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Deadly Cover-Up
Julie Anne Lindsey


Can they uncover the truth before a killer finds them?  Violet Ames wants to know why her grandmother hired bodyguard Wyatt Stone before her suspicious accident. But as their investigation heats up, they uncover a scandalous town secret, and a determined killer takes aim at Violet…







Can they uncover the truth

before a hidden killer finds them?

Single mother Violet Ames wants to know why her grandmother hired former army ranger turned bodyguard Wyatt Stone before her suspicious accident. In order to discover the truth, Violet insists she and Wyatt work together—but trusting him with her and her baby girl’s lives is a different matter. As their investigation heats up, they uncover a scandalous town secret, and a determined killer takes aim at Violet. Now, in a race against time, it’s not always obvious who is friend and who is foe…


JULIE ANNE LINDSEY is a multigenre author who writes the stories that keep her up at night. She’s a self-proclaimed nerd with a penchant for words and proclivity for fun. Julie lives in rural Ohio with her husband and three small children. Today she hopes to make someone smile. One day she plans to change the world. Julie is a member of International Thriller Writers and Sisters in Crime. Learn more about Julie Anne Lindsey at julieannelindsey.com (http://www.julieannelindsey.com)


Also by Julie Anne Lindsey (#ua6dc2e29-06fd-5812-88a9-11c78edf14bb)

Shadow Point Deputy

Marked by the Marshal

Federal Agent Under Fire

The Sheriff’s Secret

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Deadly Cover-Up

Julie Anne Lindsey






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-0-008-90482-1

DEADLY COVER-UP

© 2019 Julie Anne Lindsey

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Note to Readers (#ua6dc2e29-06fd-5812-88a9-11c78edf14bb)


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Contents

Cover (#ucea6e988-fd3b-5105-bdb4-2567fdc2f1ba)

Back Cover Text (#uf9ce2358-4b94-5b8e-a98f-dec835dfef53)

About the Author (#u2e8dc113-745d-5d2a-95d7-c4670721e0a9)

Booklist (#u5ee06488-a3e7-5716-b5b3-a7f355574264)

Title Page (#u0eaca4c9-950f-5aed-9f61-bd47075c7b6b)

Copyright (#u1dc3518a-4a58-5b3b-9526-7b25f9259713)

Note to Readers

Chapter One (#u118525d8-6f6a-5568-a37c-9c2d2f9f01c0)

Chapter Two (#u8feaa69c-d21c-56dc-813b-c7a8808abc46)

Chapter Three (#ub794b6cc-6b85-5af3-afde-4b0bf673f491)

Chapter Four (#u2a6c6d22-4dbf-5fee-9d0d-5d39e8560146)

Chapter Five (#u1b72f5e0-ec6c-5caf-9f59-4409055f59d0)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One (#ua6dc2e29-06fd-5812-88a9-11c78edf14bb)


Violet Ames drove slowly along the familiar winding roads of River Gorge, Kentucky, wiping tears and saying prayers. It had been years since she’d visited the rural mountain town where her grandmother raised her, and this wasn’t the return trip she’d planned. Her version had involved an abundance of hugs and triple servings of Grandma’s double chocolate brownies, but there wouldn’t be any of that tonight.

Violet divided her attention between the dark country road before her and the sleeping infant behind her. Eight-month-old Maggie dozed silently in her little rear-facing car seat, having given up tears to fatigue only moments after the car exited the hospital parking lot. Violet rubbed her heavy lids and tried to stay composed, but it had been a tough day.

According to the midmorning phone call she’d received from River Gorge General Hospital, Violet’s grandma, a seventy-eight-year-old widow, had fallen from a ladder in her barn and nearly killed herself. The notion was unfathomable. Grandma’s barn was old and left unused after her grandfather’s death many years back, so why was her grandma even in there? And why had she climbed the ladder? There was nothing to reach with it except an old hayloft housing a decade of dust.

Violet gripped the aching muscles along the back of her neck and shoulders with one hand, steering carefully with the other. She couldn’t get her mind around the awful day. “What would have possessed her?” she whispered into the warm summer air streaming through her barely cracked window.

That was a million-dollar question, because no one at the hospital had a clue.

Her grandma, the only one who could explain what on earth she’d been up to, was lying unconscious in a bleach-and bandage-scented room, worrying her granddaughter half to death. She’d undergone surgeries for her broken hip and wrist and received sutures on her cracked head and a wrap for her swollen ankle. What she hadn’t done was open her eyes.

Her doctor said she’d wake when she was ready, and he had faith that would be soon. He’d suggested Violet be patient.

Patience wasn’t Violet’s strong suit. In fact, she wanted to scream. Her grandma had been Violet’s entire world before Maggie was born, and she knew it. Violet had made her promise to be careful with herself the year she moved from River Gorge to Winchester, nearly two hours away. And she had. “Yet here we are,” Violet muttered.

She thumped the steering wheel with one palm as hot tears spouted anew.

Maggie started behind her, jostling the car seat’s reflection in Violet’s rearview. Violet couldn’t see her face, but she heard the squirms and soft complaints as Maggie tried to find sleep once again.

Violet pressed her lips into a tight line, then wiped the new round of tears from her cheeks. They’d be at Grandma’s house soon, where they could get a good night’s sleep before returning to the hospital tomorrow, where hopefully they’d get some answers. Or better yet, find Grandma awake.

Soon the bumpy road grew steadily more uneven until cracked pavement gave way to sparse patches of dirt and loose gravel. Stones crunched and pinged beneath the tires and frame of Violet’s little yellow hatchback as she maneuvered the final stretch to her former home.

A small smile pulled through her heartbreak as Grandma’s farm came into view. Ghosts of her younger self on bicycles and horseback rushed down the drive to meet her, chased by the beloved hound dogs and yard chickens of her youth, sprayed with a garden hose held by her grandfather before he passed. Carried in Grandma’s arms when her mother waved goodbye from the passenger seat of a station wagon driven by a man she barely knew.

Violet rolled to a stop in front of the old white farmhouse, nausea fisting in her gut and fat tears blurring away the world before her. She shifted into Park and climbed out to inhale the sticky night air. Summers in River Gorge were scorching hot with the constant threat of a thunderstorm. A volatile combination Violet had always loved.

She peered at her sleeping daughter. “This will be fine,” she whispered. “Grandma will be fine.” Unwilling to wake Maggie, Violet unlatched the entire car seat and hoisted it into her arms, baby and all.

With any luck, Grandma still kept a spare house key under the plant in the big red pot outside her dining room window.

Violet carried Maggie to the potted flower garden near the front steps and tipped the planter back with one foot. “Shoot.” Nothing but bugs on the mulch-covered ground beneath.

She turned for the porch. All hope wasn’t gone. Her grandpa used to keep a spare above the front door. Grandma had hated it because she was too short to reach without something to stand on. Violet, on the other hand, hadn’t had that problem since middle school when she shot up to five foot eight and a half and stayed there.

She slowed on the steps when she caught sight of the front door already ajar.

Could the paramedics have forgotten to lock up on their way out?

Had they even gone inside the house if Grandma had fallen in the barn?

Violet flipped the interior light on and swung the door wide. Maybe her grandma hadn’t fully secured the door before heading outside to the barn, and the open door had gone unnoticed by the EMTs.

Eerie silence greeted Violet as she edged her way inside, trying desperately not to wake her daughter. She set Maggie, in her car seat, against the far wall, then pushed the door shut behind them. “Hello?” she called, as much from habit and manners as anything.

The fine hairs along Violet’s neck and arms rose to attention. The couch cushions were all slightly askew and a small drawer in the side table was open. She double-checked that the television and DVD player were still there, then shook her head in a relieved sigh. It wasn’t a robbery.

Violet rubbed the gooseflesh from her arms. Of course it wasn’t. No one in town would bother breaking into her grandma’s house. For one thing, everyone was perpetually invited in, and for another, it was a small town. Folks here knew her grandma barely got by on her grandpa’s small pension. Besides all that, there was nothing to take that Grandma wouldn’t freely give.

A small sound rose on the night air, perking Violet’s ears and causing her to rethink her theory. Another little bump drew Violet’s attention to the kitchen near the back of the home and jerked her heart rate into a sprint.

She pulled her cell phone from one pocket and dialed the local authorities before inching away from the darkened hallway, back toward the front door and Maggie.

