Chapter Six
brONCO
I’ve been in firefights, ambushes, and on the run, but nothing has ever made my pulse race like sitting on my closet floor with Camille Whitaker.
Her breath brushes my bare shoulder as she presses against me, trembling slightly.
“How did they find me?” she whispers into the stillness.
“Can’t say they did.” Not yet. My mind races through a dozen scenarios. Ways they could have found her. Reasons it could be nothing.
What I’ll do if someone comes for her.
I called Gray when I saw the alarm and hustled Camille out of bed and into the closet. I won’t leave her to check the perimeter myself. If this is real, she’s safest with me—and I’m not taking chances. I still need eyes on the area to know what we’re dealing with.
He sent Landon—the best tracker Lone Star has. If anyone can read the land, it’s him. The kind of man who doesn’t miss what others never notice.
“Could he track me somehow? Put like a bug on the dress or something?” Camille shifts closer and grips my arm. Touching me like a lifeline.
Something shifts in my chest. Like her trust taking hold. I glance down at her in the dim light of the space, taking in her wide, thoughtful eyes, messy waves, and slim frame dressed in my flannel shirt. She still hasn’t fallen apart on me, and I’m amazed at her strength. Her stillness.
She didn’t so much as blink when I ushered her into the closet. Just followed my orders without a word. Like she’s been through this before. Jesus. What kind of life has she had that something like this could be normal? That her first thought is someone bugging her clothes?
“Smart thinking, princess. The dress or that ring.” It’s not on her finger anymore.
Camille seems to sense the direction of my thoughts. “I left it in the bathroom. On the floor with the dress.” She ducks her head. “Sorry, I should have cleaned those up.”
She should have burned them. The fact that she shed the ring along with her tattered wedding gown tells me a lot about her feelings toward her fiancé. “We’ll check them, then make a plan.” If someone is tracking her, we need to move.
Gray would have me bring her to The Ranch. There are cabins on the compound and it’s secure. A smart play. I’d have the extra security of a dozen other guys at any time.
My stomach tightens.
Men who would gladly stand between her and the threat.
Men who would look at her because they couldn’t help themselves. She’s fucking gorgeous, and I don’t want their eyes on her.
I tip my head back against the wall, grinding my teeth. I shouldn’t care. But goddammit, I do.
Camille tucks her legs up against her chest, silent and watchful. Another tremor runs through her body, and it breaks through my willpower.
I wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her against my chest.
A breathy sigh of relief escapes her lips. She snuggles closer, tucking her head under my chin.
Her floral scent washes over me, tightening every muscle in my body.
Shouldn’t hold her. Shouldn’t touch her.
I draw her an inch closer.
If I don’t take her to the compound, I need another plan. Maybe we leave Texas altogether. Maybe I take her home, to Montana.
My phone pings with a message. I swipe the screen and see four pictures from Landon. There’s a post down along with the camera, and fresh prints.
Landon: You’re clear. Looks like a bobcat chased some deer through here. They took out part of the fence.
Bronco: No other prints?
Landon: No boot prints or tire tracks except yours. Need me to swing by?
Bronco: No. I’ll check with Gray.
Landon: I heard she’s pretty.
A low growl rips from my throat. In my arms, Camille tenses, then slowly relaxes.
Bronco: She’s off limits, asshole.
Landon: Talking to me or yourself?
I clench the phone hard. I don’t respond. I can’t, because he’s right—and that scares the hell out of me.
The line I swore I’d never cross is already in the goddamn rearview mirror.
Landon: Mae incoming. Catch you later.
“He knows about me?” Camille asks.
“Only enough to do the job.” It comes out gruffer than I want, but the exchange with Landon put me off balance.
“Who’s Mae?” She stretches, body arching against me.
I swallow hard.
“Gray Calhoun’s sister. She’s bringing you some things.” I push to my feet, needing the distance. Then reach for her hand and draw her up beside me. “You’re safe for the moment. Wildlife took down the fence, not humans.”
