Wyatt (7 Brides for 7 Soldiers #4)

by Lynn Raye Harris

  “My next job.”

  Ryder blinked. “A job?”

  “Yeah. Some reality show star who’s acquired an obsessed fan. She’s coming here to get away from Seattle for a while.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  Wyatt folded his arms over his chest and glanced out the windows. A plane was coming in for a landing. Must be the one.

  “Not really,” he said.

  “But you took the job.”

  He shrugged. “Couldn’t refuse the pay.”

  Ryder looked confused. “Thought you had all that combat pay saved up?”

  Yeah, his friends had been talking about him. Wyatt had only mentioned the combat pay to Zane this morning. It hadn’t come up before because nobody’d asked. And now Ryder knew, which meant he and Zane—and Adam, probably—were playing telephone tag.

  “I do. But money’s money.”

  Which Ryder would know, coming from the rich side of town. He’d always been the golden boy, the heir to the Westbrook fortune, and he understood instinctively the value of a dollar. Wyatt knew his friend was more complicated than that, and that he’d struggled with the expectations of his family. Still, Ryder didn’t know what it was like to fear losing his home or his savings.

  “True. So what show is she from?”

  “American Princess.”

  Ryder shook his head. “Never heard of it.”

  “Me neither. Apparently it’s a thing though.” He jerked his head at the plane as it touched down on the runway. “This girl is the catty one everybody hates. Or so I’ve been told.”

  “You don’t know? I’d have thought you’d Google her as soon as you took the job.”

  “The security firm sent over a dossier. There were no clips of the show. Besides, I had to hang shelves for Hildie Fontana. Damn woman talked so much it took three times as long as it should have. I barely escaped.”

  Ryder burst out laughing. “Damn, dude. How’d you get roped into doing anything for Hildie? You know she can’t stop talking. How she manages to collect any gossip when she never shuts up long enough to listen is a mystery to me.”

  Wyatt agreed. “Gran told her I’d do it. I couldn’t say no after that.”

  “So who’s cheating on who this week?”

  “Couldn’t say. I tuned her out.”

  Ryder clapped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Smart man. Hey, as much as I want to see this TV star of yours, I gotta get out of here. Promised Bailey I’d be home on time tonight.”

  “Tell her I said hi.”

  “I will. Talk to you later.”

  Ryder strolled away, and Wyatt went back to watching the gate. He knew what Paige Spencer looked like, thanks to the dossier Hawk had sent him. She was five-two, blond, and able to convey her superiority with a single arched eyebrow. The production stills from American Princess were illuminating in that regard.

  She was the daughter of Greg Spencer, the founder and co-owner of SpenTech, a firm that built specialized circuit boards for aircraft. Spencer had a house in Eagle’s Ridge, a fishing retreat a few miles out of town that sat on a spectacular curve in the river. It would be easy to take Paige there and wait while the police sorted out her crazed-fan situation in Seattle, but Wyatt didn’t trust the easy way. No, he was taking her up the mountain and staying in a vacation rental cabin there until he got the all clear.

  Hawk had agreed it was the best plan. He’d made the arrangements to rent the place and get Wyatt the equipment he needed to monitor their surroundings. All he had to do now was collect Paige Spencer and drive her up there.

  Wyatt crossed his arms and legs and leaned against the wall, waiting as the plane taxied up to the terminal. There was no jet bridge yet, though as the new airport owner, Ryder was working on that during his expansion. The passengers had to walk down a set of stairs that were rolled up to the aircraft and then up another set of stairs to get inside the terminal. It was curious that Paige Spencer was flying commercial when her daddy most certainly had a jet of his own. Probably several.

  But hey, rich people. Who knew why they did what they did?

  Wyatt didn’t have too long to wait. Passengers started to emerge from the gate area, rolling wheeled bags or carrying backpacks. Some were returning residents, others were tourists. They got a lot of tourists throughout the summer. Folks started coming around Founders’ Day in March and kept on coming until the first snow fell. Even then, Eagle’s Ridge had enough winter activities to keep people coming in, though in fewer numbers.

