Her Rancher Bodyguard. Brenda Minton

Someone has something on you other than your daughter’s very public behavior. You’d best figure out what it is.”

      Another man approached them, tall with graying hair and sharp, dark eyes. Boone guessed him to be in his late forties.

      “Boone Wilder, this is my law partner and campaign manager, Paul Whitman,” William Stanford said.

      “Mr. Whitman.” Boone shook his hand. It was a little too soft and a little too snaky. He refocused on his client. “I’m going to ask that you excuse your daughter from this event.”

      “Has something happened to our little Kayla?” Mr. Whitman asked in a voice that matched his snaky appearance. “She does tend to fabricate stories.”

      Boone caught a quick look between the two men. And Mr. Stanford’s was a definite warning to the other man.

      “Being attacked isn’t a story,” Boone defended Kayla for the second time.

      “Then, I’m going to ask that you keep my daughter not only out of trouble but out of harm’s way. I don’t want her hurt.”

      “We might need to remove her from Austin.” Boone looked down at his phone and the text from Lucy. She had Kayla.

      “I need my family around me during this election, Wilder.”

      “Yes, sir. But you also hired me to keep your daughter safe. That’s my priority here, not your campaign.”

      Someone called out and Mr. Stanford raised a hand to put them off. “I agree. But before you take her anywhere, you let me know. If you can’t reach me, then leave a message at my office, or let Paul know.”

      No, Boone didn’t think he’d be leaving any messages with Paul Whitman. “I’ll let you know. For now, though, we’re leaving this event.”

      “Where is my daughter, Mr. Wilder?”

      “With my partner, Lucy Palermo. They’re outside in the vehicle and waiting for me.”

      “Then, you should go,” he said. “Keep her safe, Wilder.”

      “I’ll do my best.”

      Boone headed out to the waiting SUV. He got in the backseat. Kayla was in the front. She didn’t turn to look at him.

      “Nice move, Stanford. Did you go out the window?”

      “Not now, Boone.” Lucy drove away from the building.

      “Why not now? She’s in danger and rather than staying safe, she’s jumping out windows so she doesn’t have to go to Daddy’s fancy dinner party.”

      Lucy shot him a meaningful look. “Not. Now.”

      He raised both hands in surrender. “Fine, not now.”

      That was when he realized there were tears streaming down Kayla’s cheeks. He sighed and leaned back in his seat, but he was far from relaxed. Protecting Kayla Stanford was supposed to be an easy job. Keep her out of trouble and make sure she showed up on time for her father’s campaign events.

      He hadn’t considered she’d need a friend more than she needed a bodyguard.

       Chapter Three

      Kayla woke up early Monday morning. She blamed her new schedule on the cowboy and his partner, who had taken up residence in her apartment. They kept country hours, in bed shortly after ten and up by six in the morning.

      She enjoyed sleeping in. If she didn’t sleep late, there would be too many hours in a day to live, to think, to try to be happy. And to fail. Her dad had asked her to go to work for him, to use her college degree in prelaw. He’d suggested teaching if she didn’t want that. She didn’t want any part of her father’s world. She knew it too well, knew the underhanded dealings and the backstabbing.

      She tiptoed out of her room, leaving Lucy asleep on the cot she’d insisted on. Boone was asleep on her couch, stretched out, arm over his face, and snoring. She pinched his nose closed to stop the racket.

      He jumped up off the sofa, gasping and flailing.

      “Are you trying to kill me?”

      She laughed. “No, I just wanted you to stop snoring.”

      “That was a definite attempt on my life. And I don’t snore.” He glanced at his watch. “Why are you up so early?”

      “Because my apartment has been invaded and I can no longer sleep late.”

      “Tough, Stanford. Go back to sleep so I can sleep late.”

      “You don’t sleep late,” she accused.

      “Sometimes I do. Today is one of those days.”

      “Too bad, because today is a day I’d like to go shopping and maybe grab some lunch.”

      “Have fun with that.”

      “You’re my date,” she shot back.

      “No, I’m your bodyguard. There’s a difference. And I think shopping is dangerous for my health.”

      “I need ranch clothes because you seem to think I’m going to have to be removed from Austin.” She sat down in the chair across from him as he leaned back and brushed a hand through his short dark hair.

      “I’ve seen your closet. You don’t need clothes.”

      “Maybe not, but I can’t take another day cooped up inside. Lucy has to run to Stephenville today to check on her mom. So I’m stuck with you. And we’re going shopping.”

      “Can I have coffee at least?”

      “Yes, you can have coffee. I’ll even prove my worth by making it. I do know how to do a few things.”

      He gave her a serious look. “Stanford, I’m not the one who doubts your abilities. You are.”

      “Great, we’re getting Freudian again. I’ll make the coffee and you climb back under the rock you crawled out of.”

      He groaned and stood. “I was happy under that rock.”

      He followed her to the kitchen, and as she started the coffee, he rummaged through the refrigerator. “I should have gone to the store.”

      “I have toaster pastries in the cabinet,” she told him.

      “I’m not a fan of starting my morning with pure sugar.”

      She slid the sugar jar down the counter and grinned. “Go for it, it might sweeten you up.”

      The doorbell rang. He glanced at her, all cowboy, sleepy and a little bit grumpy. A dark brow shot up. He pushed himself away from the counter and headed for the front door. She watched from the safety of the kitchen as he looked through the peephole.

      “Who is it?”

      He put a finger to his lips and pointed toward the bedroom. She obeyed, even though she wanted to stay, not only to see who it was, but because he shouldn’t be left alone. But the look on his face told her she shouldn’t argue.

      Lucy was just waking up when Kayla walked into the room.

      “Who’s here?” she asked, brushing long hair from her face.

      Kayla peeked out the door but Lucy pushed it closed. “I’m not sure who it is,” she admitted.

      “Then, I doubt Boone wants your head sticking out.” Then Lucy was strapping on a sidearm and slipping out of the room, leaving Kayla very much alone and in the dark.

      Minutes later the door opened and Lucy peeked in.

      “All clear.”

      “Who was it?” Kayla asked as she followed the other woman to the kitchen.