warned. “This is stuff he’d like to keep private and someone wants to make it public. Going to the police...”
“Might stop them. If it’s made public, they’ll stop trying to get money for secrets that are no longer secrets. Or scandals that aren’t scandals, but public knowledge.”
Kayla walked away, taking the darkest of her secrets with her, away from the prying eyes of two people who didn’t care, not about her. They cared about doing their jobs. They cared enough to keep her safe. But her past was hers. As angry as she was with her father, she wouldn’t let other people destroy him.
“Hey, we have to deal with this.” Boone followed her to the deck. The sun was beating down and the concrete was hot under her feet. She sat down and he pulled up another chair to sit facing her.
“I’m not going to the police,” she said, determined to have her way in this.
“We don’t have a choice. I’m going to call your dad and he’ll back me up on this. I don’t know what it is between the two of you, but I’m pretty sure you both care more than you let on.”
“Yes, we care.” She looked away, to the potted palm in the corner and the flowerpot that she’d picked up at a discount store because it looked cheerful. She didn’t know what it was called or how she’d managed to keep it alive.
“Are there more letters?”
She shook her head. “I threw them away. At first I just thought it was a nuisance. But then I started feeling as if I was being followed, and I’m sure they’ve been in my apartment more than once.”
“And your dad has gotten letters, too?”
“Yeah, he’s gotten letters.”
He leaned back in the chair and stretched his jean-clad legs in front of him. “Well, Kayla, I guess it’s time we headed for Martin’s Crossing.”
“Why?”
“Because I know I can keep you safe there while the police try to figure out who’s blackmailing your dad.”
“You can keep me safe here,” she insisted, not liking the pleading tone in her voice.
“I can keep you safer on my own turf.”
Martin’s Crossing. She shouldn’t have minded the idea of going to the place her siblings called home. But she wasn’t a Martin of Martin’s Crossing. She was their half sister. The only thing they had in common was the mother who had abandoned them all.
“I guess refusing to go won’t work.”
He laughed at that. “’Fraid not. Before long you’ll be wishing I was the only Wilder in your life.”
* * *
By ten o’clock that evening Boone and Kayla were heading for the Wilder Ranch. Lucy had been turned loose to head home for a few days.
Exhausted by a day that had included police reports and long conversations with her father, Kayla slept the ride away, which helped her avoid answering any more of Boone’s questions. She didn’t want to explain the things best left in the past. Those subjects were walls between herself and her father. Lack of trust loomed as the largest barrier in their ever-fragile relationship.
She didn’t want Boone inside those walls.
She woke up as they drove through Martin’s Crossing. Her head had been at a strange angle and her neck ached. She rubbed it, aware that Boone had probably seen her drool in her sleep.
“We’re home,” he said, his voice softly husky in the dark interior of the truck.
Home. It wasn’t her home, even though it had become familiar to her in the past year. The main street where her brother Duke owned Duke’s No Bar and Grill. Across the street was the shop his wife, Oregon, owned, Oregon’s All Things. Duke’s wife was crafty and artistic. She made clothes, hand-painted Christmas ornaments and other pretty items. The grocery store was to the right of Oregon’s. Lefty Mueller’s store, where he sold wooden Christmas carousels and other hand-carved art, was to the left. Kayla was a city girl but Martin’s Crossing held a certain appeal. But not long-term. Not for her.
For some reason the thought invoked a melancholy that took her by surprise, sending a few tears trickling down her cheeks. She kept her gaze on the passing scenery and brushed away the tears.
“Where do your parents live?” she asked, turning from the window and pulling her hair back from her face.
“A few minutes out of town.” He kept driving, the radio playing country music and the open windows letting in warm summer air. “You okay?”
“Of course.”
He cleared his throat,