Cowboy Bodyguard

by Dana Mentink

  He reached down and took the baby, hoisting the wriggling bundle and putting her to his chest.

  “Hey, Little Bit. You had some adventure, didn’t you?” He rocked her, while Shannon climbed out. Her hair was mussed. He could not help himself. He roped her to him with his free arm, inhaling the scent of her shampoo and the musk of the secret room.

  “Don’t ever do that again, okay?” he breathed.

  “What? Outsmart a biker with my keen intellect and problem-solving skills?”

  He laughed, long and hard. “You’re beginning to sound like me.”

  “That’ll be the day.”

  “Let’s go downstairs. Larraby should be arriving soon.”

  “Okay,” she said, “but you get to do the 4:00 a.m. feeding.”

  “I think I can handle that.”

  Shannon and Jack, with Annabell in tow, arrived in the kitchen just as Larraby came through the door. Shannon related the narrow escape to her mother and uncle.

  Oscar pawed his beard. “Who would have thought that old trapdoor would come in handy? I meant to nail it up ages ago.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t,” she said. “I don’t like to think how it would have ended if Viper cornered us before we were hidden.”

  Larraby held up a hand as Oscar started to reply. “Hold on. Before we get into the full details of what happened here tonight, there’s something you need to know ASAP.” He fixed Hazel and Oscar with a look. “Too bad there’s a vacancy sign in the window.”

  “Too bad?” Oscar said. “Why?”

  Larraby jerked back the lace curtain. A string of three motorcycles rolled up the drive.

  “The Tide?” Shannon breathed.

  “No. The advance team for the Aces on their way to Wheels Up, but if they find out the Tide is here, there’s going to be a war, and this whole town will be caught in the cross fire.”

  * * *

  Larraby’s words beat an oppressive rhythm in his brain as Jack did a quick shave and pulled on his boots. Since the inn technically didn’t open until 5:00 a.m. for check-ins, they had some time after they finished bringing Larraby up to speed. As Jack predicted, he’d lobbied for protective custody for Shannon and Annabell. Shannon flatly refused, and Hazel stood silent at her shoulder. Dina needs time, and I promised to give it to her, she’d insisted. She doesn’t trust the police.

  Jack felt as frustrated as Larraby by the time he left. How exactly were they going to keep Shannon and the baby safe in the hotel when the Tide, and now the Aces, were circling like wolves? He wanted to bring them all back to the Gold Bar, where he knew every inch of land like the back of his hand, but he knew Shannon would veto the idea.

  He found Oscar with his arm around Hazel, behind the old-oak front desk. Shannon was filling coffee cups for the early risers, who chatted in the dining room over platters of Hazel’s legendary currant scones. He took up a spot near the open French doors, unloading mugs from the tubs and stacking them neatly on the table for the later arrivals. This gave him an optimal position to see what would unfold as the Aces arrived.

  At the stroke of five, the door creaked open, and three bikers walked in, wearing Ace patches on their sleeveless leather vests. Two were men, broad as barn doors, with muscular arms made in the gym. The other was a woman, small and lean, her curly hair tied behind a green bandanna.

  The taller man spoke first. “Need a couple of rooms.”

  Hazel swallowed. Oscar tightened his grip. “Sorry. We don’t have anything available.”

  The man’s thick eyebrow winged up. “Sign says vacancy.”

  “We’ve had to close a couple of the rooms to clean the carpets.” Oscar shrugged. “Mold.”

  The woman with the bandanna smiled, but her eyes were cold. “Let’s cut through the chitchat. We know we have a reputation, and you’re scared of us. Don’t feel bad. Everyone is, but we’re not here for trouble. Just passing through on our way to Wheels Up, checking out the town for our family. I looked into the end room over there, and it’s empty. Looks like it’s got two twin beds and a sofa. Plenty of places to crash.” She smiled. “Hardwood floors, too, so you won’t be needing any carpets cleaned.”

  Oscar huffed out a breath. “We have the right to decide who’s going to stay on our property.”

