Navy SEAL Protector Read online

  He had savings. But not even close to sixty thousand dollars. And Dan and everyone else seemed loathe to provide any information about why the ranch had slid into such dire straits.

  Tucking his phone away, Nick left the study to change his clothing. He took the letter, hoping to get answers from the one person he knew would tell the truth.

  * * *

  She knew he’d come knocking at her door someday. All the years since he’d been gone, Shelby kept telling herself Nick would return. Now he stood on the landing outside her apartment, a big man taking up half the front window Silas had installed when he’d renovated the place ten years ago.

  Why did he have to do it when her eyes were swollen and red from crying, and her hair a frizzy mess?

  He’s not here to seduce you, she warned herself. Shelby crumpled up the tissue and threw it in a wastebasket, then opened her front door.

  Tall and leanly muscled, he wore a clean black T-shirt and blue jeans. Gone was the somber funeral attire. Somehow she liked this better. It was a clear reminder of the cocky man he’d been, the one who had almost coaxed her into sex all those years ago. A wicked-looking pistol was tucked into a holster at his leather belt.

  He was carrying and the sight of the weapon comforted her a little. With all the vandalism at the ranch, it was good to have a man around who knew the business end of a pistol. Dan was hopeless when it came to guns and Felicity was too squeamish. Jake knew how to shoot, but he joked he was a lover, not a fighter.

  Shelby’s hungry gaze traveled down from the flatness of his stomach and the muscles rippling beneath the tight T-shirt to the polished brass buckle with a bucking bronc on it. Her gaze traveled a little lower to the interesting bulge just below...

  Did I just look at his crotch? Oh, stop it, Shel!

  Fortunately, he didn’t appear to notice. Nick’s expression was all business. “Shelby, I’m sorry to bother you, but I need answers about the ranch.”

  She stepped aside as he walked in. Typical Nick. Direct, no dancing around, but clearly stating his intentions.

  Except when he kissed you, a little voice inside her head nagged.

  With a desultory gesture toward the tiny living room, she perched on the wing chair that had been a real steal at a garage sale. Nick sat on the blue-and-white-striped sofa with the stain on the back that she’d hidden by pushing it against the wall.

  He gazed around at the landscape paintings on the bright yellow walls and the vase of daisies she’d placed on a round table by the front window.

  “Place looks real good, Shel. You’ve made it into a home.” His glance landed on the art easel and the board upon it, tucked into a corner. Nick pointed to the landscapes. “Did you paint those?”

  She nodded, folding her arms across her chest. Painting had been a favorite pastime, but with the long hours she worked lately, it had to be set aside. Keeping her home mattered more.

  A home she could easily lose, depending on his whims. “What do you want, Nick?”

  He opened his palm, showing a piece of crumpled white stationery. “What’s happened at the Belle Creek that it’s losing so much money, Shel? Silas wants me to save it from foreclosure...or a sale to Beaufort.”

  Honest, direct. Relief calmed a little of her jangling nerves. She took in the bleakness on his face, the firm set of his lips.

  “Come into the kitchen and I’ll make us coffee.”

  He squeezed into one of the two chairs in the postage-stamp kitchen, his big frame seeming to suck up all the space. Nick pushed a hank of dark blond hair away from his brow with an impatient gesture as she measured the grounds and started the coffee.

  Too shaken by his nearness to sit, she leaned against the sink. “What exactly did Silas say in that letter?”

  Nick shook his head. “Tell me what’s going on around here.”

  “Same old Nick. Always your needs first before anyone else’s,” she countered.

  He leaned forward, locking his intense brown gaze to hers. “No, Shel. I put your needs first ten years ago. ’Cause if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have walked out of here leaving you a virgin.”

  Old hurts surfaced, needling her. “Maybe I needed to lose my virginity back then, hotshot. Did you ever think to ask?”

  Intent flared on his face. “No need, darling. If I’d made love to you, I would have been inside you so deep that no matter who took you after that, the memory of me would always linger,” he said softly.

