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“That would be nice,” Gracie replied.
A young dark-haired woman flew into the room and stopped abruptly at the sight of them all. “Ah, there you are,” she said to Gracie. She smiled at Libby. “Ms. Lillian has arrived for her voice lesson.”
“Thank you, Molly.” Libby directed her attention to her daughter. “You’d better run along, Gracie. We don’t like to keep Ms. Lillian waiting. Besides, Clay and I have some grown-up things to discuss.”
“’Bye, Mr. Clay. I’ll see you later.” Gracie got up from the sofa and ran toward Molly. Before they left the room, she turned to look at Clay once again. “Maybe after dinner tonight we could play Barbies.”
Libby might have laughed at the frantic look on his face if she wasn’t so concerned with exactly how she was going to deal with the whole situation.
She believed that Charlie had jumped the gun. He had just become Gracie’s agent three months ago and Libby suspected he was simply trying to prove his worth.
“I promise you playing with dolls will not be part of your duties,” she said once Gracie had left the room.
“Thanks. I don’t usually work with kids.” He rose from the sofa, looking a bit impatient.
She frowned. “This isn’t going to be a problem, is it? I mean, you don’t hate kids or anything like that?”
“To be perfectly honest, I’ve never thought much about kids. But, no, it won’t be a problem.” He said the words with a decisive firmness and she wondered if he was trying to assure himself or her.
“Good, because my number-one priority is my daughter. Her well-being and happiness is all that matters to me.” She thought she saw a flicker of some doubt in his eyes, but it was there only a moment then disappeared.
“For as long as I’m here, we share that common goal.”
“Good. Now why don’t I show you to your room, then we can meet in the sunroom and I’ll show you the letters that prompted Charlie into hiring you.”
“Sounds good.”
He was apparently a man of few words, she thought as she led him through the foyer where he picked up a suitcase he’d apparently brought with him. She thought about telling him that she could have somebody carry it up for him, but she had a feeling he was a man who was comfortable doing for himself.
She led him up the wide, sweeping stairway that led to the second level where the bedrooms were located. She wished she was dressed more appropriately, but she’d been in the pool only a few minutes before he’d arrived and hadn’t had a chance to make it upstairs to change.
“Nice place,” he said from behind her.
“Thank you.” It was a beautiful house that radiated success and money in a town that revered both. They’d only moved in six months ago so it had yet to really feel like home.
She led him into the bedroom where she’d decided he’d stay for the duration of his job. “This will be your room,” she said as they entered the large room decorated in various shades of blue. “Gracie’s room is right next door.”
He dropped his suitcase on the floor. “I’d like to see her room.”
Gracie’s room was the second largest in the house, only slightly smaller than the master suite where Libby slept. Gracie’s bedroom looked as though it belonged to a fairy princess. It was all pink and ruffles, and filled with toys that rarely got played with because Gracie would rather be acting than anything else in the world.
Libby stood in the doorway and watched while Clay walked around the room, his brow wrinkled in thought. The man had shoulders that looked as if they could carry the weight of the world. His tanned face was all taut lines and angles. In a town where handsome men were a dime a dozen, Clay West made most of them look mediocre.
He touched nothing, but seemed to be memorizing everything in the room. There was a calm steadiness to his movements. He lingered for a long moment at the bank of windows, checking the locks, then gazing outside.
“Why don’t I let you get settled in and I’ll meet you in the sunroom with the letters in about half an hour,” she suggested.
He turned and looked at her, his green eyes direct and intensely focused. “My suitcase is in my room. I’m settled. Why don’t we make it ten minutes?” Although his deep voice remained pleasant there was an underlying edge of steel to it.
She thought about holding her ground, then shrugged. “Fine. The sunroom is just off the living room. I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”
She hurried toward her bedroom at the end of the hallway. There was no way she was meeting him without first getting out of the swimsuit and into something more appropriate.
As she changed clothes, she wondered how long he’d be in her home, in their lives. She wasn’t at all sure she liked him, although he was definitely easy on the eyes.
Of course, Libby hadn’t met a man she liked in a long time. She’d once thought herself in love with Gracie’s father, but she’d been young and foolish and so eager to get out of her parents’ house.
It hadn’t taken her long to recognize that he was just another person in her life who hadn’t understood her drive and ambition.
Libby had been pregnant when he’d disappeared from her life, telling her he was too young to be a husband, too young to be a father. She’d waited until Gracie was three months old, then had packed her bags and moved to California.
By the time Gracie was two, Libby had committed herself to seeing that Gracie had all the opportunities, all the avenues to reach her dreams that Libby hadn’t had.
Yes, the handsome cowboy might be easy on the eyes, but there was something about him that set her on edge. She hoped that once he read the letters Gracie had received, he’d come to the same conclusion that she had; that there was no clear danger and Charlie had overreacted.
If that happened, then Clay West would go home and leave Libby alone, as she’d been for most of her life and planned to remain.
