Colton's Secret Bodyguard (The Coltons 0f Roaring Springs Book 4)

by Jane Godman

  Speaking of Bree...

  He leaned in close. “What’s troubling you?”

  She straightened her shoulders and tilted her chin. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I can see you’re not happy.”

  “Oh, that. Nothing like a stalker to deflate a girl’s mood.” She waved her empty glass at him.

  Rylan shook his head. “Something has changed since we arrived here.”

  She shrugged, her skirts swishing as one elegant shoe traced the pattern on the floor tiles. “Wyatt and Bailey are having a baby. Decker and Kendall are married. I should be pleased. I am pleased—”

  Before she could finish, a band started playing a hit from the latest Hollywood musical. Rylan held out his hand. “Dance with me, Bree.”

  “I thought you were working?” She let him lead her onto the dance floor.

  He drew her into his arms, resting his cheek against her hair. “Best job I ever had.”

  “I see what you’re doing.” She draped her arms around his neck. “I’m sad and you’re trying to cheer me up.”

  He frowned down at her. “You’re sad because your cousins are happy?” She nodded, her cheek rubbing against his chest. “I don’t understand.”

  She lifted her head to look at him, and the temptation to kiss her right there on that dance floor in front of her whole family was almost overwhelming. Just one problem. She hates me. “I guess you wouldn’t.”

  A suspicion entered his head. “Are you drunk, Bree?”

  Her smile was dreamy. “Might be.”

  “How much champagne have you had?” He hadn’t been counting, but now that he thought about it, she had drained quite a few glasses.

  “A lot.” She put her finger on his lips. “Don’t tell my mom, ’kay?”

  “Okay.” He held on to her as she slumped against him. “Maybe we should leave now?”

  “Nice idea. Take me home, Rylan.” She chuckled. “Just you, me and the crazy animals.”

  He beckoned to Phoebe, who was close by. “I need to get Bree out of here.”

  “I see what you mean.” Phoebe cast an experienced eye over her cousin. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell my aunt Audrey that Bree has a slight headache.”

  “Thanks.” He slid an arm around Bree’s waist and walked with her to the door.

  “Bye, Phoebe. Love you.” Bree waggled her fingers over her shoulder.

  When they stepped outside to wait for the car, the air was biting. A few flakes of snow drifted down and landed in Bree’s hair. Ahead of them, the lights of the gondola that carried Colton guests between The Chateau and The Lodge glowed gold against the white tip of Pine Peak.

  “Weren’t we dancing?” Bree swayed as she hummed a few bars of the song.

  The parking attendant brought Rylan’s vehicle to the front of the building. He had already turned the heater up full blast. After tipping him, Rylan reached into the trunk to retrieve the blanket he always carried. Once Bree was settled in the passenger seat, he tucked it around her.

  By the time he’d driven a few miles, Bree was asleep. Rylan smiled. If she could see herself now, she’d be mortified. Her mouth was open, her hair was springing loose from its restraints and she was snoring. Not pretty dainty snores either. Oh, no. Bree Colton sounded like a wounded warthog.

  She was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

  * * *

  Bree woke to the sensation of a rock being repeatedly hammered against her skull. Groaning, she rolled onto her back. It was a mistake. The room began to spin, and her stomach rebelled. Cautiously, she returned to her side and groped for her cell phone.

  Deciding there must be something wrong with the display, she placed the cell back on the table at the side of the bed. It couldn’t possibly be nearly noon. Even Bree, with her morning aversion, never slept that late.

  Lying as still as possible, she tried to piece together the events of the previous night, but it remained stubbornly incomplete. The gala, particularly the last part, was like a puzzle with missing pieces.

  And why can’t I remember anything about getting back here?

  She sat up slowly, reaching for the glass of water that had somehow appeared beside the bed. Even if the pounding headache and nausea weren’t enough of a clue, the sandpaper tongue and dry throat completed the picture. Bree wasn’t much of a drinker, but she knew a hangover when she was in the grip of one.

