Brent stood, then glanced to the empty parking spot next to hers. A fresh set of tire tracks were next to her SUV. He’d take an impression later, run a trace. Might be good to contact Hank Patterson too. Extra manpower from the former SEAL’s elite group of Brotherhood Protectors could come in handy if this incident wasn’t accidental.
“Well, that mystery’s solved,” Reagan said, brushing the remaining snow from her behind. “Thanks for coming to my rescue.”
“Never know, this could become a thing,” he said. “Not that I’d mind.”
The frigid wind picked up the strands of her honey blonde hair, whipped them across her sun-kissed face. “I won’t need pseudo bodyguard, but I am looking forward to seeing you later today.” She brought out her key fob and unlocked her door. “It’s been too long since I’ve gone on a date.”
A heavy sensation banded around his chest. He hated hiding the original reason he had for being with her. She deserved a solid chance at another relationship, but he’d signed on for this mission and he’d stick to the protocol. “That’s hard to believe,” he said, shoving his hands in his coat pocket. “I’d expect loads of guys lining up for the chance to get to know you better.” He meant the words, but a part of him wanted to cross the self-imposed professional line he stood by whenever working an assignment.
She stepped into the SUV, leaned toward him. “Pretty much all the guys I know back home are spoken for or totally not my type,” Reagan said. “Plus, I’m way too busy pursuing my career to settle down again, Brent. Dinner, drinks, a little conversation with hot guy. That’s what I am interested in, nothing more.”
Her scent, a mix of spice and sugar, mingled with the crisp, winter air carrying the pine aromas in from the snowcapped mountains. His mouth watered for a taste of her. “Then we’re on the same page,” he said easily. “My company’s eating up a lot of my time these days too.” That much was true.
“Great.” She flashed him another one of those bright smiles. “Keeps things easy. Nothing worse than raising false expectations.”
Reagan closed the door and started the engine, then waved as he stepped back to give her room to back out and drive away.
He waited until the SUV’s rear end faded from view, then knelt by the tire tracks next to her empty parking spot. After taking several scans with his cell phone and sending them to headquarters for analysis, he made his way to his tricked out black Toyota Tacoma truck. Then he rode to his cabin located next to hers, one he’d already beefed up with extra security.
He’d use the hours between now and their date to monitor the exterior of her cabin. The itinerary he’d gotten for her show’s filming schedule and the final live run included filming at one of the local eateries. Al’s Diner with its world famous burgers would add local flair to the show, bring in curious tourists then and later.
Crowds. Never a good thing when trying to protect a client who’d hired his agency’s services. But one who didn’t have a clue? Even harder. But not impossible. The word didn’t even belong in his vocabulary.
He checked the computer monitor which showed all exterior views of the cabin next to his along with interior cams revealing her movements inside the spacious living room. She’d removed her form-fitting winter parka and boots, her roller bag lay open on the bed in a separate space.
Now she sat in the plush sofa in front of the fireplace making notes on her laptop with a swath of papers next to her.
The woman didn’t mess around. She didn’t waste a single second, staying focused on her tasks. But then Reagan twisted her rings on her finger, murmured something under her breath. Finally, she removed them, set them on the table next to her.
She returned her attention to the laptop, lifted a few papers, made notations. He could even see the tiny line between her brows. Then, suddenly, Reagan lowered her head, brought her hands to her face, shoulders heaving.
Seconds later, she swiped her eyes and picked up the wedding bands to slide them back onto her ring finger. Then she resumed her work with renewed vigor, mumbling words of self-encouragement to herself.
Brent shuttered his gaze for a moment. A heavy feeling dropped low in his belly, then knotted. He hated that she cried alone. He hated that she couldn’t truly move forward. Not when grief still haunted her.
Despite her assertion earlier, he wanted more than a few fake dates with this strong woman who’d overcome a major loss. And, the words she’d spoken hadn’t fooled him. She didn’t want more than a few friendly hookups—he’d heard the vulnerability in her voice.
