Chapter Two

L ivia did not need a bodyguard. And definitely not one who barged into her bar and took over.

She stalked away from the big, buff jerk as fast as she could given Badlands was already packed with people.

"Where are you going?"

How did Wolfe's voice carry over the loud music and her customers having a good time?

Tossing her head, she shot him a glare over one shoulder. "I'm calling Big Dan right now."

"Big Dan?"

"My bouncer. You already failed—you're supposed to watch the door!"

She rounded the bar in a show of irritation. The wide wooden top would provide a bit of a barrier between them while she thought about her next move.

One, call Big Dan.

But if this imposter managed to persuade her bouncer to leave, that wasn't very good, was it?

She let out an inner wail. She did not need the added stress today.

Then things got worse.

Wolfe strolled behind the bar like he owned the place, forcing her waitress, Emory, into a corner.

Livia whirled to face him. "Do you mind? This is a place of business! If you want to act like a big, tough bouncer, why don't you throw out the guys in the back who insulted my waitress and upset her?"

She waved a hand at Emory. The young girl needed a leg up in the world. She was too shy and fearful to fend off assholes who hit on her until she was in tears. Working at Badlands was a bad fit for her personality, but as long as she was willing to try, Livia was willing to do her best to shield her from the evils of working in a bar.

Wolfe eyed Livia. She was used to dealing with pushy men, but this one was the ultimate alpha-hole.

He also towered over her by more than a foot and was stacked with muscle. One swipe of his hand would send her flying.

Seeing an opening, Emory darted out and made an escape.

Livia glared up at the overbearing man.

He took a step closer.

So did she.

She pitched her voice low, hoping only he heard her. "I am totally safe."

Danger flickered in his dark eyes. "I heard different. And I always listen to my men."

Colton was his friend. That meant Wolfe probably had military training.

Helpful…yet unneeded.

"Look. I drove off that guy before he could steal Ivy's truck. Colton's wrong about the danger turning on me."

He hitched a sandy brow upward. She wouldn't call his hair color blond, and it wasn't quite brown. The color reminded her of a child who spent a lot of time in the sun.

Wolfe was no child, though. His beard sported more than one silver hair glinting among the sandy brown. Now that he was standing so close, she noted the age lines around his lips and eyes that glinted like black steel.

She waved a hand, hoping to shoo him away as easily as a fly. "You don't know how men in these parts operate. At a young age, my father taught me just how easy it is to scare someone much bigger than I am. And at five feet tall, I need all the help I can get from Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson."

His lips firmed as if he didn't like hearing her thoughts on personal safety. Leveling her in his gaze, he offered her what she could only call a cocky look.

She'd seen his type before.

Okay, not exactly his type. This one oozed big dick energy boosted with confidence that bordered on arrogance.

As if to prove her right, he turned without a word and walked into the crowd. Bodies seemed to part like a sea around a mountain. Or a glacier. Yeah, this guy was probably as cold as one.

She craned her neck to see around the people blocking her view. Seconds later, a shout echoed over the music.

Then Wolfe appeared with the three guys who'd harassed Emory marching in front of him like prisoners. When one didn't walk fast enough for his liking, Wolfe shoved him in the back to propel him forward.

Livia had to snap her jaw shut.

Well. If she no longer had a bouncer, at least Wolfe was a good stand-in.

Livia immediately saw just how wrong she was about him. He didn't go stand guard at the door. Instead, he positioned his back to the wall and folded his arms over his broad chest, where he stood glaring over the room like some warlord.

"Hey, can I get a round of Badlands rum for my friends?"

She forced her attention away from Wolfe to the man standing at the bar. "Sure."

"When? I've been standing here for two minutes."

"I'll pour you that round now."

As soon as she got a minute, she was going to call Colton and give him a piece of her mind. She'd spent years toiling to build Badlands into the vision her father had, and it was beyond maddening that a stranger would barge in at Colton's command and just take over .

Since the day her dad keeled over from a heart attack, she'd been in charge of the staff, the business, and the distillery that she built but was her father's dream.

