“JUST BECAUSE I have tits instead of a dick doesn’t mean I can’t be a good bodyguard.” Harley Graham scowled at her cousin Lazarus. As one of the law enforcement professionals of the Graham clan, he was a towering wall of muscle with dark brown hair and a stare that could freeze a perp on the spot. When Harley had decided to go into the private security business after leaving the Army, he was the one who’d helped her get started.
Now, he was trying to put the kibosh on her new gig.
“I didn’t say anything about your tits or your lack of a dick.” Laz scowled. “Montana is damn different than Texas. Why the hell do you need to go up there? You do know they have snow and shit, right?” He sipped at his coffee as they sat in the warm sunshine streaming through the window of the coffee shop.
“I know the weather sucks, but I owe Hank Patterson. He needs extra help for this rich guy, who’s vacationing with the buffalo. It’s five grand for a month’s work, all expenses paid. How can I say no?” She swallowed back the truth and kept her gaze steady. She couldn’t share the real reason the man needed a bodyguard at Hank’s request. Besides, her solo business was struggling, and this money would go a long way toward paying next month’s bills. Her business had stagnated for the last six months. Ever since “the incident.”
Damn it to hell.
Her cousin’s brows wrinkled. “You know if you need money, all you have to do is—”
She cut him off with the slap of her palm on the table. “Maybe it’s my pride, but I can’t and won’t take charity from you or anyone else. Okay, I know it’s not charity, but I’ve got to make it on my own.” Her shoulders slumped with the weight of her pride. She had more than a few failings, but not asking for nor accepting help was likely the biggest one.
Laz sighed. “You’ve been a stubborn cuss since you were a little thing. It’s only gotten worse.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you know much about the client?”
“He’s rich, and he’s willing to pay me to keep him alive. Anything else is irrelevant.” She knew a lot more, of course, but part of the contract she’d already signed included a non-disclosure agreement. Desperate times and all that. Truth was, the client wasn’t doing anything with buffalo. He’d be hiding behind her gun.
Laz stared down into the depths of his black coffee. “Okay, fair enough. You invited me here for a reason, cousin. When do you leave? And what do you need me to do?”
Harley couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. Her cousin had softened a bit since he’d become engaged to his girl. A few years ago, he would have figured out some cop way to stop her from leaving the state to protect her. It had always been that way with her male cousins. They always tried to protect the “weaker” females in their orbit.
She barely suppressed the urge to snort. If there was one thing she knew as an ex-Sergeant First Class, it was how to get shit done, no matter what the odds.
“I’m twenty-nine years old, Laz, and an Army veteran. I don’t need you to do anything but be my next of kin, just in case. I also need you to know to contact Hank Patterson in an emergency. Not that anything will come up but you’re the only one I trust to keep all of this under your hat.” She always made sure there was paperwork in place at her attorney’s office and instructions if she was incapacitated or dead. Most people got uncomfortable with the topic, but her experience in the service taught her it was important to be prepared for any eventuality. “I leave day after tomorrow. I’m going to store my stuff and Artemis at the Circle Eight, with your dad’s permission.”
Her one vice, if someone could call an animal a vice, was her mare Artemis. Harley would eat ramen noodles for a month to keep her horse in hay and oats. Luckily, her family had numerous ranches, so boarding was generally free.
Laz nodded, then tapped his finger on the table. “Make sure you call me if you need me. You know I’ll be there for you if you need me.”
Harley cleared her throat to push aside her emotions. “Thanks. I promise I’ll text you once a week to let you know I’m alive.”
After clearing her cousin’s interrogation, she mentally moved on to all she had to do to prepare to leave. The first step was prepping her weapons and ammo then stocking up on road trip snacks. It was a long drive to Montana, but for five grand, she’d eat beef jerky and energy drinks until she got there.
Her gut clenched. Her next adventure was about to begin.
SAWYER VALENTINE OPENED one eye and looked at the clock beside his bed. The red numbers swam in a circle. He slammed his eye shut and groaned. Perhaps slinging back bourbon like water hadn’t been the wisest choice last night.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand, dancing across the top with each subsequent silent ring of the phone. He didn’t want to answer it. Really, really didn’t want to answer it. At all.
He picked up the phone and managed to swipe across the screen. “What?”
“Is that any way to treat the man who’s trying to save your life?” Lance Heinrich’s voice cut through the throbbing in Sawyer’s skull. His uncle had a knack for sounding excited and stern at the same time.