  Ugh. Why had she drunk so much champagne? She knew the answer to that question and it didn’t make her feel good about herself. Beneath her congratulations for the cousins who had found happiness, she had experienced a profound sadness. Just a short time ago, she had been wrapped in a similar haze. Okay, so it had been early days for her and Rylan. Had she truly believed he was “the one”?

  She sighed. Everything had pointed that way. He’d been perfect... Determinedly, she forced her thoughts off the self-pity carousel and in a different direction.

  Seeing other family members settling into their new lives had reminded her of what she’d lost. Which was silly, because how could she lose an illusion? It didn’t matter. She’d gone ahead and drowned the hurt in champagne.

  Such a good look.

  And now, she was paying the price. Her gaze took in the dress she’d been wearing. It had been placed on a hanger and suspended on the outside of the closet door. Her shoes were neatly placed together beneath it. She lifted a hand to hair and found the pins had been removed.

  A suspicion occurred to her, and she lifted the bed covers. Sure enough, she was naked except for her white lace panties.

  I never go to bed in just my underwear.

  While she was considering the implications of this, there was a knock on the door.

  “Come in.” That was what she intended to say. What emerged was more of a feeble croak.

  In just a pair of cut-off jeans, Rylan appeared too healthy and energetic to be real. For a moment, Bree’s gaze refused to move from his tanned muscular torso. With an effort, she dragged it away and focused on his face.

  “What time is it?” Her throat felt like she’d been gargling with sand.

  “I’m not sure. I’ve been up for about five hours, so probably about twelve.”

  Bree was startled into an exclamation. The throbbing in her head intensified, and she pressed her knuckles to her temples with a moan.

  “Bad, huh?” Although Rylan’s tone was sympathetic, his grin was mischievous.

  “I think it’s probably best if you just leave me here to die. Tell my family I love them.”

  To Bree, his laughter sounded faintly demonic. “I have just the thing for that. Back in a minute.”

  While he was gone, she dredged her memory for some clue about undressing the previous night. Her mind refused to give her any hints.

  When Rylan returned, he was carrying a tall glass of green sludge. Bree eyed it suspiciously. “Did Wonkey chew that up and spit it out?”

  “An army buddy used to swear by this...literally. It always does the trick.” He handed her the glass. “It’s aloe juice, ginger, milk thistle, peppermint and willow bark. Just drink it fast.”

  “Nothing ventured.” Bree followed his instructions and slugged the unappetizing mixture down. For a moment or two, her stomach rebelled, then her body calmed down. After a few minutes, she could almost feel the herbs cleansing her system.

  “Better?” Rylan looked down at her with a smile.

  She tilted her head from side to side. “Put the funeral arrangements on hold.”

  “Lunch will be served on the porch in twenty minutes.”

  Bree was about to protest that she would never be able to eat again, when her stomach gave an enormous rumble.

  “Um, Rylan.” He paused with his hand on the door handle and turned to look at her. She pointed at her dress. “Did you...?”

  “
Yeah. You couldn’t manage the zipper.”

  “Oh.” She bit her lip. “Did we...?”

  His lips thinned into a line, all trace of humor dying from his expression. “You were drunk, Bree. Almost unconscious.” He shook his head. “Your opinion of me must be even lower than I thought.”

  Bree watched him stalk from the room, all muscle and masculine indignation. The image of Rylan caring for her when she was drunk, undressing her, putting her to bed, leaving her a glass of water, then going off to his own room... It reinforced her belief that he was a good guy after all.

  She was about to head for the shower when the thought hit her. Rylan had cherished her the way he looked after his animals. He collected strays and misfits. Had she just been added to the menagerie?

  Chapter 12

  Bree shielded her eyes as she stepped out onto the porch. “Can you turn down the sunlight?”

  “You have your shades on top of your head,” Rylan pointed out.

