Navy SEAL Protector Read online

  “At the ranch.” Nick stretched an arm along the booth as he watched her.

  She managed to conceal her surprise. “I’m sure your cousins will be happy to see you.”

  Nick’s gaze turned hard. “Doubt it. Dan and Jake won’t want me around long.”

  She blinked in surprise. “You’re always welcome, Nick. You were the one who left.”

  Everyone in town knew how Silas and Nick had clashed like two stubborn bulls in an arena, while Dan and Jake got along with the old man just fine. Shelby didn’t understand how Nick could leave home and only return for his father’s funeral.

  Her parents had been drunks, and when they left town, Shelby barely noticed. But Nick came from a long line of solid, upstanding Barlow denizens. Andersons had served on the town council for as long as anyone could remember, and the Belle Creek had been an icon in the community for years, sponsoring 4-H competitions and Little League teams.

  Something flickered behind his dark gaze. “I’m ready to order. Why don’t you sit a minute, take a load off? You look as if you’ve been running ragged.”

  Pride struggled against the need to do exactly as he said. Weariness won. Shelby perched on the edge of the booth and put her pad on the table. Best not to show how much her hands shook, let him know his raw animal heat could still affect her, like a blast furnace. “Thanks.”

  “Where are you laying your head at night these days, darling? Apartment in town?”

  Nick’s deep, smoky voice made the question sound sinful and inviting. Shelby tapped her pencil against the battered order pad. “Silas converted the space above the garage into an apartment for myself and Timmy.”

  The scar on his cheek turned white as his jaw tightened. “Timmy?”

  “My nephew. My sister and her husband are living overseas in Iraq. He’s an engineer—got a very lucrative twenty-four-month contract.”

  Nick’s mouth thinned, and he shook his head. “You couldn’t pay me enough to live there. Did three tours in Iraq. Managed to survive, despite all the suicide bombers.”

  She knew this, knew it every day, and worried one day her sister and brother-in-law might not return home. “It’s why they left Timmy with me.”

  “Still the same Shelby, living in the same place, taking care of everyone,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving hers. “Darling, are you ever going to leave the Belle Creek? That old place has been trapping you there for years.”

  Shelby bristled at this truth. She’d given up her dream of traveling in order to care for Timmy. It was a reality she’d cheerfully accepted, but hearing it from his sexy mouth made it hurt. “My sister and her husband couldn’t pass up this chance to make good money. They’re moving back here when they return, and they promised I could live with them to save money for travel. Now, are you ready to order?”

  “I’ll have sweet tea, salad with raspberry vinaigrette, the chicken, baked potato and carrots.”

  “You like breasts or thighs?”

  His eyes moved in a slow caress over her body that made all her hormones sing. “Both look good to me.”

  Damn that color rising to her cheeks. Nick chuckled. “Breast meat. Grilled.”

  After scribbling down the order, she stood. “Be right up.”

  He smiled, a genuine smile that added tiny lines to the corners of his chocolate-brown eyes and dimpled his right cheek. A bedroom smile that she suspected had lured many women into his arms. “It’s good to see you again, Shelby. You’re the one person in this town I like seeing again.”

  She wished she could say the same. The sooner Nick Anderson left, the better for her. The man had a habit of disarming her, shaking up her world. In a world that was already pretty rattled, she liked the idea of stability.

  After she brought his food, Nick didn’t dig in right away, but kept looking at her, as if she was steak and he was starving. “It really is good to see you again, Sweet Pea Shelby.”

  The nickname caught her off guard, and coaxed an uncertain smile to her mouth. “No one’s called me that in years.” Not since her parents had become more interested in alcohol than their daughters.

  “Too bad,” he said softly.

  For a moment she stood looking at him, her heart pounding like a war drum. Nick still had it. And damn her, she still wanted it.

  Shelby hurried off to take another order. She stopped by to check on him ten minutes later. As she went to take his salad plate, his fingers brushed against hers. A tingle rushed down her spine and he stared at her.

  Shelby became aware of her too-rapid pulse, the knot of desire centered low in her belly.