Then, just now, witnessing her struggle, made him want to do more than kiss her senseless. Her loneliness, masked by smiles and a passion to create something more for herself, made him want to take her into his arms. He wanted hold her, let her know she could have so much more if she’d give someone a chance to get truly close to her.
Someone who didn’t throw himself into the line of fire on a regular basis. Because the last person his gorgeous client needed in her life was a guy like him. She’d already gone through too much. He’d guard her, physically. Play the role he’d been assigned and then move on.
Reagan’s cell phone chimed, interrupting her workflow. She picked it up and read the screen, then replied to Eric to confirm her tour of the ranch’s kitchen facilities and meet the head chef. After rifling through her clothes, she selected another comfy pair of jeans, a T-shirt with her show’s logo emblazoned over the top left side and a crimson cardigan.
Her former competitor, Owen Davidson, had checked in and had toured the facility. The forty-five-year-old had agreed to a reunion one year after she’d fought him in the finals and won the coveted show hosting slot.
While driving back to the ranch’s main building—more like a luxury resort—she reminisced about their battles in the kitchen. Reagan had thought for sure he’d win. After all, Owen came from a long line of restauranteurs in New York City’s Manhattan district. The dishes he’d prepared during the competition’s shows had been intricate, elaborate and beyond delicious.
But difficult to replicate in someone’s home, especially if their budgets didn’t include money for high end ingredients.
By the time she reached the ranch, the afternoon sun had begun its descent toward the horizon, casting a glare on her windshield. Grabbing her satchel which held her laptop and recipes, she gave herself a cursory glance in the rearview mirror before she stepped back out into the frigid Montana air. Within minutes, she and Eric hooked up with her director.
“Where’s Owen?” Reagan asked.
Angela Romera sifted through the paperwork she’d brought with her. “He said something about taking advantage of the hot tub at his cabin with his current date.” She pushed her square-shaped glasses up her nose and pursed her full lips. “I went over the scripts and recipes for the shows we’re filming with him. He’s got a few of his signature holiday recipes queued up.”
“I’ll go coordinate with him, make sure we didn’t let anything slip through the cracks before I tour the kitchen. I want to make sure the restaurant’s staff knows about everything we’ll need to set up shop.” Reagan had been exchanging ideas with the chef for several months in anticipation of their reunion shows. They’d finalized most of the details, but Owen had a way of throwing in curve balls at the last minute. “Don’t want to leave anything to chance.” She’d already suffered through a major life hijacking, one she’d carried a burden of guilt about for years. The loss of her husband and her pregnancy had rippled her heart to shreds. Only her work, her escape into the kitchen, had brought a measure of peace.
“Good thinking,” Angela said. “Eric, his shipment of supplies is coming in later today from Bozeman. Keep an eye out for it and make sure to get them to Owen as soon as they arrive.”
Eric nodded, tapped a note into his tablet. “Got it. I’ll go into Eagle Rock on Monday morning to coordinate the filming with Al at his diner.”
“Sounds good,” Angela said, then straightened and locked her amber
eyes onto Reagan’s. “The sleigh ride segment depends on cooperative weather, but if we need to switch venues, I know you’ll handle the change beautifully.”
Reagan smiled. Her director’s confidence in her brought a wash of warmth through her body. Angela Romera’s stellar reputation in the industry had been honed through rising up the ranks of home television networks from production assistant to producer to director.
All while raising three, equally as intelligent and driven daughters and celebrating thirty-five years of marriage earlier that year.
“I’ve got a homemade marshmallow s’more with a kick of amaretto in the hot chocolate for the fireside gathering regardless of what happens on Wednesday,” she said. “The ranch has a great area around the fireplace to gather if necessary.”
