Bodyguard Under the Mistletoe Read Free Page A

going.”
    As the cowboy made his prudent retreat, the old man lowered his shotgun and glared at Wentworth. “You boys got a problem?”
    â€œNo, sir.”
    Wentworth backed up and made a speedy exit.
    â€œQuaint little town,” Jesse said.
    â€œThe old man’s a real character. Silas O’Toole. He opens the gas station when he feels like it and charges what he thinks is right. I got a fill-up for less than twenty the other day.”
    â€œColorful.”
    â€œI notice you didn’t jump right out of the car to help. Are you feeling a little pain?”
    â€œI’m fine.”
    That wasn’t entirely true. He’d taken three bullets, and the left side of his body was hurting. His upper left thighhad been shot clean through. His left arm was nicked. The worst damage had been in his upper chest near the shoulder where the bullet burrowed deep through muscle and flesh, requiring surgery to remove it. He wore a sling to keep his left arm and shoulder immobilized.
    He’d signed half a dozen forms releasing the Delta hospital and the doctors from liability if he croaked because of his insistence on leaving before they recommended.
    â€œYou lost a lot of blood,” Wentworth said.
    â€œJust flesh wounds. No bones broken. No internal organs harmed.”
    â€œWhen you were in surgery,” Wentworth said, “the doc thought he lost you. You were dead for four minutes.”
    â€œI remember.”
    Jesse hadn’t experienced his death as a white light. Instead, he saw himself as a youth on the reservation where he went to visit his grandparents. His mom—a blue-eyed woman of Irish descent—always encouraged him to stay in touch with his deceased father’s Navajo heritage.
    In his vision, he climbed up a crude wood ladder from the ceremonial kiva. His chest heaved as he inhaled a breath redolent with the richness of the earth and the scent of burning sage. His black hair hung past his shoulders, much longer than he wore it now.
    Across the plain, he saw his grandfather, a white-haired shaman wearing a turquoise belt and holding an eagle feather.
    His grandfather beckoned. But Jesse’s feet were rooted to the soil. He couldn’t go. Not yet. There was still something he needed to do on this earth.
    â€œYou remember dying?” Wentworth asked.
    â€œSomething like that.” He adjusted the sling to fit more comfortably around the bandage and dressing near hisshoulder. If his grandfather had still been alive, the old man would have given him herbs to use for healing. “Tell me what happened to Nicole.”
    â€œHow much do you remember?”
    Jesse thought back to the morning before she was grabbed. Her husband, Dylan, had hired Longbridge Security for surveillance and protection. There had been several incidents of sabotage on his ranch, including a fire that burned down one of the stables.
    Jesse and three of his men, including Wentworth, had only been on the job a few hours when Nicole stormed out of the ranch house. Though she’d been warned not to take off by herself, she saddled up and rode across the field into the pine trees near a creek. Jesse followed on horseback.
    He’d gotten close enough to see the two men who abducted her. He’d heard them say, “Dylan will pay a lot of money to get her back.” And then…disaster.
    If he’d moved faster, if his horse hadn’t stepped on a twig, if he’d had a clean shot, he could have protected Nicole. Instead, he’d been shot.
    â€œI remember getting back on my horse. But I didn’t make it far before I fell out of the saddle. I talked to a woman.”
    â€œCarolyn Carlisle,” Wentworth said. “Dylan’s sister.”
    â€œThen I went unconscious. Tell me what happened next.”
    â€œThe first thing? I saved your sorry ass.”
    â€œAnd I thank you for that.”
    â€œWasn’t easy,” Wentworth said. “I slowed the