see them first thing and explain why I’ve hired a bodyguard. So, please don’t put your own spin on it before I’ve spoken to them.”
“Hey, you hired both of them. They’re your people, not mine.”
Peggy Jo forced a smile. Chet hadn’t been thrilled with her when, after her former director left WLOK, she had hired Leda Seager to replace him, without consulting with Chet first. And Chet had been adamantly opposed to her demanding that the show’s original production manager be fired for incompetence. He had also rejected Peggy Jo’s choice of a replacement—Burt Morgan, a brilliant young African-American man who had a knack for dealing with the crew. When he hadn’t come up with any compelling argument against Burt, Peggy Jo had hired him. She was glad she did.
Peggy Jo picked up the loosely structured script for today’s first show off the seat of her chair, then sat, the script in one hand and the coffee mug in the other. She spoke to Chet, but didn’t look at him. “I need to go over this script. Is there anything you want to talk to me about this morning? Some other reason you’re here on my set?”
“Apparently not.” He turned and stormed off the set.
She wasn’t usually so rude, but she’d learned that with Chet she had to be. The guy took even normal friendliness as a come-on. Peggy Jo laid the script in her lap, then glanced up in time to see Chet’s back as he retreated out the door, almost running into Ross Brewster, the station’s twenty-year-old gofer. Chet grumbled. Ross apologized, then hurried toward Peggy Jo, a small white paper bag in his gloved hands.
She liked Ross, though she was careful not to encourage his boyish crush on her. Why was it that when she’d been a teenager, she’d had a problem getting guys to notice her, and now, when she didn’t give a damn, she seemed to attract men like honey attracted bears?
Ross rushed forward and offered her the white paper bag. “Cream cheese Danish,” he said. “I know it’s your favorite. I came by the bakery on my way here. You’re early this morning, aren’t you? I thought I’d get here first.”
Peggy Jo accepted the gift graciously, even opened the bag to smell the mouth-watering confection, before she handed it back to Ross. “Thanks. I appreciate your thinking of me, but—”
“Look, I know Chet has already told me to back off.” His shoulders slumped as he took the bag. “And I know what he must be thinking. But, honest to goodness, Peggy Jo, I’m not stalking you. I think you’re the absolute greatest, but I’d never harass you.”
“When did Chet tell you to back off?” she asked.
“Last week,” Ross said. “He told me that he thought I was the one stalking you and said if I didn’t stop immediately, he’d fire me.”
“Damn,” Peggy Jo cursed under her breath. “Ross, I apologize for Chet. I don’t think you’re my stalker. All I was going to say is that I appreciated your thinking of me, but I’m deliberately cutting back on sweets from today until Christmas. Otherwise, I’d wind up with five or ten extra pounds come New Year’s day.”
Ross’s pale cheeks flushed scarlet. “I’ll get rid of these right away. Would you like me to run out and get you some fruit. A banana or an apple or—”
She lifted the coffee mug. “How about pouring out this slop and making some fresh coffee in the pot in my office?”
“I’ll get to it right away. And, thanks, Peggy Jo, for believing me about not being your stalker.”
While he glanced over his shoulder, smiling like an idiot, Ross headed for the door and ran smack-dab into a big man wearing a black Stetson. Peggy Jo’s stomach did a nervous flip-flop. Was this…? It had to be him. A stranger in a Stetson, jeans, denim jacket and black boots. Heaven help her, the Dundee Agency had sent her a cowboy. A big, rugged John Wayne wanna-be.
The man grabbed Ross by the shoulders to steady him, then laughed good-naturedly. “Gotta watch where you’re going, son, or you’ll wind up in a heap of trouble.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” Ross all but ran out the door and down the hall.
Peggy Jo swallowed hard. The tall, broad-shouldered cowboy entered Studio B, and when he saw her, he removed his hat and smiled. The bottom dropped out of Peggy Jo’s stomach. Jack Parker was drop-dead gorgeous in a rough, rowdy, hard-edged way that she bet few women could resist. And he had a killer smile that implied he knew just how damn appealing he was.
She would have to send this guy packing as fast as possible. No way in hell was she going to let herself fall victim to this good ole boy’s devastating charm.
Chapter 2
“H owdy, ma’am,” Jack said. “I’m the Dundee agent you hired. Jack Parker.” He held out his hand.
The woman stared at his proffered hand, hesitated, then clasped it in hers. He liked the feel of her small, soft hand and the strength of her firm handshake. But he was a bit uncertain about the way she looked him square in the eye. He was accustomed to ladies being a little more subtle and not quite so straightforward. But, being the man he was, he couldn’t help noticing how green her eyes were and how long her thick, dark lashes were. Under different circumstances and with a different woman, he would have commented on her eyes. But knowing what he did about this particular lady, he figured she wouldn’t take kindly to a compliment that she was sure to see as flirting.
When he held on to her hand a minute too long, she jerked free and stepped backward just enough to show him that she needed a perimeter of personal space around her in order to feel comfortable. Jack prided himself on being a good judge of body language, so he heeded her message.
“I suppose, to be polite, I should say it’s nice to meet you and I’m glad you’re here.” Peggy Jo maintained direct eye contact with him. “But in all honesty, Mr. Parker, I really don’t want a bodyguard and I greatly resent the fact that I need one.”
“Call me Jack,” he said, and smiled. But when she didn’t return the friendly gesture, he realized he’d been right about this woman. His gut instincts had warned him that she wasn’t going to be easily charmed, that she was going to make this assignment the job from hell. And his gut instincts were seldom wrong. “By all means, Ms. Riley, be honest with me.”
“I’m sorry if I’m being impolite, but—”
“Why don’t we clear the air immediately?” he suggested. “You hired me because you need protection, and you want the Dundee Agency to put its manpower and brainpower to work on finding out who your stalker is. But you hate the idea of having a strange man being with you twenty-four/seven.”
Her eyes widened, apparently surprised by his frankness.
“It’s not necessary that you like me,” he told her. “But it is necessary that you trust me. Can you do that?”
She took a deep breath. “I’m not sure. It’s difficult for me to trust others, especially men.”
“Don’t think of me as a man.” Jack noted the startled look on her face and barely restrained a chuckle. “Think of me as your protector, someone whose sole purpose is to keep you safe from harm.”
“I’m used to taking care of myself. I hate the idea of having to rely on anyone else to protect me.”
“I
