Wyatt (7 Brides for 7 Soldiers #4) Page 3

  “I’d say you’re right about that. Did anything happen on the show that could have made him mad?”

  The police had asked her the same thing. It was comforting in a way to know that Wyatt Chandler thought like the police did. That meant he had experience, unlike the bodyguard the studio had hired to accompany her to appearances. A man had walked right up to her at one of them and lifted her in his arms before her protector could react. Needless to say, he hadn’t lasted. He’d been fired the next morning—and the man who’d picked her up was arrested and later let go.

  He’d been investigated at the time, according to the lead detective in charge of her case. It was unlikely he was sending the letters, but they’d check him out again just in case. At the time, they’d determined he was just a college kid who’d been acting on a dare from his friends.

  “In the last episode of American Princess, I had a date with Donnie Warren—he’s an up-and-coming actor. It was staged, as so much of the show is. But King didn’t like it.” Her fan called himself King and her his queen. She hated it. “He took it seriously. He thinks we’re destined to be together, so he accused me of cheating on him. He, uh, threatened to kidnap and torture Mr. Fluffypants to teach me a lesson.”

  Wyatt’s fingers flexed on the steering wheel. “He threatened your cat?”

  Paige swallowed a knot of tears. She could take a lot of vitriol directed at her—but to threaten Mr. Fluffypants? No.

  “Yes.” A single tear escaped to slide down her cheek. She dashed it away before he could see it. But he knew somehow.

  His voice was hard and soothing at the same time. “Don’t worry, Miss Spencer. I won’t let the son of a bitch anywhere near you… or your cat.”

  Chapter 4

  She was trying not to cry. Wyatt could tell that much in the dim lights from the dashboard. He’d seen her swipe a hand over her cheek and guessed that’s what was going on. He’d also heard it in her voice.

  She might be a pampered princess with a bit of a superiority complex, but she clearly loved her cat. She didn’t deserve what was happening to her right now. Stalkers were the worst kinds of cowards. They got off on creating fear in their victims. They hid behind anonymous threats and stayed in the shadows, ratcheting up the tension to unbearable levels.

  Sometimes they attacked. It wasn’t a guarantee that Paige’s stalker would do that, but it wasn’t a chance anyone wanted to take either. According to Hawk, the police had a suspect. A man who’d worked as a temporary hire for American Princess. He’d been fired when he’d been caught stealing, and he’d threatened to ruin the show with behind-the-scenes knowledge. It was possible that he’d turned to threatening the show’s star instead.

  Wyatt had told her he wasn’t letting anyone harm her or her cat, and he meant it. The damned thing hadn’t stopped squalling since they’d left the airport. Wyatt really hoped it shut up once they reached their destination.

  It occurred to him there was no litter box where he was taking them. He hadn’t known she was bringing a cat, so he hadn’t prepared for it. Freaking hell.

  He could turn around and head back to town, or he could call a friend. He chose the second option, disconnecting his phone from the truck’s Bluetooth before doing so. He didn’t need Paige to hear the other half of the conversation.

  “Hey, Wyatt,” Adam Tucker said. “Heard you got a job protecting an American Princess.”

  Wyatt wanted to roll his eyes and laugh at the same time. Zane was the practical joker of their group, but Adam never missed a shot when he got one.

  “Yeah, taking her up the mountain right now. Can you do me a favor?”

  “I’ll try. What do you need?”

  “A litter box for a cat and some litter. A big cat.”

  As if on cue, Mr. Fluffypants let out a pissed-off yowl. And why wouldn’t he be pissed with a name like that?

  “Whoa, you sure that’s not a tiger?”

  “Not really. Can you do it?”

  “Hang on…” Wyatt heard a muffled conversation that was probably Adam talking to Jane, the woman he’d fallen for shortly after Wyatt got back to town. He liked Jane. She was good for Adam. “I’ll be there shortly. Anything else?”

  Wyatt shot a look at Paige. “Does he need food?”

  “I packed enough for a few days.”

  “Nope, think we’re good,” he told Adam.

