THE UNLIKELY BODYGUARD Page 11

  And when she found out she was his assignment, that he'd followed her before they'd met, baited her into coming here so he could watch over her and still keep his ranch afloat? And when he had to search her things for the private memo? Then what?

  It would destroy her.

  Lord, he should never have told her anything about himself. He didn't want her to like him, to be accepting or so damn open and forgiving. It would make it easier to live with himself, he thought, if she hated him now instead of later. This strange relationship had already gone too far, too quickly.

  Her brows drew down. "What's the matter?" She'd felt the change in him the instant she'd walked up, like a heaviness settling around him, but now it was worse.

  "Nothing. There will be two more for breakfast," he said as if informing the hired help of changes. He made to duck beneath the rail.

  "Well, something is. Talk to me, Gabriel."

  Straightening, he steeled himself against the sound of her voice and spared her a hard glance. "Back off, Calli."

  She blinked, hurt springing through her. "What the heck is that supposed to mean?"

  Gabe almost crumbled. The stricken look on her face was enough to bring down a mountain. But he didn't trust it. "It means mind your own business, city girl. I'm not your charity case to be saved. I have work to do and so do you." He ducked under the rail and walked to the mare, clipping a lead to her bridle.

  Calli's lip quivered and she bit down on it. She wished she had an onion. No, she corrected, a bushelful. City girl. He was reminding her that she wasn't a part of his world, no matter what she did.

  "What happened between last night and this morning?" she shouted. No answer. "Can't you just talk with me? What's so hard about that?" When he clucked his tongue and the mare walked after him, Calli hopped off the rail. She took two steps toward the house, then looked back. "You're scared, Gabriel Griffin." His head jerked up and she met his wintry gaze head-on. "Of me. And that wall you conveniently build isn't keeping me out, it's keeping you in."

  His smirking look said that was fine with him.

  "Fine. I hope the isolation offers pleasant company." For the next fifty years.

  She left and didn't see him watch her storm into the house. Slamming the door, she strode into her room, stripping out of her clothes, slapping them over the back of a chair before donning her robe. She grabbed her cosmetic bag and headed for the shower, her hands trembling. She rinsed and washed and scrubbed her hair so hard her scalp stung. Standing under the spray, she shaved her legs and nicked her knee, the soap burning into the open cut. She hissed and fanned it, hopping on one foot, then fell back against the wall, letting it sting, letting it bleed. She gripped the chain and water cascaded over her, hiding her tears. He'd done that intentionally, returned her to the out-of-place misfit she'd felt like all her life. Insignificant and meaningless. Unworthy. The man didn't know what he had, she thought. More than her, more than most. He had a place to belong, to grow roots if he wanted.

  She didn't belong anywhere. Again. And Gabriel just made it clear that she didn't belong anywhere near him.

  A few minutes later, Gabe was in the barn clearing away the soiled hay, replacing it with fresh, when Bull filled the entrance.

  "See you managed well enough." Bull inclined his head toward the paddock beyond the walls.

  Gabe glanced up, noticed his shirt said Life Is Short, Eat Dessert First and wondered if he'd bought it just for Calli. Her hurt face flashed in his mind and his lips pulled into a grim line. He went back to forking hay. "Breech birth. Was tough for a few minutes."

  Bull nodded, understanding. "See Miss Calli took good care of you." He nudged the cooler and thermos still laying by the doorway.

  Gabe didn't respond; Bull's curiosity was like a terrier with a bone.

  "You didn't do nothing you ain't 'posed to, did you, son?"

  Gabe's head jerked up, his eyes narrowing. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

  Bull took a step back, putting up both hands. "Nothing, nothin' … just that she's beatin' the heck out of bread dough, slamming pot and pans and looks dang mad."

  Gabe ground his teeth and pitched hay. "She'll get over it."

  "Yeah, sure she will," Bull muttered, turning his back on him.

