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GI Cowboy
Delores Fossen
Battered ex-soldier Parker McKenna is facing his riskiest mission yet: guarding Bailey Lockhart. Returning to civilian life hasn't been easy, but Parker's new job with Corps Security and Investigations gives him purpose again–if he can keep Bailey alive.The privileged governor's daughter has been receiving threats–and they've just escalated into dangerous territory. Someone close to her wants her dead. Parker can handle any adversary, but handling Bailey proves more difficult–the stubborn, independent beauty stirs the passion Parker had thought long buried. Passion has no place in war, and the enemy is always watching, waiting. Now with desire blurring his objectivity, Parker must face the fact that the greatest danger to Bailey just may be him….
“Come to my bed tonight.”
Oh, mercy. She was in trouble here.
Her body was tingling just thinking about it. All that precision. All that superhero strength. All those muscles. She wasn’t a shallow woman, but the thought of getting her hands on his body made her mouth water, literally.
Bailey really wanted to go to his bed tonight.
But then something in the backyard caught her eye. Some kind of movement. Maybe. Bailey tried to pick through the unfamiliar surroundings and sounds. Bailey saw it then. It wasn’t an animal. Nor a shadow.
It was a man….
GI Cowboy
Delores Fossen
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Max. This one is for you.
Special thanks and acknowledgment to Delores Fossen for her contribution to the Daddy Corps series.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Imagine a family tree that includes Texas cowboys, Choctaw and Cherokee Indians, a Louisiana pirate and a Scottish rebel who battled side by side with William Wallace. With ancestors like that, it’s easy to understand why Texas author and former air force captain Delores Fossen feels as if she were genetically predisposed to writing romances. Along the way to fulfilling her DNA destiny, Delores married an air force top gun who just happens to be of Viking descent. With all those romantic bases covered, she doesn’t have to look too far for inspiration.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Parker McKenna —Former army captain who joins the Daddy Corps as a bodyguard for the governor’s daughter, Bailey Lockhart. Parker closed down after his wife’s death five years ago, but protecting Bailey makes him see that he still has a lot to lose—and win—if he can only trust his heart again.
Bailey Lockhart —The governor’s headstrong daughter and owner of Cradles and Crayons Daycare and Preschool. Even though she’s in danger, she’s reluctant to rely on Parker, the hot GI, but Bailey soon realizes that Parker is her best chance at staying alive.
Zach McKenna —Parker’s thirteen-year-old son. He lives with his father, but they haven’t really communicated in years.
Bart Bellows —The eccentric Texas billionaire and head of Corps Security and Investigation who would do anything for his old friend, the governor. But all Bart’s money and influence might not be enough to save the Lockharts.
Lila Lockhart —The governor of Texas who’s considering a run for the White House…but first she has to deal with the threats against her daughter, Bailey.
Timothy Penske —Lila’s personal bodyguard. Bailey rejected his advances, but does he still have feelings for her, and are those feelings a part of what’s happening to her now?
Sidney Burrell —The handyman at Cradles and Crayons. He’s kept a secret about his past. Just how far will he go to make sure no one finds out what he really is?
Chester Herman —The mystery man who shows up in town at the same time the threats on Bailey begin. He could be Bailey’s stalker…or maybe someone wants it to look that way.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Prologue
Parker McKenna stopped cold. The dinner invitation sure hadn’t said anything about sharing a fancy meal with an assassin, but he was pretty sure the guy in the far right corner fit that particular bill.
“Takes one to know one,” Parker mumbled to himself.
Except Parker had killed only when there’d been no other option, when it had been necessary to protect someone in the line of duty. He wasn’t sure this guy could say the same.
Parker eased out of the doorway and stood next to the wall so he could take in the rest of the private dining room in the posh Dallas hotel. The Wainwright wasn’t exactly his kind of place. Too rich for his middle-class army blood with its glossy marble floors and crystal chandeliers shimmering overhead.
Normally, Parker wouldn’t have come within a mile of a place like this, but the invitation had, well, made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. His host, Bart Bellows, had sent the handwritten dinner request along with round-trip plane tickets.
This is your chance to be part of a brotherhood again. A chance to make a difference. A chance for freedom.
Freedom.
Now, that was a complex word and not usually associated with a dinner invitation, but Parker had to admit that without that word, he might not be here. He’d probably still be in Mankato, Minnesota, supervising an apartment construction site. He hadn’t felt anything close to freedom in the past five years, not since his wife’s death, and until he saw that oddly worded invitation, he hadn’t realized just how hungry he was for it.
Freedom from the guilt. The bad memories. From all the things he’d screwed up.
“Parker McKenna,” he heard someone say. It wasn’t exactly a question, and the man who approached him seemed to know exactly who Parker was.
Parker couldn’t say the same. The man had black hair, a neatly trimmed beard and wore dark pants and a casual shirt. Parker was six-three, and this guy was at least four inches shorter, but there was something in his demeanor that let Parker know this man knew how to take care of himself.
He extended his hand to Parker. “I’m Wade Coltrane.”
“You a cop?” Parker asked, shaking hands.