“Good thinking,” Angela said. “Right. So the schedule as it stands is first reunion show on Monday afternoon here in the ranch’s kitchen, White Oak Ranch for a cookie bake off with Sadie McClain and her family on Tuesday, then the sleigh ride on Wednesday. Al’s Diner on Thursday, Christmas dinner with all the fixings on the actual day, then a few well-deserved days off until we wrap up on New Year’s Eve.”
“Spending the winter holidays in Montana,” Reagan said. “What could be more idyllic?”
“Christmas in the Caribbean,” Eric said wryly, then slipped his tablet into his crossbody man purse. “I’ll check the best lighting options for the camera crew when I meet with Al as well as for all the other shows so we can hit the ground running on Monday.”
“Perfect. Touch base with me afterward,” Angela said. “Now I’m off to find my guy, see if he wants to grab an early dinner before we take advantage of our hot tub. Owen can’t be the only one on this team having fun while we’re here.”
Fun. The word ricocheted through her brain, brought a renewed rush of anticipation as Reagan thought about her date with Brent Lancaster later that day. Her face flushed hot and she swallowed hard.
Twisting her rings round and round, she swallowed hard, fought to cool the heat blazing through her veins.
“Hello? Earth to Reagan.”
Eric’s voice brought her out of momentary daze. “Sorry, what?” she asked.
“I just wondered what you had planned for tonight,” Angela said.
“Oh, I, uh.” Reagan clasped her hands, looked down at her boots, then back at Angela. “Well…” The rings she’d fisted dug into her palm. Rings she’d worn to remind her on a daily basis that the man who’d given them to her had died so she could live.
Eric laughed. “Don’t worry about your star. She’s actually got a date tonight.”
Angela arched an eyebrow, then gazed at the bands on Reagan’s finger. “Don’t you think it’s time to take them off?” she asked gently.
Reagan released her grip on her hands, let them drop to her sides, felt the weight of guilt tugging down her shoulders as if she held ten pound barbells. She’d tried. Oh, how she’d tried. Moving on meant letting go of her past. Of the guilt. And she had moved on in so many ways, but still, Scott had been her first love and setting the bands aside meant stepping into extremely unfamiliar territory.
She wet her lips, inhaled a deep breath. “It’s just drinks. No big deal. And he knows I’m available.” But her husband had been inextricably linked to her for years before they’d realized more than friendship existed between them.
“I don’t know, Reagan,” Eric said. “The way Mr. Tall, Hot and Stetson looked at you didn’t scream no big deal.”
“Good.” Angela touched Reagan’s shoulder and squeezed, offering her comfort and a bit of encouragement in her frank gaze. “Just don’t get too distracted. I need you on top of your game during the next two weeks.”
“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Reagan said. “This guy’s just being nice, that’s all. I’m not even close to being in his league.” But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t give her rusty dating skills a polish before meeting Brent Lancaster.
And maybe, just maybe, he’d be the right kind of guy to bridge the divide between all her yesterdays with the future she wanted to carve out.
With that thought in mind, she said goodbye to everyone, completed her tour of the kitchen with the ranch’s sous chef, checked the fridges and freezers to make sure all her supplies had arrived on time. Then she made her way back to her rental, telling herself she’d pull out all the stops for Mr. Tall, Hot and Stetson.
By five-fifty-five, after trying and discarding multiple outfits for her no big deal date, she found the perfect combo of dressy and casual. Then, checking her cell when Brent texted her, she struggled to push down the lump forming in her throat, telling herself again she’d mourned long enough and one date didn’t mean a betrayal, only a slice of a new beginning with no commitments or future involvements required. Heaving a deep breath, she carefully removed her rings and slipped them into her traveling jewelry bag.
The pang she expected to hit her again didn’t jab behind her sternum. Instead, a tingling sensation radiated through her body, skipped along her nerves, making every cell vibrate with anticipation.
Chapter 3
“I’m sure her brother’s overreacting, but I get it,” Brent said to Hank Patterson after touching base with Reagan about their date. He’d pick her up in less than fifteen minutes. “I’d appreciate if you had a few of your guys at the ranch on Tuesday for Cooking Thyme’s filming. More as a precaution.”