  The two men eased forward, their bellies pressed against the shiny wood. Jack tensed, putting down the mugs.

  The taller one toyed with a lighter. Hazel stared at it, as if in a daze, while the man spoke. “Our brothers are rolling through at the end of the week, and we wouldn’t want to tell them this was a town filled with unfriendly folks. Aces have long memories.”

  Jack stalked through the door. “Is that a threat?”

  All three stared at him. The woman laughed. “No, it’s a deal. You give us a room, and you get no trouble. Refuse us, and bad things will happen.”

  Jack tried to contain the ire stampeding around his belly. In the herd, there was always a dominant horse, strong, quick to kick or bite the submissives to keep them in their place. These three were all posture and pretense. No way was he going to let them intimidate good people like Oscar and Hazel.

  He eyed the patch on the woman’s vest. “‘Property of Pinball’? You consider yourself property, then?” The thought revolted him.

  She glared and tipped her chin up. “I belong to Pinball because I choose to.”

  When had the world gotten so mixed up that a woman would actually choose to be a man’s property? His own mother would laugh herself silly over that notion. He couldn’t even imagine what Shannon would say, and he didn’t dare turn around to catch her expression.

  The tall man clapped her on the shoulder. “Let’s go, Tiffany. They’ve made their choice.” He continued to fidget with the lighter. “I heard there were a couple of bikers in town last night.”

  “Yeah? Who’d you hear that from?” Jack said.

  “Don’t matter, just so you know the Aces own this part of the world.”

  Jack stood taller. “You don’t own squat, here.”

  The guy’s face went white. “Anyone showing their colors in this town is a dead man.”

  Tiffany laughed. “No one would dare, Donny.”

  Donny returned Jack’s hard stare. “Heard it might have been the Tide.”

  Tiffany blinked, her mouth forming an O-shape of surprise. “No way. What would they be doing on our turf?”

  “Waiting to die, I guess,” Donny said, his gaze detaching from Jack and drifting across the room to Shannon, who was refilling cups. Jack could tell she was listening in on the conversation. The tremble in her hand gave her away. Could Donny tell also?

  The three meandered to the door. Donny tapped his lighter on the tabletops along the way. “Too bad we couldn’t come to an agreement.” He stopped and flicked the trigger a few times, the little flame dancing and retreating.

  “Wait,” Hazel called after them.

  They turned.

  “You can have the end unit. That’s all.”

  Oscar gaped. “But...”

  Donny nodded. “Smart choice. We got something to do, and then we’ll be back to check in.” With one more taunting glance at Jack, he led the way out, and they left, chuckling.

  Shannon joined Jack and Oscar, who were staring at Hazel. Without a word, Shannon took her mother’s plump hand.

  Jack gaped. “Why did you rent them a room?”

  “I have to,” Hazel mumbled.

  “That’s crazy. You can’t let them stay here, Mrs. Livingston.”

  “Yes, she can.” Shannon’s tone was fierce. “The Aces aren’t after us, and maybe they can keep the Tide away.”

  He tried to decipher it all. “But...”

  “Stop it, Jack.”

  There was more. Much more, but it was not the place, so he swallowed his question and closed his mou
th.

  “When I go upstairs, I’ll tell Marie to get the room ready for them, okay, Mom?”

  Hazel nodded. “I didn’t want to...” Tears shimmered in her eyes.

  Shannon pressed a kiss to her cheek. “None of that.” Her tone was bright, forced. “You run an inn, right? Can’t go around turning down paying customers, can you?”

  Jack raised an eyebrow.

  “There’s no more to be said.” Shannon fired the words at him like arrows as she stalked to the stairwell. “I’m going to check on the baby. I asked Marie to watch her for a while, but now she’s got to go prep the room.”

  Jack hustled to catch her as she climbed the stairs. He heard Annabell’s muffled gurgle.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded, before she could disappear into her room.

  “Nothing but the obvious.”

  “No games, Shannon. I’m serious.”

