Page 19 of The Bodyguard's Fall

The ground padded softly beneath our feet as Tate moved us past corrals and a large shed housing farm equipment. As was my habit whenever I was outdoors, my eyes darted in every direction, obsessively checking behind me as we walked. I tried to tell myself that it was unlikely Leroy even knew I was gone, but there were too many variables. Too many what-ifs. What if he had seen me and Will leave this morning? He could have followed us right to the Walker farm. I had no reason to doubt he’d find me eventually.

He always found me.

But he wasn’t here yet. Once I determined Leroy was not hiding somewhere nearby, my eyes drifted briefly down the back of Tate’s body while I didn’t think he was looking. For medical reasons.

There was indeed a limp, but it was only slight when he walked this fast. I wondered if he was gritting his teeth through the pain.

“Does it hurt?”

Tate glanced over to me, and my face immediately flushed as I realized he’d just caught me checking him out.

“My eyes are up here, Rawlins.”

I pushed through, hoping he’d let it slide. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s getting better.”

“How can you sit?”

“It’s mostly on the side. It’s fine.”

The swather was a tall and imposing machine used for cutting hay. The field it was sitting in had already been partially cut, with long rows of hay lying neatly in rows stretching out across the field. The other half of the hay was still tall, ready and waiting for the swather to mow it down into rows. Though I’d been around agriculture as much as any other small-town girl, I didn’t know much about farming. My mom had been an accountant, and my dad a real estate agent. But looking at the size of the field and how much was left to cut, we’d probably be out here all day.

I followed Tate up the ladder as we climbed inside. He cleared off a spattering of tools and candy bar wrappers on the small extra seat to his left so I could sit. His long legs and broad shoulders seemed to fill every inch of the cab. I hesitated at the threshold, wondering if I could actually do this.

“Close the door, would ya?” he mumbled as he fumbled with some levers on a control board at his side.

One low groan and the swather rumbled to life. I closed the door and settled into the open seat, trying my best not to brush up against his arm, though that was nearly impossible with the tightness of our quarters and the bumpiness of the field.

As he maneuvered us toward the part of the field that hadn’t yet been cut, I couldn’t help but appreciate the view before me through the floor-to-ceiling windows, highlighting the mountains and the hills that seemed to roll on forever.

Silence settled between us.

Not uncomfortable, exactly. Just... different. The easy, get-in-and-get-out style of teasing we'd always shared suddenly felt out of place in a space this small.

“So, what exactly do you do?” I asked, breaking into the quiet.

“I’m an undercover narcotics officer in Burlington,” he said, adjusting the hat on his head. “The addicts in town don’t keep me as busy as you used to, but it pays better.”

“Very funny. How did you get your injury?” I prodded.

He looked out the side window, adjusting the tractor’s position on the field. “I was involved in a shooting a few weeks ago, so I’m off the clock for a while.”

“Why?”

He sighed. “When an officer gets shot or takes a shot, there’s always an investigation for a few months afterward, which means I can’t work. So, I’m here helping with the hay and straw maze until the investigation is over and I’m cleared to start working again.”

“How long does that usually take?”

He shrugged. “Usually a couple months. Sometimes more.”

“How’d you get shot?” I pressed, dying to hear more.

“In the line of duty.” To my surprise, he flashed me an irritating smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Classified.”

“Should I be worried about your ability to protect me?”

“Maybe,” he said lightly, though his jaw clenched slightly.