What Happens at the Ranch...

by Christy Jeffries

  “No, she’s not drunk,” Tessa answered for herself. She hated it when anyone, especially men or doctors, talked about her as though she wasn’t there. Temporarily losing the ability to speak after a traumatic brain injury tended to do that to a person. “She just laid her father to rest and her eyes are full of tears and she is about to throw these ridiculous four-inch high heels into the nearest ravine.”

  “Okay, well it seems as though you’re in good hands with Mr....uh...?”

  “Agent Wyatt,” Grayson offered, this time not bothering with a handshake. Probably because his right arm was otherwise occupied bearing half the weight of Tessa’s one-twenty-pound frame.

  “Right. So then I’ll just see you back at the house.” Davis moved in to kiss her cheek, but ended up knocking the oversize sunglasses askew. Tessa could only imagine how silly she looked in the sporty, mannish frames, but she wasn’t quite ready to return them yet. Wearing them felt as though she was hiding in plain sight.

  “You ridin’ back with us, Congressman?” Uncle Rider asked Davis as he and Freckles came up behind them.

  “No, sir.” Davis cleared his throat and his smile returned. Had his teeth always been that white? “I appreciate the offer, but my understanding is that I’m assigned to family limo number two. Per protocol. I’ll see everyone there.”

  “We have a protocol now?” Rider didn’t bother lowering his gruff voice as Davis walked away, waving at someone in the distance. “That’s his excuse for ditchin’ his girlfriend in her time of need?”

  The irony of being an expert political analyst and the daughter of a career politician was that most of her family avoided politics altogether and had no desire to ever hold an elected office. Her mother had been the only person who’d been supportive of Tessa’s relationship with the up-and-coming congressman. Even her father had advised her to take things slow, which was why she still hadn’t given Davis an answer after he’d proposed last month.

  “He means his press secretary organized it,” Tessa explained through the headache now pounding against her temples. “You know how things work in our world. Our schedules are so packed and our roles are so complex, things run more smoothly when every event is outlined and every detail planned. Besides, it’s not exactly my ‘time of need.’”

  The disbelieving tilt of Grayson’s head drew her eyes to his. His icy stare turned to a steely gunmetal gray—probably the same color as the service weapon likely hidden somewhere underneath his suit jacket. “Could’ve fooled me.”

  A shiver traveled down the base of Tessa’s neck all the way to her toes. If he kept looking at her like that, no pair of sunglasses in the world would be able to hide the effect his nearness was having on her.

  * * *

  Grayson studied his reflection over the sink in the men’s room at the bunkhouse later that evening. Most of the funeral guests had left the ranch a few hours ago and, technically, his team was now off duty. He’d originally been assigned to watch the outer perimeter of the house, but SAIC Simon, the supervising agent in charge, had switched him with Agent Franks. For some unknown reason, Grayson had been forced to stay inside the main house, watching the comings and goings of the guests from the safety of the richly decorated living room.

  Oh, who was he kidding? Grayson knew exactly why his assignment had been swapped. The Secret Service always had a security plan and an alternate security plan for when something went wrong. Not that anything had gone wrong, exactly. At least, nothing that would cause the supervisor to reassess the placement of the agents.

  That meant someone from the King family had specifically requested Grayson be stationed inside. But who?

  He knew it hadn’t been Tessa since he’d pretty much been within earshot of her since she’d fainted in his arms back at the church. Not to mention, she’d practically ignored him once she was within the safe confines of the plush family palace disguised to look like a ranch house. In fact, he was pretty sure she would’ve preferred he hadn’t been there at all.

  The good news was that the remainder of his shift had been uneventful if he didn’t count that little skirmish between Tessa’s mom and her aunt Freckles over a tray of ham biscuits. Or that annoying dipstick, Davis Townsend, taking a call from his press secretary right in the middle of Rider King’s toast to his deceased twin. Tessa’s brother Duke had looked ready to peel off his Navy uniform jacket with all those shiny medals and throw blows with the congressman.