“Hello,” she whispered to the tinny voice answering her call. “I think there’s someone in my grandma’s house.”

No sooner had she uttered the words than a hulking shadow erupted from the home’s depths, bearing down on her fast with long, pounding strides. Violet screamed as his iron hands connected with her shoulders, knocking her end over end as he barreled past her and out the front door.

Maggie screamed in her car seat as the calamity of her mother’s crashing body mixed with the loud bang of Grandma’s front door hitting the wall.

Violet scrambled onto her hands and knees, then raced to Maggie’s side. She climbed off the ground slightly bruised but wholly motivated to get her baby to safety. She wasted no time escaping the house with Maggie and locking them both into her car, engine running, while she waited for local authorities to arrive.






WYATT STONE DOUBLE-CHECKED his GPS as the quiet country road turned to gravel beneath his sturdy truck tires. He knew Gladys Ames lived on a rural property, but this was nearly isolated. No wonder she had been scared.

He drove with one hand on the wheel while he dug through a pile of papers on his dashboard with the other, fishing for a business card in decent condition. Normally, Wyatt was better organized, but his fledgling private security business had been growing legs faster than he could keep up or recruit a staff large enough to handle all the work, and that left Wyatt running on caffeine and determination more often than sleep and preparation.

A set of bobbing headlights appeared around the next pitted gravel bend and headed his way, demanding the lion’s share of the narrow road and forcing Wyatt’s truck onto the grass with two wheels. The sheriff’s cruiser lumbered past at a crawl, leaving Wyatt to wait for the opportunity to forge on. Once he could, Wyatt pressed the gas pedal with a little more purpose than before. Gladys Ames had sent several messages to Fortress Security over the past few days, arranging for protection while she “handled some business,” but Wyatt wasn’t supposed to start work until tomorrow. So what had she gotten herself into that required a sheriff’s presence since their last correspondence?

He slid his truck into the space behind a small yellow hatchback and climbed down from the cab.

A brunette with a baby in one arm and a half dozen assorted duffel bags dangling from her shoulders and hands froze at the sight of him.

It wasn’t the first time a lone woman had looked at him that way. It wouldn’t be the last.

His size and general appearance put most folks on edge, especially women. Certainly at night. Definitely alone.

Wyatt stopped moving.

“Ma’am.” He tugged the curved brim of his worn-out Stetson and nodded. “I’m Wyatt Stone from Fortress Security, a private protection agency in Lexington. I’m here to see Gladys Ames.”

This dark-haired beauty didn’t speak or budge, though her arms must’ve been feeling the weight of her burdens. She was lean and tall for a woman, but Wyatt still had more than a half a foot on her. Like most people he met in this business, she looked incredibly vulnerable, breakable and scared. And he had a bad habit of looking dangerous, or so he’d been told.

Wyatt ran through a mental list of ways to get past this beautiful guard dog without scaring her any further. He was there to help Gladys Ames, and a general web search had revealed her to be in her seventies. Definitely not this woman.

“I have a business card,” he offered, “and a signed contract for services to begin tomorrow morning. I told Mrs. Ames I’d come sooner if I could. No additional charge, of course.” Honestly, coming here straight from his last job had saved him five hours of traveling back to Lexington only to turn around and leave for River Gorge in the morning. He was going right past anyway. It made sense to start work a few hours early in exchange for an extra night of boarding.

The woman adjusted her baby on her hip and struggled with the cluster of bags hanging all over her. “Grandma hired you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Wyatt outstretched his hand, a new business card wedged between his fingers. “How about a trade? I take those bags off your hands, and you have a look at the card. Is Mrs. Ames inside?” He checked his watch, hadn’t even thought about the time or a seventysomething woman’s schedule. It was already after nine. “I don’t want to wake her.”

Tears sprang to the beauty’s eyes and a small whimper puckered her rosebud mouth. “She’s in the hospital.”

Wyatt’s senses went on alert. “Why?”

The woman slouched. Her face twisted in grief and agony. She made the proposed trade, then gathered her little girl more tightly against her chest, stroking her puffy brown curls.

Wyatt scanned the scene, impatiently waiting for an answer to his question. Had someone hurt his new client before he’d even gotten there? The road-hogging cruiser came back to mind. “Why was the sheriff here?”

“Grandma’s in the hospital because she fell. Sheriff Masterson was here because there was a break-in. He dusted for prints and took some photos of the mess, but nothing was missing as far as I can tell. He made a report and said he’d follow up.”

Wyatt stifled a curse and headed for the house as eight years of military training and a lifetime of natural instinct snapped into effect. “How badly was Mrs. Ames hurt? Was anything taken? Who found her when she fell? I need as many details as you have.”

He let himself inside and unloaded the bags onto a tweed couch beside the door. He ran his fingers along the jamb and door’s edge looking for signs of forced entry, then did the same with the windows before moving on.

The condition of each room grew progressively worse as he pushed deeper into the home. The television was untouched, and a small dish near the kitchen sink held what looked like a set of wedding rings. “This wasn’t a robbery.”

He turned to discuss the situation further, but the brunette hadn’t followed him inside.

Wyatt strode back through the house and onto the porch. “Are you coming in?”

“I don’t know.”

He shifted his weight and locked restless hands over both hips. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to protect Mrs. Ames, who assured me tomorrow morning was a fine time to start.”

“Well, I guess she was wrong.” The woman looked down at the card in her hand, as if she’d forgotten it was there.

“Tell me what happened.” Wyatt moved to the porch’s edge and lowered himself onto the top step. “I can’t help until I know what I just walked into, but I assure you I can help.”

Her eyes filled with tears again. “I don’t know.”

“You said she fell?” He highly doubted that was an accident, given her recent outreach to a security firm. “Is she going to be okay?”

“She’s unconscious. Broke a hip and a wrist. She hasn’t woken since the fall.” The woman covered her mouth and nose with one trembling palm. A moment later, she stiffened her spine, wiped her nose and eyes against her arm, then locked both hands protectively around her daughter’s back, seeming determined to be strong.

Wyatt pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. “Here.”

“Thanks.” She mopped her face and released a long, shuddered breath. “I’m her granddaughter, Violet, and this is my daughter, Maggie. I got the call this morning about her fall. We live in Winchester, so we came right out, and we were at the hospital all day, but she never woke up. I thought we’d stay here tonight, but when I got here…” She gave the house behind him a wary look.

Wyatt rested one boot on the step below him and stretched his other leg out. He’d been in the truck far too long, folded up like a clean pair of fatigues. “I’m sorry about your grandma.” He worked his jaw, considering the unusual set of events. “What do you know about the fall?”

“Not much, and what I’ve been told doesn’t make sense.” Violet rubbed one hand over her forehead. She’d clearly had a horrible day, and his unexpected appearance wasn’t doing anything to improve it.

“Tell me what you do know.”

She rolled wide blue eyes back to him. “The hospital staff said she was on a ladder in the barn, but Grandma hasn’t kept anything in there in years.”

Violet swung her face away from him and squinted into the darkness beyond the house. Her shoulders squared, and her expression turned suspicious and hard. The visible heartbreak was replaced by something Wyatt knew well. Resolve. “Maybe it’s time we see the barn,” she suggested.

Wyatt dragged his six-foot-four and two-hundred-fifty-pound frame back onto its feet with a nod of approval.

He and Violet were going to get along nicely.




Chapter Two (#ua6dc2e29-06fd-5812-88a9-11c78edf14bb)


Wyatt moved alongside Violet toward the big red barn behind Mrs. Ames’s home. He worked to keep his thoughts on important things, like what Mrs. Ames had been afraid of when she’d hired him, and not things like whether or not the wedding rings in the kitchen belonged to the intriguing brunette at his side.

Violet stopped at the back porch, standing with Maggie under a small cone of light thirty feet from the barn. She waved a hand in Wyatt’s direction, indicating he should go on without her. The look on her face said the sleeping baby on her hip was Violet’s priority. “There’s a pull string just inside the door that’ll give you some light. Not enough to fill the whole barn, but it’s something.”

Wyatt gave the ladies a long look before reluctantly leaving them behind. He’d already cleared the perimeter. He didn’t sense anyone else nearby. They would be fine, and he wouldn’t be long.

A few steps into the barn, a thin beaded-metal chain bounced against his forehead. He tugged it and squinted against the sudden burst of light. As promised, it wasn’t enough to explore the entirety of the cavernous structure, but it was all he needed. The ladder in question stood just a few yards away, blood staining the earthen floor at its base.

