Snowbound with the Bodyguard & The Cowboy's Secret Twins: Snowbound with the Bodyguard / The Cowboy's Secret Twins

* * *

Sheriff Brandon Sinclair stared out the window and silently cursed the snow. He’d been in a foul mood since the day before, when he’d gone back to the diner to have a little chat with Janette and discovered she’d up and quit her job, just like that.

He’d been on his way to the little rattrap trailer where she lived with her grandmother when a six-car accident just outside of town had required his immediate attention. By the time he’d finished up, the ice had begun to fall in earnest.

He tried to ignore the sound of his three daughters playing in the middle of their living-room floor. He hadn’t thought about Janette Black since the night they’d had sex over a year ago.

Then yesterday morning he’d heard the rumor that she had a little baby boy, a rumor that had been confirmed when he’d spoken with her at lunch.

Since that moment, he couldn’t get her—or more precisely the boy—out of his mind. His son. He knew in his gut that the kid was his.

“Brandon, honey, your breakfast is waiting,” Brandon’s wife, Sherrilyn, spoke from someplace behind him.

He grunted but didn’t turn around. Sherrilyn was a good woman. She’d come into the marriage not only crazy about him, but with the kind of respectability and a trust fund that Brandon had desired. She kept the large house neat and tidy, tried to anticipate his needs before he knew them and was an adequate if boring bedmate.

She loved being the sheriff’s wife, and while Brandon was feared and respected by the community, Sherrilyn was loved for her charity work and big heart.

But, when it came to giving Brandon what he’d wanted most in life, she’d failed miserably, pumping out three girl babies instead of the boy he desperately wanted.

“Mommy, Susan won’t share,” Elena, his youngest, whined from the living room. She was always whining about something. Girls whined. Girls cried, and he had three of the whiniest, weepiest girls in the county.

He narrowed his gaze as he turned away from the window and headed for the kitchen. As soon as the snow stopped, he’d get that boy. He didn’t much care what he had to do, but eventually that little boy would be living with him, being raised by him. Boys needed their daddies, and if the only way to get that kid was over Janette Black’s dead body, well then that could be arranged, too.

Chapter 3

Janette stayed in the bedroom with Sammy for most of the morning. She played peekaboo with him, laughing as he grinned and squealed at her antics. When he started to get sleepy, she picked him up in her arms and sat in the chair near the window, rocking and singing softly to him until he fell asleep.

She placed her lips against Sammy’s downy hair, drawing in the sweet baby scent of him. He was her heart, this little boy. Before his birth she had loved him, but nothing had prepared her for the depth of her love for him now.

Her heart squeezed as she thought of the threat that felt ominously close, a threat to this baby and their future together. She would do whatever it took to keep him safe and away from the man who was his biological father. She shoved aside thoughts of Sinclair, unwilling to allow the chill that thoughts of him always produced to consume her.

She was conscious of the sounds of Dalton in the next room. It was a good thing he’d told her about his family before she’d confessed what was really going on.

She should have known it wouldn’t be safe to tell him the truth. Bodyguards probably had to work closely with law enforcement officials. For all she knew, Brandon Sinclair could be a drinking buddy of the entire West clan.

When Sammy was sleeping soundly, she gently laid him in the middle of the big bed and tucked the pillows around him to stop him from rolling anywhere. She stood for a long moment staring down at the baby who owned all of her heart.

She would do whatever it took to keep Brandon Sinclair away from Sammy. She would run to the ends of the earth, hide for the rest of her life if that’s what it took.

You’re nothing but trailer trash, Janette. Nobody is going to believe you if you ever tell. Those were the last words she’d heard from Sinclair that night on the highway. He hadn’t spoken to her again or even looked at her until yesterday in the café when he’d told her he knew she had a son.

She’d tried to be so careful during her pregnancy. Thankfully she’d gained little weight and had been able to hide her condition until her eighth month. It was only then that she’d told the people who’d noticed that she was pregnant that she’d had a fling with a man passing through town. Because she believed Sinclair—nobody would ever believe her if she told the truth.

