The Heiress and The Bodyguard. Ryanne Corey
reaction had been uncharacteristically vehement. Although he didn’t go so far as to actually raise his voice, he demanded to know how long Julie was going to skim the surface of life like a paranoid butterfly, never committing to anything or anyone. She couldn’t do any better than Beau, and he had certainly proven himself to be truly devoted. She had to dedicate herself to something someday. Why not now? Why not a fine, decent fellow like Beau?
Why not indeed? Julie thought. Beau certainly wasn’t the man she dreamed of, but the faceless fantasy she had visualized probably didn’t exist. Each night in her dreams her imagination went for a walk and came back with a mysterious, thrilling superhero who inspired a great deal more than respect. Logically, however, she knew Beau Farquhar would never mistreat her, and he’d proven long ago he was hopelessly devoted. The man was steady, persistent, kind, persistent, good-natured and persistent. He was also persistent. Why not indeed? Poor Harris had worried himself sick over her welfare too long as it was. She wasn’t particularly interested in getting married nor was she particularly determined to stay single. Quite honestly, she wasn’t particularly focused on anything. The death of her parents at such an impressionable age had left Julie emotionally scarred, wary of attachments which could result in vulnerability. Harris had been the only constant in her world. She loved her brother deeply and would do almost anything to repay him for all the sacrifices he had made on her behalf. She had been his responsibility for far too long.
And so it came down to this: realistically, she knew there was very little chance of her falling head over heels in love. She truly believed it was an impossibility, given her own fear of caring too deeply for anyone or anything. Beau was a good man who knew her well and expected very little. Harris obviously thought the match was made in heaven. If he thought it was the best thing for her, it probably was. Heaven knew Harris deserved a life of his own. He would never concentrate on his own happiness until Julie’s welfare was secured.
She continued driving for well over an hour. She didn’t care where she was going, she only knew she had to be someplace else. Eventually she lost the lights of the city, finding herself on a narrow two-lane road crowded on both sides with thick cypress. It was too dark to see anything beyond the shadows of foliage surrounding her. The air grew heavy and wet, as if she were heading into a swamp. She’d never been in an actual swamp before, but the word alligator kept popping into her mind. She was terrified of animals whose teeth were larger than her own. Her palms on the steering wheel became wet.
Julie wasn’t accustomed to checking the gas gauge in her car. In fact, all the maintenance on the Porsche was done by Harris’s “people,” invisible and ever-diligent. Usually Harris insisted she used his car and driver if she needed to go out. When she did drive her own car, it was always ready, bright and shiny and filled with gas. Naturally she knew such things as oil and fuel were necessary for a car to run, but the particulars of it all had never been a concern.
Until the Porsche sputtered, coughed and died. The gas gauge read empty.
She managed to pull over to the side of the road before the car came to a complete stop. Greenery scratched eerily against the passenger window, sounding like someone trying to get in. She panicked, locking the doors and putting on her seat belt for the first time, as if this would save her from her predicament. Other words scuttled through her mind besides alligator: snakes, spiders, green slimy things. Beyond the windshield, the circles of the headlights barely illuminated ten feet of the utter void surrounding her. In her conscious mind she knew it wasn’t a good idea to leave the lights on when the engine wasn’t running. She also knew there was no way in heaven or hell she was going to sit in utter darkness. She turned on the interior light and tried to find the emergency flasher lights, but nothing she punched, pulled or turned did a thing, beyond turning the windshield wipers on. She asked herself what a true heroine would do in this situation. She answered herself: she probably would have had the sense to put gas in the car in the first place. Still, she could simply call Harris on the cell phone…if she’d had the foresight to bring the phone with her. Her beautifully manicured nails tapped a frantic rhythm on the steering wheel. What to do, what to do…?
From out of nowhere, a car pulled up beside her and stopped. The driver sat in shadows, but she had the impression of a portly build and a bushy beard. He motioned for her to roll down her window. Julie shook her head frantically. He held up two hands as if saying, How do you expect me to help you, then?
They’ll find my body dumped by the roadside, she thought despairingly. Not right away, but in a few days when the humidity and heat and alligators have taken their toll. She would look utterly terrible for the funeral. Poor Harris would think it was all his fault for allowing her to live in the guesthouse and be guilt-ridden the rest of his life. And he would never have an answer to the million-dollar question: What on earth was Julie thinking, driving through that sort of neighborhood?
Suddenly a hand tapping on her window interrupted her morbid musings. She jumped as high as her seat belt would allow her, staring into dark eyes that looked glazed and unfocused. He looked about forty years old, a very large man with more hair on his arms and face than his head. He wore a thin white undershirt stained on the front in several places.
Her panic doubled and redoubled in the space of five seconds. She might not have much experience with men, but she knew this person walking around in his underwear was not the answer to her prayers.
“Do you need help?” he shouted.
Julie shook her head frantically.
“Can I give you a ride?”
Julie shook her head harder, her brown eyes enormous.
At this point he dropped his smile and tried to open the driver’s-side door. If Julie had been able to breathe, she would have screamed. Unfortunately, the only sound she could make was short and faint, like a baby hiccup. For whatever reason, she pressed her hand on the horn and kept it there.
It took a moment before she realized another car had pulled up directly behind her. She wondered what the possibilities were of two men with extremely bad intentions happening upon her in this tropical wilderness. Was there a convention of highway muggers somewhere near here? Did these sort of people lie waiting in the dark for idiots like herself to run out of gas?
At that point, everything happened quickly, like a nightmare in fast-forward. The driver of the second car got out, leaving his engine running and the lights on. He said something to white-undershirt person, but Julie still had her hand on the horn so she couldn’t hear. There was the briefest scuffle outside her window; she saw the whirl of a flowered shirt and a fist flying. Almost immediately the fellow who’d been trying to get inside her car dropped out of sight.
Two arms leaned against her door. Her rescuer—at least she hoped he was her rescuer—leaned down to look inside. He had longish dark hair that covered his ears, moving softly around his face with the night wind. She couldn’t make out the color of his eyes, but saw them sparkle, as if he were greatly amused.
“Stop that,” he mouthed, pointing at her hand on the horn, then at his own ears.
For whatever reason, Julie did as she was told. She continued to stare at him like a helpless deer caught in the headlights.
“Thank you,” he said when the noise suddenly stopped. He grinned at her, showing very white teeth against a very tan face. For a simple smile, it was amazingly powerful, glinting in his eyes, denting his cheeks and lending an aura of boyish charm to very masculine features. Julie was reassured enough to roll down her window one-half inch.
“Looks like you’ve got yourself in a sticky situation,” he said.
Julie cocked her head, trying to see where the worrisome bearded person had gone to. “Did you kill him?” she asked, her voice trembling with nerves.
He looked perplexed. “Why on earth would I kill him? You’re a complete stranger. Don’t take offense, but I really don’t want to go to jail for someone I don’t even know.”
“Did you beat him unconscious?” she persisted, warming to her subject.
He rolled his eyes. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a little dramatic?