Bodyguard Under the Mistletoe Page 7

  Gasping, she stepped backward, out of his embrace. Looking into his face, she saw her desire reflected. She knew, without a doubt, that this attraction could only end one way. Soon, they would be in each other’s arms. Soon, they would be making love. Am I ready? Is it time?

  Her longing was tempered with panic. She’d never imagined that she’d be able to feel this way. She was a widow with a small child, resigned to a life of responsibility without passion. How could this be happening? “Jesse, I—”

  He laid his finger across her lips, stopping her words. “No need to speak.”

  He was right. These churning emotions required no explanation. She could trust the way she felt and know that he’d felt it, too. For now, that was enough.

  “Fiona.” His voice caressed her name.

  “Yes?”

  “I appreciate your offer to change my dressings, but Wentworth will be here soon. He’s a medic. He likes messing around with surgical stuff.”

  She might enjoy messing around, too. Tell him. She wanted another kiss. If she let this moment pass, it might not come again. Which was a good reason not to tell him. But it’s too soon. And I’m afraid.

  She cleared her throat and took another step back. “I have an ointment that might be soothing. When I’m sculpting, it seems like I’m always getting cuts and burns on my hands.”

  “Some kind of nontraditional medicine?” he asked.

  “I didn’t make it myself, but all the ingredients are from nature.”

  “My grandfather had a remedy for healing, made from creosote bush, prickly pear and some mysterious herb with a Navajo name I can’t pronounce.” His smile turned nostalgic. “He believed the strongest medicine came from within. Trusting your body to heal itself.”

  “You’ve mentioned your grandfather before.” She wanted to know more about Jesse. “Tell me about him.”

  “He lived on the reservation.”

  She returned to her seat at the table, and he did the same. Though she regretted the distance between them, she was also relieved. With her long-suppressed hormones raging, she wasn’t able to think straight. “Did you live there, too?”

  “I’m a city kid. We lived in Denver. My mom isn’t Navajo, but she wanted me and my sister to know and appreciate our heritage. She sent us to live with our grandparents every summer.”

  “And was she right? Did you learn to appreciate that life?”

  “Probably more than the kids who grew up on the rez. Our time there was limited and special. We were hungry for knowledge, fascinated by the old ways and rituals. And we knew we could always return to our urban life. My sister said we had the best of both worlds.”

  “Are you close to her?”

  “Elena is the office manager for Longbridge Security.”

  He seemed to be devoted to his family. That was a check mark on the plus side. “You haven’t mentioned your father.”

  “He was in the marines. He died when I was seven. I hardly remember him.”

  “I’m sorry,” Fiona said.

  “My mother remarried a couple of years after he died. My stepfather is a good man, a good provider.”

  His mother—a widow like her—managed to find love again. Not an unusual situation. Lots of people had second chances. There wasn’t a rule that said Fiona had to live the rest of her life alone, draped in widow’s weeds. She just wasn’t accustomed to thinking that way.

  “My grandfather,” Jesse said quietly, “passed away a few years ago. Sometimes, he seems to be with me.”

  “I understand. His memory lives through you.”

  “It’s something more,” he said. “When I was in the hospital, they said that I died on the operating table for a few minutes. I saw him. My grandfather.”

  Many people talked about seeing a white light and being reacquainted with others who had passed away. “Did he say anything?”

  “He was there to welcome me,” Jesse said. “But I wasn’t ready to go with him. Not yet. There’s something more I need to do with my life.”

  Had he come back from death to be with her? Were they both being given a second chance? “What is it, Jesse? What do you need to do?”

  “I’ll wait and see. And trust that I’ll recognize the true path when it appears before me.”

  She wanted to walk beside him on that trail. No matter where it led. Their brief kiss had been the first step. She could hardly wait to see what came next.

  PETE RICHTER WATCHED as the lights inside the widow Grant’s house were turned off one by one. From where he was standing in the forest, he couldn’t actually see inside because the curtains were pulled. But the glow at the edges of the windows went out until only one lamp in the living room was still lit.

