The Bodyguard's Promise

The Bodyguard’s Promise

Carla Cassidy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

About The Author

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Copyright

Carla Cassidy is an award-winning author who has written over fifty books. Carla believes the only thing better than curling up with a good book to read is sitting down at the computer with a good story to write. She’s looking forward to writing many more books and bringing hours of pleasure to readers.

Chapter 1

“Ms. Bryant will be with you momentarily.” The uniformed maid smiled then closed the door, leaving Clay West alone in a living room the size of a small country.

White. White carpeting, white walls and white furniture. Clay wasn’t sure if it was the lack of color that hurt his eyes or the fact that he was coming off a two-week job in Las Vegas, a city where nights and days blurred together without distinction.

He jammed his hands into his jeans’ pockets and shifted from one foot to the other as he waited for somebody to join him. He’d been hoping that he’d go from Las Vegas back to his home in Cotter Creek, Oklahoma, for a little rest and relaxation.

He’d been at the airport heading home when he’d gotten the call from his eldest brother, Tanner. Tanner had been short on details, telling him only that he needed to go to the Bryant mansion in Hollywood Hills, that Gracie Bryant, the movie star, was in need of a bodyguard. Gracie’s agent had arranged for the protection.

Clay had no idea who Gracie Bryant was or what kind of movies she starred in. He didn’t follow the Hollywood scene and the last movie he’d seen had starred a beautiful princess and seven little dwarves. As he recalled he’d made himself sick on candy and popcorn.

He released a weary sigh and moved toward the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows across the back wall of the room and glanced outside.

An Olympic-size pool was just beyond a lush flower garden and a Greek-style gazebo rose up in stately elegance. A tennis court lay just beyond the pool. This private residence had more amenities than the Cotter Creek Community Center. Apparently whoever Gracie Bryant was, she was successful.

He just hoped this case was more pleasant than his most recent, playing bodyguard to an eccentric, obnoxious high roller who thought showering might change his luck. The guy had been a pig and Clay had been grateful that morning when the gig had come to an end.

He turned away from the window, suddenly aware of the sound of a feminine voice drifting in from an adjoining room. He didn’t pretend to ignore it, but rather moved several steps closer to the doorway. The best way to be efficient in this kind of a position was to know anything and everything that was going on in the house.

“Charlie, I told you it wasn’t necessary.” The voice was deep and smoky, but held more than a touch of impatience. “I told you that you were overreacting. Trust me, I’m not happy about this. You should have okayed it with me before you hired anyone.”

Clay wasn’t sure why, but he had a vision of a middleaged woman in a severe business suit, a real ball-buster type who had probably never been married and was in charge of running this mansion like a well-oiled piece of machinery.

“You should have told me sooner what you’d done,” the voice continued. “He’s here now. All right, I’ll do it your way, but mama’s not happy and you know the old saying.”

Clay tensed. It was obvious she’d been talking about him and just as obvious she wasn’t pleased he was here. That didn’t matter. Clay wasn’t here to make anyone happy. He’d been hired to keep somebody safe from harm and that’s exactly what he intended to do.

The woman who swept from the adjoining room wasn’t middle-aged, nor was she dressed in a business suit. She was clad in a turquoise bikini with a filmy matching coverup that fell just short of her knees.

Her blond hair was caught at the nape of her neck in a little ponytail thingie and she held a cell phone in her slender fingers.

Gracie Bryant? The woman definitely looked like a movie star. He couldn’t help the faint burst of pure lust that kicked him in the pit of his stomach. Even though he never mixed business with pleasure, he’d have to be dead not to appreciate her physical beauty.

He tried not to notice her full breasts and long, shapely legs that were visible through the see-through material of the cover-up, but hell, he was male and it had been a long time since he’d had a chance to indulge in any kind of a relationship.

Her eyes perfectly matched the blue of her swimsuit, but as her gaze met his, he saw a flash of barely suppressed annoyance. She had to have known he’d heard her end of the conversation, but she made no apology or any other indication that she cared that he had heard.

“Mr. West, I presume?” She held out her hand.

“Clay West,” he said. Her long fingers were cool, her handshake firm, and he had a feeling this was a woman who was accustomed to getting her own way.

“I’m Libby Bryant.” She gestured him toward one of the white sofas. “Please sit. May I get you something to drink?” She headed for the full wet bar in one corner of the spacious room.

“No, thanks. I’m fine.” Gingerly, Clay sat on the edge of the sofa, hoping he didn’t have anything on the seat of his jeans that might stain the white fabric.

