Ranger Pride

by Layla Chase

  Her phone beeped with an incoming text.

  She dug it out of her purse and read,

  **Meet me at the far side of the garage. R**

  Should I? The core of her presentation was completed, but she’d been reviewing the statistical data to decide which matrices best highlighted the successes of the foundation’s clientele. That task took her total focus. She looked up and across the yard toward the shadowy two-story garage. Her professionalism rose to the surface. What if Rhys needed her help again, like this afternoon? Her heart rate fluttered, and that response had nothing to do with a clinical concern.

  Changing direction, she flashed her light over the ground in an arching pattern, not wanting to twist her ankle by stepping in a gopher hole or tripping on a rock. As she passed the double-wide door and rounded the corner, she spotted a thin strip of light edging the windows.

  “You came.”

  Even though she expected his presence, she gasped. From the darkness, his familiar outline emerged and then was silhouetted when he opened the side door. “What do you need?” His large hand engulfed hers, and he tugged her inside.

  “You.” He leaned against the door to close it and drew her close. “I haven’t stopped thinking about our roadside escapade.”

  Caitlyn nestled next to his hard body, inhaling a crisp fresh scent, and looked around. He’d placed a couple of lamps on the floor bookending a loveseat covered in bath sheets from the hot tub. A jar filled with wildflowers topped a round end table. Her throat clogged. How sweet.

  “It’s not much, but we have privacy with little risk of being discovered.” He stepped forward, leaned over, and switched off one of the lamps.

  “I’m flattered you went to the effort to create this.” She sat on a cushion and watched him approach. His mouth was drawn into a tight line. “Are you all right? No residual effects from this afternoon?”

  Shaking his head, he sat and leaned back. “I’m fine. But before what I hope will happen here happens, I need to come clean.”

  First, her pulse raced at the suggestive inference. Then, the last five words made her stomach drop. “I’m listening.” She clasped her hands together and rested them on her knees.

  “I’m at Dream Vistas as your surveillance monitor.”

  “My what!”

  “Shh. Think of me as a hired bodyguard.”

  In Montana for more than a day and she was just now learning this? Taking a deep breath, she fought to keep her hands from clenching into fists. Then her shoulders slumped. “Bertie. He’s the only one who would have done this.” She twisted until she faced him directly. “So all the incidents of our togetherness—the horseback ride, acting as chauffeur twice—are merely your job duties?”

  “That’s what being a bodyguard means. With a backup of the audio monitoring.”

  She backtracked through all the times they’d been together and noticed another common element. “Tilda knows, doesn’t she?”

  “She’s the only one—at least here on the ranch.” He reached for her hands and rubbed a thumb along her knuckles. “Performing my duties is totally separate from how I’ve come to care for you.” A corner of his mouth quirked up. “But I think you already know that fact.”

  How did she feel about the subterfuge? What would she have done if she’d been informed as soon as she arrived? Refused the protection? That would have been stupid. “Wait, what does audio monitoring mean?” Her hands twisted and clamped onto his, embarrassment heating her cheeks. “You’ve been listening to me?” Seeing his nod and his gaze that shifted away, she sucked in a breath. “Since my arrival?”

  “From the first moment you stepped into the house. Everything’s being done to keep you safe from the threats you’re receiving.” His brows lowered. “And here in our secret spot, you are totally safe.”

  “Funny you chose the word “secret” because I seem not to have any.” She collapsed against his chest and buried her face in his neck. If only she could reach the lamp, she’d turn it off so he couldn’t look at her. “I can’t believe you heard me doing…that.”

  “Enjoyed every moan and squeak.” He rubbed a circle on her back. “Now I want to hear more, but not through an earpiece.”

  His voice dropped an octave, and the raspy tone sent a shiver over her skin. She swept both hands over the breadth of his shoulders, but her left elbow hit the armrest. The angle was all wrong. “How did you envision this working?”