  Richter figured the bodyguard would station himself there, near the fireplace. Even though no smoke rose from the chimney, the thought of a warm blaze made him feel even colder. It was below freezing out here. He needed to act soon before he turned into a damn icicle.

  The widow’s bedroom was at the end of the cabin, far away from the front room. He could break through her window and grab her, but he wouldn’t be able to haul her away before her security man responded. It might be smart to kill him first.

  But the curtains were drawn. Richter couldn’t see to get a clear shot at the son of a bitch who, by all rights, should already have been dead.

  Walking carefully so he wouldn’t make any noise, he tried to come up with a plan. There had to be a way for him to get to the widow—another way into her house.

  He’d find it soon enough. Then he’d make her tell him where she’d hidden his money.

  WITH FIONA SAFELY TUCKED into bed, Jesse sat in a wooden rocking chair beside the fireplace with his gun resting on the table beside him. Though he would have been a hell of a lot more comfortable on the sofa, he couldn’t allow himself to take off his shoes and relax. If he did that, he’d be asleep in minutes.

  Leaning forward with his elbows resting on his thighs, he listened. Both doors to the bedrooms were ajar, and he could hear Abby and Fiona shifting in their beds. He thought of Fiona’s long hair spread across the pillows, and her graceful body stretched out across the sheets. Her face in repose. Her lips.

  He hadn’t planned to kiss her, but he didn’t regret that moment. It tasted right. And the sensual jolt to his system had gotten his heart pumping and his blood circulating. He felt better now than he had since he woke in the hospital. If he made love to her, he’d probably be completely cured.

  A sound outside the window interrupted his reverie. The wind rattling the bare branches of the aspens near the front door? He wouldn’t take any chances. Gun in hand, he went to the curtains and peered around the edge. From this limited vantage point, he saw nothing suspicious.

  One-man guard duty was difficult. If Wentworth had been here, one of them could have gone outside to check while the other stayed here. Alone, he couldn’t risk leaving the house unprotected.

  He checked his wristwatch. Wentworth was supposed to be here any minute.

  He sank into the rocking chair again. Waiting. Listening.

  The next sound seemed to come from overhead. A tree squirrel running across the roof? He looked up.

  It was quiet again.

  Then he heard the tires from Wentworth’s vehicle pulling up the gravel drive. He stood at the front door, watching as Wentworth got out of the car, and motioned him inside.

  With the door bolted, Jesse said, “I heard something on the roof.”

  “How big?”

  “Don’t know. It was a scraping noise.”

  Wentworth exhaled a weary sigh. It had been a long day for him, too. “What should we do about it?”

  “You stay here. I’ll go out and take a look around.”

  Though Jesse would have preferred using a rifle, his left arm wasn’t steady enough to be trusted. He took his handgun and stepped outside. Earlier today, he’d had an opportunity to check out her house from various angles, figuring out which direction an intru
der might take. But he hadn’t considered the roof.

  The cold night air was bracing. After taking a moment to allow his eyes get accustomed to the moonlight, he circled around to the rear of the house. None of the aspens at the front of the house were good for climbing; the branches started too far from the ground. At the back, there was one tall pine tree.

  He stared into the depths of its branches. Nothing there.

  The roof of Fiona’s one-story house formed a shallow peak—just enough of an angle to encourage the snow to slide off. He saw nothing in the back or the front. But he sensed a threat.

  When he returned to the inside of the house, Wentworth escorted him into the kitchen. “Here’s the deal, Jesse. I’ll change those dressings. Then you go to bed. I’ll wake you in three hours to relieve me.”

  “You should go back to the Carlisle Ranch.”

  “They don’t need me. Our man, Neville, is there. And Burke. And a whole mob of cowboys with rifles.”

  Though Jesse didn’t like to admit that he needed help, he wasn’t a fool. “I won’t lie. I could use some rest.”

  He had the feeling that the next couple of days weren’t going to get any easier.

