Tessa was sweaty, irritated—and desperately in need of a little privacy. She didn’t want these strangers asking her about her medications and repositioning the oxygen mask every time she tried to remove it. She wanted a hot bath and she wanted a cold beer and she didn’t care in what order.
Oh, and she wanted the dark-haired Secret Service agent who kept looking over his broad shoulder at her to go find someone else to rescue. As soon as her father had become vice president, Tessa had purposely turned down the offer of a protective detail. She’d insisted it was because the news station provided her with security if she needed it. Really, though, it was because she’d had bodyguards forced on her back in the days when her father had been governor.
It was bad enough that she’d had to suffer through remedial speech therapy for a couple of years after high school just to be able to say her own name. She’d already been several years older than everyone else in the freshman dorms when she’d finally moved to Georgetown. Having armed state troopers following her to all her college classes hadn’t done her social life any favors.
Her upper lip curled in annoyance as she glared at the man who’d caused all this unnecessary attention.
And on today of all days.
Sure it sounded odd that someone who made their living as a television personality didn’t like added attention, but Tessa’s career was different than her personal life. One was due to recognition for her own hard work. While the other...well, the other merely came from her unearned notoriety based on her family’s last name.
If she’d been anyone else, would Agent Rescue have swooped in like that? Of course not. Hotshot heroes like him probably lived for the opportunity to “save” someone famous. Someone who had the power to advance his career.
Tessa was about to ask for a copy of the preoperative report—she was well aware of how government agencies and their protective details worked—so that she could find exactly where it authorized some rogue agent to commandeer a hearse to save someone who clearly didn’t need saving. But a commotion at the far end of the tent gave her pause.
“What in the hell happened to my niece!” Her uncle Rider used his barrel chest to push his way to her side.
“I’m fine,” she said, her breath clouding the clear oxygen mask that had been forced on her. Tessa tore the contraption off her face. The moment anyone in her family sensed even the slightest hint of weakness, their protective instincts kicked into overdrive. And some of her relatives were much less subtle than others. The last thing she needed was her grizzly bear of an uncle drawing any more attention to the situation. “There’s no need to overreact.”
“Oh, I’m the one who’s overreacting, young lady?” Rider lowered his bushy gray brows at her. “You ran outside with no coat as though a herd of longhorns was comin’ straight for you. So what happened?”
“I just needed some fresh air,” she offered, knowing full well the older man was unlikely to fall for some simplified explanation.
Tessa shoved the clear mask back on her face before her uncle could repeat his question for a third time. She couldn’t answer if she couldn’t talk. And it wasn’t as though the paramedics could disclose any information without violating HIPAA regulations.
“This—” Rider held up the pump of the blood pressure cuff hanging loosely on her arm “—looks a little more serious than simply needin’ some fresh air.”
“They’re just making sure her vitals have stabilized.” The annoying agent apparently wasn’t bound by the same privacy restrictions as the medical personnel and his deep voice sent a tingle down the back of her spine. “Your niece most likely had a panic attack.”
The tingle turned into a chill at his last two words.
Simply hearing the phrase panic attack made Tessa fear she’d succumb to another one. She’d almost forgotten how debilitating an episode could be. How far one could set her back.
After that disastrous dive in high school, she’d been diagnosed with traumatic brain injury and instead of going off to college with the rest of her graduating class, the next two years were spent dealing with neurological damage that affected both her vision and her speech. But with countless hours of remedial speech therapy and physical rehabilitation, she’d overcome the effects of the injury, as well as the panic attacks.
Or so she’d thought.
This was bad. She made her living speaking in front of a camera; she couldn’t afford to have a setback now. Or worse, give anyone reason to think that she might have a relapse in the future—especially while she was on the air. Tessa tore the Velcro from the arm cuff before anyone could check her blood pressure, which was now way above where it needed to be.
“Seriously. It’s no big deal.” She tucked a loose blond strand into the tight bun at the back of her head to give her trembling fingers something to do. “I’ll be perfectly fine if everyone around here would just let me have some space.”
“I know you’re fine, Kitten. And you know you’re fine. But these folks have a job to do and it’s not as if we’re in any sorta hurry to get anywhere.” Uncle Rider and her father were identical twins. Besides the determined and all-knowing stares of their deep blue eyes, though, they’d never looked anything alike to Tessa...or to most people. And they certainly didn’t sound alike.