Tired of being cooped up, she finally left the bedroom and entered the living room, where Dalton sat in a chair reading a book as a saxophone wailed the blues from the stereo. She wasn’t concerned about the noise waking Sammy. From the time he’d been born he had slept like the dead, undisturbed by loud noises.

Dalton looked up and nodded at her. “Are you ready for lunch?” he asked and closed his book.

“No, thanks. I’m fine.” She gestured to the book on his lap. “Please, don’t let me interrupt you.”

“You aren’t. It isn’t a very good book, anyway.”

She glanced to the overflowing bookcase against one wall. “You must read a lot.”

“I enjoy reading,” he agreed. His piercing green eyes seemed to peer directly inside her. “What about you? Are you a reader?”

She sat on the edge of the sofa. “I’d like to be, but there never seems to be enough time. Between taking care of Sammy and my job there aren’t many hours left in the day.”

“What kind of job do you have?”

“Right now I’m a waitress, but that’s not what I want to do for the rest of my life.” She hesitated a moment, then continued, “I had to drop out of high school my junior year because my nana…my grandma got sick, so the first thing I need to do is get my GED.”

She wasn’t sure why she told him this. It was more information than he’d asked for and she was certain he didn’t care what her future plans might be.

Those direct green eyes of his held her gaze. “Your grandmother is important in your life?”

“Definitely. She raised me. It was just me and her, and of course my sister,” she hurriedly added. She’d never been a liar, and the lies she now found herself spouting bothered her more than a little bit.

“What about your parents? Where are they?”

“Who knows? I never knew my father and when I was three my mother dropped me off at Nana’s house and we never heard from her again. Nana told me she was a troubled woman with drug problems. I think she’s probably dead by now.”

Janette had long ago made peace with the fact that her mother had been unable to parent her. At least she’d been unselfish enough to put her in Nana’s care, where she’d been loved and looked after.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, and she was surprised by the touch of empathy she heard in his deep voice. “My mother was murdered when I was just a boy.”

“That’s horrible,” she exclaimed.

He shrugged. “You deal with the bumps life throws you.” He stood suddenly, as if to end the conversation of that particular topic. “Are you sure you aren’t ready for some lunch? I’m going to make a sandwich.”

“I guess I could eat a sandwich,” she agreed and got up to follow him into the kitchen. Once again she found herself sitting at the table while he fixed the meal. “I need to give you more money,” she said. “You’re feeding me and everything. I feel terrible about all this.”

He smiled then, and the power of his smile shot a wave of heat through her. It was the heat of a woman intensely aware of an attractive man. It shocked her, but she embraced it, for it was something she hadn’t felt for a very long time, something she’d thought Brandon Sinclair had killed.

“I think I can manage to feed one slender woman for a couple of days without declaring bankruptcy,” he said.

She returned his smile. “I just want you to know that I appreciate it.” She glanced toward the window where the snow appeared to be slowing down. Surely by tomorrow she could leave.

She gazed back at Dalton. “So, I guess your dad raised you, then? It must have been quite a challenge, considering how many of you there were.”

Once again he grinned, transfusing his rather stern features with an unexpected warmth. “Ah, Dad had a secret weapon. He hired a cantankerous old cowhand as a housekeeper. Smokey Johnson not only threatened to beat our butts if we got out of line, he followed through on his threats often enough to make us take him seriously.”

Despite his words it was obvious he held a lot of affection for the cowhand turned parental figure in his life. For the first time since she’d stepped out of the bus station yesterday evening, some of the tension that had coiled inside her eased.

“Ham and cheese okay?” he asked.

“Perfect. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Nah, sit tight. I can handle it. Besides, if you work as a waitress I doubt you get too many people offering to wait on you.”

She laughed. “That’s the truth.” He smelled nice, like minty soap and a touch of sandalwood, and she felt herself relax just a little bit more.

“Is your sister older or younger than you?”

The question came out of left field but reminded her that she couldn’t let her guard down for a minute. “Older,” she said. “Why?”

“Just curious.” He walked over to the table with their lunch plates. “What would you like to drink? I can offer you milk, water or a soda.”

“Milk would be nice.”

