Chapter 3
Londyn must have fallen asleep lessthan a mile away from the film location. She didn’t wake until the truck pulled to a stop and engine noise ceased.
A door opened and closed, then the door beside her opened, allowing a waft of cold air into her warm cocoon.
Lyndon blinked her eyes open.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” a deep voice spoke softly beside her. “We’re here.”
She lifted her head and peered out the front windshield.
The headlights shined at a small log cabin with a homey front porch.
Her brow wrinkled. “Where’s here?”
“At a cabin on Yellowstone Lake.”
She frowned, laced her hands behind her head and stretched her back. “I’m staying here?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Please, call me Londyn,” she said. “I’m not old enough to be a ma’am, and Miss Tyler-Lovejoy is too much of a mouthful.”
“Yes, ma’am—” He grinned. “Londyn.”
“I really need to do like my mother did and change my last name to Tyler. It’s so much simpler.” She sighed. “But that takes time and money—both of which I seem to be short of lately.”
Nash stared up at her, tilting his head. “I’d carry you in, but something tells me you might resist this idea.”
“You’d be right.” Londyn turned to face the man who’d saved her from the explosion, noticing, not for the first time, how ruggedly handsome he was, even with the jagged scar across his right cheek. Having been in LA with her mother on more occasions than she preferred, she’d been around handsome men. Most often, they were trouble. Egotistical, selfish men who were more interested in what you could do for them than what they could do to actually help another human.
Working on and now owning a ranch, Londyn had never had much time, nor would she in the near future, to nurture a relationship with a man.
Most of the men she knew worked on her ranch or neighboring properties. Having a relationship with someone working or living that close would open her up to complications should the relationship go sour. As early as getting her first training bra, she’d made it a rule not to get into an intimate relationship with any of the ranch hands or ranch owners of adjacent spreads. She liked the simple ranch life and refused to make it more complicated than it had to be.
She dropped her arms and fished at her side for the seatbelt buckle. Once she found it, she popped the buckle loose and let the belt retract on its own. “How long was I out?”
“Thirty-five minutes,” he answered.
She nodded, shoved her hair out of her face and swung her legs around. “I have to make sure I get to the set early tomorrow morning. The director has no patience for lateness.”
“I’ll be sure to get you there at whatever time you need to arrive,” he promised.
As Londyn slid out of her seat, her feet missed the running board.
Nash’s hands caught her around the waist as she pitched forward and slammed into his chest.
For a long moment, he held her there. Then he eased her to the ground.
“Thanks,” she said, heat rushing up into her cheeks. “I’m not usually so clumsy.”
“No worries. I’m here to protect you.”
“From someone trying to hurt me,” she said, pulling his leather jacket close around her. “Not from my two left feet.”
His hands left her waist, but one remained on her arm to steady her in the gravel. “I’ll provide any form of protection you need while I’m on the job.” He waved his hand toward the cabin. “My guy Swede got us the last cabin available.”
“Well, thanks.” She looked up at the cabin. “Does this place have running water, a soft bed and warm blankets?”
“That’s what I’m told.” He grinned, transforming his battle-scared face into something special.
Londyn’s heart skipped several beats and then raced to catch up. She had to force herself to look away from the man or risk falling into his sexy brown eyes.
“I must be more exhausted than I thought,” she murmured to herself.
“Then let’s get you inside, through the shower and into bed. I’m sure Haynes has a full day of filming for you tomorrow.” Nash reached into the truck’s back seat, grabbed a duffel bag, slung it over his shoulder then came to stand beside her.
“Ready?”
She nodded.
He rested his free hand lightly against the small of her back and guided her up the wooden steps. Once on the porch, he dropped the duffel bag and fished his cell phone from his pocket. He switched on the flashlight and handed it to Londyn. “If you can hold that, I’ll get this lock opened.”
Standing close enough to the man that she could smell his aftershave, Londyn held the cell phone over his hands, the light shining down on the combination lock box. He smelled so good it was affecting her senses, causing her pulse to quicken.
Nash rolled the four numbers one at a time, then pulled on the box. It opened. A shiny silver key lay inside. He fit the key into the door lock, twisted it and pushed open the door. When he reached inside with one hand and flipped a switch, soft light filled the one-room, compact cabin.