Wyatt accessed the flashlight app on his cell phone and searched the ground more carefully, following a line of blood to the small puddle a few inches from the nearest ladder, making it obvious that someone had wanted people to believe she’d been on the rickety-looking structure when she fell, but that wasn’t the case. She’d fallen where the line of blood began and had been moved to the ladder, where she continued to bleed until someone had found her. Aside from the blood trail, the dusty ground had been heavily trodden for an unused barn, probably evidence of whoever had discovered her and the emergency team who had taken her away.

“Do you see this?” he asked softly. His senses pinged like rapid fire. Violet’s nearness charged the air between them. He didn’t need to look to know she was there.

Violet gasped, then shuffled closer, having given up her hiding spot around the corner. “How’d you know I was here?”

“It’s my job.” And he had a feeling he’d sense her anywhere now that they’d met. Never mind the fact that the sweet scent of her so easily knotted his chest and scrambled his thoughts.

Training had surely played a part in his ability to track her movement without looking her way, but never in his life had he been so acutely aware of any woman, or so distracted by the question of where she placed her perfume. Did she dab it on her wrists, the curve of her neck? Along the valley between her breasts?

“Impressive,” she said, sounding as if she meant it.

Wyatt had always been astute, but the army had honed his natural talents to a lethal point. Those skills had been incredibly useful as a soldier but were an unyielding burden as a civilian. Hearing every sound. Knowing every lie. Those were the reasons he’d rarely been at ease since his return stateside and the catalyst for opening his private security firm. That and the fact that he was good at what he did, maybe even the best. Wyatt read people, and he protected them.

Currently, Violet seemed to be deciding if she could trust him. The answer was a resounding yes, and he’d prove that to her with time. The shifting glances she slid between him and the open barn door suggested she was also wondering whether or not she could outrun him.

She could not.

Wyatt lowered the beam of his light to the stained floor. “Who found her?”

“Ruth,” Violet said. “A friend of hers I ran into at the hospital. Grandma had invited her for lunch, but didn’t answer the door, so Ruth looked out here and saw the barn door open.”

Wyatt considered the new information. “Mrs. Ames broke her hip and wrist? Did she receive any injury that might have resulted in this kind of blood loss?”

Violet’s skin went pale. “She hit her head. They gave her a bunch of stitches.” Her free hand traveled absently to the crown of her long wavy hair, as if she might feel the sutures there.

A head injury explained the blood.

Wyatt extinguished the light and tucked his phone back into his pocket. “If your grandma was on the ladder when she fell, how do you suppose she hit her head only a few inches away from the base?”

Violet’s brows knit together. Her attention dropped back to the shadow-covered floor. “She couldn’t have.”

“Right. With her body on the ladder, her head would’ve hit farther away, unless she fell headfirst from the loft, which would’ve done more than break her hip and wrist.” He pulled his father’s Stetson from his head and rubbed exhausted fingers over short-cropped hair. “I think she fell over there.” He pointed to the wide start of a narrow line of blood, then swung his finger toward the ladder. “Someone moved her closer to the ladder, probably hoping whoever found her would jump to conclusions, which they did.”

“So she didn’t fall off the ladder.”

“I don’t think so, no.”

Violet’s beautiful face knotted. Her blue eyes snapped up to lock on his as recognition registered. “Grandma hired you because she thought she needed protection.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“From who?”

He placed the beloved hat back onto his head. “She didn’t say.”

Violet’s dark brows tented. “Do you think whoever it was might have done this to her?”

“That’s what I intend to find out.”






VIOLET WATCHED AS Wyatt grabbed the aged wood of the barn ladder and gave it a shake before climbing into the old loft. She’d never met anyone as big as Wyatt and watching him climb the ladder conjured memories of the giant on Jack’s beanstalk. Her grandma was wise to choose him. If anyone could protect her, this would be the guy. Everything about him screamed military training. She recognized his rigid stance and searching gaze. She’d seen similar traits in Maggie’s father, though the caution and compassion in Wyatt’s voice had never been present with her ex. Violet’s heart panged with regret at the unbidden memories rushing to the surface. She’d been naive to trust her heart so easily, and look where that had gotten her.

Maggie wriggled and Violet kissed her soft brown curls. She lifted a hand to shield her sleeping face from another round of dust falling from the loft. At least she’d gotten Maggie from the carnage of her train wreck relationship. Awful as the love loss had been at the time, she’d gladly endure it again if that meant she’d get to be Maggie’s mama.

Violet stepped away from the growing cloud of rustled dirt floating in the air. Soft scents of aged wood and dried hay slipped into her senses, sending a flood of nostalgia over Violet’s anxious limbs. “I used to spend hours in that loft,” she said, letting her voice carry to Wyatt. “Grandpa died when I was in middle school, and Grandma sold the animals, but I still came out here.” Trying to feel near him.

The creaking boards went silent. Wyatt had stopped to listen. “What was up here then?”

“Just hay and me.”

“What did you do?”

She smiled at the massive Wyatt-shaped shadow on the wall. He must’ve gotten his cell phone light out again. “Read. I was going to be a pilot like Amelia Earhart, or a Nobel Prize–winner like Marie Curie. Maybe a scientist like Jane Goodall.” Violet had bored her grandma to death recounting all the things she’d learned up there.

“Are you?” Wyatt’s deep tenor voice carried through the quiet air.

Violet chuckled, bouncing Maggie gently against her chest. “What? A pilot or Nobel Prize–winner or scientist? No. I’m a fifth-grade language arts teacher.” As it turned out, Violet enjoyed telling others the things she knew more than she wanted to go off and do them herself. She only wished her grandpa had lived to see her with her class, sharing the stories he’d loved with them. He would’ve been so proud. And he would have loved Maggie.

Wyatt’s steady footfall moved back toward the ladder. “There’s a good-sized bare spot up here. Looks like either something pretty big was kept here or someone was clearing a spot for some reason.”

“How would anything get up there?” That was the whole conundrum, wasn’t it? “Grandma couldn’t carry anything up a ladder, especially something large.” And they’d already established that she hadn’t fallen from the ladder. She’d probably never even been on it.

Wyatt’s long legs swung into view, and he returned to her side by way of the creaky rungs. “Take a look.” He brushed his hands against his thighs, then turned his camera to face her. A picture of the dispersed hay overhead centered the screen.

“It looks like someone was just kicking it around to me,” Violet said. “The whole floor is dusty. The space would be cleaner if something had been there long.”

Wyatt rubbed the back of his neck, then the thick black stubble over his cheeks. “You’re right. I should’ve seen that.” He pressed his fingertips against heavy-lidded eyes. “I know you’ve had an awful day, and you’re still deciding what to think of me, but can I trouble you for some coffee? I’ve got enough work to keep me busy a while, and I’ve been on the road all day.”

Violet pulled her gaze to the open barn door and back. She’d checked out Wyatt’s company website on her cell phone, using the business card he’d given her, while she’d waited briefly outside. Under the tab with details about the protectors for hire, she’d found photos of Wyatt. Posing in his dress greens. Running drills in fatigues. He seemed to be who he said he was. One founder of a private protection firm in Lexington. “What kind of work do you have to do tonight?”

He dropped his hands to his sides, then stuffed long fingers into the front pockets of his jeans. “I didn’t see any signs of forced entry inside the home, so I’d like to replace the locks and dead bolts for starters, install motion lights at the front and back of the house, and add chains on the main entries.”

“You’re doing all that tonight?” Violet squeaked. Did he think that whoever had broken in and knocked her down might come back? A shiver coursed over her and she held Maggie tighter.

“Basic precautions,” he said. “I’ve got everything I need in my truck, and a copy of your grandma’s contract if you want to see it. Given the circumstances, I think she’d allow that.”

Suddenly, the stranger before her seemed like the safer, handsomer of two unknowns. Violet was certain she’d sleep better with new locks and a trained military man under her roof. Besides, it was after ten already, and Maggie never slept past six. If Violet didn’t get to bed soon, she wouldn’t get much sleep.

Wyatt ducked his head. “I don’t mind sleeping in my truck and starting tomorrow if that makes you more comfortable.” He moved toward the string for the light and slowed for Violet to pass. “You’ve been through a lot today, and I’ve slept in that truck more often than my bed this month. I’d still like to get the new locks on first.” His cheek ticked up in a lazy half smile before he shut it down.