He rejoined her at the table a moment later with two tall glasses of milk. For the next few minutes they ate in silence. “From what you told me earlier it sounds like all of your brothers and your sister are married and having kids. Why aren’t you married?” she asked to break the uncomfortable quiet.

A flash of darkness momentarily chased across his green eyes. “I guess after growing up with a houseful of people I’ve discovered in my adult years that I enjoy my solitude,” he replied. “I like living alone and not having to answer to anyone and have no plans to ever get married.”

He took a drink of his milk, then continued, “What about you? I’m assuming things didn’t work out with you and the baby’s father?”

She looked down at her sandwich and pulled off part of the crust. “No, we tried to make it work. He’s a great guy and everything, but we just weren’t good together.” She looked at Dalton once again and forced a small smile to her lips. “But thankfully we have managed to remain good friends.”

How she wished this were true. How she wished that Sammy’s father was a good man who could help her instill the right qualities in their son instead of a monster who would taint the innocence of the little boy.

Dalton leaned back in his chair and studied her. “You’re a pretty woman. I’m sure you won’t have any problems finding some special guy to share your life.”

There was nothing in his voice to indicate he was flirting with her in any way, but she touched a strand of her hair self-consciously. She hadn’t felt pretty in a very long time and she was surprised to discover that his comment soothed a wound she hadn’t realized she possessed.

“I’m in no hurry at the moment to make any commitment to anyone,” she replied. “I just want to be able to take care of my son and myself.”

At that moment the phone rang, jolting every nerve in Janette’s body. What if it was Dalton’s brother, the sheriff? What if Dalton mentioned that he had a young woman and a baby staying with him?

What if Sinclair had already begun the search for her and had contacted Dalton’s brother? Horrible scenarios went off in her head, mini-movies of doom.

As Dalton started to rise to answer, she grabbed him by the forearm and held tight. Her heart beat so hard, so fast she wondered if he could hear it. “Please, please don’t tell anyone I’m here.”

His eyes pierced her with a sharpness that was almost painful. He didn’t answer but instead pulled his arm out of her grasp and walked over to the phone.

“Hello?” he said, his gaze never leaving Janette. “Yeah, hi, Dad. I was just eating lunch.”

As Dalton continued his conversation, he never broke eye contact with Janette. The tension that had dissipated earlier crashed back through her, twisting in her gut like a deadly Oklahoma tornado.

His voice remained pleasant as he carried on his conversation with his father. When he finally hung up he returned to the table and reached out to grab her forearm as she had done his.

“Now, Jane,” he said, his voice deceptively calm. “You want to tell me just what the hell is going on?”

* * *

Dalton stared at the woman and tried to ignore how fragile, how warm, her slender arm felt beneath his grasp. Her stunning blue eyes were wide and darted around the room as if seeking somewhere to run, to escape. She tried to pull her arm free from his grip but he held tight, just as she had a moment earlier.

“Talk to me,” he said. “Tell me why you don’t want me to mention to anyone that you’re here.”

This close he could smell the scent of her, clean with a touch of honeysuckle fragrance. She closed her eyes and he couldn’t help but notice the length of her eyelashes. She tried to pull away from him again and this time he let her go.

She wrapped her arms around herself as if she were cold and looked at him. “I’m sorry. I lied to you before.” She looked down at the table.

He frowned. “Lied about what?”

She got up as if she wanted as much distance from him as possible, but he had a feeling that what she was really doing was giving herself time to think. He wasn’t at all sure he was going to believe anything that fell out of her mouth at this point.

Moving to stand next to the window, she turned to face him. “I lied about Sammy’s father. He isn’t a nice man. He…he used to beat me. He was abusive and I needed to get away.”

There was a tremble in her voice, a timbre of fear that made him want to believe her. “You think he’s looking for you?”

Again she wrapped her arms around her middle. “You can bet on it. And if he finds me he’ll hurt me. He might hurt Sammy.”

“That’s not going to happen here,” Dalton said firmly. He offered her a smile. “After all, you’ve hired me as your personal bodyguard and I promise you I’m damned good at what I do.”