“If I’d known you were coming I would have sent a car to pick you up,” she said, and splashed a healthy amount of orange juice into the bottom of a glass.

“A taxi got me here just fine.”

Her cell phone rang a musical tune and a tight apologetic smile lifted her lips as she opened it to answer. The smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, which remained cool and distant.

“Hello?” The frown that cut across her forehead did nothing to detract from her attractiveness. “No. I told you no before and I’m telling you no again. I decide what she’ll do and what she won’t do, and until they’re willing to come up with more money, the answer will remain no.” She closed the phone and set it on the marble-topped counter of the bar.

“Sorry about that,” she said as she rejoined Clay, her orange juice in hand as she sat on the opposite end of the sofa. “I understand you just flew in from Las Vegas.”

Clay nodded.

She leaned back against the white cushion, her gaze meeting his with a hint of belligerence. “I have to tell you, Clay, this whole thing wasn’t my idea. Gracie’s agent, Charles Wheeler set it into motion.” Those gorgeous eyes of hers flickered over him in assessment. “Are you good at what you do?”

“Very.”

She nodded, as if satisfied. “Charlie didn’t want to use anyone local. Things are going well and we can’t afford any troubling publicity. He told me he worked with your father years ago and remembered he’d left Hollywood and started up some sort of bodyguard business.”

“Wild West Protective Services,” Clay said. Clay knew his father had come to Hollywood as a young man and had done some stunt work in several films. It was only when Red West had met and married Clay’s mother that he’d decided to move back to Oklahoma to start a family and the bodyguard business.

The cell phone rang and she leaped up to retrieve it from the bar, once again flashing Clay an apologetic but tense smile.

“Tell them she’s worth ten times that.” Her blue eyes flashed with cold calculation. “Listen, Charlie, don’t bother me again with this penny-ante stuff. Until you have a reasonable offer, don’t waste your time or mine.” This time she carried the phone with her and dropped it on the coffee table before sitting once again across from Clay.

“I’m sorry for the interruptions. We’re in the process of fielding several offers and things always get tense during negotiations.”

“Look, I’m functioning at a disadvantage here,” Clay said. “I’m not sure why you need our services. When my brother called me to come out here, he didn’t give me any details.”

“To be perfectly honest, I think we’re overreacting to the whole situation. This sort of thing happens all the time in this industry and nobody gets too excited, but Charlie, Gracie’s agent, decided it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Libby took a sip of her orange juice and Clay tamped down a growing edge of impatience. He was tired and getting cranky, and he just wanted to know the details of this assignment. He didn’t care about negotiations and big deals.

“What situation, Ms. Bryant?”

“Please, make it Libby.” She set her empty glass on the coffee table and stood. She began to pace in front of where Clay sat, moving with sleek, sinewy movements. “Since her last movie, Gracie is on a roll. She’s suddenly a hot commodity. We’re in the process of finishing her latest movie, there’s a couple of commercials to be shot in the next couple of weeks and there’s even talk of some endorsement deals.”

He suspected Libby was a relative of the successful starlet, maybe a sister serving as a business manager? If Gracie Bryant looked anything like Libby, then she was the epitome of Hollywood’s standard of perfect, heart-stopping blond bombshell.

“Anyway,” she continued. “At first the letters that came were like the usual fan letters, but in the last couple of weeks they’ve gotten weird and ugly. I told Charlie that this kind of thing is to be expected with anyone in the public eye, but he insisted better safe than sorry.”

So, it would seem that they were dealing with some troubling fan mail and nothing more, he thought. “Have you contacted the local authorities?”

Libby stopped her pacing and Clay breathed a sigh of relief. Watching her, with her long legs and full breasts, walking back and forth in front of him, had been distracting, to say the least.

“Yes. They gave us the usual spiel about being overworked and underpaid. The officer made a report then asked for an autographed photo. I’ve hired a private investigator to try to find out the source of the letters. What I’d like from you is simply to pretend to be Gracie’s friend and keep an eye on her, assure her safety until the investigator gets to the bottom of things.”

Clay had a feeling this particular assignment was going to be a piece of cake. If the only thing they were dealing with was a bunch of letters written by an unhinged fan, the odds were in their favor that nothing dangerous would come of it.

“I guess the next step is for me to meet Gracie, then I’ll need to see the letters,” Clay said.

She nodded. “I’ll go get Gracie and I’ll have her secretary gather up all the letters we’ve received to date.”