  A furious heat crept up her chest, to her throat, warming her cheeks. Shelby hoped he’d think it was anger.

  “Is this why you’re here, Nick? To taunt me with our past?”

  Regret touched his face. “No. But I swore I would go to hell first before following through on what I wanted to do to you. Not what I had to do.”

  As an apology, it sucked. Made him look noble and self-sacrificing while leaving her looking like a horny teenager eager to explore her newfound sexuality.

  “You don’t have to worry about me anymore,” she said coolly. “The coals of that particular fire got stamped out long ago when you turned around and ran, never looking back.”

  Now it was his turn for his cheeks to turn ruddy. Nick’s guilty gaze darted around the kitchen. Damn if he didn’t look like he did ten years ago, all adorable and contrite when he’d kissed her and confessed that he had condoms in his back pocket.

  Condoms he’d never used with her.

  She gestured to the paper. “What did Silas say to you?”

  He shook his head, rubbed a hand over his chin. “It’s private. I need to know exactly why the Belle Creek is losing money. Miles and Mason said there was a break-in and Felicity’s jewelry was stolen right after Readalot died.”

  Nick had been gone a long time. He didn’t know the troubles they faced. “I found Readalot in his stall. He was young, only eight, but he died during the night. The vet said it was natural causes. Maybe a heart attack. That was the first suspicious incident. He was very healthy. About two days later, someone broke into the house and stole Felicity’s jewelry. A couple of gold bracelets and her favorite sterling-and-emerald pin. Jonah Doyle and his men dusted, took notes, but found nothing.”

  His gaze widened. “Jonah Doyle? He’s working for the sheriff?”

  “He is the sheriff now. There have been other incidents as well, small things that are frustrating, but when you run a ranch, it all adds up. Fences broken, a horse trailer that was in perfect working order and suddenly had two flat tires. Stuff like that.”

  Leaning back, Nick frowned. “Who is threatening the place? Why are almost all the rental stalls vacant? I did an inspection and the security system isn’t the greatest, but it works. So what’s going on?”

  The coffee machine pinged, indicating it was ready. Shelby remained motionless, her heart hurting and her throat tight.

  Nick lowered his voice, the deep, gravelly tone sexy and yet oddly soothing. “I want to make it right, Shel. I’m not back to hurt you, or anyone else. But I want answers. Now.”

  Take-charge Nick. Maybe he could save the ranch. She pushed a hand through her unruly hair.

  “Sabotage. I have no idea who is doing it, or how they gained access to the ranch, but it has to be someone very familiar with the workings. The security system...” he suggested.

  She sighed. “It’s fake. Silas had me stop paying the monthly fee over a year ago to save money. It’s pretty bad, Nick.”

  A low curse tore from his throat. “Tell me everything.”

  “Beaufort isn’t the first developer to make Silas an offer. There have been others. He’s offering the least money, though. Silas refused. He said the ranch has been in the family for generations, and it would remain that way.”

  “Stubborn,” he muttered.

  She gave him a calm look. “Like someone else I
know.”

  Shelby fetched two cups, adding cream and sugar to hers, and added a sprinkle of cinnamon to Nick’s cup from the container on her spice rack.

  “You remembered.”

  He offered a smile that erased the hardness in his eyes, and made her lady parts ache with yearning. Same killer smile that could coax women into his bed, same charm that tamed the wildest horse.

  Stay immune to that charm, Shelby. He’s dynamite.

  She sat at the table, turning the cup around in her hands, the familiar tightness squeezing her stomach. This time, it was as much Nick’s nearness as her anxiety over the ranch’s failing business.

  “Tell me exactly what your role is at Belle Creek,” he ordered Shelby.

  “I handle the accounting, deposits, invoices and data entry for the farm. And payroll. Everything but the family’s personal finances.” Shelby sighed. “And the mortgage. I had no idea Silas had the ranch that much in debt.”

  “How much did Silas pay you for that?”