She didn’t return his smile and that, along with the darkness in her eyes, made him believe her. “Is that why you carry a knife?” he asked.

She raised a pale eyebrow. “How do you know about that?”

“I saw it last night when you opened the bedroom door.”

She returned to the table and sat, her gaze going out the window. “I won’t let him hurt me again.” She looked back at Dalton and there was a hard glint in her eyes. “I just want to get out of here. Once I get to my sister’s I’ll be just fine.”

“What’s this guy’s name?” Dalton asked.

“What difference does it make?”

He shrugged. “Just curious. I know most of the families in this area. Just thought I might know him.”

She blinked once…twice. “His name is Billy Johnson. I doubt if you know him. He’s not from around here. His family is from someplace back east.”

Once again he had the feeling she wasn’t being completely honest with him. Did he care? If he were smart he would stop asking questions now. In the next day or two she wouldn’t be his problem.

“I’d better go check on Sammy,” she said and rose from the table.

He watched her hurry away, unable to stop himself from noticing how the worn jeans fit snugly across her shapely butt. He was acutely aware of the fact that physically he was attracted to her, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be pulled into her life drama.

He got up from the table, carried their lunch dishes to the sink and began to rinse them. As he worked, his thoughts drifted to his last assignment.

It had been over a year since Dalton had worked a case as a bodyguard. Her name had been Mary Mason, she’d lived in Tulsa and she, too, had been the victim of domestic violence. He’d worked for her for almost four months, guarding her between the time she’d filed for divorce and the divorce proceeding itself, which had been expedited by a judge sympathetic to her situation.

Mary had known the statistics, that in these kinds of cases the most dangerous time for an abused wife was in the weeks prior to the divorce.

In those four months, he’d fallen head over heels in love with her and she had appeared to feel the same way about him. They had forged a bond that he thought would last the rest of their lives. They’d made plans for a wedding after her divorce, laughing as they created a fantasy event fit for a king and a queen.

It wasn’t until the day after the divorce proceedings that the fantasy exploded. Mary told him she needed some time to regroup, that he should return to his home in Cotter Creek and give her a little time alone.

He’d understood the request, had encouraged it, so certain was he that they would be together. He’d called her often, they’d emailed, but after only a month he’d received a Dear John letter. She’d fallen in love with another man. They were getting married. Dalton had made a wonderful temporary hero, but that’s all he had been.

He scowled as he put the dishes in the dishwasher. The whole thing had left a bad taste in his mouth, a heartache that had been long in healing. Since that time he’d worked the office, answering the phones and keeping the books. He preferred dealing with paperwork instead of people.

Footsteps sounded on the inside staircase that led from George’s place upstairs to Dalton’s. A moment later, a knock sounded on the back kitchen door.

Jane might not want anyone to know she was here, but it was already too late to keep that piece of information from his landlord.

George would have thought it damned odd that Dalton wanted to sleep on his sofa if Dalton hadn’t told the old man that he’d given harbor from the storm to a young woman and her baby.

He opened the door to see George wearing hot pads on his hands and carrying a fresh pie. “Had some canned apples and thought it was a good day for some pie and coffee.” He swept past Dalton and into the kitchen, where he deposited the pie on the table. “So, how about making us some coffee to go with this work of art.” He pulled out a chair and sat.

Dalton grinned. “Feeling a little cabin fever, George?” He got a pot of coffee ready to brew.

“I hate being cooped up. You know me, Dalton, I’m a social kind of man. Sitting and listening to my own thoughts bores me to death. Where’s your houseguest?”

At that moment Jane appeared in the doorway with Sammy in her arms. She froze at the sight of George. “Jane, this is my landlord, George, from downstairs,” Dalton said.

George popped up from the chair and walked over to where she stood. “Jane, nice to meet you. And who is this little fellow?”

Sammy took one look at George’s big, silly grin and screwed up his face. He wailed as if George were the devil himself and burrowed closer to Jane’s chest.

“Oh my.” George quickly stepped back.

“I’m sorry,” Jane said. “He’s hungry. I was just going to fix him a bottle.”