Violet stopped to face him. She chewed her lip in indecision. “Why did Grandma choose you?”

“I’m the best.”

Violet made a show of rolling her eyes, silently thankful for his efforts at levity given the day she’d had. “Humble, too.”

Wyatt pulled the light string, delivering them into darkness as they made their way back outside. “I advertised strategically. Specifically to women’s groups, yoga studios, churches that had events likely to be attended by elderly civilians. Word spread like wildfire. I suppose she found me that way.”

Violet narrowed her eyes. “So you targeted women and old folks.”

He nodded confidently. “Statistically they’re the most common targets for violent crimes, harassment and stalking. I wanted to make a difference, not play bodyguard for some rich jerks.”

Violet mulled the answer, impressed yet again. “You were planning to stay with Grandma while you’re in River Gorge?”

“That was the agreement,” he said. Wyatt matched his pace to hers as they walked back across the lawn to Grandma’s home. “I have a week blocked off on my calendar for this, but I can stay longer if something changes. Mrs. Ames only said she had something to take care of, and she wanted the freedom to do it without having to watch over her shoulder.” He grinned, sneaking a quick look in Violet’s direction. “I was going to be her nephew, visiting from Lexington.”

Violet rubbed the creases she felt gathering on her forehead. That cover story made Wyatt her relative, and it didn’t say much about her, given the things she’d already thought about him. Like how nice he might look without a shirt. Or pants.

She turned her heated cheeks away.

It wasn’t like her grandma to meddle, so Violet could only assume that whatever was going on had been dropped into her lap. And it must be something big to force Grandma’s involvement and require a bodyguard.

She slowed at the front porch and turned to face Wyatt. “Will you be able to find out if her fall was an accident?”

“Yes.”

“And if it wasn’t, will you find out who hurt her?”

He dipped his chin in sharp confirmation. “I won’t leave town till I do.”

Violet evaluated the giant before her. He certainly seemed legit, and her grandma had chosen him. She’d even trusted him to stay with her while she did whatever it was that she was doing. “Okay,” she said, resting her cheek on top of Maggie’s head. “You can stay, and you don’t need to sleep in your truck.” She marched up the steps before she changed her mind. “I’ll make up the couch and put on the coffee.”

They went their separate ways then. Wyatt to his truck for his bags. Violet to set up a portable crib for Maggie in her grandmother’s bedroom. She returned a few minutes later with a baby monitor and bedding to cover the couch.

Wyatt was already hard at work changing door locks in the kitchen. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t let me in tonight,” he said, attention fixed on the open door and his work.

“I wouldn’t have cared,” she said with a smile. If she’d suspected he was a danger to Maggie, his feelings would have been the least of her concerns.

Wyatt released a low chuckle. “Fair enough.”

She started the coffee, then stuck a mug under the drip. “Cream or sugar?”

He shook his head in the negative. “Just the caffeine.”

“Right.” She carried the cup of coffee to her handsome handyman, then turned in a small circle, deciding where to begin remedying the mess left by an intruder.

She started with shutting cupboards and drawers, then moved on to clearing the counters. “What do you think Grandma was looking into that made her so afraid that she called you?”

“Well.” Wyatt shut the back door and tested the locks before tossing a set of identical keys onto the counter and unearthing a chain system from his bag. “Could be anything.” He lined the chain’s casing against the door’s edge and cast a look in her direction. “Did she say anything unusual to you lately?”

Heat crept over Violet’s cheeks as she struggled to recall the last time she’d spoken to her grandma. “We don’t talk as much as we used to. I’ve been busy since Maggie was born.”

“How old is your baby?”

Violet chewed her bottom lip, debating how much to tell him about her life “Eight months. She didn’t sleep for the first four, but she seems to be making up for it now.”

He smiled.

“I can’t complain. Even single moms need a break sometime, right?”

Wyatt’s sharp brown eyes snapped in her direction. His gaze drifted to her left hand, then rose to her eyes. “Not married?”

“No. Never. How about you?” she asked. “Any children? Got a Mrs. Stone at home?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Why not?” The words were out before she’d thought better of them. Then again, maybe this was the smart move. If he’d openly admit his inevitable defects, then she’d stop imagining the snare of electricity coursing between them at every turn. The fact that they were virtual strangers should have been enough to keep her from wondering what his hands might feel like on her hips or in her hair, but it hadn’t. Maybe knowing he was a womanizer, gambling addict or married to his job would do the trick.

“I hear I’m a pain in the ass,” he said, making the final few twists of his screwdriver. “Apparently, I’m cynical, distrusting and tenacious to a fault.”

Violet laughed. “Comes with the job, I’d suppose.”

“You’re not joking.” He slid the chain into the slot and tested the door. “I make my brothers crazy, and I’ve guarded their lives in combat. If they can’t handle me, I’m not sure why anyone else would want to try.”

Violet swept a pile of broken glass onto a dustpan and transported it into the trash. “How many brothers do you have? Any sisters?”

“No siblings.” Wyatt frowned over his shoulder. “Sorry. I meant my brothers-in-arms. Sometimes I forget they aren’t my blood, but we are undeniably family. Sawyer, Jack, Cade and I formed Fortress Security about two years after my military discharge. We’ve all tried to fit back into our civilian lives, but it didn’t work for us. We’re too far changed, and our particular skill sets don’t translate well to civilian life.” Wyatt packed up his tools, jaw clenched. “Eventually I decided to open a business where we could do what we’ve been trained to do. Guard and protect.”

Violet’s stomach tilted at the mention of his military service. “What branch did you serve in?” Maggie’s dad was a marine.

“US Army Rangers.” He seemed to stand impossibly taller as he reported the information. “Sawyer and Jack were, too. We met at Fort Benning.” Pride puffed his chest and deepened his voice.

Violet found herself drifting closer, hungry to know more. “A security firm run by army rangers? Also impressive.”

“It would be,” he said, smiling, “but Sawyer’s brother, Cade, was a jarhead.”

Violet’s mouth went dry. She didn’t mean to judge an entire branch of the US military by the actions of one pregnant-girlfriend-abandoning creep, but the association was there nonetheless, roiling in her gut.

“We’ve all got our mottoes and taglines,” Wyatt said, “but the bottom line for Fortress Security is honor first every time. Doesn’t matter how you word it.”

“God. Corps. Country. Family,” Violet groused.

“Exactly.”

Exactly. Violet set her broom aside and went to see what she could clean in the dining room.

Wyatt Stone might be kind, sexy and undeniably charming, but that marine motto had pulled her back to reality. The truth was that men like Wyatt would always put family last.

And that would never be good enough for Maggie.




Chapter Three (#ua6dc2e29-06fd-5812-88a9-11c78edf14bb)


Violet woke on a gasp of air. Her heart caught in her throat as the faceless monster of her dreams vanished with the warmth of morning sunshine drifting through her grandma’s bedroom window. The beloved scent of her childhood was everywhere, on the pillows and sheets, in the curtains and carpet. She took a long steadying breath of the floral dime-store perfume before peering over the bed’s edge into her daughter’s portable crib.

Maggie grinned around a mouthful of her toes, drool running down her chubby cheek. She released her foot instantly, reaching tiny dimpled fists greedily toward her mama.

Violet scooped her daughter into her arms and rolled back onto the antique sleigh bed for a long snuggle. “Today will be a better day,” she promised. “We’ll go see Grandma, and the doctors will say good things, and soon we’ll be having breakfast with her instead of the enormous cowboy sleeping on the couch.”

Maggie laughed and slapped Violet’s cheek with one slobbery hand.

Ten minutes later, the Ames ladies were dressed in jean shorts and tank tops, prepared for another hot July day. Violet left her hair down, curling over her shoulders to her ribs, instead of pulled coolly into a ponytail. She told herself it wasn’t for Wyatt’s sake despite the already rising temperatures.

There was something about the way he’d turned those knowing brown eyes on her last night. The way he’d watched and listened to her, seeming to perceive everything, as if he could read her mind.

Given the handful of inappropriate things she’d fallen asleep thinking about, all starring him, she was thankful to be wrong about the mind reading.

Violet braced her shoulder against the curved wooden headboard and put her weight into shoving the bed away from the door. Barricading the room seemed silly by the light of day, but she wasn’t exactly the best judge of men and inviting one the size of Wyatt to sleep over had seemed questionable after she’d come upstairs.

