Читать книгу Undercover Bodyguard - Shirlee McCoy - Страница 13

FOUR

Shelby seemed to be sleeping as Ryder parked in front of Just Desserts. Pale and drawn, a large bandage on her temple, she looked very young and very vulnerable. That worried him. She worried him. Despite what he’d told her, Ryder didn’t believe in coincidence, and he didn’t believe that the guy she’d seen was some random homeless person. He’d been there for Shelby. Ryder’s gut told him that, and he always listened to his gut.

He’d called the hospital security team and spoken to the head of security, but the thirty-second conversation had revealed little. They’d check their surveillance footage and said they’d report anything suspicious, but Ryder doubted a guy standing on the street corner would be viewed as that.

He frowned, eyeing the news vans parked in the bakery’s parking lot. Obviously, news of the fire, Maureen’s death and Shelby’s involvement had spread.

“Are we at the bakery?” Shelby opened her eyes and blinked groggily. Dark curls slid across her forehead and cheeks. Wild and silky-looking, they begged to be touched.

“I thought you were sleeping.”

“It takes me longer than five minutes to fall asleep. It didn’t sound as if your conversation with hospital security went well.” She scooped Mazy into her arms and got out of the Hummer. Ryder followed, falling into step beside her as she made her way across the crowded parking lot.

“They’re being as helpful as they can. I’ll call the sheriff later. He may be interested in viewing the footage.”

“Maybe, but you’re probably right. The guy was hanging around waiting for the mission to open.” She smiled as she walked into the bakery, the scent of vanilla and chocolate and rich yeast dough stroking Ryder’s senses almost as completely as Shelby did.

He frowned, not comfortable with the thought.

“Wow. This is…insane,” Shelby whispered, clutching his arm for a moment and releasing it just as quickly.

She was right.

The bakery was jam-packed.

“I’ll take care of it,” he responded, shoving his way through the crowd.

A team of reporters stood near the counter, shouting questions above the quiet roar of ordering patrons and busybody visitors. Shelby’s harried young employees scurried from person to person, answering questions, ringing up orders.

Ryder eased his way through the crowd, sidling up next to the loudest of three news crews.

“Leave,” he said quietly, and the anchorwoman frowned.

“Excuse me?” she asked as if she weren’t sure she’d heard him right.

“Ms. Simons won’t be answering any questions today. If you’re interested in an interview, you’ll have to call ahead of time and set up an appointment.”

“But—”

“You’ve been asked to leave, and now you’re trespassing. I suggest you take my advice and go before I call the police.” He left her openmouthed and unhappy, and moved on to the next crew.

Ten minutes later, the crowd had thinned to a manageable number, air circulated through the small bakery once again, the harried young girl and her tattooed male counterpart behind the counter were working in harmony once again.

Mission accomplished.

He turned to call Shelby over, but she’d disappeared. He could hear her voice drifting from the kitchen, and he knew she was safe.

He could leave, go to his meeting and get on with his day. Only he wasn’t sure he should leave before he made sure Shelby was okay.

As a matter of fact, he was certain he shouldn’t.

He walked to the counter, smiled at the blonde teenager. “Is Shelby in the back?”

“Yes, I think so. I mean, she could have walked out the back door, but she never does that.” She glanced over her shoulder, and Ryder took the opportunity to step around the counter.

“Sir! You can’t come back here.”

“I just did.” He smiled again and walked into the kitchen.

“What are you doing back here? Git!” A blue-haired lady came at him with a broom, and Ryder sidestepped her swing.

Dottie. The bane of his existence. Refusing to serve him coffee and doughnuts had been bad enough. Now she was trying to beat him with a broom. He grabbed it before she could swing again, slipping it out of her hands.

“Where’s Shelby?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Dottie! There’s no need to be rude.” Shelby stepped out of a walk-in pantry, a huge bag of flour clutched in her hands.

“That thing is as big as you are. You should have gotten that tattooed employee of yours to carry it.” Ryder took it from her hands, and she shrugged.

“I’m stronger than he is. Dottie, why don’t you go up front and help? They’re swamped up there.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then! I guess I’ll go.” Dottie huffed away.

“Sorry about that. Dottie has…issues.” Shelby opened the sack of flour and measured several cups into a standing mixer.

“Apparently I’m one of them.”

“Everyone is one of them.”

“Yet you employ her.”

“I inherited her from my grandmother. They were good friends. When Beulah passed away, I got Dottie.” She smiled, finally looking into his eyes. “I thought you’d left. You have that meeting to get to, remember?”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Aside from a raging headache, I’m fine.”

“You need to go home, Shelby. That was a pretty serious head injury you sustained.”

“It’s not the head injury that’s giving me a headache. It’s all the tears. I always get headaches when I cry.” She poured milk into the mixer, added eggs and soft butter and sugar, her hands pretty and efficient. He’d like to take her to the gun range. Show her how to handle a semiautomatic. He had a feeling she’d be a good shot.

“Yeah? Then I’ll have to be sure to never make you cry.”

“Why would you? You come in for doughnuts and coffee every day. That’s money in my pocket. Which makes me very happy.” She offered a tight smile and turned her attention to the bowl. Obviously, he’d hit a nerve.

“Is that doughnut batter? Because I never did get my breakfast,” he said.

