What Happens at the Ranch...

by Christy Jeffries

  Tessa wanted to point out that there wasn’t really a dance floor in Big Millie’s, but her breath was caught in her throat. Agent Lopez and one of the other agents must’ve taken pity on the paired dancers because soon everyone who was off duty began moving in a circle across the wood-plank floors.

  When she and Grayson remained in place, Freckles stepped up behind Tessa, creating a two-stepping sandwich that forced Tessa even closer to Grayson. “Here, I’ll show you again, darlin’. And step, step, slide. Step, step, slide.”

  It was either start dancing or be trampled by a determined eighty-something-year-old woman in high-heeled snakeskin cowboy boots.

  “Sorry,” Tessa muttered to Grayson, who looked more amused than annoyed by her aunt’s high-handed antics. “Just get me to the other side of the bar and my aunt will find someone else to bug.”

  Surely, she and Grayson could stay close enough like this for a few seconds. Then Tessa would be able to get her breathing and her body temperature back under control.

  Chapter Eight

  Grayson was supposed to be off the clock. Instead of enjoying a long, mind-numbing run or a protein shake after an invigorating weight lifting session in the Kings’ custom gym, he was steering Tessa around several tables in some old saloon in Middle of Nowhere, Wyoming.

  At least Freckles had moved on to another couple in need of her dance instruction, or her peacekeeping skills in the case of Marcus and Mitchell Junior’s attorney.

  Grayson kept one hand on the curve of Tessa’s waist and the other clasped around the soft skin of her delicate palm. However, making his legs move in sync with hers while still maintaining his space was a lot easier said than done.

  “Maybe I should lead?” Tessa suggested after he nearly crashed them into an old-fashioned wooden barrel holding the billiard cues.

  “I can do it,” he said.

  “You need to spin me or swing me or something. Make it look realistic. Otherwise, Aunt Freckles is going to insist we keep dancing until we get it right.”

  A groan reverberated in the back of his throat, sending a vibration through him. He could feel the heat from her body against his and didn’t think he could last another song being this close to her. “Your family always seems to get what it wants.”

  “You know that expression ‘failure isn’t an option’?” she asked. He replied by spinning her to the right just in time to avoid a collision with Finn and Doherty, who were showing off some sort of pretzel maneuver in the middle of their path. “I think my family invented that expression.”

  “So nobody is allowed to fail? Or make mistakes?” he asked, thinking the code name Precision really suited her. Yesterday on the trail, she’d freely admitted that she hated being wrong. She’d also been overly concerned with what seemed to him like a mild stutter, and there was no telling how she’d react if that video footage of her lighting into Grayson in the staging tent was leaked. Even though he still stood by his decision and knew an inquiry board would likely vindicate him, he had no doubt that she wouldn’t try to save her own reputation by portraying him to be the bad guy.

  “It’s not that,” she replied. “Mistakes are okay as long as they make you better at winning.”

  Grayson slowed his steps, his eyes searching hers. “Have you ever not won, Tessa?”

  She tried to look away, but their faces were too close. Finally, she sighed and he felt her warm breath along his neck. “I’ve lost something before.”

  “Something? Just one?” he asked. Tessa didn’t respond for a few seconds. The song had changed to a slower one at some point, but their bodies were still swaying in time together. Not wanting to think about what was going on below their shoulders, he added, “Why do I feel like there’s a story there?”

  “Why do I feel like you could find out anything you wanted about me and probably already have?”

  “I only know what I need to know as it pertains to the operation.”

  She made a scoffing sound, causing her chest to press against his. Heat spread through his rib cage. “That’s right. I’m the operation. Not a person. Just a job for you.”

  “Were you hoping for something more?” He should’ve stepped back, put more distance between them. But he didn’t want her to know how her nearness was affecting him. Hell, he didn’t want to admit it to himself.