Doorway clear, Violet popped Maggie into a baby sling and headed silently downstairs to start breakfast without waking Wyatt. Six fifteen was early for anyone. It had to be an unthinkable hour for someone who had needed caffeine to stay awake at ten last night.

The beloved scent of fresh-brewed coffee met her in the stairwell as she descended into the kitchen, and Violet hurried toward it. Could Wyatt be awake already? And have had time to make coffee?

His bare back came into view a moment later, and she stopped to appreciate the way his low-slung basketball shorts gripped his trim waist, accentuating his ridiculously broad shoulders and thick, muscular arms.

“Hungry?” he asked without a single look in her direction. It was the second time he’d seemed to magically know she was there.

Violet moved casually into the kitchen, pretending not to have been ogling him. “I thought you’d be asleep.”

Wyatt shuffled scrambled eggs around one of her grandma’s iron pans and smiled over his shoulder. “I like to run before dawn. Watch the sun rise. Clear my head for a new day.”

Violet gave a small laugh. “You’ve already been out for a run?” The only thing she liked to do before dawn was sleep.

“Sure. A run. A shower. Breakfast. I brought some aerial photos of your grandma’s land with me in case I needed them this week, so I used them as guides and went around the property’s edge. It worked nicely because I didn’t want to go far from here without letting you know I’d be out. I wasn’t sure when Maggie would wake.”

Violet worked to shut her mouth. He remembered Maggie’s name? She’d only introduced her once, and her baby had been asleep the whole time.

“Mrs. Ames has a nice setup here,” he said. “Nearly fifty acres. Some of it is being farmed on the back side. Looks like she rents that to a local farmer. Everything near the house is incredibly peaceful, and there’s a beautiful lake past the rose gardens.”

Violet nodded. The rose gardens were her grandma’s pride and joy. She raised blue-ribbon winners almost every year. The lake had always been Violet’s favorite outdoor spot, especially in the summer. There was a nice breeze under the willows and when that didn’t keep her cool, the shaded waters of the lake did.

Wyatt flicked the knob on Grandma’s stove to Off. He shoved rich, buttery-scented eggs onto a plate and ushered them to the kitchen table, already set for two. “I helped myself to the fridge.” A grimace worked over his face. “I hope that’s okay. I plan to replace everything I used when I go into town. Just thought you’d be ready to eat once you woke.”

Violet blinked. “Thank you.”

He returned to the stove and levered fat strips of bacon from a second bubbling pan, then layered them on an oblong plate heavy with napkins to soak up the grease. “I grew up on a farm like this. Ours was a horse farm, but this place reminds me an awful lot of home.”

“Good times?” she guessed by the wistful look on his face.

“Every. Single. Day.” He tossed a red checkered towel over one shoulder and delivered the bacon to the table.

Violet’s gaze traveled over his perfect chest to the jaw-dropping eight-pack abs below. A dusting of dark hair began beneath his belly button and vanished unfairly into his waistband.

“Oh.” He looked down at himself. “Sorry. Bad habits.” Wyatt disappeared into the next room and returned in a clingy black T-shirt. “Eat up. Big day.”

Violet tried to hide her disappointment at the change of scenery and discreetly checked for drool. “What’s on the agenda?” she asked, settling Maggie into the legless high chair clinging to the kitchen table’s edge.

“I’m headed into town,” Wyatt said, taking a seat beside Maggie with his loaded plate.

Violet turned for the counter and prepped a bottle of formula, then dug through her diaper bag for Maggie’s favorite yellow container of Cheerios. “Breakfast is served,” she said, delivering the pair to Maggie. Violet lifted her eyes to Wyatt. “What’s happening in town?”

“I’m going to talk to folks,” he said. “See what they have to say about your grandma and anything else that might be turning the rumor mill.” He sipped his coffee and smiled at Maggie.

She threw a Cheerio at him and missed by a mile.

Violet went to pour a cup of coffee. Clearly, Maggie could hold her own.

Maggie’s squeal of delight spun Violet on her toes.

Wyatt bit into a slice of bacon, utterly straight-faced while her daughter clapped and laughed.

“What are you doing?” Violet asked, enjoying the rush of pleasure at seeing her baby smile.

Wyatt chewed and swallowed slowly. “What?”

“Maggie squealed.”

Wyatt glanced innocently at the pudgy-cheeked princess. “She did?”

Violet narrowed her eyes in a ruse of disapproval. “You know she did. You’re sitting right beside her.” She dropped her gaze to pull out a chair, and Maggie cracked up again. This time, Violet caught sight of Wyatt’s pink tongue sticking out sideways before he pulled it back in. “Did you just make a face at my baby?”

“No, ma’am.”

“I saw you make a face at her,” Violet insisted, trying hard not to smile around the edge of her coffee mug. “You lied to me.”

Wyatt slid serious brown eyes toward Maggie. “Snitch.”

Maggie rocked and bebopped in her seat, eyes fixed tightly on Wyatt.

He wiped his mouth and set the napkin on the table beside his already-empty plate. “Okay. Truth? I’ve made several faces at your daughter this morning.”

Maggie blew raspberries until spit bubbles piled on her chin.

“Oh!” Violet giggled. “Maggie!” She wiped her baby’s chin and let the laughter grow. “I’ve never seen her do that before.” A tear slid from the corner of one eye as she dotted Maggie’s nose with the napkin. “What a nut.”

Wyatt winked at Maggie before turning back to Violet. “What are your plans today? Do you want to join me in town before we visit Mrs. Ames, or would you rather see her first, then head into town afterward?”

The words were innocent enough, but they itched and scratched at Violet’s heart and mind. She’d known Wyatt less than a day and suddenly it seemed as if they were playing house. When were they visiting Grandma? When were they going into town? They. Violet, Maggie and Wyatt.

She took a moment to absorb the scene around her.

A handsome, attentive man had made her breakfast. He’d made her daughter laugh, and he’d unwittingly made Violet think of things that were impossible. Like a cute little nuclear family of her own. She felt so incredibly stupid. The connection she imagined between herself and Wyatt obviously boiled down to him being the first man who was kind to her following Maggie’s birth and nothing more. He was simply being professional. He was there to do a job, not fulfill Violet’s fantasies. And she needed to get a grip.

Violet pressed a hand discreetly to her tummy, quashing leftover butterflies. “No. Thank you.” She couldn’t allow herself to think impossible things. It wasn’t fair to her or Maggie. And what was wrong with her anyway? Since when was she so eager to have a man in her life? Things were good already. “I think we’ll visit Grandma on our own,” she said. “You can do what you need to do, and we’ll catch up with you later.”

Violet pushed onto her feet and carried her still-full mug and plate to the sink. With her back securely facing the table, she squeezed her eyes shut and pulled herself together. Lots of people made babies laugh. Wyatt wasn’t the first or the last, and she couldn’t get attached to him because of it. Much as she wanted a traditional family for Maggie, the kind with a mommy and a daddy who kissed goodbye and held hands while they watched TV, Wyatt wasn’t that guy.

She opened her eyes and straightened her expression before turning back to the duo making goofy faces at the table. “We should probably get going.”

Wyatt tipped his head in that unsettling way, the one that made her feel as if he could see straight through her. “You sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

“Yep.” She pushed nervous fingers into the back pockets of her shorts. “We’re fine, and we don’t want to keep you from your work. The sooner we know what really happened to Grandma, the better. If she’s awake when we get to the hospital, I’ll call you so you can come by and talk with her in person.”

His thick black brows knit together. “All right.”

Violet pulled Maggie into her arms and posed her on one hip, then gathered her bottle and Cheerios in the other hand. “Have a good day.”






VOICES OF HAPPY children rang through the speakers inside Violet’s little yellow hatchback. The CD of nursery rhymes lightened her heavy mood as she fought through a fresh bout of worry for her grandma.

Sunlight streamed over the hills to her left, dashing the street in shards of amber and gold light. Puffy white clouds sailed in the brilliant blue dome above. It was a perfect day for a drive, and Violet had desperately needed to clear her head.

Putting some distance between herself and the sexy soldier guarding Grandma’s home was just a bonus. She recalled seeing him pull up in his big black truck, check out the house and shuffle through papers on his dashboard. When he’d climbed out and stood as tall as a house, complete with cowboy hat and boots, her heart had given an irresponsible thud.

