Saving Londyn (Brotherhood Protectors Yellowstone Book 9)

Chapter 1

“Mother, I don’t need a bodyguard.”Londyn Tyler-Lovejoy balanced her cell phone against her shoulder as she slapped her cowboy hat against her thigh. The movement was more out of irritation than the need to shake the accumulated dust loose. She was hot and sweaty and wanted a shower.

“Sweetheart, you can’t be looking over your shoulder all the time,” her mother, movie star Dana Tyler, said. “You have a job to do. The director doesn’t have the time or budget to backfill his lead and reshoot scenes if you’re incapacitated because some fool is bent on sabotaging your part.”

“I can handle it,” Londyn insisted. “It’s only a little graffiti on my trailer. The set crew was quick to scrub off what they could and paint over the areas that couldn’t be cleaned with soap and water.”

“I’m not so concerned about the graffiti,” her mother said. “I’m worried about the props that were tampered with. The ladder rungs in the barn scene didn’t fail on their own, and the brakes on the Jeep didn’t just quit working... They were cut.”

Londyn pinched the bridge of her nose. “You heard about those?”

“Yes, I did,” Dana said. “You need someone to take charge of your safety, so you don’t have to think about it.”

“Bodyguards cost money.” Londyn gripped the cell phone and straightened her neck. “I took this job to save, not spend.”

“You should sell the ranch,” her mother said. “Or let me handle the back taxes and late mortgage payments.”

Londyn shook her head, even though her mother couldn’t see her do it. “No. It’s my responsibility now that Gramps is gone. You made it perfectly clear you wanted nothing to do with your old home when Gramps was alive. Why do you care now?”

“Because I see how it’s wearing on my only daughter,” her mother said, her voice softening. “That ranch will use every bit of your youth and energy, and for what? A pittance of a living—or worse. You’ll be working at other jobs to pay the bills.”

“I love LJ Ranch,” Londyn said. It’s my home, and I refuse to take any of your money. Now that the place is mine, it’s up to me to make it work. That’s the only reason I agreed to audition for this part and then agreed to do the film.”

“I don’t know why you care,” Dana said. “It’s just an old ranch with broken-down buildings and fences that always need mending. I never should’ve let you live with my father for so long.”

“So, you’d rather I’d lived in your house in L.A. with the nanny of the week to see you maybe two or three times a year?”

“I did have a busy schedule, but Howard was there,” her mother argued.

“Only on the nights he wasn’t staying with his secretary.” Londyn sighed. “Letting me live with Gramps was the best thing you ever did for me.”

“I’m not so sure,” her mother said. “You wouldn’t be so stressed now if you had stayed in L.A.”

Londyn snorted. “I can’t imagine living in L.A. now. I love living on the ranch. I wouldn’t fit in with the glamorous types you run with.”

“I bet you would,” Dana said, “if you gave yourself the chance.”

“I don’t want that life, Mother. I never have.”

Londyn had been six when she’d spent her first summer with her grandfather. After a rocky transition from city to ranch life, she’d learned to love the wide-open spaces and her cantankerous grandfather.

Her heart squeezed hard in her chest. Gramps had been the rock in her life. The one person she could count on.

Her mother had always been on a set somewhere else in the world. Howard, her husband for five years, hadn’t been interested in raising Dana’s child and hadn’t had much to say to Londyn on the rare occasions he’d been around.

Londyn’s mother might not have sent her to live with Gramps had she not been at her wit’s end after the sixth nanny had quit in the middle of filming the movie that was her most important part to that date. It was the movie that shot her to stardom.

She’d had to take a couple of days off the set to deal with Londyn. After interviewing several nannies who’d been much like the former six who had quit, she’d swallowed her pride and begged her father to take Londyn for the summer.

Summer had turned into fall, fall into winter, and twenty years later, she’d still been living on LJ Ranch. Life had been perfect until Gramps had been thrown from his horse, suffering a head injury. He’d refused to go to the doctor, insisting it was nothing.