“No problems with the tire tracks?”
“None.” Brent read the report his team had sent back to him once more. “The tracks belonged to a Subaru driven by a family visiting the area for a ski vacation. Most likely, one of their kids accidentally spilled the soda.”
“Spills come with the territory when you’ve got kids.”
“You speak from experience.”
“Emma’s a sweetheart, but toddlers are messy.”
Brent smiled. The former SEAL couldn’t hide the love in his voice. Lucky guy, but Brent had learned the hard way not to count on luck in the love department.
They ended their call, then he slipped on his holster and shrugged on his leather jacket to conceal the weapon he carried. Stepping outside, he noted the empty road, lights flickering in the cabins surrounding his and Reagan’s place.
Laughter, the sound of hot tubs bubbling echoed in the frosty air. Clattering on decks and the smell of wood smoke mingled with the fresh mountain pine scent. The moon had already begun its climb into the darkening sky.
Eagle Point Ranch’s 5 Star accommodations offered a perfect winter holiday getaway vacation.
A motor gunned in the distance while he strode over packed snow to his SUV. He turned in the sound’s direction. Snow mobiles riding out on the trails leading to various hideaways dotting the ranch’s property.
Nothing to investigate. Just people having a good time on their way to more of the same.
Too bad this date he’d engineered with Reagan wouldn’t lead to a similar outcome. Because the memory of her lush body and gorgeous face had given him all kinds of can’t-keep-his-hands-off thoughts.
Thoughts that slammed him below the belt the minute she answered her cabin door. She’d refreshed her makeup just enough to make those blue eyes sparkle like sapphires and her plump lips even more kissable with the pale pink gloss she’d painted on them.
“You’re early,” she said, welcoming him inside. “Make yourself comfortable while I get my purse and coat.” She indicated the sofa in front of the fireplace.
He followed her gesture. Her left hand glaringly bare of the wedding bands. His breath stalled. Damn. He’d have to move with caution, but the playbook for this date just got a lot more complicated.
“Take your time,” he said, drinking in the sight of the way the tunic top’s bright turquoise and fuchsia pattern accentuated her creamy skin and honey-blonde hair which curled in waves down one side of her oval shaped face. “You look nice.” Nice? More like gorgeous.
She blinked, then looked down while bru
shing her palms down the distressed, casual jeans which molded to her curves in all the right ways. “Thanks. I had no idea what to wear, but I figure the ranch’s restaurant isn’t super formal. I mean, it’s Montana. In winter.”
“Those boots don’t look like they’d survive a hike in the woods,” he said, giving her a steady gaze then moving it lower to the high, soft black boots rising to just above her knee.
Boots that were meant more for style than function. Though he could think of plenty other ways to utilize them.
The sexy, fuck-me boots and the double-wrapped roped choker with the shining pendant at the base of her throat gave him all kinds of flashes of fantasies.
Of the naked kind.
She licked her lips, flushing prettily to that rose color he’d like to find in other places. “Oh, yeah. Well, yes. They’re not. But sometimes you’ve got to suffer to be beautiful.” Reagan gave him a sassy grin before lifting her form-fitting winter coat from the stand next to the door. She picked up her purse and then she nibbled her that delectable lower lip.
Oh, yeah. Things got way more complicated. Her nerves, coupled with the sass despite them, only made him want to gather her into his arms, kiss her. Do a whole lot more. And skip the drinks, dinner for another kind of date altogether.
Fuck. Stand down. Remember why you’re here. But another voice, the devil riding his shoulder ever since he escaped his strict military father’s fists, whispered… technically, she didn’t hire you.
“Here, let me help you with that,” he said, turning on the charm and slipping the coat over her shoulders, waiting until she had her arms safely inside. Then he turned her round and pulled up the zipper until he reached the base of her throat where the pendant sat, teasing him.
Tempted By Her Rescuer: Brotherhood Protectors World Page 2