  “Do I look like I’m not?”

  She looked breathtaking with her hair in disarray and the gold of her irises kindled to flame.

  Something deep inside his soul flickered to life, too, and it was a flame he had to douse. Pronto.

  He took a breath and tried again. “I need to know what’s going on, and you need to tell me. Now.”

  He’d said his piece, and now he could only play the wait-and-see game.

  Waiting for Shannon.

  Just like I’ve been doing all my life.

  * * *

  Shannon knew from the stiff line of Jack’s shoulders that she was not going to put him off with her take-charge, emergency-room demeanor. He was not an orderly to be given directives. She’d only managed to boss him when he allowed it. It was one of the things she loved about him and would never in a million years admit. She blew out a breath.

  “This inn means everything to my mom. My great-grandfather bought it. It’s the only thing she has left, and we almost lost it before, during my senior year.”

  He folded his tanned arms and listened in that intense way he’d always had, as if every syllable that came from her mouth was golden.

  She fought back the beginning of tears. Don’t you dare cry, Shannon. “The inn was struggling, and my father’s newest investment business was tanking, though he only admitted it when his car was repossessed. He was looking for a way out, and the inn was heavily insured.”

  Something stirred in the oceanic depths of his eyes. More silent listening.

  She tried to clear the stubborn lump from her throat. “Dad figured if the inn were to burn down, the insurance payout would fix everything. Mom said no, one of the only times I can recall she ever did to him. No. She shouted it, screamed it at him. I can still hear it when I close my eyes.”

  Jack’s mouth twitched, and she found herself saying the rest. “Dad decided to burn it down anyway. We found him getting ready to set the match to the gasoline. I...I stopped him.” There. She’d said it. Finally.

  It was as if she was remembering a snippet of a movie from someone else’s life. In jerky slow motion, she saw herself racing for the shotgun in the hall closet. Tears streaming. “Stop, Daddy. Stop, or I will shoot.”

  He’d laughed, until the first blast whistled over his shoulder, the shot hammering her eardrum with the force of a pneumatic drill.

  “Think about what you’re doing, Shannon. I’ll never come back if I leave now,” he’d said. “Never.”

  A chill crept up her body at the memory.

  “I won’t let you do it, Daddy. I can’t.” She realized Jack was still staring at her. “He dropped the match and left for good. Mom and I put it out ourselves.”

  He reached out those long fingers as if he would touch her. “I remember there was a small fire. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Her smile was shaky. “Now, what girl would like to tell her boyfriend about that kind of sordid detail?”

  His tone was tender as a spring morning. “The kind who trusts him.”

  “This isn’t about you, Jack.”

  He exhaled slowly. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. My past has made me strong and determined. I’m not the type to blubber over it.” Infuriatingly, her throat clogged anyway, tears threatening to undo her bold speech. She shook her head to clear it. “That’s water under the bridge, but the inn...it’s everything. Do you...can you understand that?” She could not hide the break in her voice.

  He reached for her as if there was no legacy of pain between them and enfolded her in his arms. She could not turn away. The muscled feel of him was familiar, even after so many years, as if a part of her would always belong with Jack Thorn. It unsettled her and set her senses reeling.

  “I understand.” He tipped her gently from side to side, like there was silent music playing that only he could hear. “And Donny’s threat with the lighter scared your mother. And you,” he murmured into her hair.

  “I wasn’t scared,” she said into his shirtfront.

  She felt the rumble of a laugh in his chest. “I know, Shan. You’re never scared.”

  Yes, I am. She pulled away, searching. “What about you? Never scared?”

  “Been scared plenty.”

  “I hate the feeling, hate it. What’s the cure?”

  She could not look away from the silky smile. “God’s got this, like He has every moment of our lives.”

  God, the phantom cure-all, the great, invisible fixer in the sky. Backing out of his arms, she shook her head. “You may see evidence of God in your life, but He’s nowhere in mine. Never has been. As I’ve told you, I believe in science.”

  “They’re not mutually exclusive.”

