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When Ben Standing Bear had stepped in front of them, Dana had turned as white as a sheet and swayed as if she might faint.
At the time, Londyn had chalked it up to the stress of losing her father. Now, she wasn’t sure.
At the ranch house, her mother had tried to talk Londyn into selling the ranch, insisting it was too much for one woman to handle. Her insistence had triggered in Londyn the anger stage of grief. She’d told her mother there was no way in hell. She’d rather die than let the family ranch go. Her mother had left the next day.
Once the dust had settled and the initial shock of her grandfather’s death had waned, Londyn worked day and night with Ben Standing Bear to get through the spring season typical of cattle ranching. Not until that effort had been completed had she had time to review her finances, only to discover her grandfather had depleted his savings to zero and had taken out a loan, using the ranch as collateral to see her through college and to build a new barn after the old one had burned to the ground.
He’d missed several mortgage payments and owed money on taxes. An official letter in the mail stated the ranch would be foreclosed if she didn’t pay up. Another letter from the IRS stated that her property would be seized if she didn’t pay the back taxes.
Her mother had called to check on her when she was at her lowest. Londyn had spilled her guts. When her mother had offered to help, she’d refused, stating she’d figure it out. Somehow.
Two days later, her mother had called, saying she had an opportunity for her that would help her out of her financial situation. All she had to do was audition for the lead in a movie that would be filmed in Yellowstone National Park, practically in her backyard. She was a sure win for the part, given her experience riding horses.
She’d responded immediately with a resounding, Hell no.
After her mother had patiently explained how much she could make if she got the part, she’d had to rethink her response. In the one film, she could earn enough to pay off the mortgage, the back taxes and have enough left over to put in the bank for hard times, which always had a way of coming around in the business of ranching. Not to mention the residual royalties that would continue to come for the lifetime of the movie.
She’d swallowed her pride and flown to California to audition. Her mother had gone over the portion of the script to be used in the audition and gave her tips on how to project emotion.
“Most of all,” she’d said, “be your tough but big-hearted self. The main character in this story could be a replica of you. She’s tall, beautiful and Native American.”
Fate and her Native American looks had played a hand in her audition. Within days of returning to Montana, Londyn had received an offer. Her mother’s agent reviewed the offer, asked for minor changes and urged her to accept the offer.
Now, she stood in a hastily built barn, brushing Butterscotch, her buckskin mare, which she’d insisted on using for the riding scenes. “Mother, I have to go. I need to get to my trailer, shower and dress for the scene to be filmed tonight.”
“Sweetheart, I know you don’t want to consider a bodyguard, but I talked with a friend of mine, Sadie McClain. Her husband has the best security agency in the country. He’s sending one of his agents to you as we speak.”
“Mother—”
“At least talk to the agent. Let him tell you what he can do to ensure your safety,” her mother pleaded. “Please. Just give him a chance.”
“I’m not promising anything.” Londyn patted Butterscotch and turned to leave the barn. “Gotta go.”
“Just give him a ch?—”
Londyn ended the call and pushed open the barn door.
As she stepped out into the bright, late-afternoon sunshine, she was immediately surrounded by a crowd of people.
As if on cue, they started chanting, “Go home, Hollywood.” Several protestors held up signs that read GET OFF SACRED LAND.
Londyn frowned. To get to her trailer, she had to wade through the crowd blocking her path.
She tried to move forward, but a barrel-chested man with high cheekbones and long, straight black hair planted himself in front of her, his arms crossed over his chest. “You don’t belong here. None of you belong here.”
“We had permission to film here, granted by the National Park Service,” she said.
The man shook his head. “This land is sacred to the Shoshone. You disrespect the land and our ancestors by being here.”
Londyn opened her mouth to tell the man to move when a voice sounded over her shoulder.
“That might be so but take it up with the film’s producers and the National Park Service, not with Miss Tyler-Lovejoy,” a deep voice said from behind Londyn.
Londyn turned to stare at a broad chest. Her gaze rose to take in a pair of green eyes. Though not barrel-chested like the man blocking her path, this guy’s shoulders were broader and just as intimidating, if not more so. The jagged scar that stretched from the corner of his right eye across his cheek did nothing to detract from his ruggedly handsome face.
“Excuse me, should I know you?”
The corners of his lips twitched. “Nash Nelson. Dana Tyler sent me.” He held out his hand. “I’m your new bodyguard.”