“Dumb,” she muttered, taking another look at the rear-facing car seat in back. Maggie didn’t need a daddy any more than Violet needed a boyfriend or husband.

The two of them were doing just fine on their own.

She smiled and returned her eyes to the road ahead. Flyers for the county fair waved and rippled on passing telephone poles, stapled beside missing pet posters and garage sale signs.

A half heartbeat later, her thoughts swept back to the shirtless man making her breakfast. Surely that wasn’t part of his contract.

The gentle hum of an approaching engine edged into Violet’s thoughts, erasing the memory of Wyatt seated beside Maggie at the breakfast table. The sound grew steadily louder, and Violet searched in every direction for the source of the aggressive hum.

Her little hatchback hugged the next curve, dropping low over a hill and into a valley just two miles from the county hospital. She forced her attention back to the road, but her roaming eyes returned to the rearview mirror with a snap.

A battered blue-and-white demolition derby car roared earsplittingly into view behind her as she crested the next hill.

Maggie’s car seat rocked in frustration.

“Thanks a lot,” Violet muttered at the mangled car racing closer in her rearview. She removed her foot from the gas to let the lunatic pass before they reached the next uphill curve and crashed. Violet’s current speed was nearly fifty in a forty-five, and the sharp sway ahead was marked as fifteen miles per hour.

The wrecked car revved closer with an ominous growl. This time, the driver laid on the horn.

Beep!

The seemingly endless blast sent Violet’s heart rate into a sprint. She stuck her hand out the window and waved the guy to go around.

He didn’t.

Instead, the attacking car roared closer until its entire front end was invisible in her mirror. Beeeep! Beeeep!

Maggie stirred, then began to wail at the continued horn blasts and growling engine.

Violet returned her foot to the gas pedal, pressing a little harder than necessary in an effort to put space between the other vehicle and herself. “Sh-sh-sh,” she hushed Maggie, hoping to return her to a gentle sleep.

Maybe she could drive the speed limit as far as the next turnoff, then get away from the road-rager behind her. Or maybe he’d just pass her and move on when she used her signal.

Violet sipped oxygen and concentrated on the narrow two-lane road ahead.

The offending car dropped back a few inches, then charged forward once more, its hood half disappearing in the rearview.

Violet pressed the gas pedal and prayed.

Her death grip on the steering wheel grew painful as her little hatchback floated over the asphalt with a psychopath on its tail. Her fingers were snow-white and sore from lack of circulation.

The fifteen-mile-per-hour curve was coming up fast, and Violet was losing faith in her plan. She had to be able to slow down to take the next turn or pull over, but the beast behind her wouldn’t allow it. She realized with a punch of fear through her chest that this could be the end. She could wreck her car with Maggie strapped helplessly in the back seat. The idea was almost too much for her to bear.

Maggie’s desperate wails echoed through Violet’s heart and ricocheted off the walls of her racing mind until her vision blurred with fear and regret. They were trapped.

Beep!

Violet watched in horror as the assailing car dropped back, then lurched forward one last time. The reduced-speed sign flew past them, and Violet jerked her wheel.

Her little hatchback careered off the side of the road moments before reaching the steep bend and went skidding through the grass and gravel of a tiny church lawn and empty parking lot.

Beside them, the little white church stood alone at the base of the perilous curve.

The demolition derby car barreled onward, flying into the curve at high speeds and squealing its tires and brakes for several long seconds before the dreaded engine noise faded into the distance.

Violet pulled her keys from the ignition, then climbed out on shaky legs and unlatched Maggie from her car seat. Together, they moved to the church steps and sat, embracing and crying for so long Violet thought someone might find them and wonder if she’d lost her mind.

Maybe she had.

Frighteningly, she and Maggie had nearly lost so much more.




Chapter Four (#ua6dc2e29-06fd-5812-88a9-11c78edf14bb)


Wyatt strode back into the blazing midday sun, adjusting his worn-out Stetson and squinting against the light. A trip to the local bar had proven equally as useless as all his other stops today. Wyatt had ordered a sweet tea for the sake of manners, then asked the motley lineup at the bar what they knew about Mrs. Ames. They’d all pointedly ignored him. Though it had been Wyatt’s experience that small-town folks were occasionally tight-lipped when it came to outsiders, he’d usually had great luck with the men drinking their way through daylight. Local bars were the male equivalent of a beauty parlor for gossip and hearsay. Except not here. The handful of men who had bellied up to a beer and a shot glass at this bar had officially broken the mold. And just like the local diner, hardware store, mechanic and barber, no one had any news to share about Mrs. Ames.

Wyatt took his leave of yet another uncooperative group and headed back onto the street. He spun his key ring around one finger and took a long look in both directions. Where to next?

A sheriff’s cruiser slid against the curb before he’d had time to decide. The cruiser’s lights flashed. No siren. The man who climbed out was nearing fifty with narrow shoulders and a shiny star on his chest.

Wyatt tipped his hat and stepped aside, allowing the local sheriff room to pass on the narrow sidewalk. The town was a modern-day Rockwell portrait waiting to happen. So what had brought the sheriff and his flashers out? Wyatt paused, waiting to see where the local lawman would go. Had there been another “accident” like Mrs. Ames’s? Or perhaps the bar patrons had reanimated and grown rowdy in Wyatt’s absence.

The sheriff stopped in front of Wyatt and rested a palm on the butt of his sidearm. “Are you the stranger going door-to-door and making folks nervous?”

Wyatt glanced over his shoulder in search of a shady, bothersome guy.

No one was behind him. The sheriff was definitely talking to Wyatt.

“I don’t think so, sir,” Wyatt said. “I’ve been out enjoying your lovely town. Meeting folks. That’s all.”

The sheriff gave a long, assessing look. “Where did you come from?”

“Lexington,” Wyatt answered, this time returning the scrutiny. Irritated, he crossed his arms and widened his stance. “You been sheriff long?”

“Long enough.”

Wyatt smiled. “Someone reported me for being friendly?” He’d love to know who, but didn’t have to ask to know the sheriff wasn’t telling. Too bad, because whoever had made the complaint might also be the one with something to hide. A recent B and E for example, or maybe an assault on an old lady. “Is that a crime in this town?” Wyatt had spoken to a dozen locals, but he’d been careful not to ask anything too pointed. He’d asked if anyone knew Mrs. Ames, if they’d heard about her fall, and where he might get a good locksmith after the break-in. He’d already changed the locks, of course, but he’d hoped to read folks’ expressions. See who was shocked by the news of a burglary and who already knew. Problem was that no one had paid any attention to him at all.

The sheriff sucked his teeth and grimaced. His stance was rigid, defiant, not at all welcoming or pleasantly confident. Wyatt pegged him for a bully. “What business brings you to River Gorge?”

“I’m visiting.”

“Who?”

Wyatt homed in on the sheriff’s features, the beating pulse in his throat, the dilation of his pupils. “Gladys Ames. Do you know her?”

The sheriff nodded. “I know everyone, but I’ve never seen you. Are you a relative?”

“No. Mrs. Ames is my girlfriend’s grandma,” he improvised. “I came to watch over her while she’s here. Seems there was a break-in last night. You were there, right?” Hadn’t Violet said it was a Sheriff Masterson whose cruiser had forced his truck into the grass on the narrow gravel road? “Got any idea who would’ve done something like that?”

A pinch of guilt tugged in his mind for announcing Violet as his girlfriend, but Wyatt wasn’t about to tell the sheriff who he really was or why he’d come to River Gorge. Not considering the inquisition he was getting just for speaking to locals. For all Wyatt knew, the sheriff could be the reason Mrs. Ames needed his help in the first place. She certainly could have chosen to talk to the sheriff instead. And if he was being honest, the idea of being Violet’s boyfriend wasn’t a bad one. Which was confusing all by itself, because Wyatt didn’t do relationships.

Sheriff Masterson cocked his hip. “Funny. Violet didn’t say anything about a boyfriend when I spoke to her last night. She surely didn’t mention anything about a man coming here to stay with her.”

“Can you blame me? She was attacked inside her grandma’s home. I couldn’t stay away after that. Turns out I’m the overprotective sort.” He straightened to his full height and locked his jaw, an intentional reminder that Sheriff Masterson might have the star, but Wyatt was there to protect Violet and Maggie. Anyone with different plans would have to go through him, and no one ever had. “Any leads on the break-in? Seems strange, doesn’t it? Someone busts into an old lady’s house, tears it up but takes nothing. She lives on a widow’s pension. What was there to take? And the crime occurred on the same day she allegedly fell from a ladder.” Wyatt furrowed his brow. “As the sheriff, that must send up some red flags.”