“You can have the first shower,” Nash said as he stepped inside and held the door for Londyn.
She stared into the cabin, her feet firmly planted on the wooden planks of the porch. “Is this your cabin or mine?”
His lips twitched. “Swede was only able to secure one cabin. It’s yours. But if you don’t mind, I would like to make use of the shower.”
She frowned. “If there’s only one cabin, where are you going to sleep?”
“I have a sleeping bag in my truck,” he said. “I’ll sleep on the porch.”
Londyn shivered at the thought of the man sleeping on the porch. “Do you realize how cold it gets at night?”
He nodded. “I’m familiar with this area of the country. I grew up near Whitefish, Montana. My bag is rated for extreme cold weather. Come in off the porch. I’ll check the place out, then it’s all yours.”
Her eyebrows rose as she stepped through the door into the cozy room that served as a living room and kitchen, all in one. A large, overstuffed leather sofa took up most of the space in front of a potbellied stove. Beyond the sofa was a kitchenette with a tiny stove with two burners, a refrigerator, a sink and a small table with two chairs.
Nash closed the door behind her and twisted the lock. Then he crossed the short distance to the only other door in the room and disappeared inside. He was back out three seconds later. “Clear.” He stepped past her, his shoulder brushing hers, and opened the door, grabbed his duffel bag, dropped it on the floor beside the sofa and turned back to the door. “I’ll get my sleeping bag out of the truck. Make yourself at home.” He left through the door, closing it softly behind him.
Londyn passed through the narrow door on the far wall into a bedroom with barely enough room for the queen-sized bed, a single nightstand, a small chest of drawers and a little closet. Another door led into a tiny bathroom with a toilet and a shower-tub combination. Fresh towels hung on a rack near the shower curtain.
Sore and dirty from the explosion and the layers of makeup and hair product they’d used on her, Londyn couldn’t think of anything she’d like better than a long, hot shower.
She stepped into the bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the water in the tub. After she adjusted the temperature and rerouted the water to the showerhead, she stripped out of the clothes she’d worn all day and kicked them to the side.
Tired and aching, she stepped over the side of the tub and stood beneath the spray, letting it run over her hair, face and shoulders, the heat soothing her aching muscles. After several long minutes beneath the healing waters, she looked around, realizing she’d brought nothing with her but the clothes on her back. Thankfully, there were travel-sized bottles of shampoo and conditioner in the cubby and a small box with a bar of soap. Not knowing how big the water heater might be, she quickly washed her hair, face and body, then applied conditioner and rinsed the remaining dirt and dust from her body. The water was still warm when she turned it off and reached for one of the towels on the rack beside her. She patted her skin and hair as dry as she could and wrapped the towel around her.
Londyn stared down at the dirty clothes on the floor, wondering if they would dry by morning if she washed them in the sink that night.
A soft knock on the door made her hands tighten on the towel tucked around her. She had to remind herself Nash was a stranger to her, yet here she was, practically naked in a bathroom that didn’t have a door lock. “Yes?” she said, looking around for something she could use for a weapon and finding nothing.
“You might want this.” Nash opened the door a crack and stuck his hand through. In it was a faded black T-shirt and a pair of royal blue boxer briefs. “It’s the best I can do for the night. I have a pair of sweats you can wear to the set tomorrow. If you let me know your sizes, I can see what I can have brought in.”
She took the proffered offering, touched that he’d thought about her predicament and had come up with a temporary solution to running around naked in nothing more than a towel. “Thank you.”
He shut the door. “Swede had the kitchen stocked with some supplies. Hungry?”
Her belly rumbled loudly.
Nash chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Londyn pulled the boxer shorts up her legs, feeling oddly sexy in the smooth fabric. Knowing he had worn these at some time made it seem even more intimate. Heat rose up her neck into her cheeks and coiled low in her belly. She quickly pulled the T-shirt over her head. The jersey fabric slid over her skin, the hem falling to the tops of her knees.
Her nipples puckered against the soft material.