  Vern waved at her and she turned, but Nick laced strong fingers around her wrist. “Wait,” he said softly. “Isn’t that Vern Dickerson?”

  “He comes in here every Friday.” Her heart beat triple-time at the hint of steely strength restraining her, and yet his grip was gentle. “I think he’s lonely.”

  Nick nodded. Without ceremony, he picked up his meal and glass, and walked over to Vern’s booth, sliding in opposite him. “Hi, there, sir. I’m Nick Anderson. Mind if I sit with you? I hate to eat alone. Don’t want to bother you, so I’ll leave if you wish.”

  Vern beamed. As she left to take care of another customer, Vern began regaling Nick with stories of his time in ’Nam, Nick listening intently. Her heart softened.

  When Vern excused himself to the restroom, Shelby stopped to refill Nick’s sweet tea.

  “Sweet Pea, give me Vern’s check. A man who has served like he has shouldn’t have to worry about his next meal.”

  “Already taken care of,” she told him. “And thank you.”

  Nick blinked. “For what?”

  “For spending time with an old man who is absolutely thrilled to sit with the hometown hero.”

  His expression darkened. “He’s the real war hero.”

  Vern returned, and Shelby left them alone. A few minutes later, the elderly veteran waved her over and asked for the check. Shelby went into her usual dialogue about the special veterans plan. Vern thanked her, then the two men stood and shook hands.

  “Been a real honor to spend time with you, sir.” Nick nodded at him.

  Beaming, Vern saluted him. “Same here, sailor. You ever need someone to jaw with you about the service, I’m your man.”

  Vern left, his shoulders a little less stooped, his gait a little less unsteady.

  Shelby began clearing the table of Vern’s dishes as Nick sat down and asked for his own check.

  “That was so nice of you,” she told him.

  “You’re the nice one, Sweet Pea. Vern knows.”

  “Knows what?”

  “That you pay for his dinner every Friday. Thank you, Shel.”

  Her gaze met his dark one and in the depths, she felt something stir. Not mere desire, but something deeper, and more lasting.

  “Shouldn’t you be working instead of wasting the customer’s time?”

  Shelby stiffened. The honey-sweet voice hid the acid behind those words. She didn’t need to turn around to know that the owner stood behind her. The woman had been in the kitchen an hour ago, barking orders and giving the evil eye when Shelby asked the head chef about a cake recipe with cinnamon.

  With her cascading wispy blond curls, big blue eyes and stylish clothing, Natalie Beaufort caught many male eyes in small-town Barlow. Big Chuck Beaufort, her wealthy dad, spared no expense on his youngest daughter. Natalie boarded her show horse, Fancy, at the Belle Creek, so Shelby had to force herself to be polite. The ranch needed the fees to survive. It was no secret Big Chuck coveted the ranch’s lush four hundred acres for some pie-in-the-sky amusement park called Countryville. The man had been bragging around town about his latest plan.

  Maybe Nick didn’t care about the land that had been in his family for five generati
ons, but she did. The thought of seeing the rolling hillside, the duck pond where she’d gone swimming on many a hot summer day, the horse pasture, the faded red barn and the rambling outbuildings turned into a tourist trap made Shelby nauseous. And furious.

  Natalie slid into the booth across from Nick, pretty as you please, pushing Shelby aside. “Well, hello, stranger,” she cooed. “Nice to see you again. And what are you doing here at my restaurant?”

  “Leaving.” Nick gulped down his tea and slid out from the booth, his gaze centered on Shelby. “I’ll see you later, Shelby.”

  Silently laughing, she nodded at Nick.

  He dropped several bills into the check folder and then looked at her with those sleepy bedroom eyes, now sharpened, as they centered on her mouth. He touched her cheek and she startled, the contact sizzling between them like a crackling electrical line. Nick gently stroked a thumb over her trembling lower lip.

  “Maybe I should have stuck around ten years ago and finished what I started with you.”

  Whistling, he jammed his hands into his jeans pockets and strode off.

