Her Rancher Bodyguard. Brenda Minton

for me is annoyance.”

      His mother patted his cheek and smiled. “You’re so handsome, my son. And so clueless.”

      “Stop.” He leaned and gave her a hug. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

      He headed down the driveway to the RV. It always felt good to come home, even to his thirty-foot camper. The place was quiet. It had a front deck he’d built earlier in the spring. His dog was curled up on a patio chair, waiting for him. Yeah, home sweet home.

      He limped up the steps and sat down on the chair next to the dog, propping his feet up on the footstool. Man, it felt good to stretch. He reached, rubbing the calf muscle of his right leg. The pain eased.

      He let out a deep breath and relaxed again.

      The collie that had been sleeping half crawled into his lap, resting her head on his leg. He brushed a hand down her neck. “Good girl.”

      She pushed at his hand with her nose.

      “You’re right, time to go inside.”

      He eased to his feet and headed inside. The door wasn’t locked. It never was. He flipped on a light and headed for the kitchen. Halfway across the small living area, he stopped and took a step back.

      “What in the world are you doing in my house?” he yelled at the man sprawled on his couch.

      “Sleeping,” Daron McKay grumbled. “And I could sleep a lot better without all the yelling. Did you get her settled?”

      Daron tossed off the afghan and brushed a hand over his face as he sat up. Boone limped across the room and settled into the recliner.

      “Yeah, my mom has her. And is already worried about feeding her. And keeping her safe from me. Or maybe me safe from her.”

      Daron perked up at that. “Your mom is a smart woman. We should hire her.”

      Boone tossed a pillow, hitting Daron in the head. “Go away.”

      “You’re the one who told me the place is always unlocked.”

      “I didn’t mean for you to move in here. You have a place of your own just down the road. A big place. Paid for by your dear old dad.”

      “It’s too big and empty.” Daron shrugged and plopped back down on the couch. “I’ll pay for the food I eat and the inconvenience.”

      “I like to be alone.”

      “I know. It’s easier to pace all night if there’s no one watching.”

      They both did a lot of pacing. For different reasons. He gave his business partner a long look and wondered just how bad Daron’s nights were. Since they usually stayed out of each other’s heads, Boone could only guess. And since they dealt with their shared grief, their shared memories of Afghanistan, by being men and not dealing with it, he wasn’t about to get all emotional now.

      “My pacing is none of your business, McKay. We’re business partners, not the Texas version of the Odd Couple.”

      Daron had stretched back out on the sofa and pulled the afghan up to his neck. “You can argue all you want, but you know you like my company. And if we’re the Odd Couple, I’m the clean freak and you’re the messy one. How is our client?”

      “You’re the slob. And she’s scared. Even if she pretends she isn’t. And probably lonely. I don’t know.” Boone stretched his legs, relieving the knots in his muscles. “There’s something she isn’t telling us.”

      “Charm it out of her.”

      “You’re the charming one in this partnership. I’m all business. Luce is, well, Luce.”

      “She’s only happy with a gun in her hand,” Daron quipped.

      It wasn’t really the truth, but they liked to tease her.

      “Yeah. So you charm Miss Stanford. I’ll keep her safe.”

      “Nah,” Daron said. “I think I’ll let you try charming for once. I’m out on this one. She’s a handful and I’m not patient.”

      “I was going to make a sandwich.” Boone pushed himself out of his chair. “Want one?”

      “I ate all of your lunch meat. Sorry.”

      “I’m changing my locks.” Boone headed for the kitchen, where he rummaged through the cabinets, not finding much to choose from. He grabbed a can of pasta and decided to eat it cold, out of the can.

      Daron joined him in the kitchen, his face haggard, his dark blond hair going in all directions and his shirt untucked. For the supposed neat one, he was a mess. Boone accepted that it was going to be a long night. He could feel it in his bones. Literally. He could feel it in the places where skin and muscle had been ripped, in the bones that had been broken. He could feel it in his mind. And that was the worst.

      For the first time he was thankful for the distraction of Kayla Stanford. And even for Daron. If he had something to focus on, he’d concentrate less on the pain, on the memories.

      But Kayla Stanford proved to be the wrong place to direct his thoughts. Because when he thought about her, what came to mind was the haunted expression she tried to cover up with a smile. The way her scent, something oriental and complex, lingered in the cab of his truck. He sniffed the sleeve of his shirt, because he could still smell her perfume.

      Daron gave him a long look, eyes narrowed and one corner of his mouth hiked up. “What are you doing?”

      “Nothing. I smelled something. Probably you.” He made a show of smelling the canned pasta. “Maybe it’s this?”

      “You’re losing it.” Daron grabbed Boone’s sleeve and inhaled. “And you smell like expensive perfume. Lucy doesn’t wear perfume.”

      Boone couldn’t help it, he took another whiff. When he did, his eyes closed of their own volition. He thought he would picture her teasing smile. Instead, he pictured the woman sitting in his truck trying to hide the tears that slid down her cheeks.

      Yeah, it was going to be a long night. He had her scent clinging to his shirt and the memory of her tears. The two combined equaled disaster as far as he was concerned.

       Chapter Four

      Someone screamed and Kayla shot straight out of the bed, her heart racing and her legs shaking as she stood in the middle of the unfamiliar room. White curtains covered a window that revealed a view of fields that stretched to the horizon and the distant hills of Texas Hill Country. A cat was curled up at the foot of her bed. A cat?

      She looked at the calico feline, white with black and orange patches, and wondered how it had gotten in here. The cat stretched and blinked, fixing green eyes on her, as if she were the interloper.

      The scream echoed through the house a second time and she realized it was more of a shriek. Someone else shouted, then a door slammed. Obviously the entire family was up. And if she hadn’t been mistaken last night when Mrs. Wilder gave the list of names and locations of her children, there were several of them.

      Although she was tempted to hide away in her room, Kayla dressed and brushed her hair. Before walking out the door of her borrowed bedroom, she glanced back at the cat.

      “Don’t you have mice to chase?”

      The feline yawned, stretched and closed her eyes.

      “I don’t like cats,” she said out loud. The cat didn’t seem to care.

      “I don’t like them much myself. Did the screaming banshees downstairs wake you up?”

      She spun to face a younger man, maybe in his early twenties. He had dark curly hair cut close to his head, snapping brown eyes, dimples and a big smile.

      “I’m