Chapter 2 (#u5e407e89-3312-598d-914d-5b41f649a731)
Clay glanced at his watch as he headed back down the stairs in search of the sunroom. Five-fifteen. His stomach rumbled and he wondered when he’d get an opportunity to eat something. It had been a long time since he’d had breakfast and there had been no time for lunch.
She’d said the sunroom was off the living room, but before going there he wandered around to get a feel for the lay of the house. As he walked the lower floor, once again he was surprised by the opulence, the luxury of the place.
Little Gracie Bryant must be doing quite well. He wondered how many people she was supporting at the tender age of eight. He’d heard the horror stories of these poor kids who supported family and staff at an age when their only worry should be that rain might keep their play indoors instead of outside.
Not my business, he reminded himself. He was here to do a job, not to make judgments about the lifestyle of the rich and famous.
He stepped into a glass-enclosed room with white rattan furniture and a plethora of plants. Surely this was the sunroom. He sat on one of the chairs at a glass-topped table and glanced at his watch once again. It had taken him six minutes to get to this room. She should be here at any minute.
Leaning back in the chair, he cast his gaze outside onto the lush lawn and gardens. This would be a peaceful place to sit and ponder. As he waited, what he found himself pondering was Libby Bryant.
The woman was hot to look at, but he’d sensed a cold core inside her. She was probably going to be a bitch to work with, but he’d survive the ordeal.
Clay was accustomed to dysfunctional people. In his line of work as a bodyguard he’d pretty much seen it all. He’d seen the best and worst that the human race had to offer. Nothing Libby Bryant could do would surprise him.
He glanced at his watch again and frowned. It had been twelve minutes since they’d agreed to meet in ten. At that moment, he heard footsteps approaching. But it wasn’t Libby, rather it was a uniformed maid.
She smiled, a cool, professional gesture. “Ms. Libby wondered if you’d like something cold to drink while you wait for her.”
“A glass of iced tea would be nice,” he replied, wondering how long Ms. Libby intended to keep him waiting.
The maid nodded and disappeared, only to return a moment later with a tall glass of tea and several wedges of lemon. “Would you care for anything else, Mr. West?” she asked.
Yes, I’d like you to tell Ms. Libby to get her ass down here. “No thanks, I’m fine,” he replied.
The maid left him alone and he took a sip of the tea, frowning once again. There was nothing Clay hated more than to be kept waiting. He believed in punctuality and thought tardiness to be the height of rudeness.
In Libby Bryant’s case, he had a feeling it might be a control issue. By being late she was subtly maintaining control of him and the situation. Definitely a ball-buster, he thought.
Ten minutes later she entered the sunroom. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” she said, although no apology rang in her tone. “I had to chase down Maddie Walker, Gracie’s secretary, to get the letters from her.”
She’d changed clothes. Gone was the bathing suit and cover-up, replaced by navy slacks and a navy- and royal-blue blouse that intensified the color of her eyes. Her hair was loose, falling below her shoulders in shiny waves. Instead of smelling like chlorine and coconuts, the fragrance that wafted from her smelled expensive.
She sat in the chair opposite him and stared down at the bundle of letters she clutched in her hands. “These are copies of the letters. I gave the originals to the private investigator I hired. I’m hoping you’ll read these and realize that Gracie’s agent has overreacted and there is no danger.” When she looked up at him there was absolutely no emotion shining from her eyes.
She pushed the letters across the table toward him, then leaned back and stared out the window over his shoulder. “How many people handled the originals?” he asked.
Her gaze shot to him and a little frown marred the flawless skin of her brow. “I don’t know. The mail carrier, Gracie’s secretary, her agent, me…” Her voice trailed off.
With all those people handling the letters, it was doubtful that the investigator could lift any usable prints. He reached for the first envelope and noted the post date: May 15th. Almost two months ago.
He pulled out the letter and quickly scanned it.
Dear Gracie,
I think you should get out of show business. You think you’re cute, but you’re not. You think you’re a little princess, but you’re nothing. You might fool some people but you don’t fool me. You’re a talentless piece of nothing.
It was signed, “Not A Fan.”
There’d been a total of eight letters sent over the course of the past two months. What concerned Clay was that each seemed to be an escalation of emotion, culminating in the last letter.
Dear Gracie,
Why don’t you just die, you little bitch?
It wasn’t just the words, a growing anger showed in the handwriting itself. The first letter was neatly written in block letters. The last letter was still in block letters but sloppy and the pen pressed so hard in places it appeared from the copy as if the paper had ripped.
Rage.
He looked at Libby. “I don’t think Gracie’s agent overreacted. If Gracie were my daughter, I’d be more than a little concerned about these letters.”
She held his gaze for a long moment and in the depth of her eyes he saw a flicker of emotion for the first time. An edge of fear. A whisper of vulnerability. So, the woman had an Achilles’ heel, and it was her daughter, apparently.