“Crime happens everywhere. I’m looking into the break-in, but old ladies fall all the time.” He gave Wyatt a more thorough look then, trailing him head to toe, lingering on his jacket, sides and ankles. Looking for signs of a weapon? If he had anything to say about the gun nestled against his back, or knife in his boot, Wyatt had a permit to carry concealed firearms and more training than the good sheriff could fathom for the knife. “Military?” he asked.

“Ranger.”

The sheriff nodded; a rueful smile budded on his lips. “Violet know about that?” He snorted, clearly laughing at Wyatt. For his service? For his doomed pretend relationship?

Wyatt bristled.

A pair of women in fitted running gear came into view behind the sheriff, having rounded the corner from the direction of the local park. The taller, blonder one locked eyes with Wyatt. A coy smile curled the corner of her mouth. The petite redhead followed suit a moment later.

Wyatt smiled back.

Sheriff Masterson turned on his shiny shoes to follow Wyatt’s gaze. He tapped the brim of his hat and smiled at the women. “Afternoon, Maisey, Jenna.”

The ladies slowed to a stop, still smiling at Wyatt. The blonde outright ogled him. Her hand bobbed up for a shake. “Jenna Jones,” she said. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Nice to meet you,” Wyatt answered, taking her thin hand in his. “I was just asking the sheriff if he’d heard anything new about Mrs. Ames. She fell yesterday, then her house was broken into.”

“No,” the ladies gasped.

The blonde, Jenna, stepped closer, still holding his hand. “Mrs. Ames is the sweetest woman. I’ve known her all my life. Is she okay? I didn’t hear about the fall.”

The redhead looked at the sheriff. “Did he say someone broke into her house? Why would anyone do that? Do you have a suspect?”

Wyatt rocked back on his heels. Apparently his usual stops were all wrong in River Gorge. Normally, men spoke easily to him. Wyatt would break the ice on topics like sports, cars and military, then ask the things he really wanted to know. Around here that hadn’t been the case. Maybe he should’ve simply gone jogging.

Jenna joined her friend then, turning to stare at the sheriff. “Are you going to answer her?” The tone was harsh and familiar. Wyatt doubted Jenna was related to the man; more likely they’d been former lovers or shared another form of history. Either way, she looked like she’d like to punch his face, and he looked like it wouldn’t surprise him if she tried.

The sheriff sniffed. “I’m looking into it.”

“Well, when you’re done with that,” she said, “maybe you could spend some time patrolling our streets. We just watched a demolition derby car run a hatchback right off the road by Devil’s Curve. When are you going to do something about the morons using the county route as some kind of playground for their stupidity?”

Wyatt’s heart seemed to stop. “What kind of hatchback?”

“Small,” the redhead said. “Yellow, I think.”

Wyatt’s feet were in motion, pulling him away from the trio and toward his truck parked down the street. He turned to jog backward, needing to know but also needing to go. “Was anyone hurt?” He freed his phone and dialed Violet while he waited for the answer.

“I don’t think so,” Jenna said. “The car spun into the church parking lot, but it didn’t roll and it wasn’t hit. The beat-up old junker went sailing around the curve. A woman got out. She looked fine. We were on the towpath. It wasn’t easy to see from there, but all the honking and engine roaring had gotten our attention. We caught the tail end of it all.”

Wyatt’s limbs ached to run. “When?”

“Maybe an hour ago.”

“Thank you,” he called, turning and diving into a sprint. The call connected and rang against his ear. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. He willed Violet to answer his call. Prayed she and her infant daughter were okay. Kicked himself internally for letting her go off on her own when everything in him had said it wasn’t safe. That whatever Mrs. Ames had gotten herself into wasn’t over. He should have followed Violet, stuck by her, protected her.

It wouldn’t happen again.

He yanked the driver’s-side door open and swung himself behind the wheel. Pick up. He nearly screamed the words as he shifted into Drive and eased away from the curb.

His call went to voicemail.






VIOLET FORCED HER still-rubbery legs forward as she eased off the hospital elevator and down the long white corridor toward the nurse’s station on her grandma’s floor. Maggie was asleep in her arms, exhausted from crying after their run-in with a lunatic and his demolition derby car. The nurses were all busy when she finally arrived at the desk. Talking to visitors. Speaking on the telephone. Making rounds. None of the ladies in pastel scrubs made eye contact. When Violet had arrived yesterday, her cousin Tanya was one of the nurses. She was a distant cousin, ambiguously related, but neither she nor Tanya had ever questioned the connection. They’d been friends all their lives. Violet waited a long moment, scanning the area for an available nurse, before moving on, too eager to continue waiting. She wanted to see her grandma’s face and take a seat someplace where she couldn’t be run off the road. She’d try the desk again in a few minutes when the rush died down.

Violet hurried down the hallway to her grandmother’s room. The sound of movement inside set Violet’s heart alight. “Grandma?” She rushed through the open door and slid the curtain back with bated breath.

“Hello,” her grandma’s friend Ruth answered, “come on in.” Ruth tidied her stack of playing cards, then cut and folded them together with a scissoring zip. She’d pulled a chair over to face Grandma’s bed and appeared to be playing solitaire on her blankets. “No change,” Ruth reported. Her tanned cheeks were spotted from too many decades in the sun, and her lips turned down at the corners, unhappy with her report. She doled out three cards and placed them near the foot of her bed. “I came after my morning chores.” Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun, accentuating her sharp features and small green eyes.

Violet took the chair nearest Grandma’s shoulder and slid one hand over hers where it rested on the bed. Machines glowed and beeped on stands and poles nearby, monitoring her grandma’s heart rate, pulse and oxygen levels. An IV dripped something into her veins. A wave of grief rolled through Violet and she forced the emotion down. Grandma wasn’t gone. Grandma was a fighter. “Has the doctor been in?”

“Just Tanya,” Ruth said. “She comes every hour or so to say nothing’s changed.” Ruth gave the cards a break and hooked one ankle over her opposite knee. A lifetime of hard outdoor work in River Gorge had left Ruth roughly the color of leather and likely a little tougher. “No news is good news.”

Violet didn’t agree. No news was maddening. She shifted Maggie in her arms and squeezed her grandma’s hand. “Tanya was here yesterday when we got in from Winchester.”

Ruth pursed her lips. “She’s a good kid.”

A twist of guilt wound through Violet. She and Tanya were the same age, twenty-six. Hardly kids. But Violet hadn’t been here for Grandma. She’d left for college, and unlike Tanya, Violet hadn’t come back. In fact, she’d visited less and less these last two or three years. She should have at least stayed the night at the hospital, shouldn’t she? She rested her cheek against Maggie’s head. No. She couldn’t have stayed. She’d spent last night half fearing a second break-in and half curious about what the cowboy-for-hire on Grandma’s couch might’ve done to anyone who’d try.

Her throat tightened at the memory of the fleeing intruder. He’d run straight for her. Broad palms plowing into her shoulders. He’d thrown her onto her backside in the space of a heartbeat. She’d found bruises on her back and elbows when she showered. Marks from where she’d crashed against the hard floors and rolled. Twelve hours later, a car had run her off the road. There was no way that was a coincidence. Even Violet’s luck wasn’t that bad. Her gaze ran back to her grandma’s bandaged head. A near-fatal fall, a break-in, a psychotic road-rager, the hiring of a private security guy. That list definitely added up to something, and it wasn’t coincidence. In fact, Violet needed to contact the local sheriff’s department and make a report about the demolition derby car. Even if the driver wasn’t found, it seemed like a good idea to document the strange and dangerous things happening around her. She’d considered calling the police from the church parking lot, but she and Maggie were too shaken, and the offending car was long gone. All she’d really wanted was to find respite somewhere with witnesses in case the car returned. Could the car’s driver be the same man who’d been inside her grandma’s home?

“Ruth,” Violet began, turning back to Grandma’s friend. “When you found Grandma yesterday, was the front door open to her home? Ajar maybe?”

“No.” Ruth shook her head as if to underline the word. “I knocked. Rang the bell. Door was shut tight. Why?”

“Did you go inside?”