Both King men had been born and raised on the family ranch in Wyoming and both had served in Vietnam, returning home as decorated war heroes. But that was about where the similarities ended.
Roper had married his first wife during college and then married his second wife only a few years later. Both those marriages had ended in divorce, while his third marriage left him a widower at the age of thirty-nine. After a wild and reckless decade in his forties and two stints in rehab, Roper finally met the much younger Sherilee King, his fourth wife and the mother to his six children, when he was fifty-one.
Rider, on the other hand, never had any children of his own. Plus, he’d just been married once, as far as Tessa knew, and her uncle’s ex-wife had been the only person to keep the peace between the equally powerful King twins.
Speaking of her uncle’s ex-wife, another commotion rippled through the tent, the unmistakable scent of vanilla and extra-hold hair spray announcing her arrival.
“Aunt Freckles!” Tessa smiled at the older woman who was as different from her own mother as her uncle had been from her father. “You came.”
“Of course I came, darlin’.” Freckles had teased her peach-colored hair into a curly updo that defied gravity. Her heavily applied makeup didn’t do much to diminish the laugh lines and creases that had taken her over eighty years to earn. She bent over to press her bright magenta-painted lips to Tessa’s forehead, flashing a paramedic—and everyone else on the right side of the gurney—a view down her low-cut emerald-green dress.
Sherilee King had once described her sister-in-law as an older, bustier version of Dolly Parton, and Tessa now stifled a giggle at the accuracy of the description. When Freckles used the back of her cool hand to smooth the loose strands of hair from Tessa’s flushed forehead, though, the giggle nearly turned into a sob of relief.
“Having you here makes...” she started, but couldn’t get the words past the emotion clogging her throat. Luckily, the tender expression reflected in the older woman’s bright and knowing eyes meant that Tessa didn’t have to say the rest aloud.
“I know, darlin’. Now, don’t get my tears started or we’ll both ruin our mascara and I only brought one backup set of false lashes.”
Regardless of the bright spandex wardrobe and beauty pageant–inspired hairdos, everyone loved Aunt Freckles. Like the small pews inside the church, Tessa’s colorful aunt would never change and just having her there made Tessa’s pulse settle into a more manageable rhythm.
Finally, Tessa sat up on the rolling gurney, which was beginning to feel more like a rolling prison. “Is everyone already on their way to the graveside service?”
“Not yet,” Agent Rescue said, reminding Tessa of his hovering presence.
“I didn’t get a chance to thank you for saving my niece.” Uncle Rider stuck out a beefy hand.
“He didn’t save—” Tessa started, but Freckles pushed a plastic bottle of water against her lips.
“Here, darlin’. You should get some fluids in your system.” Her aunt made sure she had a mouthful of water before turning to the man who was still wearing those ridiculous dark sunglasses. “Everyone calls me Freckles. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr....?”
“Special Agent Grayson Wyatt,” he said, taking her aunt’s age-spotted hand in his bigger tanned one.
Tessa had to gulp down the rest of her water before she audibly groaned. She didn’t care how chiseled the agent’s jawline was or how his dark brown hair refused to budge from its precision military hairstyle. Any man who introduced himself using his title like that took things way too seriously. Even if it was his job.
“Great.” Tessa swung her poorly chosen high heels off the gurney and onto the floor. “Now that we’ve met the hero of the hour, can we please get to the limo?”
But before she could stand, the agent had sidestepped Rider, which was quite a maneuver considering her uncle’s considerable girth, and had his hand cupped under her elbow. “Take it slow.”
A warmth spread along the base of her spine, signaling that her neurological functions were still in complete working order. Despite her recent drink, her mouth suddenly felt extremely dry. Even in four-inch heels, Tessa had to tilt her head to look up into his face. He hadn’t seemed so tall in the back of the hearse.
Lord, don’t remind her of the hearse.
Special Agent Grayson Wyatt had been just as bossy back there, though. And if there was one thing Tessa had always resented, it was an overbearing man.
Make that two overbearing men and a nosy aunt, she corrected when Aunt Freckles asked, “So what in the world happened back there?”