  Chapter Nine

  By dawn of the following day, Jesse felt damn good. The aching lessened. His drumming headache was gone. He’d recovered a decent range of movement in his arm and shoulder but continued to wear the sling as a reminder to be careful.

  Best of all, his appetite had returned. He sat at the table in Fiona’s cheery tangerine kitchen, scarfing down the excellent pancakes she’d whipped up. On the other side of the table, Wentworth polished off the last morsel of food on his plate. Fork in hand, he eyed a sausage link on Jesse’s plate.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Jesse growled.

  “As a medical professional,” Wentworth said, “I’d advise you to turn over the meat.”

  “Based on what diagnosis?”

  “Anatomy charts. There’s a link-size space in my belly.”

  “To match the hole in your head,” Jesse said. “You’re crazy if you think I’m not eating this.”

  Abby was between them, kneeling on her chair because she was, as she had informed them, too grown-up for a booster seat. Her eating process was complicated. Each bite she took was followed by a bite for her plastic palomino pony. “What are we going to do today?” she asked.

  “Mickey is coming over,” Fiona said as she slid another pancake from the frying pan onto Wentworth’s plate.

  “Mickey?” Jesse glanced up at her.

  “Abby’s friend.”

  “My best friend,” Abby clarified.

  Jesse couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Fiona had scheduled a play date? “You’ll have to cancel.”

  “Or not.” She was pretty in the morning with her long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and her cheeks flushed pink from the heat of the stovetop. “Mickey’s mom should be dropping him off any minute.”

  “So early? It’s barely light outside.”

  “Yee-haw,” Abby cheered. “I gotta get dressed.”

  Fiona looked down at her daughter’s plate, gave a satisfied nod and said, “You’re excused.”

  Abby hopped off her chair and bolted from the room with her pony tucked under her arm.

  Jesse had the distinct feeling that he was losing control of the situation. “This is wrong, Fiona. Wentworth and I are here as bodyguards. Not babysitters.”

  “Mickey always comes over on Wednesdays while Belinda works the morning shift at the café. I couldn’t ask her to reschedule on such short notice.”

  He reminded her, “Richter is still at large.”

  “He’s not going to attack while you’re here,” she said. “Besides, it’ll be easier for everyone if Abby’s occupied with her friend. Otherwise, she’ll be underfoot.”

  After she shoveled the last pancake onto his plate, Fiona excused herself and went to oversee her daughter.

  Jesse cut his sausage in half, looked at Wentworth and shook his head. “A playdate.”

  “I used to date a single mom,” Wentworth said. “There’s nothing more sacred than their babysitting schedules.”

  “Even when you find a dead body in the front yard? Fiona ought to have the good sense to be more cautious.”

  “That’s why she’s got you, buddy.”

  “And you.” Jesse shoved the sausage into his mouth. “I need you here today, instead of at the Carlisle Ranch.”

  Wentworth carried his plate to the sink. “Have you got a plan?”

  “Searching.” He envisioned a widening circle. “We’ll start here at Fiona’s house.”

  “But we already searched,” Wentworth said.

  “I need to see for myself. And I want Fiona with me. She might notice something that others missed. Then I want to take a look around at the Circle M where Nicole was held prisoner. After that, I’ll check the site where the ransom was dropped. Maybe I can pick up the kidnappers’ trail.”

  “After two days?” Wentworth scoffed. “You’re a genius tracker, Jesse. But that’s nearly impossible.”

  “It’s a long shot,” he agreed. “But we haven’t got much to go on.”

  He heard Abby racing through the house and shouting, “Mickey’s here. Mickey’s here.”

  Jesse went to the front door, where Abby tugged at the brace that was holding it shut. She looked up at him. “The door’s broke.”

  “This is a special lock.” A childproof lock. Though the brace was supposed to keep intruders out, it also ensured that Abby couldn’t go racing outside whenever she wanted. An unexpected benefit. “Whenever you want it moved, ask me or your mom or Wentworth.”