Two hours after the fall, he’d been dead. Epidural Hematoma. The same injury that had claimed the life of actress Natasha Richardson, or so her mother had informed her.

Gramps had left a letter of instruction in his safe should he die. In that letter, he’d said to contact Ben Standing Bear, the owner of the neighboring Bear Tracks Ranch, for help. She’d done as her grandfather had asked.

Ben Standing Bear had come immediately, promising to help her through spring branding and culling, along with his own workload.

Londyn’s mother had returned to LJ Ranch for the first time since she’d left twenty-six years before to be with Londyn at Gramps’s funeral. After the graveside service, she’d stood at Londyn’s side as they’d received condolences from friends and neighbors.

When Ben Standing Bear had stepped in front of them, Dana had turned as white as a sheet and swayed as if she might faint.

At the time, Londyn had chalked it up to the stress of losing her father. Now, she wasn’t sure.

At the ranch house, her mother had tried to talk Londyn into selling the ranch, insisting it was too much for one woman to handle. Her insistence had triggered in Londyn the anger stage of grief. She’d told her mother there was no way in hell. She’d rather die than let the family ranch go. Her mother had left the next day.

Once the dust had settled and the initial shock of her grandfather’s death had waned, Londyn worked day and night with Ben Standing Bear to get through the spring season typical of cattle ranching. Not until that effort had been completed had she had time to review her finances, only to discover her grandfather had depleted his savings to zero and had taken out a loan, using the ranch as collateral to see her through college and to build a new barn after the old one had burned to the ground.

He’d missed several mortgage payments and owed money on taxes. An official letter in the mail stated the ranch would be foreclosed if she didn’t pay up. Another letter from the IRS stated that her property would be seized if she didn’t pay the back taxes.

Her mother had called to check on her when she was at her lowest. Londyn had spilled her guts. When her mother had offered to help, she’d refused, stating she’d figure it out. Somehow.

Two days later, her mother had called, saying she had an opportunity for her that would help her out of her financial situation. All she had to do was audition for the lead in a movie that would be filmed in Yellowstone National Park, practically in her backyard. She was a sure win for the part, given her experience riding horses.

She’d responded immediately with a resounding, Hell no.

After her mother had patiently explained how much she could make if she got the part, she’d had to rethink her response. In the one film, she could earn enough to pay off the mortgage, the back taxes and have enough left over to put in the bank for hard times, which always had a way of coming around in the business of ranching. Not to mention the residual royalties that would continue to come for the lifetime of the movie.

She’d swallowed her pride and flown to California to audition. Her mother had gone over the portion of the script to be used in the audition and gave her tips on how to project emotion.

“Most of all,” she’d said, “be your tough but big-hearted self. The main character in this story could be a replica of you. She’s tall, beautiful and Native American.”

Fate and her Native American looks had played a hand in her audition. Within days of returning to Montana, Londyn had received an offer. Her mother’s agent reviewed the offer, asked for minor changes and urged her to accept the offer.

Now, she stood in a hastily built barn, brushing Butterscotch, her buckskin mare, which she’d insisted on using for the riding scenes. “Mother, I have to go. I need to get to my trailer, shower and dress for the scene to be filmed tonight.”

“Sweetheart, I know you don’t want to consider a bodyguard, but I talked with a friend of mine, Sadie McClain. Her husband has the best security agency in the country. He’s sending one of his agents to you as we speak.”

“Mother—”

“At least talk to the agent. Let him tell you what he can do to ensure your safety,” her mother pleaded. “Please. Just give him a chance.”

“I’m not promising anything.” Londyn patted Butterscotch and turned to leave the barn. “Gotta go.”

“Just give him a ch?—”

Londyn ended the call and pushed open the barn door.

As she stepped out into the bright, late-afternoon sunshine, she was immediately surrounded by a crowd of people.

