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“Hi, Mom.” She gave her father a quick, hard hug. “Dad. You already know Sam.”
“Louise. Roy,” he said.
They shook hands, Sam towering over the other man, Jamie noticed. Roy and Louise Gibson were like a matched set, one complementing the other—both small and round and solid and comfortable. Her mother’s short brown hair was shot with red highlights to cover the gray. What hair her father had left encircling his head was gray. He always said he’d earned every single one worrying about his only daughter. They were both dressed for the evening crowd—her father in a navy suit and red tie, her mother in a long-sleeved black knit dress and matching low-heeled shoes.
“I see you and Sam have met,” her father said.
Jamie huffed out a breath, then leaned against her mother’s littered desk, folding her arms over her chest.
Before she could say anything, her mother asked, “So, why are you upset?”
“Let me count the ways,” she mumbled.
“What?” Her mother’s expression grew wary.
Jamie shot Sam a look that said this was all his fault, then cocked a thumb in his direction. “You guys have some explaining to do.”
Her mother sighed. “We have a nice quiet table in a cozy corner. How about we sit down, have something to eat. Maybe a nice glass of wine. We can talk.”
“I don’t want food. I don’t want wine. I want some answers.” She glanced at them both. “So?”
Louise shrugged, clearly unapologetic. “So, we bought him at the auction.”
“What were you thinking?” Jamie asked.
Roy moved beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. “He’s a detective from Los Angeles.”
“Used to be,” Sam clarified.
In the doorway, he casually rested a shoulder against the door frame, as if he was holding it up. As wide as his shoulders were, he almost could. A man in the prime of his life, yet he’d left LAPD. Why? Jamie wondered.
“Whatever,” her father said. “L.A.’s loss is our gain. For thirty days we don’t have to worry about our little girl.”
Jamie struggled to keep the irritation from her voice. “You don’t have to worry about me at all. And I’m not a little girl.”
She made the mistake of looking at Sam as she said that. Something sparked in his eyes, a very male response that confirmed he agreed she was all grown-up. It was almost enough to distract her, but not quite.
“You’ll always be little to us,” her mother was saying. “We’re your parents. We changed your diapers—”
“Okay.” Jamie held up a hand. On the upside, at least all the naked baby pictures were at their house. “No one’s arguing about the family connection. But you guys have got to stop treating me like a china doll.”
“We’re just concerned. Maybe he can figure out who’s harassing you and make them stop,” Roy said. “He finds perps. It’s what he does.”
“Used to,” Sam said again.
“Dad, you’ve been watching too many cop shows on TV.” Jamie sighed. Maybe she should approach this from a different direction. “So why didn’t you guys tell me what you’d done?”
The folks exchanged a guilty look. “Didn’t your receptionist tell you I called?” her mother asked.
“Yes. But—”
“You could have called back.”
“You could have tried my cell. Since when do you go through the switchboard?”
“I think maybe cell phone reception isn’t so good in your office.”
“Since when?” Jamie demanded.
“I tried,” her mother said. “Apparently you were busy today.”
“I’m busy every day and I always get your calls. You guys aren’t very good fibbers. You’re so busted.”
“Okay.” Louise met her gaze. “We went ahead and bid on him at the auction, but we knew you’d say no.”
“And just turned him loose on me without warning?” she scolded, then met Sam’s gaze. He’d been a victim in all this, too. Although the humor glittering in his eyes didn’t make him look very victimlike.
“We didn’t want to hear how you don’t need anything and can take care of yourself.” Louise looked at Sam. “She’s our miracle child. We tried for years and couldn’t get pregnant—”
“Mom—”
“He should know how we feel,” she defended. “Just when we gave up trying—to have a baby,” she clarified. “We didn’t give up sex.”
“Too much information, Mom.”
Just shoot me now, Jamie thought, her cheeks warm with humiliation. Then she made the mistake of looking at Sam again. Amusement cranked up several notches in his eyes. At least someone was having a good time here.
“That’s when it happened,” her mother continued. “We were pregnant. Then she was born. Our little girl. Our very own miracle.”