  The flood of passengers turned to a trickle. Wyatt frowned and took out his phone. He had no messages from Hawk. No notice that the plan had changed.

  He waited a few more minutes. Just when he was ready to dial Hawk, a small blond woman emerged. She looked pissed too. Behind her, a hulking man carried a pink pet carrier.

  Shit.

  Just what he needed, some yappy-ass dog barking at every sound and movement that happened over the next few days. He pictured a Chihuahua—tiny, barky, and wearing a jeweled collar—that Miss Paige Spencer would cuddle and coo a raft of nonsense to.

  Why had he agreed to this again?

  Oh yeah, he liked money. And, truth be told, he was starting to get a little bored. Not that he didn’t like working with his hands and building things, but he’d spent so many years fighting to stay alive in the face of danger that anything else started to seem a little surreal after a while.

  He pushed away from the wall and strode toward the pint-sized blonde. She had a look of utter determination on her face. Her hair bounced as she walked. He let his gaze slide down her body.

  Curves everywhere. Killer curves. She wore a skintight red dress beneath a black blazer with the sleeves shoved to her elbows and a pair of sky-high heels that looked more than painful. Maybe those shoes were the source of her sour look.

  Still, she was pretty. Gorgeous, actually. He didn’t have much experience with TV or movie stars, but she looked like she fit right in with everything he’d ever seen about Hollywood.

  She glided to a stop as he stepped in her path. She was a little thing, but she didn’t even miss a beat. “Move it, or I’ll make Bruce move you.”

  Wyatt didn’t know whether to laugh or snort in derision. He opted for returning her arched brow with one of his own. He’d faced down worse than her.

  “Sorry, sweetheart, but I’m your ride while you’re in town.”

  Bruce stood behind her, grinning almost gleefully. Wyatt didn’t have time to wonder because the instant Paige turned her glare on the man, his face went blank.

  “Your father arranged a security escort for you, Miss Spencer. I’m headed back to Seattle on the next flight.”

  So she hadn’t known that little bit of information. Judging by the way her body stiffened, she wasn’t happy about it either.

  Well, neither was he. There were other ways to earn money.

  Except, with Gran’s diabetes, Wyatt didn’t know when he might need an influx of cash to help care for her. The more he could save, the better. She wouldn’t take a dime from him right now—he’d tried—but she might need it eventually.

  “Are you even planning to ask him for identification?” Paige asked Bruce, her voice dripping with derision. “Or did you plan on handing me over and hightailing it back to the aircraft?”

  Wyatt didn’t like her tone, but he admired her thought process. One point for Miss Paige Spencer.

  “I don’t need identification, Miss Spencer. He matches the photo the security agency sent over. Name’s Wyatt Chandler, and he’s qualified.”

  Wyatt slid his wallet from his pocket and pulled out his driver’s license. “Here,” he said, holding it out to Paige, knowing she wouldn’t be settled until she saw it for herself. She snatched it and studied the information. Then she lifted her pretty green-brown eyes and studied him.

  A moment later, she handed the license back. Then she snapped her fingers at Bruce, who stepped forward and held out the pink pet carrier. At first, Wyatt wa
s too bemused by the whole thing to even realize that Bruce was holding it for him.

  But then it jarred into his brain that Paige had just treated both him and this Bruce guy like the hired help.

  And maybe they were the hired help, but he wasn’t that kind of help.

  “Sorry, I’m allergic,” he lied. “You’ll have to carry it yourself.”

  Paige’s brows drew together. “Mr. Fluffypants weighs twenty pounds.”

  Mr. Fluffypants?

  “Then put him on a leash and walk him to the car. But I’m not carrying him.”

  “He doesn’t walk on a leash.”

  “What the hell kind of dog doesn’t walk on a leash?” Wyatt demanded.

  This time her eyebrows climbed her forehead. Bruce turned the cage so Wyatt could get a good look at the animal inside.

  A giant cat blinked back at him with blue eyes that said he was clearly superior to anything in this room. Hell, possibly in this state. The cat had long silver- and cream-colored fur. He was a gorgeous cat.