  He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Actually, I’d hoped to find a mattress.” He slid a hand through her hair, his fingers massaging as they moved. “I don’t care what happens as long as I can touch you.” He eased her head close and tasted her mouth. “And kiss you.” His other hand cupped her breast. “And maybe taste you.” He ran a row of licks up her neck.

  His words melted her faster than his touches, but not by much. Kissing Rhys was soothing and exciting at the same time. One second she wanted to focus on the way his lips and tongue made her other lady parts zing, and the next she wanted to luxuriate in the sensation of being desired. She inched a hand along the ridges of his stomach and pulled the T-shirt from his waistband. Finally, she touched the taut skin over even tauter muscles—from fingertip brushes to palmed caresses. The man was solid as a rock.

  Her pulse raced at the increasing pressure he exerted on her clothed breast. After distracting kisses that left her gasping, she felt his fingers on her bared skin and sucked in an excited breath. She looked down to see her tee riding her clavicle and her bra separated. Oh, clever man.

  He blew hot air in her ear, and she shuddered, a sensation pulling deep in her belly. She wiggled a shoulder because she wanted his lips there, then she arched her back because she couldn’t wait another second for his tongue to tease her hard nipple. Everywhere he touched, her skin heated. Her breath came in shallow pants. She reached a hand inside his jeans and wrapped her fingers around his rigid shaft. “Rhys, take control.”

  He flexed upward against her hand and groaned. “Nothing about this setup hints at slow seduction. Hope you’re ready for hard and fast.”

  She licked his neck then nibbled the spot. “I’m primed.” Do with me what you will. Did she dare say the thought aloud?

  With a powerful jerk, he moved, cradling her as he stood. He set her down at one end of the settee and, with a gentle hand on her back, eased her stomach over the armrest.

  A metal buckle clunked, a zipper rasped, cloth swished, and plastic ripped. Each sound brought them one movement closer to physical pleasure and spiked up her pulse a notch. Her channel ached for his touch. Dewy liquid coated her nether lips.

  Rhys hiked up her skirt and stripped down her panties. Then he held her in place with his left hand on her hip and pressed the rounded tip of his penis against her entrance.

  Caitlyn bit her lower lip at the burning his breach caused, then a moment later she adjusted to his girth and her breath whooshed out. For so long, she’d been without this type of intimacy. With a long stroke, he filled her before leaning over her back, his arm across her body to grasp her shoulder. “You’re tight. Are you all right?”

  Don‘t stop. Please. “I’m fine.” Caitlyn reached back with her hand and grasped his rock-hard ass, squeezing to encourage him to continue.

  Starting with slow glides, he straightened then thrust against her, quickly increasing the tempo until his hipbones slapped against her butt.

  Caitlyn had one hand grabbing the settee back frame and her other on the seat cushion, but on her tiptoes, she couldn’t give the pushback she wanted. Then she remembered what she’d told him—that he should take control. She slumped over the armrest until her cheek rode the cushion with each steady thrust. Her sensitive nipples cried out to be touched, and she grazed them with her fingertips. Tingles ran from the beaded peaks down her belly and over her skin. The only thing that she missed was seeing his face. Without that, she was close, but she wasn’t firing like an ascending rocket.

  A strong arm wrapped around her stomach. Rhys lif
ted her while keeping them connected and sat on the armrest with her in his lap. His free hand alternated tweaking her nipples and rubbing his palm over them to cup her whole breast.

  With this position, she still couldn’t touch the floor but the moment she braced her feet on his jeans-covered shins, the angle changed. The ridge of his penis nudged her G-spot. “Oh, there. Right there.” Rolling her hips forward an inch kept the pressure steady in exactly the right place. His fingers worked magic on her nipples, serving to heighten her reaction. After several more thrusts, the shudders started deep inside and worked outward. Needing an anchor, she reached one arm behind his neck and the other she aligned with his and entwined their fingers.

  Warm breaths tickled her neck, and his building groan filled her ear. When he came, his body went rigid. He muffled a shout in the crook of her neck.