As if on cue, they started chanting, “Go home, Hollywood.” Several protestors held up signs that read GET OFF SACRED LAND.

Londyn frowned. To get to her trailer, she had to wade through the crowd blocking her path.

She tried to move forward, but a barrel-chested man with high cheekbones and long, straight black hair planted himself in front of her, his arms crossed over his chest. “You don’t belong here. None of you belong here.”

“We had permission to film here, granted by the National Park Service,” she said.

The man shook his head. “This land is sacred to the Shoshone. You disrespect the land and our ancestors by being here.”

Londyn opened her mouth to tell the man to move when a voice sounded over her shoulder.

“That might be so but take it up with the film’s producers and the National Park Service, not with Miss Tyler-Lovejoy,” a deep voice said from behind Londyn.

Londyn turned to stare at a broad chest. Her gaze rose to take in a pair of green eyes. Though not barrel-chested like the man blocking her path, this guy’s shoulders were broader and just as intimidating, if not more so. The jagged scar that stretched from the corner of his right eye across his cheek did nothing to detract from his ruggedly handsome face.

“Excuse me, should I know you?”

The corners of his lips twitched. “Nash Nelson. Dana Tyler sent me.” He held out his hand. “I’m your new bodyguard.”

She ignored his hand, her eyes narrowing. “I told my mother I don’t need a bodyguard. You can go back to wherever you came from.” Londyn turned back to the man standing in her path and lifted her chin. “Please, move.”

The man didn’t budge.

Londyn sidestepped in an attempt to go around the big Shoshone.

He matched her move.

Nash tapped her shoulder. “May I?”

She rolled her eyes and stepped backward, allowing Nash to take her place in front of the belligerent behemoth.

When Londyn started around the Native American, the man tensed, ready to block her yet again.

Nash met the man’s gaze with an intense one of his own and the slightest shake of his head. He didn’t have to say a word.

The Shoshone didn’t move an inch as Londyn circled the two men and pushed her way through the crowd, heading for her trailer.

The chanting grew louder.

Someone shouted, “You should know better as one of our own!”

Londyn glanced toward the voice. “Tala?”

The beautiful Shoshone woman lifted her chin. “Londyn.”

“I thought you moved to Washington when you signed on with Congresswoman Lightfeather.”

“I did. But I heard Hollywood was trespassing on sacred Shoshone lands. Color me surprised when I found out you were the lead in the film. Why are you doing this when you know it disrespects those who came before us?”

Londyn shook her head. “The story is worth telling, and the crew has promised to be sensitive to the people and history of the lands.”

“But will they?” Tala shook her head. “Already, they’ve been to the local bars and started fights.”

Londyn’s brow dipped. “I hadn’t heard about that.”

“Because you’re too busy being a bigshot actor. What happened to the girl who never wanted to leave Montana or your heritage on the LJ Ranch? What would your grandfather think of what you’re doing?”

Londyn’s lips pressed together. “He’d be proud that I didn’t give up on our family’s land.” She lifted her chin. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready for my next scene.”

Tala shook her head. “You’re not who I thought you were.”

“My circumstances have changed, but I haven’t.” She strode past Tala, her heart pinching hard in her chest. Had she changed? Was she a sellout?

Nash moved around her and used his body as a shield, making it easier for Londyn to maneuver through the crush of protestors.

She squared her shoulders and moved up to walk beside him. “I don’t need a bodyguard,” she muttered.

“Maybe not,” he said. “But your mother hired me. I’m just doing my job.”

“It’s a waste of your time and mine.”

“Your mother warned me you might resist the idea.” His lips twisted. “You’ll find that I don’t give up easily.”

“I could file a restraining order,” she suggested.

“You could. It would be easier and less expensive if you just talked with your mother,” he said.

Londyn snorted. “You don’t know my mother.”

“Until she releases me from this job, I’m here to provide for your security.”

“Great,” she said. “I have to navigate through the entire Shoshone Nation camped out on the set, not to mention tripping over a glorified babysitter.” She grimaced. “Lucky me.”