Actually, being in charge went back a lot further to when her mother ran off, leaving Livia to basically raise her little sister.

Then the minute her sister saw a chance, she moved to Alburquerque with her latest flavor of the month. Last Livia heard, her sister's new boyfriend was on parole awaiting trial for whatever crime he convinced her gullible sibling that he didn't commit.

But that was no longer Livia's problem.

"Can I get that round of rum?" The guy waved to get her attention.

She tore her glare away from her new bouncer—or bodyguard, according to him. She wanted to stalk back over to him and tell him what she thought of him. But she didn't have time to argue with Wolfe. She had a packed house filled with thirsty customers.

Besides, it was almost time for the mechanical bull competition, and things always got rowdy.

She poured the shots, then pushed them across the bar at the guy. "Twenty bucks."

"I thought shots were two bucks."

"That's only on Thursdays."

He opened his mouth to argue, so she curled her fingers around the tray and drew it toward her.

A flash of movement in the corner of her eye had her turning her head to look at Wolfe. When he took a step her direction, she threw up a hand to stop him.

Just then, the customer fished out the twenty bucks he owed and dropped the bill in front of her.

Beaming her biggest smile at him, she released the glasses she held ransom and snatched up the cash. "Come back real soon!"

She swore she saw Wolfe's lips twist at one corner before falling into the flat line that seemed to match his personality.

All night long, she felt his unwanted eyes on her as she worked. She could see that convincing him she didn't need protecting was going to be difficult, but she was up for the challenge. Right after the bar closed, she would send him packing.

When she told Wolfe that the men around Eden, Montana backed off when challenged, she was dead serious. The guy she tased and then shot wouldn't be back.

At least, she believed he was all talk like the rest, but she'd never actually shot someone until now.

She inwardly scoffed at the danger Wolfe claimed she had hanging over her. Mark her words, the man who was sporting a brand-new bullet hole wasn't coming back for another.

The night wore on slowly. She blamed Wolfe for dragging the hands of the clock slower and slower. Only one fistfight broke out over the mechanical bull competition—a new record for a Friday.

By the time Wolfe heard the commotion taking place in the rear of the bar, Livia had already jumped in between the men and broken up the fight by offering each a beer on the house, but he made a big production of marching the guys to the door and tossing them out.

After that, he returned to his post with his back against the wall. She planned to ignore him. But each time she glanced up to speak to a customer, those unnerving dark eyes tracked her every move.

When she turned around with a tray of drinks to deliver to a nearby table, she almost plowed into him. For being so large, he was stealthy and fast.

An exasperated huff passed her lips. "I told you that you're supposed to stand at the door ."

His gaze roamed over her face…then dropped to her lips. What the hell was he staring at? The last thing she needed was for Wolfe to be interested in her, but Livia knew men, and when one stared at a body part—

His gaze dipped over her throat.

She felt her pulse triple.

His stare lowered to her breasts.

Oh god. She did not need her nipples to start acting up too.

She twisted away from Wolfe and circled the bar to reach the table she was about to serve. After delivering the drinks, she had enough for one night.

She strode to the bar and hoisted her backside onto it. Drawing to her full height on top of the bar, she stuck two fingers in her mouth and blasted out a shrill whistle. Half the bar silenced. The other half fell into line in no time.

"Last call, everyone!"

Groans sounded from those customers reluctant to end their fun. Then everyone rushed the bar for their final drink of the night.

When Livia moved to leap off, a big hand with very long fingers appeared beside her.

Wolfe. How did the man make it across the room so fast?

She pushed her chin up a notch. "What are you doing?"

"I'm here to make sure you don't get hurt. Remember?"

"I don't need your bodyguard act!" She walked down the length of the bar and jumped to the floor. Around her, a few guys cheered her on.

After that, she was too slammed with drink orders to take notice of where her unwanted wart of a bouncer had taken himself off to. Hopefully Colorado. Or Cuba.

A short time later, most of the patrons had cleared out. One young man hung back to speak to Emory. Livia riveted her attention on her waitress's body language just to make sure she wasn't being harassed, but the girl seemed to be enjoying the discussion.