“Look, guys, I don’t need a bodyguard. Everything is normal—”
“Did you tell Sam about the hang ups in the middle of the night?” Louise asked.
“Yes. And for the record, I’m sorry I ever mentioned it to you guys,” Jamie mumbled.
“If that were the only thing,” Roy said, “we’d chalk it up to kids. But someone took her picture. I don’t like it.”
“Any idea who’d do that?” Sam asked.
Roy shrugged and shook his head. “Lunch and dinner are usually pretty busy at The Homestead. Anyone in town could have slipped in and out of this office without being seen.”
“Or through the back door,” Sam said.
“What?” Her father tensed.
“We walked right in the back,” Sam explained.
Her parents looked at each other. “It’s supposed to be locked all the time,” Roy said.
“Maybe we’ve been a little careless about that,” Louise admitted. “We’ll be better. But your father is right. We don’t like it. And just because you’re not a little girl, that doesn’t mean you don’t need someone to look out for you.”
Jamie sighed. “Look, you guys, I’m fine. You don’t have to be concerned about me.”
“It’s what fathers do, sweetheart.” Her dad gave her shoulder a squeeze. “They watch over their children and make sure they’re all right. Always.”
Jamie happened to be looking at Sam and saw the “yeah, right” expression on his face. What did that mean?
“I know you can’t help being protective, Dad, but I don’t need Sam hanging around. The police checked everything out and there’s no problem anymore.”
“It’s out of our hands,” Louise interjected. “The auction is his community service.”
“Thanks to Uncle Harry,” Sam said dryly.
Jamie didn’t want to debate that issue. “I’m sure there’s another way for Sam to do his community service.”
“It’s a done deal,” Louise said. “We paid the auction people already.”
“That’s right,” Jamie said, snapping her fingers. “You bought and paid for him. How about he does his time working for you here at the restaurant? Maybe he can dust that empty frame for fingerprints and figure out who stole the photo.”
“No way.” Louise shook her head.
“Or he can beef up the security,” she suggested.
“We bought him for you, sweetheart,” her father said.
“What if I don’t want him?”
“Way to make a guy feel warm and fuzzy,” Sam said, one side of his mouth quirking up.
“She’s not always so ungrateful,” Louise apologized. “Usually she’s gracious and considerate.”
“Usually I don’t have bodyguards showing up unannounced in my office,” she said defensively. “Really, Mom, Dad—”
Suddenly Roy put a hand to his chest and began to massage the muscle.
“Dad? Are you okay?”
“Just a little pressure. It happens.”
Sure it does, she thought. Her father was like the Rock of Gibraltar.
“He’s not getting any younger,” Louise said, looking worried. “And life is full of stress. Sometimes it’s worse than others and you learn to deal with it. We found a way to help you and at the same time do some good for the town—”
“The town that lives up to its name,” Sam cut in.
Jamie didn’t miss the sarcasm. “Listen, you guys, just—”
“No,” Roy said in his I’m-the-dad-and-this-is-the-last-straw voice. “You’re young, Jamie. Your mother and I know what’s best. We have more life experience. You moved away once, against our better judgment, I might add. We never liked Stu, but you wouldn’t listen. And we weren’t there to watch over you. And all you said when you moved home was that things didn’t work out with him. So now you’re back and we could watch out for you except you bought a house outside of town and you’re all alone there.” He took a breath as he continued to absently rub his chest. “Either you take Sam for the time we bought, or you move home and save your mother and me the stress of worrying that you’re all right.”
Her father was giving ultimatums. He did that when he got really upset, and Jamie felt a twinge of guilt. She had moved away to be with a guy she’d believed loved her and she’d done it in spite of her parents’ disapproval. Turns out they’d been right about him. But she’d survived and picked up some of her own life experience.
She loved her folks, overprotective and all. She wouldn’t hurt them for the world, but she simply couldn’t move back home and start fighting for her independence all over again. She’d told Sam she wouldn’t blink, but apparently she’d spoken too soon. Something had to give and apparently it was her.
“Okay. Bodyguard it is.”
She met Sam’s gaze and felt a flush on her face that spread clear through her. The thought of him guarding her body sent a shiver down her spine that was…excitement? Anticipation? Thrill? After the life experience she’d gained, she hoped and prayed it wasn’t any of the above. Otherwise the next thirty days were going to be hell.