Londyn ran her hands over her body, shocked at its response to wearing men’s clothing. No. It wasn’t that they were men’s clothing. They were Nash’s, and they held the lingering scent of the man’s cologne like he’d stored it amongst his clothes.
What was wrong with her? She’d had several attempts on her life in the past forty-eight hours. Yet, she was fantasizing over the man whose clothing caressed her body. A man she’d just met—also, the guy who’d saved her from a certain explosive death.
That had to be it. She had some hero-worship complex going on since he’d saved her.
She tried to finger-comb her hair to no avail and ended up wrapping it in the towel. The stylist in charge of her hair would have to sort through the tangles tomorrow. Without a brush, she could do little to straighten her long black hair. Not for the first time in the past few years, she wondered why she didn’t just cut it off. Short hair made much more sense for a rancher as busy as she was.
Then again, her hair was part of her heritage. Though her mother had never told her who her father was, it was obvious to everyone she looked like him, not her blond-haired, blue-eyed movie star mother.
When she was with her mother, no one ever guessed they were related.
When Londyn had been old enough to ask about her father, her mother had said he wasn’t in the picture. He’d been her drunk, one-night stand on her last night in Montana before she’d moved to California to pursue a career in film. She hadn’t known his name and didn’t think she’d ever see him again to let him know he had a daughter.
She’d discouraged Londyn from looking for the man, saying he was probably a roughneck who worked on a pipeline and had a woman in every town he visited. And if he did come looking for Londyn, it would be to see how much money he could get out of her mother now that she was a wealthy movie star. According to her mother, men only came looking for their bastards if there was money in it for them.
Londyn only took her mother’s words halfway to heart. She didn’t believe all men were assholes. Her grandfather had been a stern man, but he’d had a big heart beneath his tough exterior. Deep down, he’d been heartbroken when his only daughter had left Montana and refused to return. Only on his deathbed had he opened up enough to say they’d had a disagreement over his daughter’s choice of boyfriends.
Since her mother had married three times and divorced three times, Londyn guessed her mother had left that boyfriend behind in Montana, having revenge sex on her way out.
Until Londyn had moved to Montana to live with her grandfather, she’d never known what it was like to have a father figure in her life. Especially one who gave a damn about her.
In her grandfather’s gruff way, he’d loved her and taught her how to treat people by example. He’d always been fair but never a pushover. He’d helped people who needed it but who’d been willing to help themselves. And he’d instilled in her a love of the land, the animals and all the good that hard work could achieve.
Based on her dark hair, eyes, skin and bone structure, Londyn was obviously of Native American descent. She’d always wondered what tribe she belonged to. One Christmas, her grandfather had gifted her a DNA testing kit. When her mother had found out about it, she’d blown a gasket, demanding Londyn throw it away.
To keep the peace and save her grandfather a lot of grief, Londyn had told them both she’d tossed the kit in the burn barrel. But she’d lied. She’d already sent in her sample. She’d beat her grandfather to the mailbox every day for a month until the results had come back.
The results had showed that she was primarily of Shoshone descent. When she’d gone to college in Bozeman, she’d joined the American Indian Council of MSU, eager to learn more about her people.
That had been where she’d met Tala and other young people eager to make a difference in the lives of their people. The only difference was that the others had come primarily from the surrounding reservations, while Londyn had lived on a ranch with her white grandfather. She’d never told them who her mother was. She’d liked the relative anonymity her mother’s choice of shortening her name had provided.
Standing in the bathroom, dressed in Nash’s clothing, all those memories raced through her head. She looked as Native American as the kids from the rez. Had her mother warned him that her daughter didn’t look anything like her? Had he been shocked that she was Native American instead of the blond, blue-eyed beauty her mother still was?
With the towel balanced on her head, Londyn squared her shoulders and pulled the door open.
What Nash thought of her was irrelevant. She didn’t need his approval for anything. The man was only there to do a job.
Protect her.
So far, he’d proven himself adept. Who brought a mirror on an extension rod to a movie set when you’re assigned to guard a movie star?
She shook her head, a smile playing on her lips at the absurdity of the mirror and the fact that she was far from a movie star. Hell, she was a completely unknown actor, more comfortable in the saddle than on a film set.