  Shelby shook her head. “Nothing, as of the last year. I stopped taking a salary and living off my waitressing job when I saw the income was dropping. I wanted to help save money.”

  Nick stared at her. “Are you a saint?”

  Anger surfaced, but she struggled with her temper. “No, I’m pragmatic. Silas gave me a place to live, rent-free. It was my way of paying him back.”

  “I have a new offer to make.”

  She listened intently. Maybe she wouldn’t get tossed out after all. Nick offered her a real salary, with a ten percent increase once the ranch operated in the black, and a five percent share in the profits. If he sold, he’d give her a flat cash fee of fifteen thousand dollars after all debts were settled. He intended to draft the agreement to have them work together to make the ranch solvent.

  Jake would get the same offer.

  “Jake might not like it. He’s family, and he’s the one who runs the stables and handles the horses. I’m only the bookkeeper.”

  Nick gave her a wry smile. “I doubt it. I suspect you run this ranch more behind the scenes than Dan or Jake.”

  Warming to his praise, she hid a smile. Very perceptive of him.

  “When did the losses start?” he asked.

  “We started losing boarders about eight months ago, right after three Realtors first approached Silas about selling some of the land to him for development. This section of Tennessee, with its main artery only forty-five minutes to Nashville, is prime real estate for those wishing to commute to the city.”

  “The ranch has a solid rep. What happened to Jack?”

  At the mention of the ranch’s top-notch trainer, she shook her head. “He moved back to Kentucky. Someone made him a lucrative offer at a very big stable. And then the social-media posts began.”

  She fetched her laptop from the bedroom and opened it on the kitchen table, then navigated to the ranch’s business page on social media.

  Nick narrowed his eyes as he scanned the posts. She winced as he came across the most recent, virulent posting.

  Don’t board yer horses here. They kill them for dog food.

  “I don’t need to see more.”

  She shut the lid, glad to switch off the ugliness of the words. That posting had been mild compared to others that accused them of stealing money.

  “The posters create anonymous social-media accounts and then shut them down by the time we notify Facebook. No one seems to be able to track them down.”

  “I can.”

  Hardness filled his gaze, making her shiver. She’d never seen this side of Nick before, dangerous and purposeful. Small wonder he’d been a SEAL. Pity the enemy who ran into him.

  Maybe Nick was exactly what the Belle Creek needed to pull through this mess.

  “Someone hacked into our social-media sites and said that Belle Creek was letting its horses starve. There were horrible photos of starving horses, probably photos stolen from animal-rescue sites. Rumors spread, and soon no one wanted to board their horses here. The reviews on travel sites have been much, much worse. Anonymous posters saying that we deliberately beat the horses and never muck out the stalls. Business was starting to taper off before, and now it’s positively at a standstill. The only two boarders we have left are Chuck Beaufort’s daughter Natalie’s mare, Fancy, and my friend Ann’s horse.

  He studied the liquid in his cup, the dusting of spice floating on the top. “Someone was trying to make Silas sell. Small wonder the old man didn’t capitulate.”

  Loyalty to his father surfaced. “It would take more than vulgarities on social media and a few threats to bring him down when he was alive.”

  “No, it took his own damn stubbornness. Why the hell didn’t he see a doctor when he was that sick?” A pulse ticked at the side of his neck.

  Fresh tears threatened. She sipped her coffee, ducking her head to hide them. “Doctors are expensive and he said home remedies worked fine for him. He said that up until the EMS came to take him to the hospital.”

  He slid his hand across the table as if to comfort her, but she drew back. The less skin contact they shared, the better. Nick gave a rough nod.

  “I’ll stay, for now. If you agree to work with me on finding out who the hell is doing all this.”

  His voice lowered. “It means working close with me, Shel. Can you manage?”

  At her little nod, the tension left his broad shoulders.

  “I’ll find whoever is doing this. And they’ll pay.” He lifted his mug in a salute. “To you, Silas. Wherever the hell you are, I hope you know you roped me into this place good.”