  Gabe threw down the pitchfork and stomped outside, pulling his sunglasses from where they were hooked at the neck of his shirt and putting them on. She was like a tornado without direction, moving from table to counter to grill. And Bull was right. It was obvious to anyone that she was steaming. He started to cross to the kitchen, then thought better of it. He made the mess, now he had to deal with it. It had to be this way. Did it? a voice in the recesses of his tired brain pestered.

  A white van pulled into the drive, two familiar teenagers slowly climbing out. Gabe forced himself to turn away from her and give the boys their instructions.

  Calli hadn't looked in Gabe's direction when the two teenage boys showed up. Nor when he introduced his part-time ranch hands, though the teenagers looked rougher than gravel. As Gabe set them to work, she couldn't help notice the similarities between him and the boys. Though they didn't sport near as many tattoos, the dark clothes and constant glaring at each other rang familiar. Tales From the Hood, she thought with a quick glance to where Gabe had them hauling hay bales. Gabe had made them get rid of the plaid shirts and she'd heard him say this was his "turf" and they followed his rules.

  Geyser and Deek. Certainly interesting names, she mulled, trying to keep her hurt back and her temper forward. She set the table beneath the long wide porch, venting her frustration on slapping the flatware onto the table. She kept telling herself she was a professional and should rise above this, but she was too hurt to make the climb.

  Gabe cringed when she beat a metal spoon and pot together, calling them to the table. The boys dropped their baling hooks and started for the house, but Gabe called them back, making them wash up and don their shirts. But when the boys and Bull headed toward the table, Gabe couldn't take his eyes off the woman standing at the far end of the porch, chopping vegetables with a huge cleaver.

  He stopped short of the shade and stared at her. She kept her attention focused on the peppers she was mincing. He turned his gaze to the table and his eyes widened. There were pancakes with strawberries, Spanish omelets, hash browns, Canadian bacon, sausage, biscuits with boysenberry jam, along with fresh coffee and orange/pineapple juice to wash it all down. As if any of them could eat all this. "Good God, Calli."

  "Yes," she sang sweetly. "Is there a problem?" Though her voice was angelic, she held the knife in her hand like a tomahawk.

  Gabe lashed a hand at the table. "Who do you expect to eat all this?"

  She sent him a brittle smile that didn't meet her eyes and turned her gaze to the teenagers, gesturing with the knife. "Growing boys eat a lot."

  Geyser and Deek glared up at her from their plates. Oops, she thought. Guess they don't think of themselves as boys.

  Calli glanced uncertainly at Bull, avoiding looking at Gabe altogether. Bull smiled reassuringly and filled his plate. The boys ate as if they hadn't in a week. Gabe simply stared at her, scowling.

  Calli moved to the far end of the kitchen area to the long worktable. She measured and sifted flour into a large silver mixing bowl, dissolved yeast into another, stirred in buttermilk, then kneaded the bread dough.

  "Whatcha making, Miss Calli?" Bull called.

  She looked to where he sat a few yards away under the shade of the porch and shrugged. "Not sure yet, maybe a currant bread or a jalapeno loaf." She cleaned off her hands and strode to the homo, stoking the fire high.

  "How can you do that? I mean, start mixin' stuff together when you don't know whatcha want in the end?"

  She shoved in another log, then slid her gaze to Gabe's, then Bull's. "Most breads are very basic recipes, Bull. All it takes is a few extra ingredients to make the difference. Sometimes I never know what I'll get in the end." Briefly she caught Gabe's gaze. "That's
the risk. I like it."

  Gabe's eyes narrowed on her, then he slanted a look at Bull. Bull grunted, then focused on his breakfast Gabe kept his gaze on her.

  But Calli couldn't take it, not the emptiness and abandonment she felt. It was too much like when she was a kid—thrown away. She turned back to the dough, kneading it with a vengeance before dropping the lump into an oiled bowl. She tossed a dish towel over it, then cleaned up her mess. She banged pot and pans, nearly broke a dish and cut her finger on a knife she'd forgotten was in the dishwater. She stilled, wrapping her hand in towel and holding pressure. This isn't working, she thought, bowing her head and praying she wouldn't cry.