Another sweep of the room and her gaze landed on a certain regular. He still sat at his usual table, gripping his empty glass and staring into space.

She inwardly groaned. No matter what time she and her staff tried to cut him off, he always managed to drink too much.

Livia started toward him but before she could take a step, Wolfe wedged himself between them.

He tapped the guy on the shoulder. "Hey, buddy. Time to go."

He looked up at the big brick wall that called himself Wolfe. His eyes didn't clear but his lips twisted in anger. "Don't touch me!"

Livia had seen this a time or twenty. She rushed over. "Hey, Roger, it's time to go. Come back another time."

When he didn't move, Wolfe gripped him by the back of the shirt and ripped him out of his chair. "I said—"

The customer cocked his fist.

Livia squeezed between them again. "Rog! Listen to me—don't make this difficult. End the night on a high note. What do you say?"

Her customer stared at her for a long minute and then shook off Wolfe's hand.

As she herded the customer toward the door, she caught the quirk of the bouncer's lips.

What the heck did he have to be amused over? Well, he sure wouldn't be wearing that tilted smile when she fired him. And if he believed she was paying him for his night of work, he was dead wrong.

"Roger, is your son coming to pick you up tonight?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

After she shut the door behind the customer and locked it, she turned to Wolfe, arms folded. " You can go now. I won't be needing you tomorrow. Big Dan will be in."

He arched a brow. When she noticed his hard lips were still lifted at one corner in amusement, her stomach gave a very…unwanted…flutter.

He took a step toward her.

Livia planted her feet on the worn floorboards and stood her ground. After all, she owned this bar.

Wolfe's stare burned into hers.

A gulp rose in her throat.

She was not going to back down. She owned this bar.

Her foot edged backward as if it had a mind of its own and wasn't going to stay in place no matter how much willpower she exerted.

"I said you can leave!"

He leaned even closer, filling her nose with the scent of fresh musk and pine.

"You're cute, Livia. Not only will I be back here tomorrow…but I'm going home with you tonight."

* * * * *

She was damn adorable when she was fuming. Ever since he dropped the bomb on her that she couldn't shake him off so easy, she'd been worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

She had it trapped there now. The pink flesh didn't deserve such torture.

"You don't have to take out your frustration on your lip."

She jerked her head toward him. That was when he noticed her dimple.

It dipped in and out of her cheek.

"I can't believe a woman with a dimple shot a man."

The dimple vanished as she went stone-cold sober. "Stop looking at my dimple! I don't even want you in my car, let alone staring at me."

Fighting a laugh, he figured he'd give her a break and twisted his gaze to the windshield.

Thanks to her death grip on the steering wheel, her fingers blanched to the same color as the white fur cover she had on it.

Under her breath, she began to mutter. "It's only a six-minute ride and it feels like six hours."

"Would you consider yourself overworked, Livia?"

Her volcanic glare oozed with fury. "Would you consider yourself an asshole?"

"I do." No point in denying that he'd learned from the best of the best in the United States military.

She let out a choked noise that wasn't even close to the laugh he was hoping for.

"Usually women enjoy my frank responses."

"Clearly you only know dumb women."

"I can see you're not like most women."

"No. I'm not." She bit the words off in violent chunks. He wouldn't be surprised if she took a snap at him too, like a small, cute lapdog.

She began muttering again. "No idea why I agreed to this. I should stop the car and toss him in the ditch."

"Do you always talk to yourself?" Stretching his legs in her compact car was impossible, and his knee struck the glove compartment. His thigh was getting a cramp. His head brushed the ceiling, and the tendons in his neck were starting to ache too.

"I only talk to myself when I have an irritating passenger. Can you be quiet for the next three minutes?"

He couldn't stop his lips from quirking, but he gave no reply. The next three minutes would be well spent coming up with a plan for once they reached Livia's house. First, he would check the door locks and then inspect every window for security risks.

But these thoughts shimmered in the background of his mind, nudged farther back as he drank in Livia's appearance.