“Can I see the pictures?” Her eyes are bright with interest now. Not an ounce of fear.
She’s like no other woman I’ve guarded. I hand her the phone, then lead her out of the closet. I need coffee before I can deal with anything else. Including Mae Calhoun.
I add an extra scoop of coffee to the pot, then turn it on and grab two mugs from the cabinet. They don’t match. I draw the line at towels.
When I turn back toward the fridge, Camille is standing in the space between the hall and the kitchen, scraps of lace and satin clenched in her hands.
She steps forward gingerly and lays the wedding gown on the counter. “I don’t know what a tracker looks like,” she says quietly. “Can you help me?”
I move to her side, but instead of touching the dress, I take her hand. Her shoulders are tight, her eyes searching my face like she’s bracing for bad news.
“I’ll help. And even if we find something, we’ll handle it. You’re not dealing with this alone.”
“I trust you, Bronco. More than anyone.”
The words land heavier than they should. Just yesterday, that place belonged to her sister.
I squeeze her hand. “First, let me check your injuries.” If we have to run, I want to make sure she can.
Pulling out the closest bar stool, I settle my hands on her hips.
Her lips part, and her gaze collides with mine.
Time stops.
This close, with her scent in my lungs… I swallow down the desire to dip my head and kiss her.
Focus, King.
But damn, I don’t want to admit how difficult it is.
I lift her onto the stool, then kneel to take her right foot. “How do they feel?” The cut beneath the bandage is red but not swollen. There’s a dark bruise on her instep and a fainter one on her heel. I stroke my thumb slowly over the tender skin, careful not to tickle her there.
“Sore, but better. The bandages cushion the cuts.”
Her left foot looks similar, with no infection setting in. Her other scrapes and bruises are minor. “Can you walk if we—”
“I can run,” Camille says, her spine straight and her voice determined.
My hand slides to her ankle, feeling soft skin. I think that’s what I find so attractive. She’s delicate beauty over steel. She trembles but doesn’t break.
I stroke my thumb over her ankle and nod. “Good.” But I won’t hesitate to carry her if needed.
Climbing to my feet, I turn my attention to the dress.
We check the gown, the ring, even the garter. Seams, lining, clasps. No trackers.
Relief doesn’t come.
If Frost was willing to kidnap her twice, he’s not just going to drop this. I’d bet my Stetson he had some method of tracing her. Otherwise, how would his thugs have found her on that empty road? Whatever he used, it’s something we haven’t thought of.
I hope to hell it was on her phone.
Behind me, the coffee pot beeps, and I turn to pour her a cup. She adds a measure of milk, then eyes the sugar. She licks her lips, hesitates, then reaches for it and adds a hearty spoonful.
“Have as much as you want,” I murmur. Why the hell is adding sugar even a decision?
“It’s... liberating. Making my own choices,” she says. “Not constantly being reminded that sugar will make me fat, and no man wants a fat wife.”
I set my cup down, barely controlling my anger at the people who raised her. “First off, it’s your life. You make the decisions. No one else. Second, that’s bullshit. Most men like women with curves.”
“Even you?”
I step closer until only inches separate us. I want her to see the truth. “Especially me. Having someone soft where I’m hard? That’s part of what draws me to a woman. So, drink your coffee with all the sugar you want, princess. It’s only gonna make you sweeter.”
The air thickens between us.
She shifts closer.
I’m lost in the icy depths of her eyes, feeling my pulse climb as the heat builds between us. So much innocence mixed with intelligence and a surprising amount of world weariness for a woman so young.
Camille licks her lips.
I lock on the motion, needing to taste her.
Just once.
I lower my head, half a breath away from temptation, and glance up to make sure she wants this.
She’s holding her breath. Not backing away.
I close the scant distance, right as the doorbell rings.
“Bronco? It’s Mae,” she calls through the door.
I press my forehead to Camille’s and swear under my breath. Then drag myself away from her, adjusting myself, and throw open the front door. I didn’t have to check the camera. I know Mae’s voice anywhere.