When she emerged from the bedroom, her body was enveloped in delicious warmth.
Nash turned from tossing a small log into the fire inside the potbelly stove. He smiled and pointed to the cell phone he had balanced between his chin and shoulder. “Let me put you on speaker.” Nash took the phone in his hand, punched a button and spoke, “Swede, say hello to Londyn Tyler-Lovejoy.”
“Hello, Miss Tyler-Lovejoy,” a deep male voice said.
She stared at Nash and shook her head. “Hi. Thank you for all you did to get me into a room tonight.”
“Glad to help,” Swede said. “I’m sorry about your trailer and your belongings. Did you have a good insurance policy?”
Londyn snorted. “Hardly. The trailer belonged to the production company. At least I’m not out that cost. I need to make a run up to my ranch to collect additional clothing to get me by while I’m on set in Wyoming.”
“Could we send someone over to get what you need?” Swede asked. “It might be faster for someone from our headquarters here in Eagle Rock to swing by to get what you need rather than for you to leave the set in the middle of filming.”
Londyn snorted softly. “I appreciate the offer, but it’s weird having strange men going through my underwear drawer.”
Swede laughed. “I hadn’t planned on going through anyone’s drawers. Hank Patterson’s wife, Sadie, volunteered to go to your ranch with him if you want her to get some things for you. She’d like to drive down to Yellowstone and see what’s going on because she’s familiar with movie production and all.”
“Is she?” Londyn asked. “How so?”
Swede chuckled. “Ever hear of Sadie McClain?”
Londyn’s eyes narrowed. “The name’s familiar.”
“Do you go to the movies often or stream them online?” Swede asked.
“I’ve seen a few. I’m new to the movie industry and haven’t met many actors except the ones on this set. I’ve spent most of my life ranching. We don’t have much time to go to the movies or watch much television, except during the winter.”
“Then you might not be familiar with one of Hollywood’s biggest stars. Sadie McClain is one of the most sought-after actors in the business.”
“Sadie McClain...” Londyn shook her head.
“Look her up. You might recognize her face,” Swede said. “But she’s all female. If you don’t want her to go to your ranch, she can pick up what you need on the way down from a store in Bozeman.”
“I guess it would be all right for her to stop at my ranch. My neighbor, Ben Standing Bear, is pulling double duty between his place and mine while I’m on location filming. I can give him a call and let him know Sadie and Hank are stopping by for me.”
“Good. I’ll let Hank know he and Sadie are a go to deliver whatever you tell them you need,” Swede said. “I was just about to fill Nash in on what I learned from the sheriff’s office, Wyoming Highway Patrol and the state crime lab folks investigating the explosion.”
“We’re listening,” Nash said as he stirred the fire and closed the door. Heat radiated from the small stove, warming the room. “They figure out who set those charges?”
Londyn moved closer to the source.
“Not yet,” Swede replied. “The sheriff questioned the man in charge of the pyrotechnics for the movie. He maintains strict control over what they have. He showed the sheriff his supplies and his inventory tracking application. Everything was accounted for. I called one of my contacts in the Wyoming Highway Patrol. One of the mining companies near Yellowstone reported missing inventory two days ago. One of their employees stole some C4 from their supplies and a couple of detonators. They have the man in custody.”
“Was he the one who set the charges on my trailer?” Londyn asked.
“They don’t think so. He said he sold the items to someone behind a bar in West Yellowstone.”
“No name?” Nash asked.
“No name,” Swede confirmed. “And the man’s face was covered in a black ski mask.”
Londyn frowned. “Two nights ago, production came to a halt because the props we needed for the next five scenes had been destroyed in transit an hour away from delivery. Our director gave everyone half a day and night off. Almost everyone piled into their cars and headed to West Yellowstone for a buffalo burger and beer.” She met Nash’s gaze. “They went to the Buffalo Bar and Grill. Was that the bar where he made the sale?”
“That’s the one,” Swede said.
“Does that mean a member of the crew has an issue with me?” Londyn shook her head. “I don’t remember making anyone particularly angry. I work hard and try hard to get scenes right the first time.”
Nash laid a hand on her shoulder. “We don’t know if it’s someone on the crew. There aren’t many places in the area to blow off steam. The Buffalo gets a lot of people from all over.”