  “Of course not.” Crimson color flooded her cheeks and she was the one who took a step back. “It’s just weird hearing someone else describe me that way. I mean, at the risk of sounding conceited, I’m used to people knowing about my life. Or at least thinking they know. It’s one of the trade-offs of being the daughter of a famous man.”

  “And for being famous in your own right,” he pointed out. “Or did you forget you’re on TV every night? You’re a reporter. Everyone knows who you are.”

  “I’m not a reporter. I’m a political analyst.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Really? There’s a difference?”

  “Yes. But it seems like you already have your mind made up about that, too.”

  “It’s not my job to make up my mind about anything. Like I said, my only objective is the operation. Digging for information about your personal life would’ve crossed one of those boundaries.”

  Unfortunately, the music cut off right before he said the last sentence. Even more unfortunately, Finn King and Doherty had danced their way right up next to them and overheard his words.

  Finn looked down at his hand resting above the curve of her sister’s hip. “You and Tessa both could stand to cross a few boundaries, if you ask me.”

  Doherty let out a bark of laughter and told his dance partner, “You have no idea.”

  Grayson quickly dropped his arms to his sides as though he’d just been touching a ticking time bomb. And in a way he had. He shouldn’t have been socializing with the Kings, let alone dancing with one of them. Holding her body against his...

  He cleared his throat. “I’m only following orders.”

  “Aunt Freckles’s orders?” Finn quirked her eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you worked for her.”

  Ouch. Grayson felt the reprimand like a punch to the gut. She was right, though. He didn’t work for any of them.

  “Leave him alone, Finn.” Tessa frowned at her giggling sister, who easily spun away in Doherty’s arms. She turned back to face him. “Ignore her, Grayson. You’re off duty.”

  He shook his head. “I’m never off duty.”

  The words hung between them before he pivoted on his heel and walked toward the exit. He’d go and relieve one of the agents covering the door. The brisk night air would help to cool him down. Besides, getting back on the watch was the best way to ensure his guard didn’t slip again.

  * * *

  Tessa tried not to think of the way her body had so easily slid against Grayson’s last night when they’d been dancing at Big Millie’s. She rarely drank socially—at least not since that party in college when she’d had a few too many and her speech had gotten a little too slurry—so she hadn’t expected the craft beer to go to her head so quickly. That was the only reason why she’d allowed herself to dance so close to the sexy agent. The only reason why she’d let his words about her just being part of his operation provoke her into making him prove otherwise.

  At least, that’s what she told herself while she brushed her teeth the following morning.

  Okay, so maybe she had been flirting with him a bit last night. Thankfully, he’d called her out on it, asking her if she’d been hoping for something more between them. Then Finn had come along and made that joke about them crossing boundaries and Grayson had switched right back into serious agent mode—which was what Tessa needed him to do.

  One of them had to retain some sense of control.

  Tessa waited until she knew both her mother and Aunt Freckles would be out of the kitchen before hunting down a cup of hot coffe
e so that she could feel slightly more human. A black SUV pulled up in the driveway, but before she could see who exited, Tessa scooped several newspapers off the kitchen table, and a freshly made cinnamon roll, and headed to her father’s office. Thank goodness Roper King had always insisted on reading his news in print. She was less likely to run across a sensationalized picture of her in the black-and-white Wall Street Journal than she would online. And even though she was in a sense hiding out, Tessa still needed to stay sharp for her job.

  The current events of today would likely be old news by tomorrow, and she wouldn’t know what exactly she was looking for until she found it. But researching something—anything—gave her a sense of purpose and she always dove deep into anything she did.

  After a few hours, though, the tiny letters on the pages started running together and her notes on the yellow pad beside her became impossible to decipher. Needing a break, Tessa took a couple of Tylenol to cut down on the pounding in her temples. She wasn’t hungover from the night before, exactly, but she didn’t think getting back on a horse today would do her head any favors.

  Plus, she didn’t want to risk having Grayson follow her again. Or worse, having him turn over the protective detail to another agent. That would mean that he was pissed off with her. It was a lose-lose situation, and the thought of losing always sent Tessa’s nerves into overdrive.

