Page 20 of The Bodyguard's Fall

“I’m just wondering if I should bring my own gun if you’re not going to be,” I said, attempting to lighten our mood but also hoping to get to the bottom of the potential gun issue.

“Do you have a gun?” he asked.

“Yeah. Will taught me how to shoot.”

“Where is it?”

My lips started to form the word classified, but I didn’t think that back and forth would get us anywhere. “It’s in my purse back at the house.”

“Typically you carry your weapons on your person.”

“You’re not carrying either.”

He looked at me curiously. “Who says I’m not?”

“Where is it?”

This time, the smile did reach his eyes. “Should I be worried about you patting me down, Rawlins? We’re not on stage yet.”

Tate was actually pretty annoying for a man of the law.

We reached the end of the row in the field, and he lifted the mower in front before whipping us around to start mowing in the other direction.

A figure in a black hoodie stood in the middle of the row we’d just cut. I swore loudly, my left hand clutching my heart while my right snaked itself around Tate’s arm.

The swather lurched to a stop immediately at the same time I realized that the man was Ben, Tate’s oldest brother. My breathing came in gulps, even as I willed it to slow. I felt Tate’s eyes on me, but I was too busy counting backward from twenty.

“It’s just Ben,” he mumbled.

I nodded and tried to laugh it off as I released my grip on his arm. It was almost always this way. Ninety-nine percent of the time, it wasn't the creepy stalker. But that one percent—the one time it actually was—had a way of rewiring your brain.

A pickup was parked a few rows to the side of where we sat idling. I hadn’t noticed the pickup because he’d been behind us before we turned. Ben–Tate’s oldest brother and an endearing prankster through much of his life–made his way toward the swather, carrying something with a delighted look on his face.

Tate sighed before he leaned across me, his arm brushing my legs as he did so, and opened the door while his brother climbed up the ladder.

“Whatever he says, just ignore it,” he told me before Ben’s cheerful face popped into view.

He looked so much like Tate it was almost eerie. He wore a bit of scruff on his face, but both had dark hair, though Ben’s was a little longer on the sides. Both had striking eyes, but currently Ben’s were looking mischievous in a way that was noticeably absent from his brother’s.

He held out a large pillow resembling a donut toward Tate. “I just stopped by Mom’s to grab a bite real quick, and she told me you forgot your fanny pillow at home and asked me to run it out to you. So, obviously, I got here as quick as I could. I don’t want you to re-damage the goods.”

He tossed the pillow at his scowling brother before he turned to me, his eyes shining. “Hey, Liv. You sure grew up.” He nodded toward Tate. “Is he treating you okay?”

I found myself enjoying Ben’s visit immensely. “So far.”

“He’s been a stiff old bear lately. You just need to warm him up a little. Then he’ll be eating out of your hands.”

“Bye, Ben,” Tate said loudly, revving up the engine.

Before he left, Ben looked pointedly at me. “It’s your job to make sure he sits on that thing. He’s going to try to act tough for you, but that butt needs princess treatment, and don’t let him forget it.”

My grin widened while Tate revved the engine again, this time moving us a little, giving a warning to his brother. Ben only laughed and waved goodbye before he hopped off the ladder and made his way back to his truck.

We rode for a long moment in silence. Tate seemed obstinately obtuse as he sat beside me, the donut pillow flung behind him.

“So…I’m supposed to ignore that?”

“Yup.”