  Natalie pouted so much she looked twelve instead of twenty-six.

  “Get back to work,” Natalie told her in a sullen voice.

  Humming, Shelby cleared the table and dumped the dishes in the wait station near the bar. The recent troubles came back to haunt her. Nick was staying at the ranch. He’d been away for ten years and had no idea of what he was waltzing back into on the Belle Creek.

  As she headed into the kitchen, a dreadful thought struck her. Nick returned for the funeral, but what if Silas left the entire ranch to his son?

  Impossible. Dan had faithfully remained on the ranch as foreman, aiding his uncle. Silas and his only son, Nick, had been estranged for years.

  Silas would never leave the Belle Creek to Nick, the man who wanted nothing to do with the ranch and would probably sell if it was his.

  And if he was the new owner of the Belle Creek, she faced a real possibility of being homeless once more.

  Chapter 2

  Nick had never wanted to set eyes on the Belle Creek Ranch again.

  Ten years ago, he’d thought the same about Shelby Stillwater, and not for the same reasons.

  Sweet Pea Shelby. Damn, the girl had turned into a woman, and what a fine-looking woman. One night, upset over yet another fight with Silas, he’d come home and saw her sitting in the cabin, where he’d gone to sleep off the Jack Daniel’s. He hadn’t cared she was barely sixteen and he was old enough to know better. She looked so lost, as forlorn as he’d felt, so he’d kissed her. Her mouth had been warm and sweet, and the kiss had seared him to his very bones, so much that his dick had turned as hard as stone in his jeans and he knew if he’d stayed, he’d have done something very, very wrong.

  Shelby was too nice for his brand of wicked.

  And now she was legal. Very legal. With those big green eyes, thick brown curls with a hint of honey and sunshine spilling past her shoulders, all those curves and that spark in her eye, she made him think of hot, wet kisses in the night, and things men wanted to do to women who roused them to the point of madness. Long, slow sex. Fast, hard sex.

  When he’d touched her, the past rushed back like a tornado. Her skin felt warm and soft as satin, and her mouth...

  Nick pushed Shelby out of his mind. Tomorrow was the funeral, and then he’d be gone again, this time never coming back. He’d never return to Shelby or the ranch. Odd, he’d thought the old man would live forever, for Silas Anderson was one tough bastard.

  Not too tough for the pneumonia that rattled his lungs and ultimately claimed him.

  Nick parked his Harley in the curved driveway of the two-story white farmhouse and adjusted his backpack. Two elegant carriage lights tastefully accented the front porch, with its rows of white wicker rocking chairs and baskets of flowers. House...? Hell, this was a mansion compared to some places he’d slept.

  He whistled. When he’d left, last time for good, the farmhouse had weathered paint, finicky plumbing and heat, and wood floorboards that creaked when you tried to sneak up the stairs. This kind of renovating took plenty of money. He knew, too, because over the past year since he’d left the teams, he’d found odd jobs doing construction and flipping houses.

  His gut curling into a knot, he walked up to the double doors with the half-moon windows above them and rang the silver bell. Soft chimes sounded inside. Even the doorbell had changed from the sharp, annoying buzzer. He half expected a butler named Jeeves to open the door.

  Instead, his cousin Dan did, and stood for a moment silently assessing him. Nick did the same. Five years older than Nick, Dan looked a little thicker around the waist than last time, and there were threads of silver in his dark hair. No welcome in his blue eyes, either. Once they’d been close. No longer. Not since the day Nick packed all his things and left for good. Abandoning the family, Dan had called it.

  Survival, Nick termed it.

  In a starched white shirt, black trousers and polished loafers, Dan looked more like a banker than a cowboy. Nick became aware of his shabby jeans, the faded black T-shirt beneath his collared chambray work shirt.

  “Hi, Dan. Good to see you.”

  “Nick. You’re here, finally.”

  Dan engulfed him in a hug that felt stiffer than a new board. Nick hugged him back a little more enthusiastically. He wasn’t going to be a jerk, even if Dan wasn’t exactly rolling out the welcome mat.