  Tessa grabbed a pair of sneakers and her wireless earbuds and set off on a run instead. She was only half a mile from the house when she realized that Grayson trailed behind her. Something fluttered inside her heart—or maybe she was just winded from her initial sprint up this hill. Either way, she turned up her music and pretended he wasn’t there.

  And for his part, he stayed a safe distance behind her.

  Good, she told herself, picking up speed until she hit her stride. With each step she took, her thoughts cleared, her control returned. By the time she jogged back to the main house and showered, it was time for dinner with her family. Instead of engaging in the various arguments breaking out around the table, Tessa sipped her way through half a bottle of Cabernet, less worried about her speech slipping since she wasn’t in public. In fact, she hadn’t had to speak at all with all the voices spouting off around her. Wondering why Duke wasn’t at dinner made her drink more.

  Unfortunately, the wine and the constant bickering brought back her headache the following morning, and she repeated the same cycle as the day before.

  Except, having exhausted her research on current events yesterday, she finally gave in and booted up her laptop. She began scrolling through her bookmarked online articles about traumatic brain injury until her head was swimming.

  That afternoon, she set off on another run. Again, Grayson remained several yards behind. It didn’t take long for a pattern to develop. For the rest of the week, any time she set off on a run or on a horseback ride—or even a quick trip on one of the ATVs to look at the southern fence line with Uncle Rider—the agent always stayed a respectable distance back.

  A comfortable silence had settled between them, as though they were simply a pair of coworkers going about their jobs. It was a good reminder that Tessa was on duty, as well. She needed to work on her speech patterns and vocal exercises and stay abreast of everything else going on in the world. Luckily, fewer and fewer news headlines included her.

  Until the day that she was returning to the stables on Phoebe and saw a black helicopter on the small helipad behind the bunkhouses. Grayson—who’d somehow managed to get Chandler to trust him again—raced ahead of her on his noble steed, as though he was going to throw his body in front of hers if so much as a single camera lens came into view.

  This particular helicopter, though, wasn’t some sightseeing charter for rent. It was an Airbus Super Puma, the cost way above the budget of most paparazzi and local news networks. It was also grounded, rather than being chased away by the fighter jets on standby. That meant whoever had landed it clearly wasn’t a threat.

  Still, Grayson held Tessa and Phoebe at a standstill by angling his horse right in front of the mare. Cupping a hand over his ear, he spoke to someone on the other end of his radio.

  His eyes were hidden behind those damn sunglasses again, but she knew they were inspecting the area around them, taking in every potential threat. When he finally pivoted in his saddle to face her, his mouth was set in a grim line.

  “It appears you have a visitor, Miss King.”

  Tessa’s stomach sank. While Grayson hadn’t said more than a handful of words to her since the night they’d danced at Big Millie’s, none of them had been Miss or King. Or anything else quite as formal. Clearly, he was back to taking his role as protector way too seriously.

  She was about to ask who the visitor was, but the front door of the main house opened and she didn’t have to.

  Davis Townsend. He’d called a few times since the pictures of her and Agent Steamy—Agent Wyatt, she mentally corrected herself—had come out. She’d called back once and ended up speaking to his personal assistant, who’d answered his phone. Then they’d only managed a few texts here and there. Tessa still hadn’t formally rejected—or accepted—his proposal of marriage, so she shouldn’t have been surprised that he would’ve flown out here expecting an answer.

  “There you are, sweetheart!” he said as he approached Tessa and her horse. The woman she recognized as his press secretary was holding a smartphone at an odd angle, clearly prepared to capture a picture of what Davis probably planned as a loving reunion.

  Tessa had been a part of politics for so long, she knew all the tricks. That was why she remained in the saddle, letting her horse walk in slow circles to cool down after the ride. “Davis? What are you doing here?”