As she approached her trailer, she smiled. “Just to be clear, my trailer is off-limits.”

He nodded. “Understood. However, I need to check it before you enter.”

“Check it?”

He nodded. “Someone might pick the lock and lie in wait for you to go inside.”

Londyn stopped in mid-stride. “Seriously? It’s not like I’m a bigshot movie star or anything.”

“No, but you’ve been the target of several attempts on your life.”

“I wouldn’t call them attempts on my life,” she hedged.

“Then what would you call cut brakes and ladder rungs?” he asked.

“Warnings?” She shook her head. “Whatever.” Londyn waved toward the trailer. “Go ahead. Check it. But make it quick. I’m due back on set in an hour and need to get a shower, eat my first meal of the day and be ready for makeup.”

Nash pulled what looked like a thick metal pen out of the pocket of his leather jacket and stretched it from six inches to thirty-six in a telescoping move. From his other pocket, he retrieved a mirror and affixed it to the long metal stick.

“What’s that for?” she asked.

“To check the undercarriage of your trailer,” he said.

“For what?”

“For anything that shouldn’t be there,” he said. “Now, please stay back.”

“Staying,” she muttered. “Go. Do your thing. But fair warning... I will have that talk with my mother. Don’t get comfortable. This might be the shortest job you ever have as a bodyguard.”

“We’ll see.” Nash moved forward with his mirror on a stick.

Londyn stood back, checked her watch and tapped her booted toe impatiently. Thankfully, the crowd of protestors had moved on to surround the director and the camera crew, leaving Londyn relatively free of their noise and animosity.

She studied the man walking slowly around her trailer. Despite her determination to be rid of the guy as soon as possible, his scar intrigued her. “So, what’s your story? Have you always been a bodyguard?”

“No,” he responded and disappeared around the back of her trailer.

“What were you before you became a glorified babysitter?” she called out.

“Military,” he said from somewhere behind the trailer.

That could explain the scar. He could have gotten it in combat.

He rounded the right side of the trailer and came back into view, his gaze on the mirror.

“What branch?” she asked. “Navy?”

He paused, his brow forming a V over his nose.

“No?” She crossed her arms over her chest. Did he have something against the Navy? “Air Force?”

“Fuck.” Suddenly, he dropped the mirror on a stick and raced toward her, shouting, “Get down!”

Stunned by his sudden change of direction, Londyn froze.

Nash plowed into her like a linebacker going in for a tackle. As his body slammed into hers, an explosion lifted them off their feet and flung them several feet through the air.

Londyn landed on her back, her head hitting hard enough that her vision blurred.

Nash landed on top of her, forcing what little air was left in her lungs out with a whoosh.

She lay completely covered by the big man, her ears ringing, unable to breathe or make sense of what had just happened.

As her vision cleared, Nash leaned up on his arms, his hips still pressing hers into the earth. “Are you okay?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. With no air in her lungs, her vocal cords wouldn’t work. Her eyes widened.

“What’s wrong?” Nash’s frown deepened. “Can you breathe?”

She shook her head.

Nash covered her mouth with his and blew air into her, forcing her lungs to expand, reminding them how they should work.

When he lifted his head, she released the air in a rush and coughed. “What...the hell...happened?”

He rolled off her, sat beside her and tipped his head in the direction of her trailer.

Londyn pushed up on her elbows, her ears still ringing. Her heart dropped to the pit of her belly as she took in the twisted metal and fiberglass littering the ground where her trailer had once stood.

She looked from the wreckage to the man beside her, his leather jacket torn in several places and several cuts bleeding on the back of his neck and hands. If he hadn’t taken the time to “check” her trailer...

What the ever-loving-fuck was happening? She hated to admit it, but her mother had been right to send help.

“Still think you don’t need a bodyguard?” Nash asked softly.

Londyn’s lips pressed into a tight line. “I’m willing to reconsider.”