Page 36 of The Bodyguard

8

SABRINA

Pine’s Ranch

This is a mistake.I pulled my car up his long driveway and called myself a fool every inch of the way. Stupid, stupid, stupid, coming here for dinner. But what were my choices?

Sit at home with a gun in my lap while I hoped my phone didn’t ring? Or spend the evening with a law enforcer where I would feel perfectly safe?

Except nothing was really safe with Garrett. Any time spent with him was a major effort in reminding myself that he was just being friendly. Neighborly. Curious.

While I could feel myself falling under the same Garrett Pine charm that had bewitched me my whole life. I was surprised when I pulled my car up next to his truck to find that he was actually outside waiting for me.

“Hey,” I said as I got out of the car.

“Hey,” he said tightly. “You’re late.”

I checked my watch. “You said seven.”

“It’s seven fifteen.”

“Right. Because my hair didn’t curl like it normally does, so I had to do it twice. But look. See? Now it’s perfect.”

I pulled a perfectly curled lock over my shoulder to show him.

He snorted. “I don’t care how curly your hair is, Brin. Or what you look like, for that matter.”

That’s right, ladies and gentleman, the one man on the planet completely unmoved by my appearance. That’s the guy I fell for.

“I know,” I said, trying to be cheeky. “You prefer petite blondes.”

“I prefer for people to show up when they say they’re going to show up.”

I was about to give him a hard time over fifteen minutes. Then I stopped.

“In fact, I wish you hadn’t been so stubborn about letting me pick you up. I hate…waiting for people.”

Right. Because he’d waited once and the person hadn’t shown up. At all.

The fact that Betty had damaged a man like Garrett made me want to hunt her down and scratch her eyes out.

“Sorry I was late,” I said. “I was just trying to look nice.”

“You’re fucking beautiful, Brin. You don’t have to try so hard. Okay?”

It was like no other compliment I had ever received. Then he ran his eyes up and down what I had chosen to wear. A white denim flared skirt, a chambray shirt with the ends tied around my navel.

“Are those what I think they are?”

I smiled and stuck out my foot. “Cowboy boots. Real ones, too. I found an old pair in Bea’s closet. Do not tell her we are the same shoe size. I won’t have my collection being tainted by someone else’s feet.”

He laughed and the anger, or maybe it was something else, seemed to fade away.

“I believe I was promised barbecue.”

“Yeah. Yes. Sorry. I didn’t mean to jump down your throat.”

I walked up to him and patted his cheek gently. “It’s okay. I’m made of sterner stuff. I survived years of fat jokes, after all.”