  "Calli?" Gabe knew she'd hurt herself; he'd heard the soft hiss of pain.

  Yet she kept her back to them and in a soft voice said, "When you're finished, just set the dirty dishes on the counter, please." Then she marched into the house without a backward glance.

  Gabe slumped in his seat and shoved his plate back. Geyser and Deek exchanged a glance, then snickered. Gabe leaned across the table, in their faces until both boys ducked their heads. Bull gave him a what-the-hell's-goin'-on look. Gabe ignored it, grabbed a biscuit from the platter and tore into it, still staring at the spot where she'd disappeared.

  This is what you wanted, he told himself. You wanted her to hate you and now she does. But as the others cleared away their dishes and left him alone, Gabe had a strong feeling he'd just trashed the best thing to happen along for him—since Daniel had caught him lifting his wife's heirloom jewelry.

  Gabe was dead tired by the time the van came to pick up the teenagers to take them back to juvenile hall. The image of Calli's hurt, the words she'd said to him in the paddock this morning, kept playing over and over in his head. He'd tried not to think about her, but the beautiful sound of her laughter, laughter she shared with the others, kept taunting him. He could hardly look at her without feeling her pain.

  As the boys crossed to the vehicle, Gabe watched as she left the porch and called out to them, running to catch up, and pressing a fat brown sack into each of their hands. The teens stared at it, Deek bringing it to his nose and inhaling whatever she'd prepared for them. Desserts, Gabe thought, since she'd asked them their favorites. It was the first time he'd seen either Deek or Geyser smile. She waved as the van pulled away, then spun around and walked back to the porch. The scent of grilled beef had filled the air for the past hour and now, he was starving. But having dinner with her was going to be torture, he thought grimly. It was damn hard work avoiding those wounded blue eyes. He washed up and called to Bull as he headed toward the set table.

  "Can't," Bull hollered as he walked to his truck. "Got a hot date."

  Gabe swung around. "A date?"

  "It's Saturday night, son." He wiggled his brows, then slid behind the steering wheel.

  Gabe stood in the center of the dirt drive and watched the red truck bounce down the road before facing the house. The kitchen was empty, the cookware cleaned, counters cleared, and no Calli.

  He moved closer and under the light of the kerosene lamps she'd grown fond of was a place setting laid out for him. Platters and bowls were covered with cloths. He turned one back and his mouth watered at the aroma of barbecued beef. Yet it was apparent that she wasn't going to join him. Gabe told himself he didn't care, that he didn't need anyone, and he pulled out the chair. He sat, filling his plate. For long moments, he stared down at the meal, his tired body craving the fuel. Then he lifted his gaze and looked out over his land, the empty paddock, the single fight hanging over the barn entrance, the driveway where her car and his truck and bike were separated by nearly fifty yards. Like us. In the distance, a coyote howled, and alone, under the yellow glow of light, Gabe picked up his fork and took a bite. He ate, feeling the weight of his actions. He was wrong. It wasn't easy to live with her hating him. It wasn't even living.

  Calli heard the door rattle and didn't look up from the book she was reading. Not that she knew what it was about. She'd seen him out there, alone, finishing his dinner. He'd looked so lonely she'd almost gone to him.

  Almost. That's what he wanted, she thought again. And she hoped he enjoyed it, because she didn't.

  She flinched when he suddenly appeared in the doorway. He stared; she could feel the weight of his gaze without looking. It wasn't fair that she felt so much around this man.

  "What are you reading?"

  She closed her eyes briefly against the sound of his voice, the rough, deep texture stealing over her skin. She didn't want to be near him right now, afraid she'd throw herself at him or something equally as ridiculous. For a few desperate seconds she battled between staying and having it out with him—or a quick cut-and-run. Self-preservation won and she left the sofa, handing over the book without looking at him before she headed to her room.