  “Oh.” She lowered them and slumped into the seat opposite him. Clearly, the hangover still had a hold on her. He poured her a glass of water and handed her a plate of chicken salad.

  “No more messages?” Rylan asked. The last time Bree had heard from the stalker had been the disturbing email about the taste of her blood.

  “Nothing.” She sipped her water. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that he’s given up?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. I imagine he’s exerting all his energy trying to find out where you are.” In Rylan’s experience, stalkers might change tactics, but they didn’t give up.

  “What about your sources?” she asked. “Have they come up with any information?”

  Rylan huffed out a breath. To his intense frustration, none of his former colleagues had discovered so much as a whisper about any of the people who had access to the Wise Gal basement. “Not yet. They’ll keep digging.”

  They ate in silence for a few minutes.

  “Do you have any thoughts about who it could be?” Bree asked.

  It felt like a now-or-never situation. “I don’t have any suspicions, but I wanted to ask you about Lucas Brewer. Has he ever shown an interest in you? Romantically, I mean.”

  Bree sat back in her chair, lifting her shades as she watched Nance taking her duckling brood for a stroll across the grass. She appeared to be surprised by the question. “Lucas? No, I can’t say... I mean, he’s suggested going for coffee once or twice, but just in a friendly way. You can’t think it’s him?”

  “I’m not ruling anyone out.” He kept his voice casual. “Did you take him up on his offer?”

  “For coffee? No.” She brought her gaze back to Rylan’s face. He could see her struggling to find the right words. “I’ve only had two relationships and both times I found out they were more interested in the fact that I’m a Colton than in me as a person. It’s made me careful.”

  Rylan wanted to close his eyes and shut out the pain he could see in her face. It was obvious how hard it was for her to talk about this, and he knew that telling him, of all people, was even worse. Because she hadn’t been careful with him. She had tumbled into his arms, giving herself to him freely and happily. She had trusted him. And she’d been wrong to do so.

  “Even though I didn’t think there was any romantic intention behind Lucas’s offer, I decided it was better to be cautious.”

  “That’s no way to live your life.” Rylan didn’t want to be Lucas Brewer’s advocate. He just couldn’t bear the thought of Bree—beautiful, vibrant Bree—weighing every situation and deciding it wasn’t worth taking a chance.

  Then I came along and made it worse.

  Rylan hadn’t been with her because of her money, but he’d taken a hammer to her already fragile self-esteem and smashed it into tiny pieces. Bree didn’t answer, but her steady gaze told him she knew what he was thinking. That look, together with her question about whether they’d had sex while she was drunk, was like holding up a mirror to his already shattered self-belief.

  Worthless? Meet the poster boy.

  Her answer to his question hadn’t ruled Lucas out. It was impossible to know what the other man’s feelings were. Bree’s impression was that his offers of coffee were not leading up to anything romantic, but was that how Lucas saw it? What if the reality was that he was trying to find a way to get to know the woman he had secretly been admiring from afar? Certainly, his body language when he was around Bree revealed an interest that went beyond friendship. By turning him down, could Bree have triggered his anger?

  Rylan didn’t like it as a solution. You Coltons are only good for using and taking advantage of those who are less fortunate. That was what the first email had said. He couldn’t see any link between Bree turning down an offer of coffee from Lucas and that sentence.

  “Do you ride?” Bree looked surprised at the abrupt change of subject. “You’re a farm girl, of course you do. What I should have said was... Will your hangover cope with a ride this afternoon?”

  She pulled a face at him. “Me and my hangover will outride you any day.”

  “That sounds like fighting talk, wise gal.” The endearment slipped out, and he waited for the storm to break over his head. It didn’t. Instead, he caught a gleam in Bree’s eye that might almost have been one of pleasure.

  She got to her feet. “I want to check on Boo before I do anything else. He’s started eating some grain, and he let Golly share his kiddie pool yesterday.”