  “Come on in. You can hang your things in the hall closet. Felicity doesn’t like jackets strewn about the house.”

  Nick shrugged out of the frayed backpack containing all his worldly goods and then removed his leather jacket, placing it on a padded hanger in the closet. A black Stetson with a turquoise band sat on a shelf. Nick removed it and stroked a thumb along the brim.

  “I remember this well,” he mused. “Bought it at a rodeo when I was sixteen.”

  The remark made Dan thaw a bit. “You used to wear it in school.”

  Nick grinned. “Wonder if my head has shrunk since then.”

  Dan’s smile faded. “Felicity doesn’t like hats worn inside the house. But you can take it with you upstairs to your room and wear it on the ranch. Come, I’ll introduce you to my wife and children.”

  The hallway was lined with white marble, and elegant framed paintings hung on the cream walls. The entry to this house wasn’t stacked with boots caked with mud and horse droppings. The antiseptic atmosphere made him feel as if he should have wiped his feet more before entering.

  Dan led him into a living room with overstuffed brown leather furniture, a stone fireplace and gold lamps. A pretty but brittle blond woman dressed in a severe navy-blue dress was perched on the edge of the sofa. Next to her were two young boys with buzzed-cut brown hair dressed in neatly pressed trousers and white shirts.

  Dan introduced the woman as his wife, Felicity, and their two sons, Mason, eight, and Miles, six. The little boys looked solemn.

  Nick shook Felicity’s hand, which felt as damp and listless as the Southern heat. He sat on the leather chair opposite them.

  “Thanks for letting me bunk here tonight,” he told her.

  She gave a desultory wave of one hand. “It is your home as well, Nicolas.”

  Dan stood by the sofa, as stiff as his starched shirt. “Did you eat dinner yet, Nick?”

  “I ate at the Bucking Bronc earlier. Didn’t want to impose.”

  Felicity seemed to sit even straighter. “It is no imposition. We already ate, but there are leftovers. Breakfast will be ready at seven o’clock sharp tomorrow. The funeral home requests family be there at nine thirty. We arranged to have two limousines. You may ride in one, unless you would rather provide your own transportation.”

  “I have my bike,” he offered.

  Her n
ostrils flared in apparent distaste. “You may ride in the second car, then. We expect promptness and we must respect the funeral director’s wishes. The services will begin at eleven sharp. We have a few house rules. No shouting, running, hats worn inside the house or jeans at the dinner table. We dress for dinner, which is six o’clock sharp. Boots with spurs are worn outside only.”

  With all this “sharp” grating sharply on his last nerve, Nick wished he’d booked a room at the local motel. Then he remembered there was a country-music convention in town and there were no rooms. Maybe the barn. Might be a tad warmer sleeping with the horses than in this cold house.

  He glanced at the dusty Western boots on his feet. “This is still a farm, right, Felicity?”

  Felicity blinked. “Of course it is. But we are civilized people, and we must adhere to the rules in order to act as civilized people, not wild hooligans.”

  A dull flush crept up his neck. Damn if she didn’t sound like old Silas himself, with the rules and the “hooligan” accusation. Maybe the old man had rubbed off on her. Or he’d died earlier and his ghost possessed this woman.

  “I won’t be much in your way.” He gave her a pointed look. “After the funeral, I’m gone.”

  He’d think the idea would have pleased her. Instead, she kept twisting her hands together. What was wrong with this woman?

  “Where’s Timmy?” he asked. “I saw Shelby at the restaurant and she said you’re babysitting.”

  Felicity sat straighter. “He’s downstairs in the recreation room.”

  Recreation room? Dollar signs began pinging in his head. He wondered how much money Silas had sunk into this house. Unease gripped him. The old man had always been frugal, but this house cost money. Maybe the rumors he’d heard of the ranch being in debt were more than rumors.

  Not your problem.

  Dan stood and gestured to him. “I’ll show you to your room.”

  He thanked Felicity again, and followed Dan up the sweeping staircase to the second-floor landing, his boot heels stomping firmly on each step.