  The unexpected intimate surrender set her shuddering again. Rhys’ flicking thumb on her clit kept her climax crescendoing until she squeezed her thighs, trapping his hand. “I can’t breathe.” Then she let her body go limp, her legs dangling, and trusted him to keep her from slithering to the floor.

  Moments passed and neither moved, except for an occasional hand caressing a side or a hip or a thigh. Body parts that were suddenly in danger of turning erogenous.

  “I don’t want to move.”

  She was glad he spoke first. “I agree.”

  “But I’ve been away too long from the monitors.”

  Away too long. She stiffened. “No.”

  “What?”

  “My cousins granted me an hour of peace to work before playing cards. Have we been in here that long?”She squirmed. “Let me down. I have to get back.” She lifted her arm to her nose. “Ugh, I can smell your scent on me. I am so busted.”

  With as much grace as possible, he lifted her to a stand and handed her one end of the long towel. “Use this.” His boots scraped the floor, and he chuckled.

  “What?” She paused while rubbing the towel over the backs of her thighs. Although she loved the idea of Rhys’ scent on her skin, she had to share a queen-size bed with Tilda. This intimacy with him was too new to share.

  “We’re adults and made love without getting undressed like a couple of randy high schoolers.”

  “Not seeing the humor.”

  He reached out to wrap his arms around her shoulders, drew her close, and planted a kiss on the tip of her nose. “At least, we learned the attraction is red hot.”

  An act she hadn’t doubted since her first sighting at the airport. Nodding, she circled her arms around his waist and rested her cheek on his chest, sadly covered again with soft cotton. “True.” Against her belly, his length hardened. Her nipples tightened in delicious response. “Nuh, uh, uh. Can’t go for round two.” She pushed back her rear and then dropped her arms to her sides.

  “But a round two will happen.” He cupped her chin and tilted her head to deliver a deep, wet kiss.

  Temptation hammered at her resolve, and she hesitated then blew him a kiss from the door. As she left, she wondered why she thought poker with her cousins was more important than being in their secret hideaway. Oh yeah, she’d promised. The cool air kept her invigorated as she half-walked, half-jogged the distance to the modular unit.

  A single lamp by the front window provided the unit’s only light. Her hope grew that her sexual rendezvous could remain secret. Once inside, she dashed to the bathroom and used a washcloth and soap to do a better job of cleaning away the evidence of their heady lovemaking.

  She managed to get her laptop booted up and several documents opened before the light-hearted sounds of female conversation approached. The counter in the bottom toolbar showed she had a dozen unread foundation-related emails. She hovered the blinking cursor over the program’s icon when the door opened and her cousins spilled inside. Caitlyn was cajoled away from the computer with the lure of low-stakes betting and homemade caramel popcorn.

  ###

  The next morning, Caitlyn sat at the table in the modular and sipping a cup of vanilla nut coffee. She skimmed the subject lines of her work-related emails, looking for any red flags that she couldn’t ignore before returning to the office. Her gaze locked onto the words DON’T DO IT followed by an emoji of a rat. She sat back, unconsciously moving as far away as she could. With a shaky hand, she clicked to open the message and read,

  Enjoy your drive yesterday? Testify, and we guarantee worse will happen.

  Below the text loaded a picture of her gazing wide-eyed through the back window of the ranch truck. A chill went down her spine. Yesterday’s date was imprinted in the lower right corner followed by a tiny icon. She leaned closer. “What is that?” She rolled the mouse over it and clicked until the image enlarged to reveal an American flag draped over a shield with two brawny arms shaped into a “W”, opposite hands clasped at the wrist. The words “Golden Warrior Brotherhood” arched over the top.

  Finally, a solid clue.

  Chapter Eight

  Rhys sat in Sheriff Barron’s office, waiting while the lawman collected a copy of Caitlyn’s email message from the printer. For now, he performed his own grunt work. A deputy called in sick and the dispatcher was late. As much as Rhys tried to make light of the situation when Caitlyn shared the message, he couldn’t fool himself. Those bastards pestering her had stepped up their taunts.