  “I had a break between town hall appearances and thought I’d surprise you.” He planned to run for reelection for his district next November, but she knew he had his sights already set on the senatorial election coming up in two years.

  “What’s up with Debra?” Tessa jerked her chin toward his press secretary. “Didn’t she get the memo about the ranch rules restricting camera access?”

  “Oh that?” Davis looked back and gave a hand signal to the woman who quickly slipped her phone into her purse. “She must not have realized that applied to personal devices. After everything that’s going on in the press, though, I understand you being hesitant about being photographed. Speaking of the press, I figured it’s been long enough that I should come out here and put those rumors about you and that—” he hesitated “—bodyguard of yours to rest once and for all.”

  She snuck a peak at Grayson, whose stoic face didn’t reveal that he’d just heard every word, even though he’d moved a few yards away and was maintaining a professional distance. At some point during the week, the agent had gotten a more suitable shirt—denim with snap buttons—and real boots. He could almost pass for an actual cowboy to the untrained eye.

  Davis’s eye, of course, was very untrained. Or, as he often pointed out, he met so many people on the campaign trail, it was difficult for him to always put a name with a face. Sure, he could easily recognize the big donors, the top news executives and the political powerhouses. Yet, he could never remember the names of restaurant servers or event staff or even a few of his interns. A trait her father would’ve openly commented on if he’d witnessed it—and not favorably. She had no doubt that Davis was currently assuming that Grayson was just another cowboy working her family’s ranch, which meant he wasn’t worthy of a second glance.

  Tessa swallowed her embarrassment on Grayson’s behalf. “Davis, I’m sure you remember Agent Wyatt. Agent Wyatt, you already know Congressman Townsend.”

  “Of course.” Grayson, who was still cooling down his own horse and probably had some sort of set of rules about shaking hands with anyone while he was on duty, barely nodded. “Although we weren’t formally introduced last time.”

  “Last time?”
Davis tilted his head, the confusion obvious along his very tanned brow. Was that bronzer?

  “Feel free to refer to me as that bodyguard.” Grayson’s face remained perfectly devoid of expression as he repeated the congressman’s earlier description. “Or Agent Steamy. I’ll answer to both.”

  “Aha!” Davis smiled his most charming smile, as though he wasn’t the least bit embarrassed to be called out on his mistake. “Forgive me, Agent Wyatt. I didn’t recognize you out of uniform.”

  “Should I take the mare back to the stables for you, Miss King?” Grayson asked. He knew full well that she always insisted on being the one to give Phoebe her rubdown and oats after a ride.

  “No, thanks,” Tessa said, then turned to Davis. “I need to take care of my horse. You can wait for me at the main house if you want.”

  Davis’s eyes darted between her and Grayson. He kept his smile in place, but Tessa sensed the jealousy vibrating in the air. After all, he’d already admitted that the only reason he was there was to put to rest the rumors about her with another man. Besides, having busy careers on opposite ends of the country meant that they were used to going months at a time without seeing each other. His being here after barely a week could mean only one thing. He was a desperate man making a desperate last-ditch attempt to maintain the appearance that all was well between them.

  But it wasn’t. And she couldn’t—wouldn’t—pretend.

  “I’ll help,” Davis said and walked alongside her.

  It was just as well, Tessa decided. She needed to put the man out of his misery once and for all.

  She slid off her mare and loosened the cinch before leading her toward the stables, which housed almost one hundred horses at any given time. During herding season, which lasted from sunup to sundown, each cattle hand used at least two different horses a day so the animals weren’t overworked.

  Once inside, they passed the stock horses, the show horses and the trail horses. The rows of stalls were aptly named with little wooden signs Dahlia had once carved during summer camp. In addition to the Infirmary and Central Perk, there was also Shady Acres, a retirement community of sorts for horses of an advanced age, and Alcatraz, where they kept the animals that hadn’t been amenable to riders or any sort of training—yet. Uncle Rider refused to ever give up on a horse.