  “Open,” she said.

  Fiona stood beside them. “Did you hear what Jesse said? For the next few days, you aren’t to go outside without permission.”

  “Yes.” Her blond curls flounced as she nodded. “Open.”

  Fiona opened the door and welcomed her guests. Mickey was a skinny, three-and-a-half-foot tall bundle of energy with a buzz haircut and freckles. He threw off his jacket and ran down the hallway behind Abby.

  His mother had a nicely rounded figure. Her full hips were packed into black slacks. The fringe on her leather jacket jiggled when she moved.

  “Belinda Miller,” Fiona said, “this is Jesse Longbridge and Tom Wentworth.”

  Though her smile was dimpled and friendly when she shook hands, he saw caution in her brown eyes. Belinda couldn’t have been more than twenty-five years old, but she’d already learned to be wary of men. From what Jesse had read in Burke’s reports, her ex-husband had a nasty temper.

  “Tell me the truth,” she said. “Is there any real danger?”

  As Jesse said, “Yes,” Fiona said, “Not really.”

  Belinda planted her fists on her hips. “Which is it?”

  “Even if there is somebody after us,” Fiona said, “these two men are professional bodyguards.”

  Belinda’s gaze assessed him and Wentworth; then she gave a satisfied nod. “Nobody is going to mess with you guys.”

  Fiona gave her a hug. “See you after lunch.”

  “Thanks, hon. I really need this shift. It’s almost Christmas, and I’m dead broke.”

  He watched Belinda return to her car and drive away. The morning skies grew brighter. It was a new day. When he returned to the house and locked the door, he was warm. Comfortable. His belly full of good food.

  At the far end of the hallway, he heard the kids playing. Fiona smiled at him, and he fought the urge to give her a little peck on the forehead. This must be what it’s like to have a family.

  He seldom considered the idea of having a family of his own. Bodyguards needed to look on the dark side, to recognize potential threats before they became lethal. If he had his own family, there was also the possibility that he might lose them.

  But when he looked around this comfortable cabin, he felt content. He wouldn’t have minded starting a fire in the hearth and spending
the whole day playing with the kids and gazing into Fiona’s soft gray eyes. Maybe read a book. He remembered a December, long ago, when he had whittled kachina dolls for Christmas presents. Whittling was a good hobby. He should take it up again.

  Yeah, right. Then he could have some hot chocolate with marshmallows. Coming back from death might have mellowed him, but he wasn’t about to turn into a lazy, domesticated tomcat. Clearing his throat, Jesse took command and issued orders. “We need to get started. Wentworth, you stay here with the kids. Fiona, come with me to search.”

  Someday, there might be time for whittling and reveries in front of the fireplace. But not today.

  FIONA ZIPPED HER WINTER parka all the way to her chin as she led Jesse to the structure nearest the house. “This was going to be my art studio. Wyatt never had a chance to finish it.”

  They went up two steps and entered through the unlocked double-wide door. The single room was two stories high at the front with large windows to admit natural light. The ceiling slanted down to a single story at the rear. Except for a couple of sawhorses and a stack of two-by-fours, the room was empty.

  Jesse strode across the wood floor. His footsteps echoed. He stopped at the rear where there was a section of concrete. “You’d put the kiln here.”

  “Right. This whole building rests on a concrete slab. You wouldn’t believe how much Wyatt enjoyed that part of the construction. He got to use a backhoe.”

  “Heavy equipment,” Jesse said with obvious relish. “Yeah, that’s fun stuff.”

  “A lot of the men in the Grant family seem to think so. Most of them are professionals who sit at a desk all day. But when they come up here—supposedly to relax—they take on building projects.”

  “It’s satisfying to create something solid.” Jesse rested his hand against an exposed stud on the framed wall. “Wouldn’t take much to finish this. Add the insulation and the drywall.”

  “And the electric,” she reminded him. “And minimal plumbing. I don’t need a toilet, but I’d like a sink. And a tile floor so it would be easy to clean up.”