A Weaver Wedding

Her lips parted. “But Sloan told me—”

He lifted his hand. “It doesn’t matter.” In a perfect world, the ATF would have been able to see to the full protection of its own agents. But he’d learned long ago that the world wasn’t perfect. McCray had done what Axel would have done in the same situation. He’d found someone to take care of what his own agency wouldn’t. “Sloan trusted Hollins-Winword to keep you safe before, and Hollins-Winword is going to keep you safe now.”

She closed her eyes for a moment as if she were searching for strength. He started to reach for her no matter the chances of rejection but she planted her slender palms on her knees and pushed abruptly to her feet.

Her brown eyes looked like bruises against her pale face. “Fine. You’ve told me. Now will you go?” She started toward the door. “Your five minutes are long gone.”

He closed his hand around her arm and absorbed the frisson that raced through him at the contact. “It’s more than a matter of just keeping you updated on the situation.”

She’d gone still the moment he touched her. Her gaze seemed focused on his hand on her arm. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning, I’m your new bodyguard.”

Chapter Three

Tara wasn’t certain she’d heard right. “Bodyguard.”

But Axel didn’t correct her. He just stood there, watching her with that steady, golden-brown gaze that she couldn’t get out of her mind, while his hand seemed to burn like some branding iron through her long sleeve.

She shook off the ridiculous notion. She wasn’t branded by this man any more than she was going to put up with this bodyguard nonsense.

“No.” Her voice was flat and she headed straight for the door. “No. No. And no.”

“It isn’t your choice.”

She pulled open the door. “It most certainly is. Just like it’s my choice to tell you to leave.” For years, she’d lived a life that she hadn’t chosen for herself, all for the benefit of Sloan’s overprotective streak. She’d gone along with it then because he’d asked her to, and there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t have done for him.

He was not just family—her only family—he’d been her best friend. She was his “goober” and he was her “bean.”

Now her brother was more of a stranger who seemed to be glad she was out of his hair.

As for Axel—it was best that he get out of her hair. “I want you to leave. Now.”

He surprised her by actually moving toward the door. But he stopped before passing through, standing so closely that she could feel the warmth of him. His head tilted toward her and it was all she could do to keep from trembling. “One way or another I will be guarding you, Tara. You’ll make it a lot easier if you work with me on it.”

So much for not trembling.

She hoped he’d attribute it to the cold air curling around them and not the effect he had on her. “I don’t feel compelled to make your life easier.” She wanted there to be plenty of distance between them before it became evident to anyone who looked at her that she wasn’t looking quite as thin as she ordinarily did.

Unexpected pregnancies weren’t just the domain of the young and foolish. She was a competent adult, and she’d still gotten “caught.” For now, though, nobody but her obstetrician in Braden knew.

“Darlin’,” he said, his voice dropping another notch, “there isn’t anything easy about this,” he assured her and stepped out onto the sidewalk outside her door.

She firmly shut it, staring at him through the mottled stained glass as she deliberately set the locks.

“I’m not going to let this drop,” he warned.

“Then you’ll be wasting a lot of time,” she answered, and hated the tightness in her throat. She made herself turn away from the door. Ignoring all of the items that needed to be returned to the shelves, she headed straight to the rear door, barely stopping long enough to hit the light switches and grab her coat.

She got in her car that was parked out back and, half-afraid she’d see his big truck rolling into view, bolted down the alley with a shameless disregard for caution. Less then ten minutes later, she’d pulled into the garage beside her house.

Axel hadn’t followed her.

She told herself she wasn’t surprised.

His “bodyguard” threat was just that. A threat.

Which didn’t explain at all why, once inside, she kept peering through the plantation shutters at the windows for any sight of his truck.

When she realized the street lights had come on outside, she wanted to tear out her hair. She’d wasted at least an hour padding from window to window. Watching and waiting for Axel to appear. Or worse.

Stomping to her closet, she gave a practiced yank on the enameled doorknob, hard enough to spring the stubborn, warped door open. She snatched out the first decent dress her hand encountered. She tossed it on the bed, then went down the hall to the bathroom.

Her reflection in the ancient mirror showed flushed cheeks and too-dark eyes. She freed her hair from the clip, pulling a brush through it until it swung smooth again, and swabbed some cosmetics into place. Then she went back into the bedroom where she put on the knee-length dress.

It was black, which suited her mood, with a forgivingly swinging cut that didn’t cling anywhere except where the wide, scooped neckline hugged the points of her shoulders. She pulled on black nylons—managing to put a run in the first pair she tried—shoved her feet into shiny black pumps, added a jet-black choker and drop earrings that she’d made a few years ago, and headed to the door.

The Valentine’s dance was the last place she wanted to be, but it was still better than hovering around in the shadows of her house, watching for signs of Axel Clay.

Her coat was where she’d left it by the back door and she slipped into it before leaving the house to cross the cracked sidewalk leading to the garage.

She resolutely ignored the way her neck prickled before she reached the safety of her car and drove it out onto the street, heading back to the school.

When she arrived, the gymnasium had once again been transformed. This time into a dinner dance, complete with a live band playing with more enthusiasm than skill on the stage that had been erected at one end. Large round tables were situated along the sides of the room—most of which already looked full. Opposite the stage, several long tables had been set up as a buffet, where there was already a long line.

And of course there were the hearts. Everywhere.

She blew out a faint breath as she handed over her ticket to the teenagers manning the entry and slid out of her coat, leaving it in the area set aside for them.

There was no such thing as a coat check in Weaver, Wyoming.

The fact that her car keys were in the coat pocket niggled at her, which annoyed her to no end. If it weren’t for Axel Clay’s ridiculous claim, she wouldn’t have thought twice about them.

“Good evening, Tara.” Joe Gage greeted her within seconds after she’d passed over her ticket. “You look great.” His gaze ran down her with appreciation. Sadly, she felt none of the rippling aftereffects from his attention that she did from Axel. She didn’t look at Joe and then have foolish, romantic thoughts of happily-ever-afters twining around her better sense.

“Thanks. So do you.” The school principal did look nice, but he certainly didn’t make her mouth water. Now that she was pregnant, this was certainly no time to start encouraging him, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “Looks like quite a crowd here tonight.” She was probably the only one in town who’d bought a ticket with no intention of using it.

“Yeah.” His gaze was diverted by Dee Crowder who sailed past them looking pretty in a lacy red dress. “There’s a seat left at my table, though.”

“Thanks—” The word caught when she felt a warm, long-fingered hand slide over her shoulder from behind.

“Thanks, Joe,” Axel said from above her head, “but we should probably find a spot for two.” His chuckle was deep. “Not that I’d mind Tara sitting on my lap through dinner.”

She stared up at him. “What do—”

His hand squeezed her shoulder. Not hard. But definitely in warning.

The rest of her protest died in her throat.