Colton's Secret Bodyguard

by Jane Godman

  The snoring subsided slightly, and he felt the bed shift as Bree turned to face him. “Rylan?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Am I one of your misfits?”

  He choked back a laugh. “Is this a joke?” Could she seriously believe he saw her as another rescue project?

  “No. It’s a genuine question.” He could tell from her voice how important it was to her. “I’ve spent my whole life not fitting in. I need to know that you don’t see me as another Wonkey or Boo.”

  Rylan thought of some of the things she’d told him about her childhood. She had grown up in a family of high-achievers while battling a condition that limited her ability to be judged successful by conventional means. It had affected how she saw herself and how she believed others viewed her. He was aware, all over again, of a responsibility to her that went beyond the physical need to protect her.

  “Bree, you are the strongest, bravest, most beautiful person I know. I can’t think of anyone less like one of my crazy oddball animals.” He couldn’t quite believe he was having to say those words to the woman who could juggle his heart with a mere look.

  “Oh.” He heard the smile in her voice. “Thank you.”

  “For that answer, or for not throttling Jekyll?”

  She chuckled. “For everything. You didn’t have to do this...any of it. I appreciate it.”

  His throat tightened. “I wish I hadn’t screwed up.”

  She turned away from him again. “So do I.”

  He lay on his back with his hands beneath his head. He had screwed up, and he couldn’t regret it enough. Even so, he had sensed a few times lately that Bree’s attitude toward him was softening. Could that really be the case, or was it a combination of their close proximity and the circumstances?

  There was no getting around the fact that Bree was in danger, and he was her protector. Which meant, even without their existing attraction, it was a recipe for romance. And before Bree had discovered that he’d been lying about his identity, they’d had an instant fiery passion that was so damn combustible the very air around them sizzled. That hadn’t gone away. He didn’t think it ever would.

  He turned his head, unable to see her in the darkness, but acutely aware of her. For the first time, he considered what he’d previously believed to be impossible. Was Bree prepared to overlook his deception? A few days ago, he’d have said her forgiveness was the only thing he wanted. Now, he knew that was wrong.

  She was what he wanted.

  He loved her. If he were honest, he had loved her from the moment he first saw her. Love at first sight. Who knew it was really a thing? Especially for the ultimate tough guy. His life choices were a declaration. Soldier, bodyguard and security expert. Keep back. I don’t do feelings. But Bree had broken down his hard shell and found the part of himself he tried to keep hidden.

  And that was the problem. If she forgave him, he would be overwhelmed with gratitude. If she wanted to resume their former relationship... Well, that was another matter. Because, even though that would be a dream come true, Rylan wanted more. He wanted everything.

  He almost laughed. Why was he even thinking this way? Just supposing he was right and, by some remote chance, Bree did forgive him. It was a big leap from there to a return to what they’d had. It was an even bigger jump to anything long term.

  Getting ahead of yourself, Bennet.

  Why would Bree, who could have any man she wanted, choose the one who had already proven himself unworthy of her? The answer was simple. She wouldn’t.

  * * *

  When Bree opened her eyes, it was light. Morning. She knew it happened every day, but she couldn’t help wishing it wouldn’t.

  As she came fully awake, she became aware of something hard jammed into the small of her back. It felt a lot like a dog’s neck cone. Turning slowly, she discovered that both Rylan and Jekyll were still sound asleep. One of them was stretched diagonally across the middle of the bed, while the other was clinging precariously to one edge.

  Biting back a smile, she returned the dog to his bed, then slipped back beneath the warm bed covers. As she did, Rylan murmured contentedly, and rolled over.

  Now that was a view that could make a night owl start liking mornings.

  Wishing she could reach out a hand and touch him, she studied the planes and angles of his face. There were times when his features could appear harsh, but that, like the serious look in his eyes, was an expression he’d cultivated. When he was relaxed, as he was now, the perfection of his face shone through.

  Sitting up, she reached into the drawer of the bedside table and withdrew her artist’s pad and pencils.

  Before long, she was lost in her sketch, following the river of her creativity from the initial line through to the finished picture. Nothing quite matched the joy she got from the interaction with a piece of art. It was like a magic trick. Just her and the sketch. The details, the flourishes, the emphases... They belonged to her. No one else would capture it in the same way.

  The image was influenced by what she knew of Rylan. The real Rylan. She didn’t draw the man the world saw. She drew the man who rescued troubled and injured animals. The one who offered to protect a woman he didn’t know pro bono because she was his friend’s cousin. The one who slept in her bed because she was afraid to be alone.

  When she’d finished, she viewed the picture with a critical eye. It wasn’t perfect. Because his face was squished into the pillow, some of the perspective was wrong. But she liked it. It was him. The Rylan she knew.

  As she returned the pad to the drawer, she noticed a text message lighting up the screen of her cell. If she converted it to speech, she’d risk waking Rylan.

  Sliding from the bed, she pulled on a sweater and warm socks before taking her cell phone through to the kitchen. Jekyll opened one eye, yawned, stretched and followed her.

  The message was from Kasey.

  Can you call me? Not urgent. Not really. Only a little bit. Nothing to worry about.