  Her smile was radiant as she talked about the gander who seemed to have turned a corner now that he had a new friend. Bree had brought him back to life.

  The way she did with me.

  The thought jolted him as he watched her walk away. Because, one day soon, he would have to watch her leave for good. And, just like Boo when he lost Lucy, he didn’t know how he was going to cope with the pain.

  * * *

  “My dad always says the only way to connect with the land is from the back of a horse,” Bree said. It was months since she’d last been on a ride, and it felt good to be in the saddle once more.

  They had been riding for an hour, passing close to the edge of the pine forest, glimpsing small waterfalls and climbing a steep elevation that gave sweeping views of Rylan’s land. The flora and rock formations were constantly changing, and they had seen deer, elk and squirrels. It was wilder and more rugged than the farmland of her childhood home, but with a beauty all its own.

  Now, as they dipped back down, they drew close to the border with the disused ranch. Bree was reminded of Rylan’s comment when she first arrived here.

  “What did you mean when you said if you could just get your hands on this land?”

  Rylan reined his horse in. “I made a good profit from the sale of my business. Enough to buy this place and not have to worry about money. I planned on maybe getting a few horses, doing some traveling, even writing a security manual. That all changed around the time I was eating an Indian meal and the owner found Papadum in a dumpster.”

  He shifted in his saddle, turning to look at her. “Don’t get me wrong. As soon as I started taking in wounded and troubled animals, everything made sense. I knew exactly what I wanted to do with this place. I contacted Dinah, asked her if she wanted a job and we took it from there.”

  He rarely opened up, and Bree was content to remain quiet, watching his changing expressions. All she really knew about his formative years was that his dad had died when he was a child, and his mom had succumbed to cancer just before he joined the army. She realized now that he never made passing references to his childhood. Those stories and memories that had shaped her, and were so much a part of her own life, didn’t seem to feature in Rylan’s consciousness. Or maybe he deliberately suppressed them.

  “But I want to do more.” He pointed to the abandoned ranch. “If I could buy that land as well, then I could really make a difference. I’d open a non-profit
sanctuary for abused animals, employ my own live-in staff, including veterinarians and nutritionists, build state-of-the-art therapy facilities—” He broke off, lifting his cowboy hat and scratching his head. “Sorry, I can get carried away about all of this.”

  “It sounds wonderful.” The enthusiasm in his face and voice when he talked about his vision was infectious. It touched something deep inside her. “You said you can’t do it. Why not?”

  “When I approached the owner of the land, his starting price was at least three times what it’s worth.” Rylan’s shoulders sagged as he turned his horse around. “I have money, but not enough that I can start throwing any of it away. When I tried negotiating, his response was... Well, it wasn’t the sort of thing I’d repeat in your company.”

  Although they rode on, Bree cast several glances over her shoulder at the land Rylan wanted. He had been so eloquent; she could almost picture the sanctuary he described. Audrey Colton’s daughter understood the importance of developing noble causes. She also believed in the power of dreams and good people who made them come true.

  What would her mom’s advice be? She smiled. Audrey wouldn’t waste time talking; she would be too busy making things happen.

  “When you first brought Papadum to the gallery, you said you’d taken in a new arrival who had unsettled the dynamics,” Bree said. “I haven’t noticed a problem dog.”

  “Jekyll has been hospitalized for a few days,” Rylan explained. He checked his watch. “He should be returning anytime now.”

  “Jekyll? As in...?”

  He laughed. “Yeah. Jekyll and Hyde. But don’t be misled. We don’t see much of mild-mannered Hyde.”

  They reached the kennels and dismounted. Inside, Dinah was sitting on the floor next to a dog bed that contained a tiny black and brown dog, whose ears appeared to take up two-thirds of his body. Jekyll was wearing a medical cone collar and looking sorry for himself.

  “Is this the one you were talking about?” Bree asked. Surely, something this small couldn’t cause trouble among Rylan’s confident, tight-knit dog pack?