“Here we go again.” She tried to roll her eyes, but it brought on another wave of dizziness. Grayson gently slid his fingers from her elbow to her upper arm, his strong hand heating the skin underneath her thin silk sleeve.
Freckles, though, was just as unsubtle as her ex-husband. “Did you really puke before passing out in front of the church?”
“No,” she said at the same time Grayson replied, “Yes.”
“Are you pregnant?” her uncle asked.
“No!” This time Tessa’s voice was the only one that answered, and it was louder and sharper than she’d anticipated.
“Sorry.” Rider shrugged then looked at Grayson. “Tessa’s younger sister once puked then fainted back when she was pregnant. It runs in the family.”
Seeing one of Grayson’s brows lift above his sunglasses in speculation, Tessa gritted her teeth. The last thing she needed was for that particular rumor to get started. “No, I am not pregnant. Not that it’s anyone’s business.”
“That’s a relief,” Uncle Rider said, his mouth barely noticeable under his thick handlebar mustache. “I’d hate to have to break your little boyfriend’s perfect little nose for leavin’ you unattended in a delicate situation.”
At the overt reminder of her boyfriend, a flush of embarrassment spread through Tessa and made her doubly aware of the way the agent’s protective grip kept her firmly rooted to his muscular side. Up until this point, Grayson’s lips had been in a straight, unyielding line. Following her uncle’s threat toward the junior congressman from California, though, his mouth softened and might’ve even twitched with the hint of a grin.
Tessa had negotiated multimillion-dollar contracts with networks and had made grown men cry during live interviews. She wasn’t going to stand by and have her health and her personal life called into question in front of a bunch of strangers.
“I’m not the least bit delicate or in need of anyone defending my honor.” She snatched her coat from her aunt’s arm and held up her palm when both men moved at once to assist her. “Now, if everyone will excuse me, I need to make my way to the family limos.”
Grayson’s smirk disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. He put two fingers to the earpiece that could’ve been broadcasting the University of Wyoming basketball game or the latest Taylor Swift album for all they knew. “Sorry, Miss King. The last limo just rolled out of the church driveway.”
“Well, I’m not staying here.” She straightened her spine. “I’m going to the cemetery, even if I have to drive myself there in that ambulance.”
Grayson mentally calculated the distance from the medical evaluation area to the parked ambulance on the other side of the staging tent. Not that he thought Tessa could outrun him in her condition, or in those sexy high heels that made her legs look like they went on for miles.
Still. He should probably keep his hand on her upper arm. Just in case she did make a run for it. Unfortunately, when he loosened his fingers, his knuckles grazed the side of her breast and a jolt of electricity shot through him.
“My truck’s parked out back, Kitten.” Rider King’s drawl was slower and more countrified than his twin brother’s had been, but just as determined. “If the medic clears you, you can ride with me and Freckles.”
Grayson didn’t care one way or the other who Tessa King rode with as long as someone else took responsibility for her and she was no longer his problem.
“Agent Wyatt will need to come with us, obviously.” Freckles shot a pointed look at Rider before fixing an innocent gaze on Tessa. “Just in case you faint again, darlin’.”
A groan of protest caught in Grayson’s throat.
“Look—” Tessa took a few steps, jerking her arm away from him “—I’m totally fine.”
“I know you’re fine now.” Freckles tsked through her painted lips. “But what if you get weak again when we’re walking from the truck to the cemetery? Your uncle and I are both too old and frail to carry you.”
“Who you callin’ frail, woma—” Rider’s protest was interrupted by a sharp, bony elbow to his midsection. He rolled his eyes before clearing his throat. “I guess my sciatica is actin’ up a bit after being squished in those damn wooden pews for so long.”
“Let’s go, then.” Tessa turned toward the tent exit, a woman used to having others fall in line with her every whim. Too bad her wobbly legs were getting in the way of what Grayson assumed was a normally confident strut.
The couple—who may have been old but appeared to be about as frail as a pair of four-wheel-drive tow trucks—followed her. Grayson’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he checked the display screen before falling behind a few paces.
Maddie. She never called when she knew he was working unless it was an absolute emergency. And he never would have answered in the middle of a work crisis if there weren’t already two missed calls from her. His heart slammed into his throat and he desperately slid his finger across the screen to answer.