Dalton realized she not only held the boy in her arms, but also juggled a bottle and a can of powdered formula mix, as well. Short of putting Sammy on the floor, it was going to be next to impossible for her to hold him and make the bottle.

“Want me to take him?” he asked and gestured to the crying child.

She shot him a grateful look. “If you don’t mind. It will just take me a minute to get this ready.”

He nodded and took Sammy from her. Almost immediately Sammy not only stopped crying but grinned at Dalton as if the two were best buds.

“Would you look at that?” George exclaimed. “That boy is plum crazy about you.”

“He’ll be a lot crazier about that bottle,” Dalton replied, grateful a moment later when Jane took her son back. She sat at the table, Sammy in her arms sucking on his bottle with obvious contentment.

“George brought up a freshly baked apple pie,” Dalton said as he got out coffee mugs from the cabinet.

“Hmm, that sounds good. Apple is my favorite.” She offered George a tentative smile.

“My missus, God rest her soul, loved my apple pies. Always told me if God served pie in heaven, then he’d be serving mine,” George replied. “Guess this snowstorm took you by surprise.”

“Definitely,” she agreed.

George could talk, and that’s what he did for the next hour. Sammy finished his bottle and fell asleep. Dalton sat and sipped his coffee as George entertained Jane with colorful descriptions of people in town, humorous stories of his misspent youth and his fifty-year marriage to the woman who had owned his heart since he was sixteen.

Dalton had heard the stories before. What he found far more interesting than George’s conversation was watching Jane interact with the old man.

As she listened to George, she looked relaxed. Her long blond hair was so soft-looking, so shiny, it made a man want to reach out and touch it, coil it around his fingers, feel it dance across his chest. The first time she laughed aloud, Dalton was shocked by the pleasure that swept through him. She had a great laugh, one that would easily evoke smiles in others.

Although she visited with George in general terms, he noticed that she gave nothing of herself. She didn’t mention family or friends, didn’t speak of her hometown or her job.

Irritated with these kinds of thoughts, he got up to pour himself another cup of coffee, then returned to the table. He didn’t want to think about how sweet she smelled or how her lips were just full enough to tempt a man.

She’d given no indication that she might be up for a short, reckless affair to pass the time until she got on the bus out of town. And the last thing he wanted was any kind of an emotional entanglement with any woman. She’d be gone soon, and that was that.

It was just after three when George finally got up from the table. “It’s been a real pleasure,” he said and smiled at Jane. “There’s nothing nicer than spending a snowy afternoon in the company of a beautiful woman. Unfortunately, at my age, a good nap is also a pleasant way to spend the afternoon, and I’m past due mine.”

She offered him a sunny smile. “Thank you for the pie, George. Your wife was right. It was the best I’ve ever eaten,” she replied.

George beamed as if kissed by an angel.

“George, have you mentioned to anyone that I’m here?” Jane asked.

“Can’t say I have.” George scratched the top of his head. “Haven’t talked to anyone except Dalton since this storm moved in.”

“I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention it to anyone.” She flashed him a bright smile. “I’m kind of hiding out from somebody.”

George’s eyes lit up. “Ah, a woman of mystery. Your secret is safe with me.” He started to turn to head out the way he had come, but paused and pointed to the window. “Would you look at that?”

Both Dalton and Jane looked through the window where the snow had finally stopped and the sun peeked out from behind the last lingering gray clouds.

Chapter 4

“You think the bus will run tomorrow?” Janette asked Dalton. The three of them were in the living room, having just eaten supper. He was seated in the chair and she was on the sofa. Sammy was gurgling happily from a blanket on the floor.

“Doubtful,” he replied.

For the past hour they’d heard the sounds of plows starting the storm cleanup and each grind of gears had been like music to her ears. She just hoped and prayed she got out of there before Sheriff Brandon Sinclair somehow discovered where she was.

“Although most of the locals who have plows will be out and have our streets cleaned, it will probably be at least another day or so before the highways are completely cleared and the bus can show up.” He gazed at her curiously. “Surely you can’t be afraid that your boyfriend will find you here. You didn’t know you were going to be here, so how could he know?”