  Aw, hell.

  Grayson gripped the edge of the counter so tightly his knuckles turned white. When had he stopped thinking of the King family in terms of their assigned code names and started thinking of them as Tessa’s relatives? Probably from the second he’d held her against him at the cemetery, staring into her soft blue eyes and breathing in sync with her.

  Thankfully, though, the assignment was now over. Or, at least, his portion of it. Even sleeping in this custom-built bunkhouse, which was decorated almost as lavishly as a suite of rooms at a five-star hotel, put Grayson on edge.

  Rumor had it Roper King had designed the well-equipped building at his own cost because he wanted the security teams protecting him to feel as if they were at home, too—even when they were hundreds of miles away from their own families. The funny thing was, Grayson would’ve been much more comfortable with a rucksack and a standard-issue cot out in the middle of some jungle than he was here. While the former vice president had liked to ensure his security teams were comfortable and lacked for nothing, this place was way fancier than the furnished studio apartment Grayson had rented in DC.

  And when things were fancy, they were usually a lot less welcoming. Case in point: Tessa King.

  At least things had gotten easier as the night had worn on. Surrounded by her family with no cameras around, Tessa had seemed stronger tonight, or at least less fragile. Still, Grayson had remained in the background until the catering crew and very last guest had left, just in case she needed him again. Not that she’d needed him specifically in the first place.

  He ducked his mouth toward the cold water coming from the faucet and gulped. The water out here in Wyoming always tasted better than anything bottled and sold in the expensive gourmet markets in DC. Using one of the plush hotel-style towels to wipe his face, Grayson reminded himself that any agent would’ve reacted the same way as he had today and Tessa would have just as easily clung to that person for support.

  He wasn’t special.

  In fact, the only reason he’d even been assigned as an agent of “The Shift,” which was what they called those working the first line of defense in the presidential inner bubble, was that Roper King had personally requested him a few months ago. After ten years of being part of an elite sniper unit with the Marine Corps, and then another three as a sniper for the Secret Service’s Counter Assault Team, Grayson was still trying to convince himself that the assignment would be worth it since all the extra overtime pay from the protective detail would help with some of Maddie’s medical bills.

  But now that the vice president would be replaced with the Speaker of the House, who already had her own detail, many agents were putting in their change-of-duty papers. Grayson just needed to get through this final debriefing session before he followed suit.

  He slowly ambled out of the bathroom, not looking forward to the ball-busting, good-natured ribbing that would likely take place around the big table outside the bunkhouse kitchen. Several of his teammates were already smirking over their shoulders in his direction as they hunkered around a laptop screen.

  “You see this, Wyatt?” Agent Lopez held up her smartphone.

  “See what?” Grayson asked as he headed toward his own bunk, not the least bit interested in whatever video was playing on that laptop or on Lopez’s phone.

  “They’re calling you ‘the Bodyguard,’” Agent Doherty said in his strong Boston accent. “Not very original, if you ask me.”

 
“Just be glad they’re not calling you the ‘Hearse Commando,’” Lopez said, getting a round of chuckles.

  They? Who was “they”?

  A knot of dread formed in Grayson’s belly as he stepped closer to the compact screen.

  Aw, hell.

  The video of Grayson sweeping Tessa into his arms admittedly played out as more dramatic than it really had been. Not that he could explain that to the million-plus viewers who’d already watched the online video. His eyes blinked at the steadily increasing number of views in the bottom left corner of the screen.

  “Aw, hell,” he said aloud this time, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “You know the rules, Prince Charming.” Franks, who’d returned from his shift on perimeter duty, smacked Grayson on the back. “You make the news, you buy the team a round of beers.”

  “Trust me—” Grayson shook his head “—there was nothing princely or charming about that extraction. The woman passed out and I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Any first responder would’ve reacted the same way.”

  “She doesn’t look passed out.” Doherty pointed to Tessa’s open eyes. “In fact, she looks downright breathless.”

