Her Rancher Bodyguard. Brenda Minton
Читать онлайн книгу.
standing in front of a clothing store in Austin on a late-summer evening.
He should have argued a little more when his partner Daron McKay had asked him to take this case. Daron knew the subject and knew she wouldn’t listen to him. The third partner at MWP Bodyguard Services, Lucy Palermo, was Boone’s backup. Daron had joked that Lucy couldn’t take lead because Lucy would just shoot the client if she got on her nerves.
Lucy hadn’t found that statement as amusing as Boone and Daron.
At the moment his client was across the street in a trendy café, sipping coffee and oblivious to his presence. That was how her dad, William Stanford, wanted it. Boone’s job was to keep Kayla Stanford out of trouble, without her being aware. He’d been following her for a week now, close enough to keep her safe, far enough away that she didn’t have a clue.
He’d like to keep it that way, with her not knowing of his existence. He was supposed to interfere in Kayla’s life only if she appeared to be in danger, or if she appeared to be on the verge of creating a scandal. Those were her father’s directives. Boone had talked to Kayla’s half brother Brody Martin, who had assured him that she had a way of generating controversy.
A group of people were walking down the sidewalk. He stepped back, leaned against the wall and pulled his hat low. He touched the brim as they walked past, just to be gentlemanly. One of the women, a little older, and wearing too much makeup, winked and then grabbed the arm of a friend. They smiled and talked loudly about his jeans and cowboy boots, their voices echoing against the brick buildings on each side of the street.
As he watched for Kayla Stanford to leave the café, Boone planned what he’d say to Daron. Yeah, this was a good job and the big fat check they’d been paid was welcome. But this was not what Boone had signed on for when he, Daron and Lucy had started their bodyguard business a little over a year ago. So far they’d managed to build a decent business by protecting politicians and doing security at various functions. Those were the jobs they were trained for. The three of them had served together in Afghanistan and they’d formed a bond.
Kayla Stanford, half sister of the Martins of Martin’s Crossing, was trouble. She needed a babysitter. Boone just didn’t want to be that guy.
Unfortunately he was.
Across the street the neon open sign went off in the café. He headed down the sidewalk, keeping an eye on his target. The place was still lit up inside. Most of the customers had long since left and he could see Kayla standing near the door with a group of friends. Her dark hair was pulled up in one of those messy buns his sisters loved, and she wore a dark red dress that was too short. His granny would have told her some nice lace around the hem would look pretty. He grinned at the thought.
Then Kayla kissed cheeks, hugged friends and did a cutesy finger wave. As she walked out the door, her smile faded away. That didn’t surprise him. He’d done some digging, talked to her family in Martin’s Crossing, read some headlines. He’d learned a lot from the articles, from pictures in society columns. Most of the articles were about her antics, her beauty and her style. But he’d seen more. He’d noticed dark shadows under her eyes. He’d seen desperation. Everyone thought she had it all, but he thought she had less than most.
And she covered up her unhappiness by acting out. A couple of months ago, it was a slow-speed chase with the police.
The only time she kept to herself and stayed scandal-free was when she visited her siblings in Martin’s Crossing. He’d never seen her in his hometown. She stayed at the ranch, holed up with her half sister Samantha Martin. Soon to be Samantha Jenkins.
Across the street she glanced around, and then walked down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. He’d guessed wrong. He’d thought she would cross the street and head for her car parked at the end of the block. When he glanced across the street, he noticed a shadow moving from the dark recesses of a building. Someone else seemed to be watching Kayla Stanford.
So much for an easy babysitting gig.
* * *
Someone was following her. Kayla walked faster, not taking time to glance back over her shoulder to see if she could get a look at the man. For two months, the feeling would come at the oddest times. The uneasy feeling as she walked down the street. The prickling of fear when she walked through the door of her apartment.
At first she’d convinced herself it was her imagination. And then she’d told herself it had to do with her lifestyle. She’d been partying hard for a few years, trying to numb herself against pain and anger. But a few months ago she’d quit everything, just to convince herself she was in her right mind and not imagining things.
The footsteps drew closer, speeding up to match her own hurried steps. She’d panicked when she first realized she’d gone in the opposite direction of her car. The farther she went, the darker it seemed to get. These weren’t the streets she wanted to be on late at night, alone.
She reached into the purse that hung close to her waist. Her fingers curled around a small can. She turned, prepared to scream, to fight. Before she could do either, a fist connected with the side of her jaw. She jolted back, trying to stay upright. A rough shove and she fell backward, landing hard, her head hitting the brick building at her back. She caught a glimpse of blond hair and glasses. But the features were a blur.
Blinking, she fought to stay conscious. She heard a shout. Heard footsteps pounding. A hand reached for her arm. Unwilling to go down without a fight, she sat up, aimed and sprayed.
“Oh, man, you sprayed the wrong guy.” The words sounded as if they were coming through a tunnel. She tried to focus but her eyes were burning and her head throbbed.
“Go away,” she managed to croak out.
“Babysitting. I’m reduced to babysitting a woman who can’t even spray the right man.” Hands were on her arms. A face peered into hers. “Sorry, but I’m not going away.”
“I’ll spray you again.” She meant for the words to sound strong but they came out garbled and weak. She was still sitting on the sidewalk, her head resting on her knees. She took a deep breath that did nothing to ease the stabbing pain in her back and the headache that had clamped down on her skull.
“Take a deep breath,” he ordered, ignoring her threats. Strong fingers felt her back. She winced. Those same fingers moved to her scalp. She let out a yelp. “Relax. And drop the pepper spray. I’m the rescuer, not the assailant. He’s long gone.”
She blinked a few times, trying to focus on the stranger looming over her. Tall and lean with ropy muscles, the man fit the “tall, dark and handsome” label to a T. He wore a dark cowboy hat, T-shirt and jeans. Something he’d said sank in. “Babysitting?”
“We’ve been hired by your father to keep track of you. And it looks as if you need us more than he realized.”
“I can take care of myself.” Her vision swam a little as she rubbed her jaw, wiggling it to make sure it wasn’t broken.
“Of course you can take care of yourself. Do you know who that was?” he asked.
She shook her head and the movement cost her. The pain radiated from her head down. Her stomach wasn’t faring much better.
The man looming over her dialed his phone. “Lucy, can you pick us up? About two blocks down from the restaurant....No, I’m not fine. Neither is she. She’s got a pretty good gash on the back of her head. And she sprayed me with pepper spray....Stop laughing. I’m going to have to take my contacts out so you’ll have to drive us to the hospital.”
After ending the call he swiped a finger across each eye and tossed contact lenses she couldn’t see. But she did see that his eyes were watering and he tried to wipe the moisture with the tail of his shirt.
“Big baby,” Kayla muttered. She felt a little bit sick. The world wasn’t quite as sharp as it should have been. She wanted to tell him but she couldn’t get the words out.
“Can you get up?”
He