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“But?” He cocked an eyebrow.
She stared straight ahead, her chin lifting. “When I leave this set, this production, it will be on my own terms, not with tail between my legs scared of some asshole too cowardly to show his face.”
Nash closed the door and rounded the front of the truck to slide into the driver’s seat. Londyn was nothing like the women he’d known. He’d arrived expecting the tedious task of protecting a diva incapable of taking care of herself. Instead, he’d found an independent young woman with a gorgeous body and a stubborn streak that might just get her killed.
His eyes narrowed as he shifted into drive and pulled out of the parking area.
His assignment had almost ended as soon as it had started. Fortunately, he’d managed to keep the woman from dying on his first day. She might not have wanted a bodyguard, but he’d already saved her once. And once you saved someone, you were morally, ethically and superstitiously responsible for that person’s life in perpetuity.
At least, that was how Nash felt. Until the threat was neutralized, this stubborn, headstrong woman was his responsibility.
One thing was certain.
Guarding Londyn was going to be a lot more difficult and dangerous than he could have imagined.
CHAPTER 3
Londyn must have fallen asleep less than a mile away from the film location. She didn’t wake until the truck pulled to a stop and engine noise ceased.
A door opened and closed, then the door beside her opened, allowing a waft of cold air into her warm cocoon.
Lyndon blinked her eyes open.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” a deep voice spoke softly beside her. “We’re here.”
She lifted her head and peered out the front windshield.
The headlights shined at a small log cabin with a homey front porch.
Her brow wrinkled. “Where’s here?”
“At a cabin on Yellowstone Lake.”
She frowned, laced her hands behind her head and stretched her back. “I’m staying here?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Please, call me Londyn,” she said. “I’m not old enough to be a ma’am, and Miss Tyler-Lovejoy is too much of a mouthful.”
“Yes, ma’am—” He grinned. “Londyn.”
“I really need to do like my mother did and change my last name to Tyler. It’s so much simpler.” She sighed. “But that takes time and money—both of which I seem to be short of lately.”
Nash stared up at her, tilting his head. “I’d carry you in, but something tells me you might resist this idea.”
“You’d be right.” Londyn turned to face the man who’d saved her from the explosion, noticing, not for the first time, how ruggedly handsome he was, even with the jagged scar across his right cheek. Having been in LA with her mother on more occasions than she preferred, she’d been around handsome men. Most often, they were trouble. Egotistical, selfish men who were more interested in what you could do for them than what they could do to actually help another human.
Working on and now owning a ranch, Londyn had never had much time, nor would she in the near future, to nurture a relationship with a man.
Most of the men she knew worked on her ranch or neighboring properties. Having a relationship with someone working or living that close would open her up to complications should the relationship go sour. As early as getting her first training bra, she’d made it a rule not to get into an intimate relationship with any of the ranch hands or ranch owners of adjacent spreads. She liked the simple ranch life and refused to make it more complicated than it had to be.
She dropped her arms and fished at her side for the seatbelt buckle. Once she found it, she popped the buckle loose and let the belt retract on its own. “How long was I out?”
“Thirty-five minutes,” he answered.
She nodded, shoved her hair out of her face and swung her legs around. “I have to make sure I get to the set early tomorrow morning. The director has no patience for lateness.”
“I’ll be sure to get you there at whatever time you need to arrive,” he promised.