  That’s right. She’d still been conscious when he’d lifted her, her lids slowly lowering as she’d tucked her face against his shoulder. Only he knew the truth—that she’d been in the middle of a panic attack and would’ve collapsed into a heap if it hadn’t been for him. Grayson made a dismissive sound. “Pfftt. Breathless? You’ve been reading too many romance novels, Doh-boy.”

  “Don’t knock ’em,” the muscular Irish kid from Southie replied, not at all insulted by the nickname.

  “What about this video?” Lopez clicked on another link that showed a five-second clip of Tessa pasted against Grayson’s side at the funeral. When her boyfriend approached, Tessa had drawn even closer to Grayson. The caption underneath read Tessa King Throws Over Congressman for Her Bodyguard.

  A chorus of snickers and taunts rang out in the bunkhouse. Grayson slammed the top of the laptop closed. “Time to debrief then hit the sack. We’re wheels up at oh six hundred.”

  The videos were just a flash in the pan, he told himself—fifteen minutes of fame and all that. The media would lose interest as soon as some other famous celebrity got married, or divorced, or arrested. After the protective detail officially ended tomorrow, he’d never have to see Tessa King again.

  At least that’s what Grayson thought when his head hit the pillow that night. But when he woke up at dawn, his supervisor was standing between the rows of bunks.

  “Change of plans, Delta and Echo teams,” SAIC Simon said before the foggy remnants of sleep left Grayson’s brain. “Everyone meet in the conference room in five minutes.”

  Grayson barely had time to pull a T-shirt over his head, let alone grab a cup of coffee on his way to the soundproof building attached to the bunkhouse.

  As soon as everyone was in their seats, Simon uncapped a marker and drew a line down a dry-erase board.

  “We’ve got two new situations this morning. Number one.” He wrote the word Pollywog on the left side of the board then used the marker to tap on the code name for the youngest King offspring. “Seems as though little Mitchell King Junior had a bit too much to drink last night with the sixteen-year-old daughter of one of the county deputies. While getting handcuffed by said deputy for a drunk and disorderly, MJ decided to fight back and racked up a resisting arrest charge.”

  Lopez groaned. “Who was assigned to tail him?”

  “Echo Team. It’s not the first time some eighteen-year-old ditched his protective detail, and it probably won’t be the last. But we want to finish our investigation into the matter before the media gets wind of it. That leads me to situation number two.” Simon turned back to the board and wrote the code name Precision before turning to Grayson. “Seems your little romantic rescue routine yesterday got Tessa King into a whole heap of hot water with her cronies at the press.”

  “It wasn’t a romantic rescue, sir.” Grayson sat straighter in the expensive leather chair. “I explained that in our debrief session last night.”

  “I know you did, Wyatt. But that was before the photo of you ever so delicately sliding your sunglasses onto Miss King’s nose blew up on social media.”

  Grayson ran a hand through his hair. Damn. He wished he’d taken those sunglasses back from her yesterday so that he could hide the frustration filling his eyes right this second.

  “It wasn’t like that,” Grayson insisted for what had to be the thousandth time. There’d been nothing romantic between him and Tessa yesterday in the least. Sure, she was attractive, with perfectly arranged blond curls and those soft pink lips and that pulse point right where her collarbones came together in the shape of a little heart—

  Whoa. He had to stop his thoughts there—before he began remembering how attractive she was from the neck down.

  Someone made a wolf whistle as the digital image miraculously appeared on the wall-size screen behind the head of the table. Scratch that. Tessa King was a helluva lot more than attractive. Grayson averted his eyes from the picture of him staring into her beautiful face right before he’d placed his sunglasses on her.

  So maybe it did look a bit worse than it was.

  “Come on, you guys. The second she got into the main house and away from the cameras, she didn’t even know I was there.” Grayson heard the words come out of his mouth and prayed he didn’t sound as though he was disappointed in being ignored. As a shift agent, he was supposed to blend into the background. He obviously didn’t want to draw her attention. Or anyone else’s for that matter.