  Bree checked the time. Almost seven thirty in the morning. She knew Kasey left for the gallery most mornings at eight o’clock.

  Kasey answered the call almost immediately. “Hey, boss lady. How are you? I’ve been worried about you after what happened at the show.”

  “I’m fine.” Bree switched on the coffee machine. “It just seemed like a good time to take a break and do some painting. Is everything okay at the gallery?”

  “Everything has been great, but the reason I got in touch was that there was a problem yesterday with water leaking from your apartment. It was dripping through the ceiling of the corridor between our offices. David went up to your apartment and found out the problem was a pipe under the sink in your kitchen—”

  “David went up to my apartment?” Bree interjected, her voice high-pitched with surprise. “How did he do that?”

  “He used the keys you gave me.” Kasey sounded worried. “I hope that was okay?”

  Of course. How could she have forgotten about the spare set of keys she’d given Kasey a few months ago? Audrey had booked herself and Bree into the spa at The Chateau for an overnight stay, but Bree had been expecting a furniture delivery. The following day, when Kasey had offered to give the keys back, Bree had suggested it might be a good idea for her assistant to keep them in a safe place in her office.

  How safe was safe?

  “Anyway... David stopped the leak temporarily, but he thinks the pipe needs to be replaced by a professional. I wanted to check with you and see if you want me to call a plumber?”

  “Uh, yes. Of course.”

  “The problem is that the water coming through to the gallery brought down part of the ceiling in the corridor,” Kasey continued. “I can get someone out to do the work, but I’m going to need your signature to authorize it.”

  When Bree had set up the gallery, she had taken advice from her
uncle Russ about her business systems. He had imposed on her the need to ensure that the financial controls, even in a small business, must be tightly regulated. Kasey could order goods and services, but they had to be authorized by Bree. It was a simple, clear separation of their duties.

  “I asked David if it could wait a few days, but he thinks more of the ceiling could fall if it isn’t dealt with right away,” Kasey added. “He even tried to tell me it was a hazard and that, technically, we should close the gallery until it was fixed. I said that you and I are the only ones who use that corridor and, since you aren’t here right now, I was willing to take a chance.”

  Bree sighed. “He was probably only thinking of your safety. A chunk of ceiling hitting you on the head wouldn’t be much fun.”

  “David worries too much.” Kasey’s tone was dismissive. “But there is another thing. Lucas Brewer has lost the check I gave him as payment for the lighting work he did on the show. I don’t know how many times I’ve told Lucas to switch to electronic transfer, but he insists on doing all his business by cash or check. Anyway, he stopped by and said money is tight, and could I issue him another check as soon as possible. I’ve canceled the original payment, but—”

  “You need my signature on the new check.” Bree poured herself a cup of coffee and gazed out the window at the view she had grown to love. This was her safe place, but the gallery was her dream. She had built it up from nothing and made it a success. The feeling that she was being pulled back there against her will saddened her. It was one more example of the damage he had done.

  “I wish I didn’t have to disturb your break,” Kasey said.

  “It’s not your fault. I’ll see if I can stop by this afternoon.”

  As Bree ended the call, she became aware that Jekyll was running back and forth between the kitchen and the front door. “Ah. Sorry about that.”

  After unlocking and opening the door to release the dog, she took her coffee outside and sat on the porch step. Jekyll, having taken care of his physical needs, returned to sit beside her.

  “I suppose we could try removing the cone,” Bree said. “But as soon as you start biting your butt, it goes back on.”

  Jekyll regarded her with an expression of adoration as she cast the cone aside and scratched his neck. A few minutes later, Rylan came to sit beside her.

  “What happened?” He quirked a brow at her. “You don’t do early mornings.”

  It was a brief reminder of the intimacy they’d lost, and, for a moment, regret surged through her. She saw an answering flicker in his eyes.

  “I got a message from Kasey.” She told him the details of her conversation with her assistant.

  He pursed his lips in a silent whistle. “So Kasey had a set of keys to your apartment all this time?”

  “Yes, but you can’t seriously think...?” She shook her head. “Not Kasey.”

  “Why not?” His expression was thoughtful. “Serious question. She doesn’t need to override the security system because she’s in the gallery anyway. Access to those programs advertising the show wasn’t a problem for her. They were right there in her office. She knew where to find your paintings in the basement. And she could have stayed late to rig up the chocolate.”

  “I understand that it could have been her, but I can’t believe that she would do those things.” Bree picked up Jekyll and hugged him close. “I’ve always believed the person who sends those emails is a man. I know there is no clue to the author’s identity, it’s just a feeling.”

  “Maybe that’s what the sender wants you to think,” Rylan said.

  “Your sources didn’t find anything on Kasey,” Bree reminded him.

  “They haven’t found anything on anyone. Yet.” He stretched his long legs in front of him. “That doesn’t mean there’s nothing to find. Someone has a reason to target you, Bree. To an outsider, it may appear trivial. For instance, it could be something as minor as you forgot to leave a tip, or you didn’t say hi when you passed him—or her—in the street. But to your perpetrator, it has become the focus of that person’s whole life.”