  “Give me the address you want me to meet you at.”

  Wyatt rattled it off. “Thanks, man. I’ll owe you.”

  “No you don’t,” Adam said. “Not after the free labor you donated to help get the boathouse in shape for the kids.”

  “I was glad to do it.”

  Adam had told him why the camp was so important. A hot lump of pain sat in Wyatt’s chest as he thought about his friend losing a kid he was trying to rescue. Wyatt understood that kind of hurt, what it meant to lose someone you were supposed to watch out for. It wasn’t something he wanted to experience again, which was curious considering he now had a woman who needed his protection sitting beside him in the truck.

  This is different.

  Yeah, it was different. They weren’t in the high desert doing recon on a terrorist training camp. They weren’t walking into an ambush that only a few of them would escape.

  “So you don’t owe me,” Adam said. “Least I can do is help you with your puss— cat,” he amended with a chuckle as Jane made scandalized noises in the background.

  Wyatt rolled his eyes with a snort of his own. Some things never changed. He and Adam and the rest of the guys might not be teenagers in detention anymore, but there were times you’d never know it. One of the things he loved about his friends. No matter how much time passed, how far or how long someone stayed away from home, they were as tight as ever when they all got together again.

  Which reminded him that he needed to call Jack at some point. It’d been too long since they’d spoken.

  “See you in a bit,” Wyatt said as he ended the call, still smiling to himself.

  “Where was that address you told him?” Paige asked. “It’s not my father’s house.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s not safe for you to go there. If this guy could take a picture of you leaving your apartment building, he could also find you here. Your dad’s place isn’t a secret.”

  She made a noise of disapproval. “It has a state-of-the-art alarm system and cameras—not to mention a spa tub and an on-call chef.”

  Wyatt would have gaped at her if he wasn’t driving. Was she seriously that shallow? A spa tub and a chef? “Yeah, and like I said—it’s no secret. Once this guy knows you’ve left Seattle, it isn’t too hard to get to Eagle’s Ridge.”

  “But I could have gone anywhere! Europe, California, Hawaii. He won’t know. What are the chances he’ll come here?”

  “Don’t know… But are you willing to bet your life on it? What about your cat’s life?” It was almost silly to consider a cat being under his protection, but the creature was as much his responsibility as she was. At least until he had to make a choice between them. In that case, it would be her every time. But for now the cat counted, if only because her stalker had threatened the animal.

  Paige’s tongue darted over her lips. Wyatt didn’t like the way his groin tightened at that simple maneuver.

  Whoa, was that a response? To her?

  Maybe he’d imagined it. Paige Spencer was definitely not his type. She was too soft, too pampered. Too high maintenance. Beautiful, but she knew it. Shallow too.

  “No, I’m not,” she said softly, and the tension in his shoulders eased just a bit.

  He really didn’t want to argue with her anyway. As a SEAL, there’d been no arguing with those he rescued. They were grateful he and his team were there. But guarding a woman whose father was paying for his services was an entirely new experience.

  “Good choice.”

  He turned onto another road and made his way up the side of the mountain, weaving through switchbacks as they climbed. P
aige gripped the armrests. Once, her eyes were closed. Wyatt didn’t say anything about it though.

  Finally, he turned into the driveway he wanted and headed about a half mile off the road. A small cabin sat in a clearing at the edge of a cliff, the lights blazing. When the sun came up, the view of the valley and river would be spectacular.

  He knew because he’d come up here earlier and checked it out. It was a newer build, a vacation rental, and though it was small and didn’t have a chef, it was nice. Wyatt had stocked it with food and then set up a perimeter of cameras and equipment meant to let him know if anyone crossed into the zone.

  He parked in front of the cabin. Paige blinked as she took it in.

  “It’s so small,” she said.

  Annoyance flashed through him. “Well, you aren’t on vacation, are you, princess?”

  Her head snapped around, her eyes widening. “You aren’t like the other bodyguards I’ve had. None of them would talk to me like that.”

  “You mean I don’t keep quiet and let you have your way?” Her lashes dropped over her eyes. Guilty. “I’ll do my job, but I won’t take orders from you. If anything, you’ll take them from me.”