“No. It’s sweet bread. I’m going to put it in the fridge to proof, and then I’m going home. I need to get Mazy settled, and I need to settle a little, too. It’s been a rough morning.” She covered the bowl with a damp cloth, slid it onto a rolling rack with ten other bowls and pushed everything into a walk-in refrigerator.

“Where’s the dog? I’ll get her for you and walk you to your car.”

“Ryder, I appreciate your help, but I don’t need it anymore.” She brushed flour from her apron, and he brushed it from her cheek, his fingers grazing silky flesh.

She stilled.

“Ryder…”

“You had flour on your cheek.”

“Oh. Okay.” She rubbed the spot he’d touched, not meeting his eyes.

“So, where’s the dog?”

“Dottie tied her up out back,” she responded and then pressed her lips together. “You tricked that out of me.”

“No trick, Shelby Ann. You’re exhausted and traumatized. Whether you want to admit it or not, you need a little help.”

She sighed. “Fine. Go get Mazy. I’ll meet you out front. My car is—”

“The big pink Cadillac.”

“How did you know?”

“It’s the only car that’s here every time you are.”

“Right. Okay. I’ll meet you out there in a couple of minutes. I just need to give my crew some instructions.” She hurried away. Ran, actually.

He walked out the back exit, freed the ungrateful Mazy and carried her to Shelby’s car. He waited there, holding the struggling dog as tightly as he could without squashing her. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Twenty. He called work, rescheduled the meeting for later in the afternoon, tapped his fingers on the Caddie’s hood.

Where was she?

Probably mixing another batch of sweet bread or keeping Dottie from attacking a patron. What she needed to be doing was resting. He shoved Mazy into the Hummer and walked into the bakery.

Shelby stood at one of the small booths, talking to an elderly couple, her blue eyes widening with surprise as she met his gaze.

“Time to go.” He took her arm, tugging her away.

“But I was—”

“Going home to take a nap, remember?”

“I know, but Dottie, Zane and Rae—”

“Can handle things just fine.” He led her outside, grabbing Mazy from the back of his Hummer and waiting while Shelby climbed into the Cadillac.

“Come on, Old Blue. Give me a break this time and start, okay?” she muttered as she turned the key in the ignition.

“I hate to break the news to you, Shelby. But your car is pink, not blue.” He leaned in the open door and set Mazy in Shelby’s lap, caught a whiff of vanilla and berry, his muscles tightening in response.

“I know. Terrible, isn’t it? Beulah left it to me in her will with specific instructions to keep it pink. If I had my way, though, she’d be blue.”

“She?”

“Of course. She’s not just a car. Blue is an old lady with history. She’s been through a lot, but she’s still nice to have around. Most of the time.”

“Like Dottie?”

“Exactly. Thanks again for all your help this morning. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been at Maureen’s place.” Her eyes grew moist with tears at the mention of her friend, but she didn’t let them fall. Instead, she closed the door, offered a quick wave and drove away.

He watched until the pink Cadillac disappeared from view, something in him soft for Shelby, soft for her easy smile and compassionate nature. To keep a woman like Dottie around, to drive an old pink car in memory of a woman who’d been gone for years, to run a successful bakery with a ragtag group of teens and a crotchety old woman behind the counter took a special kind of person.

Shelby was definitely that.

Ryder had been attracted to women before.

He’d even thought he might love a few of them, but none of them had touched his heart so easily, so completely as Shelby seemed to.

He rubbed the knotted muscles in his thigh before he climbed into the Hummer. He needed to work the pain out, run until the muscles heated and loosened, but he had a meeting to attend, a client to impress. He had a company to run and his own set of problems to deal with. The last thing he needed or wanted was to be pulled into someone else’s life or drama.

But with Shelby, he wasn’t sure he’d have to be pulled.

With Shelby, he had a feeling he’d end up fighting his way into her life, and he had a feeling it would be worth it.

Drama and all.

He pulled away from Just Desserts, his mind humming with the million things he had to do before the day ended. Plenty to keep him occupied, but Shelby’s sweet smile and berry-and-vanilla scent lingered just below the surface of his thoughts, reminding him of cool summer breezes and sparkling blue waters.

Laughter and joy and home.

All the things he’d craved most when he’d been in the arid Afghanistan countryside. Everything he’d longed for when he’d been lying in a hospital bed, listening while doctors told him he’d never walk again.

Six years ago, God had given Ryder a second chance at life, and Ryder had promised to live better and love more. He’d followed through on that, honoring his fallen comrades by building a successful security business and setting up scholarship funds for their children.

But the one thing he’d longed for most since those dark, pain-filled days had remained out of reach.

Family.

Not just his parents and siblings, but that deeper, all- consuming connection built between husband and wife and children. He’d seen its power as wives and children crowded around the beds of his surviving team members, felt it in the air as he visited the widows of those he’d served with, and he’d wanted it in a way that he never had before the explosion in Afghanistan.

Wanted it.

Sought it.

Thought he might have found it in Danielle. After they’d broken up, he’d decided that family wasn’t part of God’s plan for his life. Maybe he’d been right, but Ryder wasn’t the kind who turned away from an opportunity, and when he looked at Shelby, that’s what he saw.

An opportunity.

To look one more time for forever.

Maybe he’d find it.

Maybe he wouldn’t.

Either way, he had a feeling he was in for a bumpy ride.