  Sheriff Barron walked behind his desk to the bookcase and lifted down a green binder. “An FBI bulletin from a couple months ago stated a suspected ultra-right group was operating in southern Montana. An agent is assigned to infiltrate, but he’s not made much progress. The inner circle is tight, and leads keep drying up. The group’s motto is making American great again. They believe in America’s world-wide role as protector of the democratic way.” He waved a hand at the printout. “Research about the effects of war on soldiers goes counter to their ideals. They want the American people believing in the war machine, not having testimony presented about PTSD. So, your friend has a target on her back. Better stay close.”

  Suddenly aware of how vulnerable he’d left Caitlyn, Rhys stood. “I will. What did you learn about the trucks we reported yesterday?”

  Barron’s brows furrowed. “I haven’t seen any reports. The clerk will probably finish them later this morning.”

  Rhys jumped in the truck and spit gravel from the tires as he spun out of the lot. Something wasn’t right. His senses were tripped, and he couldn’t afford to ignore them. As he raced to the ranch, he worked on the logistics for a plan. Experience told him the reception was where a strike would occur—party atmosphere, loud music, free booze, guests moving in erratic patterns.

  This time, he’d have to involve all four women to be his eyes and ears. The three who lived at the ranch would spot a local who shouldn’t be present. Unfortunately, his blonde beauty, Caitlyn, would have to mingle in the crowd as bait.

  Activities were in full whirlwind-mode when he arrived at the ranch. He barely had time to connect with Caitlyn to get her agreement and work out details before Tilda assigned him bartender duties to report at sundown. That left him only five hours to reposition the microphones—not an easy job with the potential of up to one hundred guests milling around—and test the equipment.

  Hours later through his earpiece, he heard the wedding ceremony start, which provided a great sound check. As he donned the uniform of black trousers and white shirt, he scanned the equipment on his desk. Everything appeared to be working fine. He dropped a small case holding extra earbuds into his jacket pocket. Both of his weapons were in place. Under the circumstances, the rudimentary safeguards were the best he could arrange.

  Rhys arrived in the kitchen as Tyler Stratton, the head of the private security team, gave his last-minute instructions. Two members of the permanent team guarding Jason Newcastle wore business suits and were assigned the standard six- to ten-foot radius. An average height, dark-haired woman was assigned to the new wife, Brandy Mifflin Newcastle. The remaining dozen were dressed more c
asually in slacks and dress shirts to better blend with the other wedding guests.

  Each member wore a serious expression, and Rhys wondered if their mingling skills were fresh. One of the men across the room looked familiar. Rhys squinted and recognized Brander “Thor” Rutland who he served with on his first tour in Afghanistan. When the briefing ended, he made his way across the room. “Hey, Thor.”

  The six-foot, two-inch blond stuck out a hand. “I thought that was you, Radar. Small world to meet up again.”

  Their handshake was firm. “You’re located in Los Angeles now?”

  Thor ducked his head. “Alternating between there and back home in Oregon. LA is where I’m picking up jobs then I return to my hometown to relax.” He waved a hand at the room. “You work at this ranch?”

  “Private security running an undercover protection detail.” Rhys glanced around then pulled the box with earbuds to the top edge of his pocket. “I’m alone here, guarding a woman who’s been subjected to ongoing threats. Long story but she’s a friend to returning vets. Sure could use a brother on my six.”

  “I’m in. But I’m not carrying.”

  “You know the basic layout?”

  “Got a tour of the immediate vicinity an hour ago.” Thor held out a hand. “Is the threat recognizable?”

  “Unknown threat or threats.” Rhys handed over an earbud and grabbed his phone. “Here’s what came with an emailed warning.” He displayed the image of the shield. “Golden Warrior Brotherhood.”

  Thor’s mouth thinned. “Hate when radicals disparage a good word.” He inserted the listening device. “Who’s the subject?”

  Rhys moved to the swinging door and opened it several inches. After locating Caitlyn serving hors d’oeuvres, he waved over Thor and pointed. “Thin blonde in the pink dress.”