  Tipping back his mug, he took a large swig of coffee.

  And coughed violently. Liquid sloshed over the cup’s side as he slammed it down.

  “Sweet Jesus,” he gasped, still choking.

  Nick raced to the sink, twisted the tap and grabbed a glass from the dish drainer. He chugged the water and then set down the glass.

  “It’s cinnamon, just as you used to like in your coffee.” Bewildered, she stared at him.

  “That’s not cinnamon,” he muttered. Nick strode straight to the small spice rack on the counter and began pawing through the bottles. He found the cinnamon, uncapped it and sniffed.

  “Someone isn’t just messing around with Dan and his wife, Shel.” He held out the bottle.

  Her eyes watered and her throat closed up as she inhaled a whiff. Shelby coughed violently. Nick fetched her a glass of water.

  “Drink,” he ordered.

  She did, and the tightness eased in her throat a little. “What is that?”

  “Cayenne pepper.” He studied the little glass container clearly labeled Cinnamon. Shelby’s heart dropped to her stomach, and her pulse raced.

  Whoever was threatening her at the restaurant had followed her here as well.

  The implications slowly dawned on her. “I don’t have cayenne pepper in the house. I threw out that bottle that came with the spice rack. I was going to make Timmy a cake for his birthday. With cinnamon frosting.”

  “Who knew this?”

  Her shoulders sagged. “I don’t know. I asked at the restaurant if someone had a recipe...”

  And Natalie had been there, in the kitchen, looking things over, claiming that her father wanted to make sure everything was up to par. Natalie, who must have overheard Shelby talking about Timmy’s allergies and how cayenne pepper was dangerous to him. Shelby shivered, remembering how Timmy liked to lick the frosting off the spoon...

  “Timmy’s allergic to cayenne pepper. It could have sent him to the hospital.”

  Nick settled his hands on her trembling shoulders. “That’s it. I’m moving in with you until we clear this up.”

  Oh, hell no. She waved a hand. “I’ll have the locks changed.”

>   “And whoever did this will break inside again. No protests, Shel. I’ll sleep on that couch. It’s a foldout, right?”

  “You can’t. What about Dan? You have your old room at the main house...”

  Nick’s mouth twitched in a ghost of a smile. “Felicity turned it pink with flounces. If I stay there, I’ll start singing soprano and want to paint my nails.”

  Not taking chances, she marched the spice out of the house and tossed it into the metal can by the garage door, making sure to clamp the lid down tight. As she trotted back up the stairs, her head pounded. Timmy could have been badly hurt with the cake she’d planned to make him. If he’d gone to the hospital, she had only catastrophic health insurance coverage. The bill would wipe her out.

  Not to mention how sick her nephew would have been.

  “C’mon, Shel. It’ll be okay. I promise.” Nick held her shoulders, his thumbs stroking in soothing circles. The caress sank through her wool sweater and suffused her entire body with heat.

  It took her back to years ago, when he’d done much the same the night he saw her crying in the cabin over the loss of her dog. Silas had put him down because Rex had grown old and feeble and could barely walk. Silas had been gentle and compassionate, but firm.

  And losing her pet, who had been her best friend, who had seen her through her parents leaving her, had crushed Shelby.

  But no longer was she the softhearted teenager with stars in her eyes each time Nick Anderson drew near. Shelby jerked out of his embrace.

  “I’ll be fine. If it means checking out all the spices, my refrigerator and packing a loaded pistol under my pillow like Dan does, no one’s going to get to me. Or Timmy. No one is breaking in again at the house or your place.”

  She spread out her hands helplessly, frustration biting her. “Jonah said without the security cameras recording who goes in and out, the person would be hard to catch, with the staff traipsing in and out of the house.”

  Rubbing the nape of his neck, Nick frowned. “Jonah Doyle can be a jerk, but he’s right in that. Anyone could have gotten into the bedroom. First thing we do, get those security cameras back up.”