Page 11 of Taylor’s Warrior

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“Look, if it makes it any easier for you, I don’t like this any more than you do.”

Even his voice annoyed her. After the meeting with Nick, Taylor had driven down to the creek—her favorite place on the whole property—in an effort to find some peace and solitude, and calm down. A couple of hours there had gone a long way toward improving her frame of mind, only for her blood pressure to skyrocket again when the source of her stress had waylaid her on her way back to her cabin when she returned.

“What makes you think I don’t like it?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“Oh, let me think. The way you looked daggers at me when Nick announced I was going with you? The way you stomped out of the meeting and drove off before anyone could say anything to you, never mind stop you? Where the hell did you go, anyway?”

Anger boiled up inside her. “Who the hell do you think you are? It’s none of your business.”

“Wrong, fy nghariad. Everything about you is my business as of ten-ten this morning.”

He’d called her that… that again. It could have been a compliment or an insult for all she knew, but she didn’t care. She planted her hands on her hips. “Oh really?”

“Yes, really. I need to know where you are at all times, so I can assess any likely threats and take appropriate action when necessary.”

As if there’d be any threats right here, right now. Taylor snorted. This was going to get really old, really fast. “Is that so? Then I’ll make it easy for you. I’m not going anywhere. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. I’m not running away from something that might never happen.”

His penetrating gaze skewered her to the spot. “And what if it does? What if someone comes here looking for you, and Charity or Nick or anyone else gets hurt or worse as a result? Have you considered that?”

The thought had occurred to her while she’d been at the creek, but she’d refused to give it any credibility. However, hearing it spelled out like that stopped her dead in her tracks.

She glared at Rhys. Her head was furious with him, but her body had other ideas, confronted as it was by masculinity personified in an open-necked shirt, sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm, well-worn jeans, and dusty boots. He was starting to blend in pretty well. All he needed now was a Stetson. Maybe she should suggest it to him sometime.

What are you thinking?

“Look,” he continued, “I know you and I don’t see eye to eye on anything, but this is different. It’s your safety, maybe even your life, but even if you don’t care much about that, why don’t you try thinking about your friends and what it would do to them if they lost you, leaving aside the fact that staying here could jeopardize their safety?”

Taylor glanced around—the area was deserted, but that didn’t mean there was no one around. Anyone could come around the corner and walk into their disagreement. She huffed out an irritated sigh. “Since you seem determined to hash this out, we’d probably better do it in private—on one condition.”

“And that would be?”

“You leave immediately if I ask you to—no arguments.”

Rhys studied her for a moment, then gave a slow nod. “Agreed. Lead the way.”

He held out an arm, as if indicating she should precede him.

Acutely aware of Rhys’ presence just a few feet behind her, Taylor picked up her pace to cover the short distance to her cabin as quickly as possible. She unlocked the door and held it open for him to follow her inside.

“Coffee?”

“Excuse me?”

Taylor turned and inhaled slowly. Now he was deaf as well as annoying? “Would you like some coffee?”

Not that she was particularly keen for him to linger long enough to drink a full cup—she was only offering as any good host would.

“Tempting, but I think I’ll pass.” He leaned against a convenient wall, folded his arms, and crossed his legs at the ankles. “Being poisoned isn’t on my agenda for today.”

Two could play at that game. “Noted. I’ll save the cyanide for next time. You don’t mind if I make myself a cup?”

“Don't let me stop you.”

“I won’t, don’t worry.”

Taylor busied herself with preparing her favorite blend, all the while aware of the piercing gaze of her unwelcome bodyguard. If this was what it was going to be like, stranded hundreds of miles away from her found family with a man who grated across every nerve ending she possessed and then some… Surely no jury would convict her? No sane person would see it as anything other than justifiable homicide. And possibly a service to humanity. They might even give her a medal for it.