Her Rancher Bodyguard. Brenda Minton

course.” She covered her eyes with her hand to block the bright fluorescent lighting. “Our dads have worked together in the past.”

      “That’s what Daron told us,” Lucy said with just the slightest Hispanic accent.

      The nurse rested a hand on Kayla’s arm. “Time to get you into that hospital gown.”

      “We’ll be out in the hall,” Boone said as he settled his hat back on his head.

      “You don’t have to stay,” Kayla shot back, knowing he wouldn’t listen.

      “You can’t get rid of us that easily.”

      Of course she couldn’t. And even though she’d said the words, she didn’t mean them. Even strangers who had been paid to keep tabs on her were better than nothing.

      She was so tired of being alone.

       Chapter Two

      Sunshine streamed through the bedroom window of her apartment. Kayla closed her eyes and wished away the brightness. Worse, someone was singing. She put a hand to her head where it ached. Minor concussion, staples in the back of her head and a bruise on her shoulder. The doctor last night had told her she was fortunate. It could have been worse.

      The police report they’d taken after the CT scan and stitches had furthered that theory. They wrote it off as an attempted mugging. She’d allowed them to think so. Fortunately Boone Wilder hadn’t been around to add his opinion.

      But he was here now. She was sure it was him singing about sunshine.

      She groaned, rolled over and gingerly pushed herself to a sitting position on the edge of her bed.

      “Welcome back to the land of the living.” Lucy Palermo’s softly accented voice took her by surprise.

      Kayla turned and saw her sitting in the chair in the corner, a book in her lap. Her dark hair was braided and she wore a T-shirt and yoga pants.

      “I suppose that’s a good thing,” Kayla said as she stood. “Oh, wow, standing is overrated.”

      “Take it easy.” Lucy rushed to Kayla’s side.

      “I’m not going to fall.” Kayla took a deep breath. “I’m going to take a shower.”

      “I’ll be here if you need anything.”

      “I don’t need anything,” Kayla said, then she sighed, because it wasn’t the other woman’s fault. “I’m a grown woman and I should have a say in whether or not I allow bodyguards to follow me.”

      Lucy shrugged. “I agree. Unfortunately that isn’t up to me.”

      The singing grew louder, and Kayla cringed. “Does he have to sing?”

      “Yeah, unfortunately he does. You’ll get used to it. Or buy earplugs.”

      She made it to the door of the bathroom but hesitated at the opening. “Is that bacon I smell?”

      Lucy rolled her dark eyes. “Yeah, he insists on a big breakfast every morning. Do you want to eat before you shower?”

      “No, that’s okay. I’m not hungry.”

      Dark eyes swept her from top to bottom. “You might not be hungry, but you look as though you haven’t had a decent meal in weeks.”

      “I don’t think my dad hired you to make sure I eat.”

      “No, I guess he didn’t.” Lucy opened her book and let the subject drop.

      Kayla didn’t want food. She closed her eyes and counted to ten as she leaned against the door frame. But she’d have to count to a million to get through this, through strangers in her home, through the fear that stalked her every day, through the cravings that still dogged her at times. Through the emotional roller coaster of losing the mother she hadn’t ever really known. Could you lose someone you never had?

      The aroma of breakfast invaded her senses. The bacon smelled so good. She tried to remember the last time she’d had a decent breakfast, something other than a doughnut and coffee. Or just coffee. She couldn’t remember.

      “I’ll be out in ten minutes,” she told Lucy as she closed the door behind her.

      Fifteen minutes later she emerged. Boone Wilder in jeans, a T-shirt, cowboy hat and no shoes was standing in her kitchen at the sink washing dishes. She glanced past him, to the full pot of coffee, the plate of biscuits and the pan of gravy.

      He tossed her a smile over his shoulder. “Hey, sunshine, ’bout time you crawled out of bed.”

      She glanced at the clock. Barely eight in the morning. “It isn’t as if I slept until noon.”

      “No, I guess not. Grab some breakfast. We have a lot to do today.”

      Her mouth watered. She shook her head. “I don’t eat breakfast.”

      He looked at her in mock horror. “What? It’s the most important meal of the day.”

      Was he always this cheerful? She shook her head and ignored the tantalizing aroma that filled her kitchen. She rarely cooked, and if she did it was a frozen dinner, something on the grill or takeout reheated in the microwave. Boone Wilder was filling a plate with biscuits, gravy and bacon.

      He shoved the plate into her hands and nodded toward the seat on the other side of the counter. “Eat.”

      She lifted the plate to inhale. “You made this?”

      “Of course.”

      She took a seat on the opposite side of the counter. “What is it we have to do today?”

      He poured her a cup of coffee and slid it across the counter. “First, I need a tux.”

      “Why, are you going to a wedding?” She eyed him over the rim of her coffee mug. She hoped he was the best man, not the groom.

      “Nope, I’m taking you to the ball, Cinderella.”

      “Sorry, but no. I’m not fond of the wicked stepmother.”

      “But I’d make such a snazzy Prince Charming,” he said as he lifted his coffee cup in salute. “Do you have something against the prince, the singing animals or wicked stepmothers?”

      “All of the above.” She gave him a long look that forced a sharp comment. “Especially handsome princes with cowboy hats and big smiles.”

      “Ouch.” He touched his hand to his heart. “Sorry, but we don’t have a choice.”

      “Then, tell me what we’re really doing because I’m too old for fairy tales.”

      “We’re going to your dad’s fund-raiser. I’m supposed to make sure you show up and that you behave.”

      She took a bite of biscuit. “He knows me so well.”

      That was what this was all about. It wasn’t about her safety. It was about his campaign. His career. And making sure she didn’t mess up either one. She was twenty-four years old and he still doubted her ability to be a Stanford. Truth be told, she doubted it, too. If he hadn’t done the DNA test, she would have been positive she wasn’t his offspring, so different were they.

      She was her mother’s daughter. The embarrassment. He’d never actually called her that. Her youngest half brother, Michael, had. She’d heard him tell a friend to ignore her, that she was dropped off on the doorstep as a baby and her mother was insane.

      “You okay?” Boone Wilder’s voice was softly concerned, taking her by surprise.

      She looked up from the empty plate and gave him her best carefree smile. “Of course. I’m just deciding what to wear.”

      “Of course