  But he was also a cat. Wyatt didn’t care for cats a whole lot. They were cold and superior for the most part. But then again, so was this cat’s owner.

  “Mr. Fluffypants is a cat,” Paige said with a sniff. “And I can’t carry his cage and this purse too.”

  Her purse was at least half as big as she was. He never understood what women carried in those things, but apparently they needed a lot of room for it.

  “Then I suggest you get a luggage cart,” Wyatt told her.

  Bruce was biting his lip and trying not to laugh. Wyatt wanted to shake the man and ask him why the hell he put up with this girl’s crap. She was rich, sure, but that was no reason to take her shit.

  Bruce set the cat carrier down and backed away as Paige turned to him. Clearly, she was planning to order him to take Mr. Fluffypants to Wyatt’s truck. Bruce knew it as well as he did.

  “Sorry, Miss Spencer, but I gotta be on that flight. Your father wants me back tonight. There’s no time to spare.”

  After he turned and headed back down the steps, Paige whirled, her long hair swirling around her shoulders like a shampoo commercial. Her eyes were wide, her lips pink and glistening.

  Damn, she was pretty.

  “Who’s going to help me get all my things to the car?”

  “Like I said, you need a luggage cart. I’ll watch the cat while you get one.”

  Chapter 3

  Paige stared at the impossibly tall, broad, and extremely handsome man standing across from her like he was some kind of gunslinger—feet spread, arms dangling at his sides like he was about to quick draw on her, catlike reflexes primed and ready to explode—and felt a wave of despair crash over her.

  It had been a long day. First, the network had announced the show was going on hiatus for the foreseeable future. She’d been this close to signing a deal to manufacture her own line of clothing—a deal her father had nothing to do with—and the company backed out when the show’s prospects changed. If there was no American Princess, then where would she showcase her designs?

  Without that guaranteed exposure, Hardy Manufacturing felt the venture was too risky. Paige had literally gone from a meeting in which she was about to shake hands on contract negotiations to sitting alone in the restaurant when one of the executives got a call from a friend at the studio.

  They’d known the fate of the show before she had. It still grated, especially since she’d had her dream in her grasp. The show was merely the vehicle to get her where she wanted to go—but now the vehicle not only had a flat tire, it might very well have blown an engine too.

  As if her day couldn’t get any worse, Paige had discovered a new letter from the man who called himself her biggest fan in her pile of mail. She was used to weird fan mail, but getting it at her home was alarming enough that she’d called the studio. They’d gotten the police involved, her father had stepped in, and now here she was in Nowheresville.

  Wyatt William Chandler—according to his driver’s license—was tall, sexy, and taciturn. He didn’t display even an ounce of pity in those amber eyes. He truly expected her to get a luggage cart and load Mr. Fluffypants onto it. Then he probably thought she’d slip over to baggage claim and get her own suitcases while he watched. Did he expect her to load them into his car as well?

  Anger roared through her. This was not how an employee was supposed to behave. She was tired and upset. She wanted a hot shower and a bed.

  But this man insisted on being difficult in a day of difficulties. She wanted to fly at him—but it would get her nowhere. He was stronger than she was, and he didn’t look inclined to respond to her fury.

  Paige sucked in a deep breath. Let it out.

  Sucked in another. Let it out.

  She pasted on a smile. It shook at the edges. “I’ll pay you two hundred dollars to get the cart and load everything for me. Cash money. You don’t even have to report it to my father.”

  His frown deepened. A muscle at the corner of his jaw flexed. A prickle of alarm began to tingle in her belly.

  “A thousand,” she said before he could speak. “Surely that’s enough incentive.”

  “No.” One word, clipped and angry.

  Paige blinked. What was she missing here? In her experience, people wanted to be paid. Name the right price, and most people would do what you asked. It was tiring in a way, but it worked. She’d learned that lesson early in life, and she’d never been wrong.

  Wyatt Chandler’s eyes blazed hot as he glared at her. His nostrils flared and she thought he might be on the verge of losing his temper. She shot a glance over her shoulder, hoping beyond hope that Bruce might have returned, but of course he had not.