  “So you think she played it up for the cameras?” SAIC Simon studied him.

  “No.” Grayson sighed, wishing he could claim that the whole thing was nothing more than an opportunistic stunt on her part. It would certainly stop all the eyebrows currently wagging in his direction. “The panic attack was legit. Just ask the medic who took her vitals afterward. I’m simply saying that the second she knew she was out of the woods, she didn’t need my support anymore. Like I said last night, I only did what any other agent in my place would’ve done in the same situation. And I’m sure Miss King would’ve reacted the same way if Franks or Lopez, or hell, even Doherty, had been the one to catch her.”

  Simon shrugged. “Well, it doesn’t matter who caught her. It matters that the media think they sniffed out a big story and they’re not gonna let go when their teeth are locked into something this juicy.”

  Tessa was a news personality and probably on a first-name basis with most of the press corps. Couldn’t she call them off herself? Grayson fought the urge to rub his temples. Not wanting to give the woman another thought, he asked, “What do we care if the sharks eat one of their own?”

  “Because those sharks are currently surrounding the Twin Kings Ranch. Along with God knows who else trying to get a front-page-worthy pic. It’s like the Wild West of paparazzi and reporters outside those gates right now. Nobody needs me to remind them of how John Hinckley Junior was able to get so close to Reagan in 1981, do they?” The room went quiet as everyone thought about how the would-be assassin easily blended in with members of the press right before he’d opened fire on the president. Simon cleared his throat before continuing. “Therefore, Agent Wyatt, as long as there is an ongoing threat to the King family, even if it’s only from news cameras, you and half the team are staying here.”

  Grayson swallowed back several curses as he sat stiffly and listened to the protective intel agents outline the focus of their reconfigured assignment, conveniently titled Operation Snowball.

  When everyone stood to leave the room, Simon motioned for Grayson to meet him near the now empty coffee machine. After making sure they were alone, Simon opened his laptop.

  “Just a head’s up, Wyatt. One of the local uniformed deputies in the stagin
g tent yesterday was wearing their body camera and unknowingly recorded footage of Tessa King dressing you down and questioning your tactical decisions. The sheriff is going to do everything in his power to make sure the video doesn’t get leaked to the press, but he already has his hands full, and it’s only a matter of time before I have the chain of command breathing down our necks about the possibility of calling you before an inquiry board.”

  Grayson sighed. “Sir, I know that the hearse was an unconventional choice as far as extraction vehicles, but I stand by my decision to use the closest resource available while simultaneously keeping the primary location secure.”

  “I’m already writing that in my situation report. In fact, I’m keeping you in place on the ranch because I know I can trust you.”

  His boss made the decision sound like a reward, while the truth was that staying on assignment was a lose-lose situation. Even if Grayson wanted to tuck tail and run, which he never had before, it wouldn’t do him any favors. He exhaled in defeat. “And because removing me from an assignment at this juncture might in some way imply that I was being punished or couldn’t be trusted.”

  “That, too. You’re a good agent and, from everything I’ve seen, you handled yourself with the utmost professionalism under the circumstances.”

  That may be so, given his supervisor’s outside viewpoint. But deep down Grayson knew that he’d allowed Tessa to get too close to him. And while he hadn’t acted in a way that technically crossed any professional line, there was no doubt his physical response to the woman had called that line into question. Sensing Simon wanted to say more, Grayson prompted, “But?”

  “But...” Simon sighed. “My concern is that Miss King might not see it the same way.”

  The suggested threat of betrayal settled between Grayson’s shoulder blades, as though he was already anticipating the knife to be shoved into his back. He’d saved Tessa from collapsing on those church steps for the entire world to see. Then he’d stayed by her side, intervening before she had another panic attack while literally holding her upright as she paid her last respects to her father. He’d even given her his favorite pair of sunglasses. “You think she’ll file a formal complaint about me?”