“I’ve got a helluva headache, and it’s still early.” At least, Sawyer thought it was early. He still couldn’t read the damn clock.
“I’ve got your safe house for the next month. No one will know where you are, and you’ll be safe until the vote passes. This is the only way to go. You’ve had too many close calls. Your dad would have never forgiven me if I didn’t find a way to keep you alive.” Lance droned on about the details of his master plan, but Sawyer stopped listening at the mention of his dad.
Six months gone and the hard-won empire Frederick Valentine had built stood on shaky legs. The board members were at odds with each other, fighting like middle school girls, and the shareholders were screaming for change. Then someone decided it was a good idea to remove Sawyer from his CEO position. Permanently.
A snippet of something Lance said penetrated Sawyer’s pounding brain. “Wait, what did you just say?”
“Montana. Little town by the name of Eagle Rock. A dot on the map with a small number of residents and far enough away to keep you safe.” Lance droned on for another minute before Sawyer interrupted again.
“Is this truly necessary? I’d rather stay in New York until the vote.” Sawyer had lived in the city for the last twenty years, adjusting to concrete and the speed of life. It suited him. The wildness of Montana sounded cold, boring, and bear-laden. Who wanted to get eaten by a bear?
“Listen, Sawyer. We’ve had two bodyguards shot already. You escaped through the skin of your teeth. This isn’t a joke. Hostilities are only going to heighten, and you’re the target.” Lance paused. “It’s only for a month. You bring some books and magazines; you’ll be fine.”
Sawyer closed his eyes. “Can I bring my laptop and binge watch some TV show?”
“Ah, that’s the thing. No phone, no Internet, no laptop. It’s just you and low tech.”
Fuck. Fuckity fucking fuck. He hadn’t been without a phone in his hand for too many years to count. He understood the idea was to stay off grid, but doing nothing but existing was a foreign concept. Intimidating. “You’ve got a bodyguard lined up?” he growled. “Someone who’s going to be with me in this low-tech prison for a month?” Sawyer knew he had to do what was needed to keep himself alive. That didn’t mean he had to like it.
“Of course. Harley Graham comes highly recommended by Hank Patterson who runs the Brotherhood Protectors. He handpicked Harley for this rotation. Apparently, a real cowboy, can ride, shoot, and is ex-military like all their bodyguards. You’ll be safe.” Lance’s description of the man sounded good, but Sawyer had already dealt with bodyguards. Of course, they weren’t cowboys or ex-military, but most of them were “shoot first, ask questions later” types.
That attitude had caused a few issues when one of the damn bodyguards tried to shoot his neighbor’s poodle. Ugly scene with tears, an umbrella being used as a weapon, and cops called. He was fairly certain his neighbor already asked that he be kicked out of the building. Bodyguards, in his experience, weren’t very smart.
Yet, they’d saved his life when someone took a shot at him. He raked a hand through his hair and growled. “I’ll go—but on one condition. If this Harley turns out to be an asshole, I want a different bodyguard, which means I need to get in touch with you. Give me a burner. Just for emergencies.”
“Harley will have a way to get in touch with the outside world. You don’t get a phone, burner or not.” Lance sounded almost gleeful. “Pack warm clothes and your hiking boots. It’s September, and the nights are cold.”
Sawyer ended the call and rolled over on his side. He would miss his fancy bed. And his phone. He sighed and tried to figure out how the hell he’d ended up running for his life because of his father’s death. Running straight to the wilds of Montana to be guarded by a cowboy named Harley.
The universe had a twisted sense of humor.
HARLEY PULLED UP to the cabin and shut off the engine. She closed her eyes at the ensuing silence. She was a country girl at heart and, given her experiences in life, quiet was a luxury. When she climbed out of the truck, she looked around. The leaves were brilliant shades of orange, red, and yellow. A beautiful fall day in Montana. Too bad she wasn’t there to enjoy it.
She carried her gear into the cabin and made a face at the musty smell. After opening a couple windows, she got to work cleaning and readying the cabin. Life hadn’t been easy since she’d gotten injured. No matter what the doctors said, she refused to live her life as a disabled veteran. No outward sign of the damage revealed her problem.
Harley would enjoy her life on her own terms. She blew out a breath and fought the urge to let out a primal scream and punch a few holes in the wall. Damn it, she was better than this. Brain injury or not, Harley was a soldier, and she would get the job done.