Londyn looked up into his gaze. “I don’t believe in coincidence, do you?”
He hesitated before sighing. “No. I don’t.”
“That means any person on the set who went to the bar that night could be my attacker.” Londyn turned and padded barefoot across the tile floor, turned and came back to the stove. “That gives me zero confidence in my safety on the set.”
“I’ll be there.”
“But will you be close enough to make a difference?” Swede asked.
Londyn shook her head. “They make him stand behind the camera crews.”
“I can be with you everywhere else except when they’re shooting,” he said.
“We have a lot of riding scenes coming up. That will put a lot of distance between us,” she said.
“Are you riding alone or with other riders?” Nash asked.
Her brow wrinkled as she thought through the next few pages of the script. “With other riders.”
“Could I be a spare rider with no lines?” he asked.
Londyn canted her head to one side. “Can you ride?”
He smiled and nodded. “I was raised on a ranch. I learned to ride before I learned to walk.”
She touched a finger to her chin. “That might work. I’ll speak with the director tomorrow. He’s already on a tight budget, so he might not be able to pay you.”
Nash shook his head. “That would be double-dipping. I’m already being paid by Brotherhood Protectors to provide for your safety.”
“Yes, but you announced yourself as my boyfriend,” she said.
“A concerned boyfriend would work for free to take care of his girl.” Nash took her hands in his. “Got anything else for us, Swede?”
“No,” he said. “The sheriff provided me with the names of all the people on the set, movie production crew and protestors. I’m running them through crime information databases to see if I find a match. I’ll let you know if I get any hits.”
“Thanks,” Nash said.
“Let Hank and Sadie know I appreciate their offer to run by my ranch,” Londyn said. “It’s got to be way out of their way.”
“Not if you go by helicopter,” Swede said.
Londyn chuckled. “Nice. I won’t feel as bad knowing they’re not driving all the winding roads to get there and back down here.”
“Will do. Send me a list of what you want, and I’ll forward it to Sadie,” Swede said. “Out here.”
“Out here,” Nash said and ended the call.
He stared at Londyn. “If you don’t mind, I’ll get that shower and be out of your hair.”
“Speaking of hair, you don’t happen to have a brush or comb in that bag of yours, do you?”
He grinned. “As a matter of fact, I have both.” He dug inside the duffel bag and handed her a thick brush and a black comb. “If you want me to work the tangles out, I’m pretty good at it. I have younger sisters.”
She smiled. “Is there anything you can’t do?”
His smile faded. “Lots. But a shower would be nice.”
She nodded, stepped out of his way, and waved him toward the bedroom door. “Be my guest. And thank you for the PJs.” She waved a hand toward her T-shirt-shrouded body. “It feels good to be in something that doesn’t stir up a cloud of dust when you walk through a room.”
He grinned. “You wear it better than I do.”
She waggled her eyebrows. “If you think the T-shirt looks good, you should see the boxer briefs.”
His smile slipped, and his eyes flared. “After you, I’m sure they’ll never wear the same.”
She frowned and looked down at the T-shirt, picturing the boxer briefs beneath. “My hips are wider than yours, but the shorts are stretchy. I’m sure they’ll shrink back.”
Nash held up a hand. “It’s not that they’ll be stretched out of shape. I just won’t ever wear them again and not think of who wore them last.” He touched a finger to the corner of his scarred eyebrow in a mock salute. “I’m going under. See you on the other side.”
He pivoted on his heel, snagged his duffel bag and marched through the bedroom into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him.
Londyn’s gaze followed him all the way until he disappeared behind the door, her blood pumping hot through her veins, racing to her core where it coiled and flared like a furnace igniting.
Her bodyguard was entirely too hot to be confined with her in the tight space of the cabin. As heated as she felt at that moment, she might incinerate before the night was over.
She was already way out of her depth, acting in a movie with no previous experience, not even a school play. All her focus needed to be on learning her lines, studying the script and preparing for the next scene.
Seducing the bodyguard her mother was paying for could send her off on the wrong track.
Wrong track, hell.
Nash was the kind of man who could leave her totally derailed.