She swept a hand through her hair, causing it to ripple across her shoulder. “So what do we do now?” she asked, then cleared her throat as if swallowing a lump.
“We keep your daughter safe,” he replied. For the first time since he’d arrived he felt as if he had her full, undivided attention. “What I’ll need from you is Gracie’s daily schedule.”
“Done.”
“I also need you to make a list of all the people who surround her.”
She frowned again. “That’s going to be quite a list. Gracie is in the middle of filming a movie. Her schedule is hectic and there’s no way I can list everyone who works on the movie set.”
“Do the best you can,” he replied. “I want teachers, staff, along with everyone she interacts with outside the house. From now until we decide the threat has passed, she won’t go anywhere without me.”
Libby’s frown deepened and she tapped perfectly manicured fingernails on top of the glass table. “This is going to get complicated. We’re in negotiations for her next movie role. It’s important that the press doesn’t get hold of this, that nobody knows we’re worried about Gracie’s safety.”
“Unfortunately there’s no way I can be inconspicuous,” he said. God forbid they screw up Gracie’s next movie deal, he thought with a touch of irritation.
She stopped her finger tapping and leaned back in the chair, her eyes focused once again out the windows. “It’s going to look odd, you hanging out everywhere with Gracie. People will wonder who you are and why you’re hanging around us.”
Clay remained silent, wondering what she was going to come up with to explain his presence. He’d obviously entered a place of illusion, where nothing was as it seemed and appearances were everything.
Her gorgeous blue eyes focused on him once again. “I suppose if anyone asks, we can say you’re my boyfriend.” Her expression held a touch of distaste, as if she found the very idea rather appalling.
He wasn’t too thrilled with the idea, either. She sure as hell wasn’t his type of woman. He didn’t go for the ice princess types. “You’re the boss,” he replied.
“We’ll tell people we met several months ago at a charity function and have been secretly dating ever since.” Her gaze flickered down the length of him. “You’re a wealthy retired rancher, and that’s all anyone needs to know.”
“Won’t your friends wonder why you haven’t mentioned me before to them?”
“This is Hollywood. I don’t have close friends,” she replied.
He had a feeling that the fact that she didn’t have close friends was less about Hollywood and more about the woman herself. She didn’t seem like the type who would give much of herself to anyone. Of course, it was too early for him to form any definite opinions about her.
Her gaze flickered over him once again. “We have a lot going on over the next couple of weeks, events that will require formal dress. I don’t suppose you have a tuxedo in that little suitcase of yours.” There was a tone in her voice that indicated she doubted he’d ever worn a tux, let alone owned one.
“Unfortunately, when I packed my bags my tux was at the cleaner’s,” he said dryly.
“I’ll have Enrique bring some things over for you from his shop. If you’re going to attend the various events with Gracie and me, you need to be dressed appropriately. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the cost.”
The irritation Clay had been fighting since the moment he’d arrived rose up. “That’s not necessary. I can afford to buy my own clothes, even in Hollywood.”
She opened her mouth as if to protest, but must have seen something on his face that made her think twice. “Suit yourself,” she said. “I’ll make the arrangements for sometime tomorrow afternoon with Enrique.”
“Where is Gracie now?” he asked.
“Up on the third floor with her voice teacher. There are several rooms up there, including a place where Gracie has her various lessons and works out with her physical trainer.”
A physical trainer for an eight-year-old? Once again he realized he was in a world unfamiliar to everything he knew.
“If we’re finished here, then I’d like to go up to the third floor and take a look around.”
“All right, and I’ll see to it that you have a schedule of her daily activities and that list of people by the end of the evening.”
She stood, looking as if she’d like nothing better than to escape his presence. “Dinner is served at seven in the dining room. If you need anything else, I’ll be in my office getting together those things for you.”
Clay stood as she left the sunroom, the scent of her perfume lingering in the air. He’d hoped that when he read the letters he’d be able to tell her there was nothing to worry about and he’d be able to leave la-la land and head back home to Cotter Creek.
But the letters had disturbed him. It was possible they were nothing more than the work of a harmless fanatic, but he wasn’t willing to take that chance. He might gamble on other things, but not on a little girl’s life.
He left the sunroom and headed for the stairs to the third floor. He’d thought his gig in Las Vegas had been torturous, but he had a feeling that was nothing compared to playing bodyguard to an eight-year-old and pretend boyfriend to a woman he didn’t even like very much.
It was almost seven when Libby left her bedroom for dinner. She’d spent the past hour getting the things together for Clay and trying not to let thoughts of the man distract her from the job.
Something about him put her on edge as nobody had in a very long time. She’d called Charlie, Gracie’s agent, to find out more about Clay West. What he’d told her had surprised her.
Wild West Protective Services, the family business Clay worked for, was a million-dollar industry owned by Red West, Clay’s father. When Clay had said he could afford to pay for his own clothing, according to Charlie, he wasn’t lying.
