Something's Gotta Give. Teresa Southwick

guys, just—”

      “No,” Roy said in his I’m-the-dad-and-this-is-the-last-straw voice. “You’re young, Jamie. Your mother and I know what’s best. We have more life experience. You moved away once, against our better judgment, I might add. We never liked Stu, but you wouldn’t listen. And we weren’t there to watch over you. And all you said when you moved home was that things didn’t work out with him. So now you’re back and we could watch out for you except you bought a house outside of town and you’re all alone there.” He took a breath as he continued to absently rub his chest. “Either you take Sam for the time we bought, or you move home and save your mother and me the stress of worrying that you’re all right.”

      Her father was giving ultimatums. He did that when he got really upset, and Jamie felt a twinge of guilt. She had moved away to be with a guy she’d believed loved her and she’d done it in spite of her parents’ disapproval. Turns out they’d been right about him. But she’d survived and picked up some of her own life experience.

      She loved her folks, overprotective and all. She wouldn’t hurt them for the world, but she simply couldn’t move back home and start fighting for her independence all over again. She’d told Sam she wouldn’t blink, but apparently she’d spoken too soon. Something had to give and apparently it was her.

      “Okay. Bodyguard it is.”

      She met Sam’s gaze and felt a flush on her face that spread clear through her. The thought of him guarding her body sent a shiver down her spine that was…excitement? Anticipation? Thrill? After the life experience she’d gained, she hoped and prayed it wasn’t any of the above. Otherwise the next thirty days were going to be hell.

      Chapter Three

      Sam’s headlights caught Jamie’s tailgate full on, and for the second time that day he was following her and wondering what little Miss Litigation was doing driving a truck. She looked like a teenager who took daddy’s wheels out for a joyride. Except, from what he’d seen, her father would have been copiloting that joyride. Sam had no frame of reference for her situation with her parents. Fatherly interaction had been noticeably absent in his formative years. The old man hadn’t given a damn until he was dying.

      As Sam continued to tail her along the dark, desolate road, he was beginning to think she was leading him on a wild-goose chase. Finally she made a right turn onto another dark, desolate road. About two miles farther, and he saw her brake lights as she pulled up in front of a house sitting all by itself on a dark, desolate piece of land.

      “About damn time,” he mumbled.

      Then her truck door opened and out swung her legs, shapely calves and slender ankles. Between her interior lights and his headlights, he couldn’t miss them—or the short skirt that rode up and revealed a hint of thigh as she slid out. Damn it. He could have gone thirty days without knowing this sassy, curly haired brunette had great legs. It was a visual he’d add to his list of things to forget.

      “This is it,” she said. “Home sweet home.”

      Her impractical high heels clicked as she walked up the four steps leading to her front door. She fitted her key into the lock and opened up the place. One glance over his shoulder at the dark and desolation made him realize what a sitting duck she was. He shook his head in disgust as he put his hand at the small of her trim back and urged her inside. Before you could say Buy-a-Guy, he’d closed and locked the door.

      She set her purse and briefcase down as he looked around her living room and winced. If he’d never laid eyes on the owner, all the pink in this room would have screamed, Woman On Deck. No self-respecting guy would have a floral-covered sofa—leather and lots of it for him. But it wasn’t all floral all the time. The two chairs were done in a geometrical pattern with the same colors of pink, beige and green. The room wasn’t large, but there were enough wall hangings to choke a horse. And everything was neat as a pin. Windows had crisscrossed lace covering them so it would be very easy for someone to see in.

      The entryway turned right, into the family room, so he followed it and flipped on lights as he went. The floor was beige tile, and a rose-patterned area rug sat in the center of the room. A green sofa and a chair were tucked away in the nook across from the TV, and a pass-through bar separated this area from the kitchen.

      He went in there and glanced around, then opened the shutters above the sink to look out back. This whole place was vulnerable, but one look confirmed his worst fears. It was pitch-black outside and felt like there was nothing between her and the Canadian border.

      “Do you have a security system?” he asked.

      “No. It’s not necessary. This is Charity City.”

      “I don’t care if it’s Sesame Street. You can’t trust anyone. You live in the middle of nowhere, and the next neighbor is two miles down the road. Your attitude is dangerous.”

      She tipped her head to the side and looked up at him. “If I promise to be as cynical as you, will you go?”

      “In thirty days,” he agreed.

      He walked back through the family room and heard her heels click, and then the sound was muffled as she crossed the rug behind him. Moving down the hall, he flipped light switches and glanced into bedrooms. The one with the computer, desk and bookshelf-lined walls was clearly a home office. A second had a twin bed with a fluffy comforter and treadmill opposite a thirteen-inch TV mounted on the wall—apparently a combination guest/exercise room. He wondered if Al Moore had ever been a guest and if so what kind of exercise they’d done. The thought didn’t sweeten his disposition.

      The last bedroom in the back of the house was obviously the master. A king-size four-poster bed with enough pillows for the Fifth Infantry dominated the center of the room. A floral-covered chair and ottoman sat in a corner with a dressing area and bathroom beyond. Pictures hung all over the walls, and more knickknacks filled space not occupied by photographs. He picked up the one of a familiar, smiling older couple. When he’d left Roy and Louise a little while ago their smiles had been full of relief and satisfaction that their plan had come together.

      Those two had life experience, all right, and they’d just used it to work their miracle baby big-time. He replaced the framed photo on the dresser.

      “So, that was the folks in action?” he commented.

      “Welcome to my world.”

      “I particularly liked the pain-in-the-chest ploy.”

      But it was the zinger about her not learning from her mistake that had tipped the scales in their favor. Jamie had done something the folks disapproved of and it had come back to bite her in the fanny. His gaze automatically dropped to that portion of her anatomy. And a nice little fanny it was, he realized. Curves in all the right places.

      “What I don’t get is the part where they were afraid to tell you the truth.”

      “Afraid?” She folded her arms over her chest. “They’re not afraid of anything.”

      “They’re afraid for you.”

      “Okay, one for your side. But that’s it.”

      “And the fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree,” he muttered. Hence her dangerous attitude. Some things she needed to be afraid of, and it was his job to show her.

      “Are there any other outside entrances?” he asked.

      “Why?”

      So, she wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement. That made two of them. But here they were. He gave her a look that had worked on some of the most hardened perps, but she didn’t seem intimidated. He could respect that.

      “Look, Counselor, just so we’re clear, I can find out for myself. It would just save time if you’d cooperate.”

      “Okay. Let’s be clear. I didn’t ask for a bodyguard, but I agreed under pressure. That doesn’t mean I’m onboard with this whole thing or that you can roll right over me in my own house.