  When she met Wyatt’s gaze again, his brows were drawn low over those stormy hot eyes. He stalked past her and picked up Mr. Fluffypants.

  Apparently, he could be bought. Somehow, that disappointed her.

  But then he opened his mouth.

  “Get this straight, Miss Spencer—I’m here to protect you, not fetch and carry for you. Ask nicely, and I’ll help you every time. But I don’t take bribes and I damned sure don’t respond to haughty looks and snapping fingers from pampered princesses who think they’re better than everyone else. Got it?”

  “I wasn’t bribing you,” she protested. “I was bartering for a service. There is a difference.”

  “Come on,” he growled, turning on his heel and striding off. Paige hurried to keep up, scooting along in her Louboutins faster than she’d thought possible. They were pinching her feet, but she didn’t dare slow down to slip her flats from her bag. Not that she expected Wyatt Chandler would get away from her. She’d never been to Eagle’s Ridge, but if the airport was anything to go by, it wasn’t precisely a large metropolis.

  More like Podunk, USA. Daddy liked to fish and hunt, and he’d bought a retreat here. She didn’t like any of those things. She liked food delivery, spas and salons, shopping, and culture. Therefore, she’d never visited Eagle’s Ridge. Daddy said they had winter sports, but she’d rather go to Aspen or Tahoe. Not to mention, she wasn’t going to be locked up with Melanie, Daddy’s third wife, for any length of time if she could help it.

  Paige was winded by the time she caught up to Wyatt at baggage claim. The only suitcases still spinning around on the small carousel were hers. He set Mr. Fluffypants down and retrieved a luggage cart.

  “I’m assuming those fancy things are yours.”

  “Yes.”

  He stacked the two Louis Vuitton suitcases on the cart, put Mr. Fluffypants on top, and started pushing the cart toward the door. Paige followed wearily. He crossed the parking lot to a very large and shiny black truck with four doors.

  “Go ahead and get in,” he told her as he unlocked it.

  Paige thought about putting on her flats again, but vanity won out. Besides, she’d already walked a mile in the damned heels, and now she was about to sit down. She opened the door and climbed inside, arranging herself on the seat. The inter
ior was big, like the man. She didn’t think she’d ever ridden in a pickup truck before.

  Wyatt loaded everything and shut the door. The instant he did so, Mr. Fluffypants started meowing. After all his silence throughout the trip, Paige was almost shocked to hear his kitty voice.

  “It’s okay, sweetie,” she said. “Mama’s taking you somewhere safe.”

  Wyatt returned from where he’d gone to take the cart back, flipping his keys on his finger, and climbed inside. He turned whiskey eyes on her, frowning hard.

  “Jesus, that cat is loud. Can’t you shut him up?”

  Paige’s protective instincts flared. “He’s been cooped up for hours and it’s still not over. He’s probably hungry and needs to pee. No, I can’t shut him up.”

  Wyatt regarded her evenly. “Then I guess we need to get him where he can do those things.”

  “Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.”

  The streets were dark by now, so Paige couldn’t see anything of the scenery. Not that she wanted to. She imagined it was mostly wide, empty spaces with wild animals lurking around every tree and rock. She knew there was a town, but Wyatt didn’t take her through it. He drove down a dark road, his headlights cutting through the inky night.

  Once, a deer lifted its head as they drove by. Paige squeaked. She’d never seen a deer in real life.

  Wyatt glanced over at her and her cheeks heated. Yes, she was definitely the city mouse visiting the country. It was bound to be entertaining for him over the next few days. Or maybe just annoying.

  “Tell me about your fan,” Wyatt said, and her heart throttled into a higher gear.

  “There’s nothing to tell. The letters started coming after the sixth episode of American Princess. I assume you’ve seen the letters?”

  “Yes.”

  “The most recent one arrived at my apartment this afternoon. Did you see that one?”

  “I haven’t, but I heard he sent a picture of you leaving the building that was taken this morning.”

  “Yes.” Paige’s fingers trembled as she smoothed them over her dress. That had been downright terrifying. “He wants me to know he can get to me.”