Her ginger hair hung in a thick swoop over one shoulder. The ends curled over her breast, which he determined to be the size of a small peach.

The black T-shirt she wore had the Badlands logo stretched across her chest, and the top barely skimmed the waist of her jeans. The hole slashed in the denim across her upper thigh was frayed, and the opening revealed very pale skin. It was too dark to see if her flesh was speckled with tiny freckles, but he was a betting man.

Her porcelain skin was so stark compared to his own natural tan that had been bronzed in the beating desert sun.

He abandoned his vow of silence. "How old are you?"

She slammed the heel of her hand against the wheel. The thump made no sound on the furry cover. Probably didn't give her any satisfaction either. Like punching a pillow.

"I'm twenty-six. How old are you?"

"Thirty-eight."

She barked a low laugh. "You're far too old for me."

"Who said anything about hooking up?" He sent her a sidelong look.

For the next two minutes, she chewed her lip and that dimple played hide-and-seek in her cheek.

When she pulled up to a dark house without so much as a security light to guide her safely to the door, he threw out a hand to stay her. "Stay here. Lock the car door—"

He hadn't finished the sentence before Livia jumped out of the car, purse in hand, and made a rush for the entrance.

"Jesus Christ." He ran after her, overtaking her with his longer strides.

Gripping her forearm, he dragged her to a stop and posted himself in front of her.

She tore her arm from his grasp. "What are you doing ?"

He had to duck his head to stare down at her.

She craned her neck to stare right back.

Christ. The woman had a worse attitude than a SEAL in training.

"I am checking out your house to make sure nobody is hiding inside, ready to attack you. Give me the key."

Even in the darkness, he knew she was rolling her eyes from the flash of white he saw. Then she slapped a key in his hand.

He closed his fingers on the thick, squishy object. "What the hell?" He glanced down at the rubbery keychain he couldn't read in the dark and shoved the key into the lock.

"One lock," he grated out.

"Now who's talking to himself, hmm?"

"Stick close to me." He pushed the door open, located the light switch and began a search.

Livia did not obey his command. She set down her purse on a small blue painted side table and kicked off her boots with a soft moan of relief.

His good buddy Colton was going to get a piece of his mind the minute he got a chance to call.

"At least shut the door behind you," he called over his shoulder as he made a sweep of the small house.

When he had all the lights blazing and each corner thoroughly checked—twice—he returned to the entryway, where his charge was standing with her hands on her hips and a glare on her face.

"Told ya nobody's out to get me. You can go now."

"Not a chance."

They stared at each other for a determined heartbeat.

Carver had sized up a lot of men in his time. Few even came close to the attitude he detected in this woman.

She whipped out her phone.

"What are you doing?"

"Calling Colton."

"For what?"

"To tell him to come get you. I don't need your protection."

He took a step closer to her, waiting for her to back down from his silent challenge that brought hard men to their knees.

She only narrowed her eyes at him. "What do you and Colton expect to happen to me? That guy wasn't after me . It was Ivy he wanted." She paled slightly at her own words, which made her freckles stand out more in the golden light from overhead.

"He's a criminal. He kidnapped your friend—what makes you think you aren't next?"

This time he did see her eyes roll, right before she stepped around him and walked away.

She kept on walking to what he knew was her bedroom and slammed the door.

Carver clenched his fists at his sides. He'd run rescue missions. Hell, he'd even protected diplomats.

Working with Livia was harder.

A moment later, she returned carrying a bundle of bedding. She dropped it at his feet. "You get the couch. Hope you have a terrible rest."

He doubted he'd sleep at all. Not when anyone could blast through that single cheap door lock and invade her house.

Without another word, she spun around and stalked back to her bedroom. Her stiff spine warred with the twitch of her curvy hips. She probably wasn't even aware that her attitude and her body operated in different universes.

One screamed tough girl.

The other? Come get me.

As he picked up the pillow and blanket she dropped on the floor, his mind worked at the puzzle that was his new ward.

His very resistant, uncooperative, sassy ward.