“Sure,” she said. “Wasn’t locked. Rarely is. I let myself in and took a look around. I called for her, but she wasn’t there. I figured she’d run out to the garden to cut some roses, so I went around back. That was when I saw the barn was open.”

“That’s when you found her,” Violet said.

“Yes.” Ruth blinked emotion-filled eyes. “That’s right.”

“Do you have any idea why she was in the barn? Was she keeping something out there?”

“Not that I know of.” Ruth raised a wide gray eyebrow. “Why?” She twisted in her seat to face Violet, a strangely parental look in her eyes. “Why all these questions? Did something else happen?”

Violet slumped in her chair, unsure how much she could say. It was impossible to know her limits without knowing what her grandma had been up to, but she was certain Ruth was a friend. Ruth had been part of Grandma’s life long before Violet was born. Before Violet’s mother, too. “Her home was broken into last night.”

“What?” Ruth gasped. “Are you okay? Is the home? What did they take?”

Violet shrugged. “I don’t know. Nothing seemed to be missing, but I haven’t been here in a while.” Honestly, she’d barely been anywhere since Maggie was born. These last eight months had boiled down to meeting her baby’s needs and trying to calculate how many hours of sleep she might get each night. The answer to the second part was “never enough.”

“A break-in,” Ruth whispered, still clearly baffled.

“How has Grandma seemed to you lately?” Violet asked. “Was she okay, or was something going on with her?” Violet tipped slightly forward, begging Ruth to share something that might help her understand.

Ruth puckered her brow and stared at Grandma’s slack face. “She’s been a little on edge and distracted. I’d assumed that had to do with Mary Alice.”

“What’s wrong with Mary Alice?” Violet asked. She knew Mary Alice as well as she knew Ruth. Both women had been lifelong friends of Grandma’s. They’d held Grandma together when her daughter, Violet’s mom, had left, when her husband passed, and when she’d had to raise a grieving, rebellious granddaughter despite it all. “Is she…” Violet began, then halted. “Is Mary Alice…” She came up short again. Was there a nice way to ask if an old woman had died?

Ruth scrutinized Violet’s struggle for words. “Mary Alice isn’t dead, if that’s what you were going to ask,” she said after a few seconds. “She’s got dementia, though. The symptoms have gotten a lot worse these last few weeks. She’s slipping away fast, and the whole Masterson family has been a little grouchier than usual these days. The illness has taken a toll on everyone close to her, your grandma included.”

Violet didn’t know Mary Alice’s family well, aside from the general knowledge small town living provided. Her husband had been the sheriff when Violet was young, and their son was sheriff now. Neither man was in the running for Mr. Congeniality, or the sort who’d show up at local gatherings, unless duty demanded it. “And you?” Violet asked.

Ruth gave a sad smile. “Someone’s got to hold it together.”

Tanya peeked her head through Grandma’s open door and rapped her knuckles on the wall. “Knock knock.” Her bright smile set Violet on her feet.

“Tanya.” She met her cousin at the room’s center and gave her a gentle hug, careful not to wake Maggie. “Any news?”

“Not yet,” she said, rubbing Violet’s arm when she stepped out of the embrace. “Dr. Shay says everything looks good, and we should be patient. Grandma will wake when she’s ready. Until then, we just have to wait. She’s been through a lot and it can take time to overcome an accident like this one. How are you and this little princess holding up?”

Violet stroked Maggie’s back and her sleeping baby released a contented sigh. “We’re okay.”

“Good.” Tanya smiled. “I’ll be here as often as I can, and I’ll keep you posted if her condition changes. Grandma’s tough, Violet,” she assured. “She’ll be fine.”

Violet nodded. Grandma would find the strength to recover, and Violet would be there to help every step of the way. Until then, Violet needed to stick a little closer to the former ranger at Grandma’s house. Violet had no intention of testing her luck with another burglar or demolition derby car, and she was certain he would have no problems handling either.

Of course, spending too much time with an attentive and sexy man like Wyatt Stone was going to pose a few problems of its own. Beginning with how to keep her undeniable attraction to him from blurring the lines of their reality.




Chapter Five (#ua6dc2e29-06fd-5812-88a9-11c78edf14bb)


An engine roared outside the front window of Grandma’s home. Violet jumped, still edgy from her run-in with the demolition derby car this morning. She’d called the police as soon as she got home and the woman who’d answered had promised to send an officer out to take the report, but she doubted any of the deputies would be racing to get to her.

Her heart sprinted and her palms grew slick as she moved carefully toward the front window to check the driveway. Maggie was asleep in her crib, but Violet could get to her and be outside in under a minute if she had to. She pulled the curtain’s corner back with trembling fingertips, scolding herself once more for not taking Wyatt’s suggestion to stick together today.

Relief washed through her chest at the sight of Wyatt’s truck, back in the driveway. He was already making his way up the front steps in long, anxious strides.

Fresh terror rent Violet’s heart as she took in his grim expression. Whatever had drawn that kind of fear on Wyatt’s face was surely something for her to worry about. “Wyatt?” she asked, opening the door with an anxious tug. “What’s wrong?”

His steps faltered a moment as his eyes landed on hers. “You’re okay,” he said, sounding half awed and half stricken. “Someone said a car fitting your vehicle’s description was run off the road this morning. I thought for sure it was you. I tried calling. You didn’t answer.” His exacting gaze lingered on her face, her neck, her chest. “You’re frightened. Breathing hard. Your cheeks are flushed. It was you, wasn’t it?”

Emotion swept up from her core, taking her by surprise. “I called the police, then I worried that the car’s driver would somehow know I tattled and come revving up the street looking for me. It’s ridiculous. I know. I’m sorry I didn’t answer.”

“You need to save my number. When I call, I need you to answer.”

Violet nodded. “Of course. I will next time.”

“Did you get a look at the driver or the license plate?”

“No plate, and I couldn’t see the driver through the tint and glare. It was crazy, though. He came out of nowhere,” she said, hating the tremor in her voice. “He kept honking. Gunning his engine. Maggie was screaming.”

Wyatt stepped closer and raised one tentative arm, an offering of comfort, hers to accept or deny. Violet hesitated. She didn’t want to cry on a near-stranger’s shoulder, but she needed the comfort, and she’d never see Wyatt again once this was over. So maybe she could be a little bit of a mess if she needed to be.

She fell against the strength of his chiseled chest and wrapped her arms around his back. His heart pounded strong and steady beneath her ear. His clothes and skin smelled of cologne and body wash, and Violet inhaled deeply.

A very long moment later, his arms circled her back, engulfing her, drawing her close in a powerful embrace. “It’s okay,” he said. “You’re okay.”

She rocked her cheek against his soft black T-shirt. “Thank you. For being here. For coming to help Grandma and for staying now. I don’t know what I would do here alone. I don’t know if it’s safe to stay, or if it’s safer to go. If I leave, what happens to Grandma? If I stay, what might happen to Maggie?”

Wyatt curved his tall frame over her, lowering his mouth to her cheek. “I will protect you, your grandma and your daughter. You can trust me on that, and when I find out who is behind these violent acts, he will wish I hadn’t.”

Violet shivered. The words were flat and controlled, not spoken in anger, just statements of fact and strangely horrifying. Still, she wanted the promise to be true. “Thank you.”

The bark of a police siren jerked her upright. She loosened her grip on him as she attempted to disentangle her arms from his waist.

Wyatt held her firm, locking his fingers against the small of her back. “I told the sheriff we were a couple,” he whispered. “We shouldn’t ruin the facade.”

Violet tipped back, arching to study his blank soldier face and pressing their torsos tighter still. “What? Why?” Was that something he’d actually considered?

“He had a lot of questions,” Wyatt said. “I ran into him in town, and I didn’t want to out myself as private security.”

“Right.” She nodded. This wasn’t about her. He simply needed a cover story. He didn’t want to be her boyfriend. That was a fantasy she’d already let go too far. Besides, she knew firsthand that when men swept in to save the day, they were always gone in the morning. And Violet didn’t need drama in her life. She needed stability.

The deputy marched in their direction, one hand at the brim of his hat. “Miss Ames?”

“Yes.” Violet stepped away from Wyatt. She wrapped an arm across her middle, defending against the coolness that settled in his absence. She shook the deputy’s hand. “This is Wyatt Stone, my boyfriend.” She cleared her throat as the last word lodged there awkwardly.




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