“Are you okay?” Grayson tried to keep the panic from his lowered voice as his eyes tracked the movement of everyone else in the tent. After all, he still had an unwilling detail assignment to protect.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Was that Tessa King you just swooped up in your arms on live TV?”
His voice sounded gruff, even to his own ears. “Maddie, you know I’m on duty.”
“Then why’d you answer the phone?” his sister asked.
“Because I thought something might be wrong.”
“You always think something is wrong, Gray.”
No, he didn’t. But he didn’t have time to be suckered into an argument with his little sister right that second. “Listen, I’ll call you back when I can.”
Grayson disconnected the call as he quickened his own pace, hoping to cover his mounting frustration. Switching back into agent mode, which he’d never really left, he radioed the command center to advise his team of the change in plans and a description of the alternate vehicle. “Be advised, I’ll be escorting Precision to the secondary location.”
After all, protective detail included all members of the King family. Even the stubborn, feisty and way too beautiful ones.
“Roger that,” the team leader replied over the radio. “The counter assault team is in position, so ensure that the driver adheres to the motorcade route.”
Snipers and agents in tactical gear had been placed at designated locations along the road between the church and the private cemetery at Twin Kings Ranch. If Grayson planned to rely on the additional layer of long-range security, he needed to get Tessa on the move ASAP.
Normally, procedure would’ve required him to ride shotgun, but by the time Grayson had double-timed it to the truck to catch up, Rider was already assisting his eighty-something-year-old ex-wife into the front seat of the cab.
Instead of wasting any more time trying to play musical chairs, Grayson climbed in next to Tessa on the backseat and tried to ignore the long-distance camera lenses aimed in their direction.
“Oh, I forgot. You left your purse on the pew, darlin’.” Freckles passed a black satiny clutch thing to Tessa over the headrest. “The president gave it to me after the service. Did you know she and I both went to the same boarding school? Obviously, we graduated in different years—”
“Where’s my can of chewing tobacco?” Rider grumbled when he hefted himself into the driver’s seat. “I need a dip.”
“Suck on this instead,” Freckles said, shoving a white tablet beneath the man’s gray bushy mustache. “But don’t bite into it. Here. You kids have one, too.”
Grayson immediately regretted taking the offered peppermint that was strong enough to make his eyes water. But at least the potency of the extra-strength mints kept everyone from talking.
In fact, nobody said a word as the truck pulled onto the street and merged into the long line of prescreened cars heading out of the small town. Thankfully, now that the public ceremony was over, most of the high-profile guests—including the president and her husband—would continue on to the airport in Jackson Hole, taking most of the news vans with them. Only family, close friends and the approved camera people from Tessa’s network had been invited to the private family plot on Twin Kings Ranch where Roper King would be laid to rest.
As more and more cars peeled off for the main highway, Tessa reached into her purse and pulled out a small pink tube. She deftly applied some shiny stuff to her mouth without using a mirror, and Grayson felt a stab of envy toward the little wand that softly traced her lips.
He shifted in his seat and readjusted his sunglasses.
His phone buzzed again in his pocket. This time when he checked the screen, he ignored the inquiring text from Maddie. Responding would only encourage her to send more annoying questions that were none of her business.
When they drove by the guard shack at the entrance to the second-largest privately owned ranch in Wyoming, the posted agents nodded. As the truck passed through the log-crafted gates, Grayson remembered the first time he’d ever been to Twin Kings. Roper King had paid out of pocket to have all fifty-thousand-plus acres of the ranch reinforced by the Technical Security Division. Despite the added electrical fencing, infrared cameras and bulletproof glass, the property was absurdly beautiful and surprisingly efficient and well run.
After half a mile down a tree-lined driveway, the twelve-thousand-square-foot main house sat on a grassy knoll framed by the famous Teton mountain range in the distance. The stables and barn, on the other side of the driveway, were equally as imposing. Or, at least, they were to someone like him who’d grown up in a tiny subdivision outside Baltimore.
They passed the trail that led to numerous outbuildings such as the cookhouse, the corrals and a pair of matching bunkhouses—one to house the cowboys and one to house the special agents on duty—that seemed to be purposely hidden from view of the main house. It was as though the wealthy occupants didn’t appreciate the reminder that they had to share their vast property holdings with the hired help.
