The Ranger's Rodeo Rebel. Pamela Britton
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Rand Jefferson, a man who played Hawkman in the movies. Whereas Rand had the muscular build of a Greek statue, Chance was more athletic. More Captain America than Hawkman. She much preferred that.
“What’s up?” She followed him to the kitchen, where he set down a brown duffel bag, clearly a relic from his past.
“I brought you some presents,” he said. “The kind that might save your life.”
She caught a glimpse of what was in his bag, something wicked looking and clearly meant for self-defense. “What kind of weapons do you have in there? I really don’t like guns.”
“No guns.” He held up what looked like an electric razor.
She crossed her arms in front of her. “What am I going to do with that? Shave him to death?”
“Huh?” He glanced at the device in his hand. “Oh. No. It’s not a razor.” He pressed something on the front. An electronic charge crackled through the air. “It’s a Taser.”
She straightened in surprise. She’d been thinking about getting one of those.
His smile should be obnoxious this early in the morning. What was it? Seven? But it wasn’t obnoxious. It was adorable. He was clearly proud of himself.
“Where did you get it?”
“That’s not all I got.” He set the Taser down on the table. “There’s this, too.” He held up a can with a bright red lid. “Pepper spray. There’s two kinds. The industrial size.” He reached into the bag again. “And the key-chain size. Easier to hold when you’re walking alone at night.”
Not that she planned on walking anywhere alone. Her curiosity got the better of her, though, and she moved up next to him, fingering the Taser.
“I got it from a friend of mine,” Chance said. “Owns a karate studio, but he sells these on the side. Speaking of that, we should teach you some moves. Basic self-defense stuff. You never know when you might need it.”
“Brass knuckles?” she said, holding up a feminine version. They’d been painted pink.
He shrugged. “Hey, sometimes simple is best, but I’d have to teach you how to punch in order for them to be effective.”
No, thanks. The thought of him touching her in any way, shape or form was...disturbing.
“What’s this?” She held up a nasty-looking object with prongs.
“That’s the big daddy.” His smile was pure, childish delight. “You see these? You can shoot them at your assailant. It’s a Taser, too, but it’s the kind the police use. Really high voltage. Knock your guy to the ground. The other one is more of a deterrent. It’ll hurt like hell, but it won’t knock someone to the ground.” He took Big Daddy from her. “This one will do some damage.”
She didn’t know whether to be amused or repulsed by his enthusiasm, although she wished she’d had some of these items before. Some of her amusement faded.
“How about this one?” she asked, spying another small can of something.
“Horn. Blow it if you feel threatened. Usually that’s enough to scare away most assailants.”
She pursed her lips and moved on. “And this?”
He seemed disappointed. “That’s just a flashlight.”
Her smile returned. He set Big Daddy on the table, eyeing the smorgasbord of self-defense with a self-satisfied expression.
“What do you think of this?” He held up a key chain in the shape of a cat. “Isn’t it cute?”
“Yeah.” She studied it. “What does it do? Unfold into a ninja star or something?”
He shook his head. “You hold it like this.” He placed the cat in his hand, the points of the ears sliding in between his fingers so that they stuck out from between his knuckles. “Instant shish kebab.”
“Nice.”
Clearly, it was one of his favorites, at least judging by his small chuckle. “Which one do you like?” he asked.
She followed his gaze, studying the things he’d brought. She should be pleased he hadn’t brought her a gun, although she wouldn’t be surprised if that weren’t in her future, too.
Carolina fingered the big can. “How badly does the pepper spray sting?”
“It’s nasty. He’ll be blind for hours.”
She jerked her hand back. “Blind?”
He dismissed her concerns with a wave. “Unable to open his eyes,” he added quickly, “but that’s only if you point it at his face. Which you should, but if you don’t, it burns the skin, too.”
“I see.”
“What smells so good?” he asked with a sniff of the air and a mercurial change of subject.
She smiled. “Coffee. Freshly made. Would you like a cup? It’s hazelnut flavor.”
“Got any food?”
Food? “I, uh. Well, yeah. I have eggs and bacon.”
“Perfect. I’ll whip us something up while you look things over.”
“Wait.” What? “You don’t have to cook.”
“I don’t mind. I’m used to fending for myself, remember. You should really pick up and handle the items I brought over. Get a feel for them.”
And that was how she found herself staring after him in surprise as he opened up her fridge. She huffed in resignation.
While Chance cooked breakfast, Carolina touched each self-defense mechanism. She sighed quietly. Maybe it was his kitchen. He was the one that should have been living in the apartment. But as she picked up each of the items, she remembered how Colt’s sister had told her about the time her fiancé had made her breakfast while her son was really sick. They hadn’t been together back then. It’d just been a kind gesture. Carolina remembered thinking she’d never find a man to do something so nice. Despite women’s so-called liberation, the men she’d been dating reverted right back to the Stone Age. Women did the cooking, cleaning and laundry. And yet here she was, watching the most gorgeous male she’d ever seen flip eggs in a pan like some kind of master chef.
She wanted to kiss him.
Not because she hoped to start something, but because she was so very thankful for his concern. She might have been annoyed and humiliated yesterday to learn her boss wanted him to be her bodyguard, but she’d thank Colt later when she saw him. The worry and fear that James would come back were gone. And now she would have some form of protection. All in all, things were looking up—thanks to Chance.
“So, what did you decide?” he asked, setting down a plate of heavenly smelling eggs and bacon in front of her. “Which one do you want?”
“Well, it’s a toss-up between Hello Kitty the weapon and the pepper spray.”
“Take both.”
She didn’t know why she felt self-conscious as she touched the cat-shaped weapon, but she did. She set it down, unable to resist digging into her breakfast. But as she lifted her fork, she suddenly took great care not to get any on her lips because for some reason she felt terribly exposed.
“I can’t afford both, I’m sure,” she said, making sure she didn’t chew with her mouth open or something.
“You don’t have to pay for them. They’re gifts. From me.”
“I can’t accept them.”
He was busy gobbling down his own breakfast. “Sure you can,” he said between swallows. “I get all this stuff at cost. Part of my new job. I’ll be outfitting my clients with these types of weapons.”
She