She wasn’t sure what alerted her, but in a split second, her M&P was in her hand, safety off, and barrel aimed.
Hank Patterson threw up his hands. “I give up. Don’t shoot me.”
Harley had to jam her instincts back down, but her heart still galloped like a goddamn racehorse. “Jesus fucking Christ, dude. Are you trying to get yourself killed? You know better than to sneak up on someone like that.”
“I thought you heard my truck.” He cocked a thumb, and she glanced outside to see the pickup parked beside hers.
“I, uh, was distracted.” She didn’t want to admit she’d been wallowing in self-pity. No soldier worth her salt would ever wallow. Not even for a second. “Won’t happen again.”
Cowboy up, Harley.
She holstered her weapon and stuck out her hand. “It’s good to see you, Hank.”
“You too, Flash.”
At his grin, Harley’s anxiety dissipated. Seeing him again was amazing. Someone who knew what war was and how it changed a person. He’d been the one to give her the nickname their first mission out. She was faster on her feet than men nearly twice her size. That characteristic made her deadly as hell.
“The cabin okay?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Yeah, it’ll work. I’ve got to get some more supplies in town before I pick up Panther at the airport.” She was a bit dubious about the mattresses but had brought her sleeping bag anyway, along with her own supplies. “So, this rich guy some fat ass I’m going to have to haul around?”
Hank shook his head. “No, some corporate big guy who comes from blue-blood money. He’s thirty-five, unmarried, in good shape. Two bodyguards have been shot, and his uncle arranged to hide him. Something about a stockholders’ vote and a hostile takeover.” He pulled out a pile of paperwork. “Here are the details. Study up. No cell service up here, so you’ll need to get to HQ, which is about twenty-five or thirty miles east of here over some rough terrain.”
“I can handle it.”
“I know you can, but there’s a map there if you need it. There’s also a sat phone for an emergency.” He crossed his beefy arms and studied her.
Harley refused to squirm under his intense gaze. She remained solid and still, while inside her guts did flips. Possibly, she even tasted yesterday’s breakfast. “Anything else, Hank?”
After an excruciating ten seconds, he shook his head. “No, we’re good. Be safe. Be strong. Welcome to the Brotherhood Protectors.” He pulled her into a bro hug and the feel of his callused hand on her arm was just what she needed. This man was family, even if they didn’t share blood.
Harley watched as her friend drove away. She shook off the ghosts riding her back and took a deep breath. The battle was just beginning.
SAWYER EXITED THE small plane and trudged into the airport in East Bumfuck, Montana. Not that he knew the name of the town; just that it was the middle of nowhere, and he was exhausted. He hefted his bag on his shoulder and walked into the terminal.
Okay, it was sort of a terminal. Looked like one gate and a couple dozen chairs. One teenager dozed in a coffee kiosk, and a woman stood holding a sign that said PANTHER. He walked passed all of it until he almost hit the security checkpoint. A conversation with Lance replayed in his head. Oh, right. Sawyer was Panther, a code name so people wouldn’t see his real name. Not that anyone would recognize him in the ridiculous getup Lance had insisted he wear.
He did an about-face to return to the gate area. The woman walked toward him, frowning something fierce. She’d taken off her cowboy hat, and he noted she had dark auburn hair in a thick braid. Her walk was deliberate and, if he wasn’t mistaken, her jerkiness indicated she was annoyed. She wasn’t very big, but she came to his chin, which meant she was taller than most women. Her legs were a country-mile long, encased in a pair of well-worn jeans topped with a flannel checked shirt. Her Montana look was completed by a pair of very scuffed cowboy boots. He’d be surprised if there weren’t holes in the bottom of them.
“Excuse me.” He held up his hand. “I think you’re my ride.”
Her brows went up. “Is that so?”
Sawyer dug for one of his female-melting grins. “I’m Panther.”
She slapped her hat back on her head and crossed her arms. “If you’re Panther then you must know the code word.”
He drew a blank. Big ole zilch. Nada. Zip. What code word? “I, uh, didn’t get a code word.”
“Then fuck off, mister.” She walked around him and marched away with surprising speed.
“Wait, really. I’m him.” He caught up to her with effort. Damn, he was winded. “I’m him. I swear. I need a ride, lady.”
“Lady?” She glanced around. “There ain’t no lady here. Get stepping, dude. I don’t have time for your bullshit.” She made a beeline for the ancient-looking luggage area, which had a black snake-like belt that had likely seen the Kennedy administration.
