Undercover Bodyguard. Shirlee McCoy
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the past four months, watching her intently as she filled his order. Two doughnuts and a large coffee. Black. To go. She’d noticed him the first day he’d walked into the bakery, and she’d been noticing him ever since. What woman wouldn’t? The guy should be on the front cover of a bodybuilder magazine.
“What are you doing here?” She managed to sputter, and he raised an eyebrow.
“Looking for you.”
“Well, you found me and scared me, and now I’ve ruined three dozen pastries.” Her voice shook as she tugged away. “Maureen is not going to be happy.”
“I’m sure they’re salvageable.” He lifted the boxes, opened the one on the top and frowned. “Some of them.”
“None of them. I’m going to have to go back for more.” She huffed, eyeing the smashed tops of several muffins, her pulse racing for a reason that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the man standing beside her. There was just something about his dark, knowing gaze that unbalanced her, and having him there, talking to her, looking straight into her eyes, studying her face…
Unbalanced was exactly how she felt.
She frowned, pulling the boxes from his hands. “You said you were looking for me. Did Dottie send you?” Dottie had been part of Shelby’s life for as long as she could remember. A good friend of Beulah’s, she’d shown up at the bakery a week after Beulah’s funeral, and she’d been hanging around ever since.
“She said you didn’t take your car out for the delivery, and she was worried about you walking here alone.”
“My car wouldn’t start, so I didn’t have much of a choice.”
“Next time, call someone to give you a ride.”
“Before dawn? Who would I call?” she asked, and he shrugged.
“A friend. Family. Someone who can make sure you get where you’re going and back safely.”
“I’ve been getting where I’m going and back safely for years, Herc—” She stopped short of calling him what she’d been calling him in her head since the first day she’d seen him. “I guess you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
“Ryder Malone.”
“Well, like I said, Ryder, I’ve been running my own business and getting by just fine for five years. I’m not sure what possessed Dottie to worry now, but you can go back to what you were doing before she sent you out looking for me.” She took a step toward Maureen’s door, but Ryder pulled her up short.
“What I was doing was waiting for my doughnuts and coffee. Dottie won’t sell them to me until I get you back to the bakery in one piece, so going back to what I was doing isn’t going to accomplish anything.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake! What is that woman up to now?” she muttered, shoving the boxes toward him. “Here. Hold these. I’ll tell Maureen that I need to run back to the bakery. If you don’t mind giving me a ride, we should be able to get things cleared up pretty quickly and get you on your way.”
“No problem.” He took a ruined muffin from the top box and bit into it. “Still tastes great. Are you sure your customer won’t—”
“I’m sure.” She cut him off, anxious to give Maureen the bad news and get back to the bakery. She had too much to do to waste time, and she planned to tell Dottie that. Of all the things the woman had done in the four years she’d been working at the bakery, sending Ryder Malone out searching for Shelby took the cake.
A sad attempt at matchmaking. That’s what it was, and Shelby did not have the patience for it.
She marched to Maureen’s front door, bracing herself for the tantrum she knew was coming. As much as she liked the vivacious, spontaneous fifty-year-old, Shelby thought Maureen was a little too much like her mother and sister. Sweet but spoiled. Kind, as long as things were going her way.
Right now, things were not going Maureen’s way, and Shelby expected to hear about it.
She rang the doorbell of the beautiful Victorian, glancing at her watch as she did so. Already five minutes late, and she still had to return to the bakery to get new product. Maureen was not going to be happy.
As a matter of fact, Shelby was surprised she hadn’t already opened the door and demanded an explanation. Now that she thought about it, Shelby was surprised there were no lights on, no sign that Maureen was getting ready for her fiftieth birthday celebration. An early breakfast, a limo ride to the airport and an early flight out to New York City.
Be there by 5:20 a.m., Shelby. Not a minute later. Our flight leaves at 8:30, and the girls will be showing up on my doorstep at 6:00 expecting a birthday breakfast to die for.
Maureen’s words rang in Shelby’s ears, anxiety simmering in her stomach as she peered into the narrow window beside the door. Nothing. Not even a hint of movement.
Concerned, she rang the doorbell again and heard something. A muffled sound that came from deep within the house.
And then the world exploded.
Glass sprayed from the windows to either side of the door. Heat blazed from flames that shot from somewhere.
Everywhere.
Another explosion, and she was flying, spinning, hurtling through space. Away from the burning door. Away from the shattered glass. Away from the lightening morning and deep blue sky. Flying and whirling into darkness so black and deep she knew she’d never escape it.
TWO
The force of the explosion knocked Ryder Malone from his feet. He went down hard, his thigh cramping, his pulse racing, a thousand memories trying to drag him into the past. He ignored them, jumping to his feet and running across the grass that separated him from Shelby Simons. Pretty, amusing, uncomplicated Shelby Simons. Owner of the only bakery in town that knew how to make a doughnut right.
Owner of the sweetest smile he’d seen in years.
She intrigued him. Her quiet joy, her easy humor, the comfortable way she interacted with the people who entered her bakery, all those qualities set to a backdrop of quiet beauty and stunning blue eyes.
Now, she lay facedown on the ground, bits of shingle and wood falling around her like glowing confetti. They coated her back and her thick dark hair, covered the ground around her prone figure. Flames shot from broken windows on either side of the thick wood door she’d been standing in front of. A few inches to the left or right, and she’d have been sliced to bits.
He brushed an ember from silky curls, felt the pulse point in her neck. It beat slow and steady.
Alive.
No time to check for injuries. Not with the fire raging out of control and the house groaning beneath the onslaught of flames.
He scooped her up, racing back across the yard as another explosion rocked the house. It threw him to his knees, but he kept his arms tight around Shelby’s soft, limp body.
Neighbors spilled from their homes, frantic cries mixing with the roar of the blaze that consumed the beautiful Victorian, the sounds background noise to Ryder’s racing thoughts. He’d seen explosions, felt them, lived through them. He hadn’t expected one in Spokane. Not on a sleepy spring morning.
“Shelby?” He brushed thick hair from her cheek, and she shifted, her eyes slowly opening.
“What happened?” She gasped, coughing on the acrid fumes that poured from the burning shell of the old house.
“Some kind of explosion.”
“Explosion? Maureen!” She shoved away, jumped to her feet and ran straight back toward the inferno.
He snagged the bow of her apron, pulling her to a stop, and she swung around,