  She shivered. “That makes it even more scary.”

  “Broken pipe. Ceiling coming down. Lucas’s lost check. Sounds like they’ve been having quite the run of bad luck at Wise Gal.”

  “That’s all it is.” She kept her eyes on his profile. “Surely?”

  He turned to face her, his eyes endlessly blue. “It all adds up to a lot of reasons why you have to go back.”

  Bree nodded. “I don’t have much choice. I still have a business to run.”

  “Then let’s do it.” His voice was determined. “I promised I wouldn’t let this stalker hurt you, Bree. And I meant it.”

  * * *

  Rylan could see why Roaring Springs was a popular playground for the rich and famous.

  There was an eighteen-hole golf course west of town, one of the few venues not owned by the Coltons. The caverns that housed the underground springs were open to the public and proved quite a draw, especially in the summer heat. Horse and cattle ranches were plentiful in the surrounding valleys.

  But, as he took the route toward the trendy Second Street area, it was the gondola that caught his eye. The link between The Lodge and The Chateau was a visible reminder of the domination of the Colton family over the area.

  “How did your family make its money?” he asked Bree.

  “A Colton was one of the founding fathers of Roaring Springs, back when it was still a gold mining community of tents,” she said. “The Colton name is known across the United States. You know we’re related to former President Joe Colton?”

  “I’d heard that.”

  She smiled. “Uncle Joe. Now, there’s a character. Not a real uncle, of course. More a distant cousin of my dad’s. My grandfather is a third-generation Coloradoan. When he married my grandmother, he bought up a lot of land in the mountains and opened a lodge on Pine Peak with ski slopes that became hugely popular. In the valley, the Gilfords were the biggest property owners. Price Gilford needed capital, and my grandfather needed land. They both won. The Colton Empire was formed when my uncle Russ married my aunt Mara. She was Price Gilford’s daughter.”

  “No mention of the Gilford name in the brand?” Rylan asked.

  “It was before my time, so I don’t know the details. When it came to business, my grandfather was always rather slick. I guess he made sure the Coltons came out on top.”

  They reached the Diamond, and Rylan pulled into a space in the parking lot. It was only a few days since they had last been here, and his ranch was less than an hour away, but this felt like a different lifetime.

  He cast a glance in Bree’s direction, wondering if she felt the same way. But why would she? This was her territory. She’d warned him not to get used to having her around at the ranch. She belonged here, in this quirky, artsy community.

  She was gazing up at the facade of Wise Gal, with intense concentration on her face. “If any of this is a plan to get me back here, then he’s going to be around somewhere. Waiting for me.”

  “I’m here.” He leaned across and gripped her hand. “For you.”

  “I needed to hear that.” She returned the pressure of his fingers.

  Releasing Papadum, who was back on guard dog duty, they left the car and crossed to the gallery entrance. Once inside the lobby, Bree paused to exchange a few words with the staff on the reception desk. Everything seemed normal as they went through to the main gallery. The place was busy, with a number of people viewing the exhibits and a group of schoolchildren taking a painting class near the craft shop.

  Bree led the way into Kasey’s office. Her assistant was in the middle of eating lunch but placed her sandwich down when she saw them. Rylan considered himself a good judge of character. From the smile in her eyes, he decided Kasey was either a skilled actress or she was genuinely pleased to se
e Bree.

  “You look like your break has already done you good,” Kasey said, as she studied Bree with her head on one side. “Have you done much painting?”

  “Not much.” Bree cast a sidelong glance in Rylan’s direction.

  He hadn’t given it much thought until now, but he realized that, instead of painting, she’d been spending her time around the ranch with him and the animals. Had he kept her from her art? He dismissed the thought. Bree had a mind of her own. If her preference had been for painting, she’d have taken her brushes and palette out.

  “Shall we take a look at the damage to the ceiling?” Bree asked.

  They went out into the corridor. There were water stains on the wall near Bree’s office and a large chunk of plaster had fallen from the ceiling. Although someone had clearly swept the floor, Rylan could see marks on the tiles beneath the gaping hole. Tape had been placed across the corridor, with a sign warning of the danger.

  “David was being safety conscious as usual,” Kasey said.

  “Just as well.” Rylan studied the damage. “That’s definitely unsafe.”

  “It is.” David approached them from the direction of the gallery. He nodded a greeting to Rylan and Bree. “I explained to Kasey that this needs to be fixed as soon as possible. I’d have done it myself, but it needs a professional builder.”

  “That’s okay. It looks like you had your work cut out cleaning up the mess,” Bree said. “And in my apartment, from what Kasey tells me. Thank you for all your hard work.”

  “All part of the job.” He appeared embarrassed at her thanks. “I hope you didn’t mind me going up there?”

  “Goodness, no. If you hadn’t, things would have been so much worse.” Bree turned to Kasey. “Shall we get on with this paperwork?”

  Rylan accompanied the two women into Kasey’s office while David went back to his own duties. Bree and Kasey began talking business, and now that he was reassured that Bree was not in any danger from her assistant, Rylan was starting to feel antsy. What he really wanted to do was to speak to Judith at Arty Sans.