Bonnie Vanak - Navy Seal Protector

I’m more like a tin daisy. But I’ve had it worse.

Living in her family’s car when they were evicted because her daddy couldn’t hold down a job was worse. Going to school in ragged clothing that she’d mended herself because Mama was sleeping off a hangover was worse.

But eighteen years ago, when Silas Anderson gave her father a job at the Belle Creek Ranch, things started to turn around. A sudden bout of grief made her pause and catch her breath. Silas had died last week. Funeral tomorrow. She’d felt genuine sorrow for the man’s passing. Silas had been more of a father to her than her drunken dad.

She’d put her own money into the ranch, reducing her salary for the job she did as the ranch bookkeeper, and paid for small repairs when things got broken. Lately, lots of things had been broken. Shelby would do anything to keep her little apartment above the garage. The Belle Creek was home. Silas and Dan, his nephew and the ranch manager, had allowed her to live rent-free for the past ten years.

Even though the ranch could face foreclosure, she felt confident things would work out with her help.

Timmy loved the ranch, more than he adored cake. I’ll make Timmy the biggest, best birthday cake with his favorite cinnamon icing. Maybe add sprinkles—he’s crazy about colored sprinkles...

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a grizzled, silver-headed man sit at a booth in her section. He wore a faded olive drab jacket decorated with many patches. Old Vern, who’d served many tours in ’Nam. Shelby forgot about the lousy tip. With a big smile, she headed for him.

“Hi, Vern. How are you?”

The elderly man brightened. “Right as rain, Shelby.”

For a few minutes she listened to him talk about everything from the weather to his grandchildren. Vern came in every Friday, probably for the company. He lived alone, and she knew he had little money. So every Friday, she paid for his meal on the sly, telling him they had a “special” for vets.

Seeing her manager frown and start toward her, she promised Vern to put in his order straightaway.

After doing so, head pounding from the grinding country music pumping through the speakers, her feet hurting, Shelby decided to steal a five-minute break. She headed into the back room that served as the employee quarters. Rows of steel-gray lockers lined the walls, where the women and men could safely stash valuables. There was a painkiller calling her name right now and...

Shelby ground to an abrupt halt.

The padlock on her locker hung open. Someone had snipped it clean through, probably with bolt cutters. Same as last Friday night.

Blood pulsing through her body, breathing ragged, she whipped her head around. No one about. Not even the lingering odor of cigarette smoke that hung in the air when Ann sneaked back here to take a few puffs.

Who could have done this?

She had to find out. If someone stole her purse, her one credit card that wasn’t already maxed out...

Or worse.

Shelby inched toward the locker, eyes pinned to the dangling padlock. With a hand that shook, she removed the lock and set it down on the bench seat. Please, don’t let it be like last week...

One, two, three!

She flung open the door and stepped back.

A nauseating odor slammed into her and she gagged. Shelby blinked hard, looking at the top shelf and the cause of the noxious smell.

A dead rat.

Shelby grabbed her purse where it hung on a hook inside the locker, her fingers fumbling for the clasp. Sure enough, just like last week, a white note with typed letters was stuffed inside it.

Leave the Belle Creek before we make you leave.

Shelby dropped her purse. Bile rose in her throat, but she forced it down. Had to get rid of the rat before some happy customer came tripping back here in search of the restroom, freaked and called the county board of health. If Bill saw this, he’d fire her. Last week someone had dumped a dozen dead cockroaches into her locker. Bill had seen those and written her up. The manager had been on her case because Natalie, the new owner, had disliked Shelby ever since high school.

Shelby found a black plastic garbage bag and gloves. The dead rat was out the door and into the Dumpster shortly after. As she washed her hands in the bathroom sink, Ann sauntered into the ladies room.

Ann stopped short and gave her a quizzical look. “You okay, Shel? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

No, a dead rat. “Just tired.”

Her friend dabbed on fresh lipstick and touched up her hair. “Well, I’ve got something to put the spark back in your tank. Sexy-guy alert, table nine. Panty-melting hot.”

“Takes a lot more than sexy to dissolve my underwear,” Shelby joked back.

“You need a life,” her friend said with a good-natured grin. “Or don’t wear panties at all. Want to grab a drink after work at the Tipsy Cowboy?”

Ann had a brazen attitude, bleached blond hair and wore her skirts too high, but she was the best friend Shelby ever had.

“Rain check. Dan’s wife is babysitting Timmy as a favor and I don’t want to be late.”

Ann patted her shoulder. “You work too hard, hon. Let me know if I can help in any way.”

The kindness nearly made her dissolve into tears. Ann had boarded her horse at the Belle Creek, giving the ranch much-needed income, even if it was only rough board and not full. Shelby smiled. “You’ve already done enough, hon. I’ll be fine.”

As her friend left, Shelby realized the dull throbbing behind her temples had turned into a fierce headache. She stashed her purse behind boxes of sanitary napkins in the employee lounge and headed back onto the floor. Maybe the rest of the night would be uneventful. Please let it be calm, please...

The devil himself sat at table nine.

She forgot to breathe, forgot the dead rat in her locker. Forgot who she was. Good thing she wore a brass tag with her name on it. Time rolled back in a fog.

That kiss, those sinfully sexy eyes, smoldering at her as he lowered his mouth to hers...

You never forgot your first kiss. And no woman who still had a pulse ever forgot Nick Anderson.

Dark blond hair curled at the ends as it rested against the collar of his black shirt. He wore it longer now, and he was thicker in the shoulders and chest. He was a man now, instead of the teenager he’d been when she’d sobbed and told him to get out of her life. Still had the same languid grace as he relaxed back in the imitation-leather booth, his dark gaze scanning the restaurant with the same cool, searing intensity displayed ten years ago. Nick looked hungry, as if he needed a good meal...or a bad woman.

Already the dynamic inside the Bucking Bronc had changed. Female waitstaff sashayed instead of scurried and the men stood a little taller. No one here could best Nick’s six feet three inches. Or his mouth...

Two men stopped by his table and chatted. Nick’s heroism as a former Navy SEAL was a source of pride in these parts. She overheard a few invite him to sit with them and pay for his dinner, but Nick politely refused.

He must be back for his dad’s funeral. She’d been so busy trying to find ways to save his father’s ranch, she’d almost forgotten he existed.

Almost.

Shelby took her order pad from her apron. Tonight she had to have a steel backbone. Forget the honey-sweet flower attitude. The man deserved pure vinegar.

Be courteous. The pencil nearly snapped in her tight grip. “May I take your drink order?”

He turned. Soft light from the overhead lamp put the angles of his face into sharp relief. Shelby bit back a gasp at the jagged scar carved on one angular cheek. It looked as if a vicious animal had torn his skin apart.

It made him no less handsome; indeed, it made him look more ruthless and dangerous.