Since Grayson had been briefed by the same advance logistics teams every time he’d flown out here on Air Force Two, he knew there were dozens of agents in all-terrain vehicles stationed along the perimeter, also trying to remain out of sight.
It took another mile to wind up onto the snow-covered ridge that held several gravestones and an amazing view of the Snake River. Cars were already parked behind the hearse, and, due to the narrowness of the recently plowed dirt road usually only accessed by horse or ATV, Rider pulled the passenger side of his truck right against the fence line.
Grayson hopped out of the backseat and immediately scanned the area around him for potential threats before reaching to assist Tessa.
“I can do it,” she muttered, ignoring his hand as she awkwardly shimmied herself across the leather bench seat. The motion caused the hem of her black cashmere coat to slide up her legs, giving him a glimpse of the toned muscles of her outer thigh. He took a step back and resisted the urge to loosen his suddenly tight necktie.
But not before she caught him looking.
A charming shade of pink made its way up her cheeks as she tried to adjust her dress over her exposed thigh. Unfortunately, she was so preoccupied with her modesty that her high heel missed the side step outside the door and she practically tumbled into Grayson’s arms.
This time, though, instead of grabbing her upper arms to steady her, Grayson’s hands landed on either side of her narrow waist. Tessa’s surprised oomph came out in a rush of air and he could smell traces of mint on her breath. She tried to pull away, but he held her in place.
“Take a second and get your footing,” he commanded, knowing better than to ask if she was okay or otherwise imply that the mighty and fearless Tessa King needed any sort of assistance.
She stared into his eyes—their faces separated by mere inches—and instead of arguing, she took several deep breaths. Beneath his palms, he felt the muscles below her rib cage contract and expand until they finally relaxed.
“Sorry about that.” Her apology caught Grayson by surprise; up until now, she hadn’t offered him so much as a “thank you” for rescuing her earlier. “I haven’t been home in so long, I forgot how impossible it would be to walk around the ranch in these stupid heels. Especially during winter.”
“No worries,” he said, trying not to think about how great her legs looked in those stupid—but extremely sexy—heels. If talking about shoes kept her from hyperventilating, he would just have to deal with it.
“Please tell me the cameras didn’t catch me nearly falling.”
Grayson jutted his chin toward the flag-draped coffin being placed over the freshly dug grave. “Nope, they’re pretty much focused on where they need to be.”
“Oh God.” She sucked in a shallow breath as her eyes followed his. A shudder ran through her body, revealing the emotion she was clearly fighting to hide. “Getting through this might be a bit harder than I’d first thought it’d be.”
Grayson had a feeling she was no longer talking about navigating the terrain in her stilettos. Her aunt and uncle had already moved toward the small crowd of people standing near the piles of lavish floral arrangements, leaving him on his own to talk her down before she had another panic attack.
“Take a deep breath in through your nose,” he instructed then demonstrated. Grayson used to do the same demonstration for his anxious mom whenever she’d paced the hospital waiting rooms, working herself up as she waited for his little sister to come out of surgery. “Now out through your mouth.”
His fingers were still splayed around Tessa’s waist and her hands had latched onto his forearms. He didn’t want to point out that if any of the cameras turned in their direction, the tabloids would have a field day with the image. That would only get her more amped up.
Tessa’s uncle had mentioned a boyfriend. Where the hell was that guy? Why wasn’t he taking care of her? As soon as the thought went through Grayson’s mind, the muscles in his shoulders coiled and something primal surged through his nerve endings.
“I think I’m okay now,” she finally said as the minister began reading from an open book.
There were several rows of chairs set under a canopy for the family. He jerked his head in that direction. “Do you want me to walk you over to your seat?”
“Actually, do you mind if we just stand over here?” She gestured to a nearby copse of trees.
We.
A shiver went down the back of his neck. We meant team. While Grayson didn’t mind being part of a tactical team or a sports team or even a math team—eighth grade state champions, thank you very much—he didn’t want anyone getting the idea that he was somehow paired up with Tessa King. It was too chummy, almost too intimate. He was supposed to watch over the family—not get personally involved with one of them.
Unfortunately, by the way she kept her arm looped tightly through his as they stood off to the side of the rutted dirt road, they appeared to be much more than a we.