  “Nobody tells me what to do,” she flashed back at him.

  Wyatt opened his door and dropped a booted foot to the ground. “They do now,” he told her. “Or you can get on the next plane back to Seattle.”

  Chapter 5

  Paige steamed while Wyatt swaggered over to the cabin door and opened it. He really was an arrogant bastard. But he moved with such confidence and grace that she couldn’t help watching the lines of his body.

  “Stay there. I’ll let you know when it’s clear.”

  He inserted a key in the lock, produced a pistol she hadn’t realized he was carrying, and disappeared inside. A few moments later he was back.

  “You can come in.”

  Paige walked up the steps and inside the small A-frame cabin. She stopped and gaped at the tacky taste on display. Plaid furnishings, animal heads on the wall, a bear rug in front of a big stone fireplace that contained no fire.

  Shame. It was June, but it was still cool enough for a fire.

  The kitchen appliances were black, and the cabinets were some sort of blond wood that made Paige want to gag because everything in the cabin was the same tone. The walls, the cabinets, the floors.

  She turned at the sound of Wyatt coming inside. He set down Mr. Fluffypants and then went back for her suitcases. She hadn’t needed to ask him, but she’d been prepared to do so. She was accustomed to the hired help behaving like they had jobs to protect, but this man was certainly different.

  Not that she ordered people around or acted like a bitch. But when people were paid to do a job, she was a taskmaster. She’d learned that from her father. If you didn’t ask people to do their best, they sometimes didn’t do anything.

  Wyatt returned with both her suitcases and pushed them across the floor. They rolled slowly toward her as he shut the door. She left them where they were and hurried over to crouch down by the cat carrier and pull the door open.

  Mr. Fluffypants blinked at her with that superior mien of all cats and sashayed out of his confinement with his tail twitching and his nose in the air.

  “How’s Mama’s baby?” she crooned. “Did he have a good trip? Would he like some yum-yums?”

  He deigned to come over and rub his furry cheek against her fingers before strutting off to examine his new domain. Paige straightened, her eyes pricking with tears. Safe. When she’d read the letter from her deranged fan, she’d trembled with rage over the threats to Mr. Fluffypants. The threats to herself seemed surreal, but the instant her cat was brought in—well, that was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

  “That’s a mighty big cat,” Wyatt said, watching Mr. Fluffypants explore.

  “He’s a Maine Coon. They get big.”

  “Do they? I’m not a cat guy. Don’t know much about them.”

  “Cats are misunderstood, but they’re just as companionable as dogs. Maybe more so. They’re very loyal.”

  Mr. Fluffypants chose that moment to walk over and sniff Wyatt’s leg. Wyatt stared down at him and didn’t move. Mr. Fluffypants strutted away as if he couldn’t be bothered.

  “I should get his food out.” Paige went over and tipped a suitcase onto its side, unzipping it and taking out a box she’d packed. Thank God she had, really, since they hadn’t stopped at a store on the way here.

  She found a bowl in the cabinet and emptied a tin of food into it. Mr. Fluffypants came running over and sniffed it. Then he started to purr while he ate, though he didn’t eat much before he was off exploring again.

  “Poor bastard,” Wyatt said, and she looked up sharply.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You called that poor thing Mr. Fluffypants—damn, I can hardly say it without feeling like an idiot. Why did you saddle him with such an unfortunate name?”

  “I got him when he was a kitten. He was very fluffy and cuddly. The name just kind of stuck.”

  “Please tell me he has a real name. Like Spike or Bear or something.”

  “Mr. Fluffypants is his name. But I call him Fluffy most of the time.” She wasn’t about to say some of the other, more embarrassing things she called her cat. The Fluffmeister. Mr. Fluff-n-Stuff. Fluffernator. Fluffaluffagus.

  “You want to be called something manly, don’t you buddy?” Wyatt said as Mr. Fluffypants strolled by his leg and gave it a good rub on the way. The cat sat down and looked straight up at Wyatt. Then he meowed. “Yeah, thought so. Between you and me, I’ll call you Spike.”