  “They are for me.” She straightened her hair to give her hands something to do, wondering how in the world she’d come to be spilling her guts about her father and talking about God in the stairwell with Jack Thorn, wearing his wedding ring, no less.

  The baby’s cries grew louder.

  “I need to go relieve Marie.”

  Now his smile was teasing. “Know a lot about babies, do you?”

  “I babysat once.” And the infant had screamed so loud and so long, she’d deposited it in the crib and called her mother for help within the first hour. “What? I suppose you’re an expert?”

  He shrugged. “I know a thing or two. I’ve got bushels of cousins.”

  The baby’s wails reached screech level. Fussy didn’t quite capture it.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” she said.

  He headed for his own room, his long legs eating up the hallway.

  She unlocked the door. Annabell’s small form was tense, tiny fists clenched and spasming in the uncoordinated way of infants.

  “I can’t seem to soothe her,” Marie said, gray frizzy hair framing her face. “I guess maybe I’m rusty.”

  “No problem. I’ll take it from here. We’ve got some guests checking in, so Mom needs your help.”

  After Marie left, she went to the baby and patted her gently on the tummy, inserting the pacifier, which Annabell promptly spit out. She checked the diaper, noted the still-warm bottle on the nightstand, half-full. She put it to Annabell’s lips, but she jerked her head away, skin dusky with screaming.

  “Easy does it. Your mama should be back anytime now.”

  Stroking the baby with one hand, she checked her phone messages with the other, her heart sinking as she read the one from Dina.

  Haven’t found him yet. Still looking.

  She texted back. How much longer?

  Soon. I promise. Keep her safe. She’s all I have.

  Breath gone shallow, she texted Jack.

  SIX

  Shannon was relieved when Jack made it to her room. “What’d the text say?”

  She thrust her phone at him. “‘Soon.’ What does that mean?”

  “Means as soon as she can. D
on’t see why you’re all fired up.”

  “Why am I all fired up?” Shannon’s ears vibrated with the baby’s shrieks. Such enormous volume from a set of lungs that could only process fifteen milliliters of air per minute. “Because I don’t know how to take care of babies, and I panicked,” she all but shrieked.

  He had the audacity to laugh, so she turned away, resisting the urge to sock him one. “You’re a doctor,” she muttered under her breath, regretting her decision to text him. “You know all about infant anatomy and behavior. Now go fix the problem.” She’d practically brought babies back to life after horrendous car accidents, sustained their fragile vitals until specialists could be summoned. Once she’d even delivered a baby on the floor of the hospital elevator.

  Pulling in a deep breath, she gathered up the creature, stunned again at the unsubstantial heft, six pounds, maybe seven, no more. She put the baby to her shoulder and patted her back. Still, Annabell screamed, hot tears squeezing from between her tightly closed eyes, mouth open, pink and wide, as a baby bird’s. Her doctor brain supplied the glaring message in spite of the din. “She feels warm to me.”

  Jack acknowledged with a nod. “I’ll phone Mom to get the name of the new pediatrician in town.”

  The back patting did no good, so she switched to rocking the baby in her arms the way she’d seen the nurses do during her pediatric rotation. This only succeeded in ratcheting up the screaming. Weren’t women supposed to be wired to know how to soothe babies? It was a crazy notion, that just because a human happened to have a uterus, she would automatically know how to tend a baby. She scanned her brain for any scant memory left over from her long-ago medical-school textbooks about how to quiet a colicky infant. Nothing. Her memory was normally infallible. Now twinges of panic rippled through her. “This is why you’re not sure you ever want one of these, remember?”

  Jack disconnected. “Mom’s going to text back in a minute,” he said over the screaming, thrusting out his arms.

  Shannon was only too happy to bundle the baby into his care.

  Jack draped Annabell, tummy down, over one of his forearms and gently sandwiched her with the other. He started to sing a song about a horse trotting over grassy green hills with a tot in the saddle. The lyrics were ridiculous, the tune simple, the results jaw-dropping.