“No.” The corner of Wade’s mouth lifted, but the smile didn’t make it to his intense black eyes. Oh, yeah. Here was a man in search of freedom as well and probably something even more. “I’m former army special ops.”
So was Parker, though he was sure Wade already knew that. “Who’s the guy in the corner, the one who looks ready to kill us all?”
Wade didn’t even glance in that direction. He kept his attention on the center of the room where a team of tux-wearing waiters was setting up the table for seven. “That’s Harlan McClain. He used to play minor-league baseball, but he was special ops, too. The non-PC term for his job title was assassin.”
So, Parker had been right. “You did background checks on all the guests?”
Wade nodded, sipped his champagne. “Old habits.”
Parker snagged a glass of champagne from a waiter who was passing by. His throat was suddenly bone dry, and he was wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into. “I would have done the same if I’d known the guest list,” Parker mumbled.
“It took some doing to get it. From what I could find out, our host invited five of us, all former military. Each of us has specific areas of expertise.”
Interesting, since there were seven places being set with expensive china and real silver. Not just one fork, but four.
What the heck was he supposed to do with the other three?
And Parker obviously wasn’t the only one who felt that way. The assassin guy was eyeing them as if he might use them as weapons.
“The invitation should have said this was black tie,” Parker added. He was way underdressed in his khakis and dark blue shirt, but then the note as the bottom of the invitation had said Come as you are.
Right.
Bart Bellows was lucky that Parker hadn’t taken that to heart and shown up in Wranglers and mud-caked cowboy boots.
The other guests obviously hadn’t gotten the word about the hotel’s dress code either because like Parker, they all wore casual clothes and they all stuck out like sore thumbs.
“I know what you mean about the black tie,” Wade agreed. “I didn’t expect this.” The man made a sweeping glance around the lavish room.
Neither had Parker, though he had done a thorough background check on their host, Bart Bellows. However, in this case, background details didn’t tell the whole story. Parker was sure of that.
Wade tipped his head to the wiry dark-haired man across the room who was studying them as discreetly as Parker was studying him. “That’s Matteo Soarez from L.A. He worked in army covert ops. He specialized in infiltrating the enemy.”
Wade slid a glance at Parker. “I think you’re the only one here who actually got to protect people when you were in uniform.”
Well, Parker had been a bodyguard, of sorts. A combat rescue officer. The army sent him into situations where a captive needed to be extracted or when a VIP or team leader required extra protection.
Protection.
Now, that was also another complex word. He had three scars from bullet wounds that he’d gotten in the name of protecting others. The reminder had a bitter taste to it because Parker hadn’t been there to protect the one person who’d counted most.
His pregnant wife.
And because of it, he was now on some rat-wheel guilt trip ride that he wasn’t sure he could ever escape.
“The fifth guy is Nick Cavanaugh,” Wade continued. He angled his gaze toward the front of the room where the blond-haired man was doing exactly what they were doing—drinking champagne and trying to figure out what was going on here. “Army reconnaissance.”
Parker was betting like Wade that this Nick had gotten his hands on the guest list, as well. “So, what does a billionaire like Bart Bellows want with the likes of us?” Parker asked Wade.
“I’m not sure, but I think we’re about to find out.”
All the guests, including Parker, practically came to attention when the man in the motorized wheelchair rolled into the room from a side door.
Bart Bellows.
Thinning gray hair. Gray beard, too. Eyes so blue and intense that they seemed to pierce right through you.
Parker recognized the man from the numerous photos he’d found on the internet. There was no shortage of images and stories about the eccentric billionaire who was a Vietnam vet and former CIA agent.
However, most of the articles hadn’t had anything to do with Bart Bellows’s careers but rather his high-risk lifestyle. The man been a first-class adrenaline junkie—he’d done a stint as a race car driver for the NASCAR team he owned; he’d bungee jumped in the Grand Canyon: he’d parasailed over shark-infested waters in Australia.
In Parker’s mind, Bart lived like a man looking to die.
Well, Bart had, before that wheelchair and age had sidelined him and before his son had been killed in the Middle East by an IED. But Parker didn’t think it was his imagination that the old guy was still willing to take some ultimate risks.
Bart wasn’t alone. There was another man who followed along behind the wheelchair. Tall, imposing. Parker figured he was another military vet or maybe ex-CIA.
“Welcome,” Bart called out to them. He urged them closer with his motioning hand.
All of them, including Parker, began to stroll toward the fancy-set table. When he got closer, he saw there wasn’t just silverware and china, but at each place there was a PDA.
“Take a seat,” Bart invited. There was something surprising about his voice. It didn’t quite go with the weathered face and his wheelchair-bound body. There was strength in that voice. Strength too in the look he gave each of them.
It was almost…fatherly.
“In case you don’t know, I’m Bart Bellows, and this is Nolan Law, my right-hand man.” He hitched his thumb in the direction of the person who’d come in with him.
“Take a seat,” Bart repeated, and he wheeled himself to the head of the table.
Parker located his name tag. It was next to Wade’s. The others did the same, and one by one they all sat down. Parker didn’t know which was more intimidating—those four forks or the way they were eyeing each other. What he needed was more knives to cut the sudden tension in the room.
But Bart’s laughter did that.