  Mr. Fluffypants meowed again. He rubbed Wyatt’s leg for good measure and then strutted off. Paige hoped Wyatt’s friend arrived with the litter box soon. She couldn’t guarantee how the cat’s bladder was holding up.

  “You can take the master bedroom,” Wyatt said, pointing to a hallway. “It’s the only one on that end. I’ll take the guest room.”

  Paige rolled her suitcases to the master, praying it wasn’t covered in plaid comforters. It wasn’t, but she didn’t know if what was there was any better. This comforter featured forest camouflage complete with deer peeking out from the trees. Paige shuddered and tried to ignore it. Seriously, it was just fabric.

  She opened her suitcases and found her toiletries, which she took to the bathroom. It was small but not offensive, with white tile and marble counters. She went back to the bedroom and dug through her clothing until she found something she could change into. Sweatpants and a sweatshirt with wool socks.

  It felt good to slip out of the Louboutins. They were gorgeous shoes, but not all that comfortable for long periods of time. She turned on the shower, nearly groaning as she stepped under the hot water. It felt wonderful to scrub away the makeup and the dirt. After she was done, she dressed, twisted her hair on her head, grabbed her iPad, and went back to the living area.

  Mr. Fluffypants was eating his food now, his explorations taking a back seat. Paige went over and flopped on the couch. Wyatt was nowhere to be seen. A minute later, the front door opened and he walked inside, carrying a load of wood in his arms. Her belly clenched at the sight of him. Wyatt William Chandler was shocking to the senses for some reason.

  He was tall, broad, with dark hair and hot whiskey eyes. His face was easy to look at, which was seriously inconvenient. Paige hadn’t had a boyfriend in months now, not since the last one turned out to be a douche. He’d been someone from her circle, which meant wealthy and refined. He’d gone to Harvard, which he loved to tell everyone, and he was the vice president of his father’s pharmaceutical company.

  He was also a cheating bastard, which she’d discovered when he’d gone on a business trip and accidentally sent her a text message meant for someone else. So that had been the end of that.

  She’d had a dry spell since, which was fine with her because she needed to concentrate on building her brand and getting her clothing line.

  Right now, h
owever, she was thinking that a nice slow ride on Wyatt’s pogo stick might be just the thing to ease her anxiety.

  Except he didn’t seem to like her, so that was pretty much out.

  Wyatt set the wood down beside the fireplace and started to stack a couple of logs in the firebox. “The litter box arrived while you were showering,” he said, tipping his chin toward the kitchen. “Figured you could put it where you wanted.”

  “Thank you.” Paige rose and went to retrieve the box and litter. She took it into the laundry room and set it up there with Mr. Fluffypants overseeing the operation. When she came out, Wyatt was in the kitchen and a fire blazed in the fireplace.

  “You hungry?” he asked.

  “Maybe. What do you have?”

  He opened a cabinet. “I can offer you peanut butter and jelly, eggs, or a microwave meal.”

  “Peanut butter and jelly sounds good.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had that.

  “I’m not fixing it. But I’ll get the stuff out.”

  “I figured that. I can manage peanut butter and jelly.”

  Wyatt got out two knives and handed her one. Then he set about fixing his own sandwich while she fixed hers. It was almost petty—but then she remembered that moment when she’d snapped her fingers at Bruce. She didn’t like Bruce. He leered at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention.

  So she’d been a bitch to him, and to Wyatt as well. It was no wonder he didn’t want to lift a finger to do anything for her that he didn’t have to do. Though he had carried all her luggage after all.

  They made sandwiches in silence and then Paige retreated to the couch again, where she sat cross-legged, staring at the flickering firelight and the bear rug—and wondering what the poor bastard had done to get himself shot.

  She felt a little like that bear, or how she imagined he must have felt. Trapped, cornered, backed against a wall.

  She didn’t like it. The sounds of scratching came from the laundry room. At least life was getting back to normal for Mr. Fluffypants. Her life was a different matter.