Owning a bar and dealing with men probably gave her a hard exterior. Truth be told, he couldn't spot even a tiny scrap of a soft inside to balance that out.

She was a tough woman who climbed on her bar to get her customers' attention and broke up fights like she did it on an hourly basis. Hell, she might. Eden, Montana didn't seem all that civilized, for all the many churches lining each side of the main road.

After dumping the bedding on the couch—equally as small as the rest of the place—he returned to the front door. There had to be some better way to secure it. After a moment, he moved a vase of daisies in a blue jug from the blue painted entry table and set it in front of the door.

It wouldn't hold back a home invader, but the object would tip over and make a noise to alert Wolfe before an intruder ever took a step through the door.

"What are you doing with my flowers?"

He pivoted to look at Livia. She hadn't changed out of the clothes she wore to the bar, but she had run a brush through her hair. The long mass lay smooth over her shoulder. Less tangled than it had been from the night of constant work.

"That's an old trick," he told her.

"Pretty sure you learned it from a cartoon cat."

He couldn't stop the short huff of laughter from bursting past his lips. "I wouldn't know. I haven't watched cartoons in a long time. What's it been for you? Five years?"

The dimple sucked into her cheek, creating a deep pucker to go along with her scowl of disapproval. "I see this is going to be a long night."

He nodded in agreement. "A very long one."

After Livia walked away, Carver made his humble bed on the couch and listened to the sounds of the house. The refrigerator hummed. Despite the late hour, a neighbor across the street was playing country music, the notes drifting through their open window.

And Livia took a long shower.

The first few minutes, he tuned out the sound of the water. But soon, he was picturing her naked within those white tiled walls he'd checked out. Her freckled skin streaked pink from the warmth of the water, and her red hair darkened by the wetness.

Even her red curls between her legs.

He groaned and flipped onto his side, facing the back of the couch, trying to shut out the loud thoughts in his head.

It had been months since he was with a woman. The last one-night stand had left him far from satisfied when the woman asked for his phone number—and cold, hard cash in US dollars.

Disgusted that he'd slept with a woman like that, and more annoyed that his judgment had been so far off, he left with a personal vow to steer clear of the opposite sex for a while.

That was right after the attack on his SEAL team. His only excuse for the poor judgement call being that he wasn't totally in his right mind at the time. Still, it was no justification.

Eventually the water switched off and the house went quiet. Livia was most likely asleep. Carver rubbed his eyes to erase the image of her, sweet, vulnerable…

And silent for once.

Next thing he knew, he was back there , fighting in that godforsaken desert. Staring through the thick fog of destruction following the missile strike.

Then came the blood. Pools of it sinking into the hot earth.

He jolted upright, eyes wide open. But he didn't see anything but death and destruction. Heart racing, he curled his fingers. Instead of finding the steel of his weapon, he crushed a soft cotton blanket in his grip.

Fuck. He was at Livia's place.

He never planned to drift off. Had he made any noise during that nightmare?

He sat up on the edge of the couch and then got to his feet, making his way to the kitchen for a drink of cold water. The tile floor was cool under his bare feet. Too bad it didn't alleviate the coating of perspiration on his throat and chest left from that dream.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

Livia stood in front of the open fridge. The frilly ruffled hem of her silky nightgown barely covered her round ass.

Realizing that he was right behind her, she straightened and slammed the refrigerator door shut.

Her stare latched on to his bare chest, then ran down to the jeans hanging low on his hips.

He almost didn't notice. He was too busy staring at her cleavage in that adorable…pink…negligee.

"What the hell are you looking at?" Her sharp tongue whipped away any softness he felt toward her in that moment.

He cocked his head, eyeing her up. "I took you as more of a cami and shorts girl. But I see you do have a softer side. I like it."

"I am not soft!"

"You're cute."

"Actually, not cute . I'm mean."

In the dim light over the kitchen sink, he studied her face.

A clatter came from the other room.

"Fuck—the vase!" He rushed out, but not before he spotted the glimmer of fear in her eyes.