  Gabe stood in his living room and watched her leave, watched the subtle shift of her satiny robe against her skin, the body lightly clad beneath. Then he heard the soft click of the door. And his imagination exploded with the image of her slipping out of the robe and sliding beneath the bedsheets. His arms suddenly ached with their emptiness. He wished things were different, wished he was worthy of a woman like her, wished he had met her under different circumstances. He wished he didn't want what she had so bad he couldn't think straight anymore.

  That wall you conveniently build isn't keeping me out, it's keeping you in.

  Don't you see? he thought dispiritedly. That's where I belong.

  He dropped her book and crossed to the hall, pausing at her bedroom door. For a fraction of a second, he raised his hand to knock, then clenched his fist against following through. He lowered his arm and stared at the beam of light coming from beneath the door, imagining her bathed in candlelight. He had no right to be here. No right! He spun away and headed to the shower, hoping the cold water would deflate his desire—and his need to feel anything besides this aching.

  He gave up trying to sleep around sunrise, and he blamed Calli, then blamed himself. Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, Gabe pulled on a pair of jeans and raked his hand through his hair. He needed coffee and paused in the bathroom to brush his teeth and splash water on his face. He wasn't looking forward to another day like yesterday, he thought, leaving the bathroom to make a pot of coffee. As he passed her room, he heard a sound, a whimper, and his heart dropped to his feet. He rapped on the door.

  "Calli?"

  "What!"

  Okay, he thought, she had a right to be ticked at him. "You all right?"

  "Fine!"

  Another grunt, a whimper.

  "What the hell is going on in there?"

  "Not that it's any of your business, but there are two devastatingly gorgeous men in here arguing over who gets to make love to me."

  Gabe smirked. "Yeah, right."

  "I told them they both could." A pause, then, "Rats!"

  Gabe opened the door and swallowed his breath. She was on the bed, one leg Indian style, the other stretched up alongside her head. When she realized he was there, she dropped her leg and threw her robe over her bare skin.

  "Is there a problem?"

  "Nothing that I can't handle." The flush of embarrassment fled through her face. His gaze dropped to the manicure kit spread out on the bed. "A splinter," she said when he scowled, and wished he'd leave.

  "Want some help?"

  "No!" she snapped. Then softer, "No, thank you. I can manage just fine."

  "Did you get it out?"

  She shook her head.

  "Then you aren't managing just fine."

  "Well, I certainly don't need your help!"

  Gabe felt her hurt like a fresh, hard slap. "Look, Calli. I know you're ticked off—"

  "Ha!" she snapped. "You don't know anything."

  He took a step closer and she pulled her legs in protectively, then winced.

  He stood by the bed, gazing down at her. It was clear she'd been up for a little while. Her hair was brushed and she smelled like wi
ldflowers. He sat on the bed and she immediately scooted back.

  "Where's the splinter?"

  "It's fine really, go away. Please." She shooed him, then pushed the creamy satin robe tighter around her throat.

  Gabe tried not to notice the lush shape of her body against the fabric, the hint of scalloped lace edging her bra.

  "Gonna kill you to ask me for help, isn't it?"

  "I don't want it, Gabe."

  "But you need it."

  She said nothing, her lips pressed tight.

  He sighed and wrestled the tweezers from her clenched fist. She stared mutinously back. "Too proud?" he goaded. He loved the way her eyes flared with her temper.

  "Look who's talking," she scoffed under her breath. But she did need his help. It was a humiliating fact and she decided that she could be objective. "Okay, fine, you take it out. But don't say I didn't warn you."

  He frowned. She leaned back against the headboard, against the mound of pillows, her foot sliding luxuriously against his thigh as she unfolded her leg. His frown deepened and slowly she pulled back the robe, liking that his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat, enjoying the way his gaze kept bouncing from her eyes to her bare leg.

  Gabe felt his body tense with each inch of skin she revealed, the slow drag of fabric taunting him.