She steps inside, smiling brightly, and holds up several large shopping bags. “Brought what you asked for.”
Mae Calhoun is plump where her brother is sharp and sharp where he’s soft. They make a damn good team.
She’s also got shitty timing.
I smile anyway and reach for the bags. “Mae, this is Camille. Camille, meet Mae. Gray’s sister.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” Camille steps forward and extends her hand, polite smile fixed firmly in place. Fake, exactly like the one in her photo.
It strikes me then, the little things I’d noted up until now. She hasn’t smiled. Not once. Granted, she’s in a tense, frightening situation. But even the one time I thought she might smile for me, she didn’t.
I file that away as yet another unexpected layer to her.
“You’re in good hands,” Mae says. Her head tilts as she takes in Camille’s bare legs beneath my flannel shirt, then my bare chest. “Though it looks like you know that already.”
“It’s not what it—” I stop myself, jaw tight. “She didn’t have anything to wear. That’s why you’re here.”
I set the bags on the counter harder than necessary and step between her and Camille, arms crossed.
Mae glides past me and digs through them, pulling out several sets of clothes.
“I wasn’t quite sure of your size, so I picked up several things.
There’re jeans, sweaters, a jacket. Plus boots, and uh, undergarments.
I even threw in some toiletries. I thought you might want to smell like something other than eau-de-man.
” She wrinkles her nose and winks at Camille.
“Whatever doesn’t fit or you can’t use, just leave with Bronco. We’ll keep it on hand for next time.”
“For the next runaway bride?” Camille asks, sorting through the clothes. She runs her hand over a fuzzy rose-colored sweater and holds it to her chest.
Mae grins. “That’s right. I’m surprised you’re the first. With these guys around, I half expect to have one a week.”
Humor lights Camille’s eyes, and her lips almost twitch. “Thank you, Mae. You’re very kind.”
Gray’s sister leans closer to her and says, “I don’t think ‘kind’ is the word Bronco’s thinking right now, hon.
” She turns to me, pinning me with a look that says she’s absolutely reporting this to her brother, then removes a velvet pouch from her purse and hands it to me. “The last item you requested.”
“Thanks, Mae. For everything except giving me shit.”
She chuckles. “You’re welcome. For all of it.” To Camille, she adds, “Have him bring you by The Ranch. We can have some coffee or tea and some girl time.”
“I would like that,” Camille says softly. She holds her hand out.
Mae bypasses it and pulls her into a hug. “He’s one of the best. If anyone can get you through it, it’s Bronco.”
Camille stiffens for half a second, then leans into the hug.
“Call if you need anything,” Mae says. She waves and heads back to The Ranch.
I close and lock the door behind her, then turn back to Camille. She has a stack of clothes in her hands, and if I’m not mistaken, she looks eager to wear them.
Can’t say I feel the same. Seeing her in my shirt makes the caveman part of me pound his chest.
I weigh the velvet pouch in my palm, then hold it up. “I have one more thing for you.” After searching through the wedding gown, I debated doing this. But the alternative is unacceptable. I move closer and empty the pouch into my other hand.
A delicate silver chain with an oval locket drops out. It’s nothing fancy. Sterling silver with roses engraved on the front. Worn in a vintage way that women like these days.
I hold it up for her. “It has a GPS tracker in it.” I glance at the wedding dress that’s still on the counter, then back to her. “If you wear it and something happens, I can find you.” I clear my throat. “Difference is, you’ll know about it.”
“Do I have to wear it?” she asks.
I want to say yes. The protector in me says it’s madness to let her think otherwise. But she’s had enough choices taken from her in the last twenty-four hours. Maybe longer. I can’t force this on her. If she decides not to, I’ll have to think of something else. “No. The choice is yours.”
Camille reaches for the locket and adds it to her stack. Her fingers stroke the pendant lightly. “I love it. Show me how it works.”
The relief I wasn’t feeling earlier hits me full force, like a kick to the chest.
I can’t lose her.
And not because of what happened on my last tour.
This is different.
She’s different.