As she left the room Clay stood and breathed a deep sigh of relief. She might not be middle-aged but he had the definite feeling she could be a ball-buster and it was obvious she wasn’t particularly pleased he was here. Her problem, not his.

He walked to the window once again and saw a gardener clipping bushes around the fancy gazebo. The area surrounding the house was no less impressive than the house itself. When the taxi had pulled up in front of the security gates Clay had thought the place was a hotel or a museum rather than a private residence.

Palm trees swayed in a faint breeze and near the house several hydrangea bushes exploded in shades of blue and purple.

People didn’t live like this in Cotter Creek, Oklahoma. A fierce longing for home filled him. Clay’s father’s large rambling ranch house was always filled with people. Right about now Smokey, the cook and housekeeper, would be in the kitchen, bustling around to fix the evening meal. Clay’s dad would probably be in the garden and at any given time his brothers, sister and his sister-in-law would wander in for a cup of coffee and some chatter.

It had been ages since Clay had spent any real time at home. For the last couple of months, business had boomed and he’d gone from one job to the next without any real downtime in between. There had been no time for women or fun or anything but work.

Hopefully, the investigator who had been hired would discover that the author of the disturbing letters was a housebound, ninety-year-old man who was incapable of following through on any threat he might have penned. And hopefully the investigator would come to that conclusion quickly so that Clay could get home.

“Gracie will be right down,” Libby said as she returned to the room. She picked up her glass from the coffee table and went back to the bar. “Sure I can’t get you something?” she asked.

“No thanks, I’m fine.” He turned his gaze to the door as he heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

A little girl appeared in the doorway. Clay guessed her age to be between seven and eight and she looked like a little fairy princess. Long blond hair framed a heart-shaped face and lively blue eyes gazed at him with friendly curiosity.

There were three things in life Clay wasn’t particularly fond of: snakes, storms and children. He smiled politely as the little girl approached where he sat.

“Hello,” she said, and smiled prettily. “My name is Gracie, what’s your name?”

Gracie? His heart dropped to his feet. This baby girl was Gracie? She was his next assignment? Oh, hell no! No way. He’d call Tanner and get somebody else out here to do this job. This definitely wasn’t for him.

“This is Bunny,” the little girl said, and for the first time Clay noticed she clutched a raggedy stuffed pink bunny in one arm. “She’s my friend.”

“She looks like a nice friend,” Clay replied. He couldn’t wait to get a minute alone to call his brother. He’d never worked with a kid before. Hell, he’d never even spent any time around a kid.

It wasn’t that he hated kids, he just hadn’t ever given them much thought. He had no nieces or nephews, no children at all in his world.

“My mommy says you’re going to be my new friend and you never told me your name.” She scooted next to Clay onto the sofa and gazed up at him with eyes the color of the Oklahoma sky. It was instantly clear to Clay what the connection was between Libby and Gracie. Gracie was a miniature carbon copy of Libby.

“Clay. My name is Clay.”

“I like that name,” she replied. As the little girl once again smiled up at him, Clay felt a sinking feeling in his heart. He wasn’t going to call his brother and get another assignment. If somebody was threatening this baby girl with her innocent eyes and pretty little smile, then he was right where he needed to be. Guarding Gracie had just become his new mission.

Clay West was nothing like what she’d expected. When Charlie had mentioned hiring somebody to keep an eye on Gracie, Libby had assumed it would be another Hollywood type, slick and polished to blend into any social situation.

He definitely wasn’t a Hollywood type. Although many men in Hollywood wore jeans, they wore designer brands coupled with expensive shirts, and always looked as if they were a little uncomfortable in the casual clothes.

This man, this cowboy from Oklahoma, wore his jeans as if he’d been born in them. They fit his lean, long legs as if especially made by the best tailor money could buy. His dress shirt, while adequate, strained across broad shoulders she suspected had come through hard work rather than hours in a gym. Dusty cowboy boots rode his feet, boots she thought probably weren’t strangers to mud or manure.

But it wasn’t his dress that disturbed her. And it wasn’t that his hair was dark as night and on the wrong side of a haircut. It was his eyes that bothered her, beautiful green eyes that held a whisper of arrogance, a touch of aloofness and a hint of judgment that made her both wary and defensive.

The living room was huge, but something about his presence made the walls close in. As long as he remembered who was working for whom, they would get along just fine, she thought.

“Mommy, is Mr. Clay a director?” Gracie asked.

Libby smiled at her daughter, her heart expanding with love. “No, sweetie. He’s just a friend who’s going to be staying with us for a little while.”

“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

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.