Chapter Three
Sam’s headlights caught Jamie’s tailgate full on, and for the second time that day he was following her and wondering what little Miss Litigation was doing driving a truck. She looked like a teenager who took daddy’s wheels out for a joyride. Except, from what he’d seen, her father would have been copiloting that joyride. Sam had no frame of reference for her situation with her parents. Fatherly interaction had been noticeably absent in his formative years. The old man hadn’t given a damn until he was dying.
As Sam continued to tail her along the dark, desolate road, he was beginning to think she was leading him on a wild-goose chase. Finally she made a right turn onto another dark, desolate road. About two miles farther, and he saw her brake lights as she pulled up in front of a house sitting all by itself on a dark, desolate piece of land.
“About damn time,” he mumbled.
Then her truck door opened and out swung her legs, shapely calves and slender ankles. Between her interior lights and his headlights, he couldn’t miss them—or the short skirt that rode up and revealed a hint of thigh as she slid out. Damn it. He could have gone thirty days without knowing this sassy, curly haired brunette had great legs. It was a visual he’d add to his list of things to forget.
“This is it,” she said. “Home sweet home.”
Her impractical high heels clicked as she walked up the four steps leading to her front door. She fitted her key into the lock and opened up the place. One glance over his shoulder at the dark and desolation made him realize what a sitting duck she was. He shook his head in disgust as he put his hand at the small of her trim back and urged her inside. Before you could say Buy-a-Guy, he’d closed and locked the door.
She set her purse and briefcase down as he looked around her living room and winced. If he’d never laid eyes on the owner, all the pink in this room would have screamed, Woman On Deck. No self-respecting guy would have a floral-covered sofa—leather and lots of it for him. But it wasn’t all floral all the time. The two chairs were done in a geometrical pattern with the same colors of pink, beige and green. The room wasn’t large, but there were enough wall hangings to choke a horse. And everything was neat as a pin. Windows had crisscrossed lace covering them so it would be very easy for someone to see in.
The entryway turned right, into the family room, so he followed it and flipped on lights as he went. The floor was beige tile, and a rose-patterned area rug sat in the center of the room. A green sofa and a chair were tucked away in the nook across from the TV, and a pass-through bar separated this area from the kitchen.
He went in there and glanced around, then opened the shutters above the sink to look out back. This whole place was vulnerable, but one look confirmed his worst fears. It was pitch-black outside and felt like there was nothing between her and the Canadian border.
“Do you have a security system?” he asked.
“No. It’s not necessary. This is Charity City.”
“I don’t care if it’s Sesame Street. You can’t trust anyone. You live in the middle of nowhere, and the next neighbor is two miles down the road. Your attitude is dangerous.”
She tipped her head to the side and looked up at him. “If I promise to be as cynical as you, will you go?”
“In thirty days,” he agreed.
He walked back through the family room and heard her heels click, and then the sound was muffled as she crossed the rug behind him. Moving down the hall, he flipped light switches and glanced into bedrooms. The one with the computer, desk and bookshelf-lined walls was clearly a home office. A second had a twin bed with a fluffy comforter and treadmill opposite a thirteen-inch TV mounted on the wall—apparently a combination guest/exercise room. He wondered if Al Moore had ever been a guest and if so what kind of exercise they’d done. The thought didn’t sweeten his disposition.
The last bedroom in the back of the house was obviously the master. A king-size four-poster bed with enough pillows for the Fifth Infantry dominated the center of the room. A floral-covered chair and ottoman sat in a corner with a dressing area and bathroom beyond. Pictures hung all over the walls, and more knickknacks filled space not occupied by photographs. He picked up the one of a familiar, smiling older couple. When he’d left Roy and Louise a little while ago their smiles had been full of relief and satisfaction that their plan had come together.
Those two had life experience, all right, and they’d just used it to work their miracle baby big-time. He replaced the framed photo on the dresser.
“So, that was the folks in action?” he commented.
“Welcome to my world.”
“I particularly liked the pain-in-the-chest ploy.”