He was tired, annoyed, and hungry. He wasn’t prepared to do battle with a female driver. Sawyer interrupted her quiet questioning of the other eight passengers. “Harley.”
She swung her head around so fast, her hat wobbled. “What did you say?”
“I’m supposed to meet a guy named Harley. If that isn’t proof, I don’t know what is.” He was desperate for some coffee and a sandwich, but first, he needed transportation—and protection, for which he was paying a fortune.
She grabbed his arm in a surprisingly strong grip and steered him toward a corner by the exit door. “Tell me your middle name.”
Sawyer frowned. “Why?”
“If you’re Panther, then you know your middle name, right?”
She squeezed his arm, and he wondered if she had bionic fingers. Damn, the woman had a grip. “Alexander. My middle name is Alexander.” He pulled from her grasp and rubbed the spot she’d squeezed. Montana drivers were tough as hell.
“Fuck.” She ripped the sign in half and tossed it in the trashcan. “C’mon, let’s go.”
He frowned at her. “Wait, where’s Harley? I don’t know if you’re who you say you are.” Time to turn the tides on this prickly woman. How was he to know Harley had assigned her to drive?
“I’m Harley Graham.”
With that bomb, she took his arm and walked toward the parking lot, which was unbelievably ten feet from the airport.
Well, shit.
His cowboy was a cowgirl. One with an attitude and a vice grip. His month in Montana was going to feel like two years. The temperature was at least twenty degrees colder than when he left the city, and he really, really wanted that coffee now.
He allowed her to walked him like a recalcitrant toddler. He couldn’t help but notice the woman had an incredible body and she smelled good. She was all sleek muscle and grace. He shook his head. This was definitely not the time to notice her female charms.
She walked to an ancient-looking pickup truck the color of dirt. It had more dents and dings than any vehicle should have to endure in its life. She unlocked his door with a key—a key for pity’s sake!—and opened the door for him. The truck didn’t look like it would make it out of the parking lot, much less a mile down the road.
“Get in. We’ve drawn enough attention already.” She gestured for him to get in.
He threw his bag in the back of the truck, hoping the ancient rust in the bed didn’t embed itself in the leather. When he climbed into the truck, it smelled odd. He didn’t know exactly what the scent was, but perhaps it was thirty years of ass.
Harley reached past him for the glove compartment and he hissed in a breath of awareness as her breast brushed his knee. She pulled out a very sleek black pistol. “Never go anywhere without me or without me saying it’s safe. Understood?” She didn’t wait for a response but slipped on a pair of aviators and closed the truck door.
She hopped into the driver’s side and attached a holster to her belt for the gun. The woman wasn’t just packing but she was carrying openly. Not something he saw often in the city.
“So, Montana people like guns?” He groped for a seatbelt, and found one down by his hips. How old was this damn truck?
“So do Texans, sir.”
She started the truck, and he noted the thing had a three on the gear stick. Nothing like a really old shifter on an equally ancient truck.
“I’m here to protect you for the allotted time, and that means I’m armed. Always. I’m not from Montana, but I’ve been up here enough to know the territory.”
Ah, so that explained the twang. She was up from the Lone Star state just to protect him. However, he hadn’t been expecting a woman, nor did he feel comfortable knowing his bodyguard was at least fifty pounds lighter than him. No matter that she was armed, she was a female, and they were weaker by nature.
“I think there’s been a misunderstanding here.” He hung on for his life when she tore out of the airport and hit the highway nearby with a ridiculous amount of speed. “I expected a man to be my bodyguard.”
Her lips tightened into a white line and her eyes grew flat and hard. “I assure you I’m well trained. I spent ten years in the Army and mustered out a year ago with the rank of Sergeant First Class. I’ve been deployed four times and am an expert marksman with every weapon I’ve ever touched. I have a black belt in two martial arts and regularly compete in gun competitions.” She gestured to the right. “We need to get some food before we head to the cabin. Once we get there, nothing’s around for fifty miles.”
Sawyer could almost believe he was dreaming, or rather nightmaring. He was back in his bed in New York, and soon, he’d be waking up and making coffee in his kitchen. He closed his eyes and blew out a breath of frustration. Coming here hadn’t been a good idea, and staying was an even worse one, especially given she was a woman. An attractive woman. And he was a fish out of water.
How the hell was he going to survive a month?