GI Cowboy. Delores Fossen

      So, the hot cowboy/bodyguard was a widower and a dad with a desire to put down roots in her hometown. Bailey hadn’t pegged him for fatherhood or even marriage. Probably because he looked more fantasy material than anything else.

      Forbidden fantasy, that is.

      “Well, I hope Bart Bellows has another assignment for you,” she told Parker. “One that can keep you here for your son’s sake. Maybe in Amarillo, that’s not too far away. But that assignment won’t be me. Repeating myself here, but I don’t think I’m in danger.”

      Bailey stopped fidgeting with the puzzles and headed up the stairs. She had a busy day ahead of her and didn’t have time for this.

      “You are in danger,” he reiterated again. He followed her up the stairs. “Last year the sheriff installed a camera on the traffic light on Main Street. I went through that footage as well, and in the past week the same black car has driven in this direction nearly a half dozen times.”

      Bailey forced herself to keep walking. “Did anyone see the driver get out and do anything criminal?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

      “If they had, it would have been reported to the sheriff, and he in turn would have told you. But that doesn’t mean this guy doesn’t have criminal intentions.”

      When she made it to her office door, Bailey turned back around. She just needed to make this simple and clear. “I was sixteen when my mother first got into politics, and that means for fifteen years I’ve been subjected to people who don’t agree with her. Sometimes those people do stupid things, and that’s all there is to this. Now, please leave before the children and my staff arrive.”

      Figuring that was pretty good exit line that would get Parker moving, Bailey threw open her office door.

      And her heart dropped to her knees.

      “Oh, God,” she heard herself say, though she had no idea how she managed to speak.

      Parker caught her arm and shoved her away from the doorway. In the same motion, he reached down, to the holster strapped to his right boot.

      And he drew his gun.

       Chapter Two

      With his gun aimed and ready, Parker inched inside Bailey’s office. His gaze whipped to all the corners. Then to her desk that had been tipped onto its side. Papers and her laptop were now in a heap on the floor.

      Two chairs had also been overturned, and the room had generally been trashed. But what was missing was the person who’d done all of this.

      Parker walked farther into the room toward a storage closet.

      Also vandalized.

      The small adjoining bathroom hadn’t escaped, either. Someone had poured out the liquid soap. And then he spotted the open window on the far wall. When he got closer, he saw the ladder propped up against the side of the building. Probably the point of entry and escape.

      He glanced back at Bailey to let her know the place was clear, that her stalker was likely long gone, but the look on her face had Parker walking toward her. There was no color left in her cheeks, and her blue eyes were wide with shock. She was breathing way too hard and fast, and he didn’t want to risk her hyperventilating.

      Parker caught onto her and pulled her back into the hall. But she maneuvered herself out of his grip and returned to her office. She was still visibly upset, but he could see the initial shock had worn off.

      Bailey stood there, her back to him, her upper body moving with her still heavy breath. She was literally the only spot of order in the room. If it hadn’t been for the mess around her, she would have looked ready for a staff meeting in her perfectly fitted turquoise top and gray pants. There wasn’t a strand of her dark blond shoulder-length hair out of place.

      “You still think you don’t need a bodyguard?” Parker asked.

      Yeah, it wasn’t a nice question, but he couldn’t play nice here with Bailey and her safety. He needed her to understand how the slashed tires and hang-up calls could escalate.

      And now she was looking at proof of that escalation.

      She didn’t acknowledge his question. Instead, she stooped down and reached for a framed photo.

      “Don’t touch anything,” Parker warned. “The sheriff will probably want to process the scene for prints or other evidence.”

      Her hand froze, and Parker saw then that it was a picture of Bailey, her mother and her two siblings. The glass and frame had both been shattered.

      Parker kept an eye on her and called Sheriff Bernard Hale. Freedom’s police department wasn’t exactly large or cutting edge, but he’d already had several discussions with Sheriff Hale and knew the man would do his best to find something, anything, that would help identify the person who was trying to make Bailey’s life a living hell.

      “The sheriff’s coming out now,” Parker informed her after he made the call. He slipped his phone back in his pocket, caught her arm again and took her out of the room. “Is there a way for you to get in touch with your staff and students so you can tell them not to come in today?”

      Well, that put the color back in her cheeks. “That won’t be necessary. It’s obvious the stalker’s not here. It’s also obvious that his venom is aimed only at me.”

      “For now,” Parker mumbled. “But it could get worse.”

      “I don’t want to close Cradles to Crayons,” she snapped. “I’ll add security. There’s a system already wired in, but we don’t normally use it. We will now. And maybe I can hire you to watch the place.”

      Parker gave her a flat look. “I already have a job.”

      “That’s debatable.” She mirrored his flat look.

      Oh, no. They weren’t going back to that argument. “How can you say that after seeing this?”

      Bailey opened her mouth, closed it and then huffed. “I know I sound like a lunatic, but I can’t let this control my life—”

      The sound shot through the room. Bailey gasped and then mumbled some profanity when she realized that it was just the phone ringing. It was on the floor but obviously still working.

      “Don’t go in there to answer it,” Parker reminded her when she moved to do just that.

      While the phone continued to ring, Parker had another look around. There were other rooms on the top floor, but nothing in them appeared to have been disturbed.

      The phone finally stopped ringing, and Bailey’s answering machine kicked on. “Hi, you’ve reached Bailey Lockhart at Cradles to Crayons Day Care and Preschool,” the recorded message said. Man, her voice was downright perky. “I’m not in my office right now, but please leave a message, and I’ll get back to you. Have a nice day.”

      After the beep, Parker heard the caller. “Where are you, Bailey?” the woman asked. She wasn’t nearly as cheerful as Bailey’s recorded message, but he recognized the voice—it was Lila Lockhart, Bailey’s mother. “If you’re there, pick up…Bailey?”

      Bailey took out her cell. “I’ll call her,” she grumbled. “I want to talk to her anyway, about you.”

      But before she could do that, Lila continued, “Look, I know you’re probably angry about the bodyguard I hired, but it was necessary. And I knew you’d be too stubborn to hire him yourself. How did I possibly give birth to such a bullheaded daughter who won’t listen to reason?”

      Bailey’s mouth tightened. Her eyes narrowed a bit.

      “Oh, well,” Lila added. “You’re obviously in a snit right now, but get over it, sweetheart. It’s not as if I saddled you with a Neanderthal. Bart sent me Parker Mc Kenna’s photo and his bio. In addition to being incredibly easy on the eyes, he’s