Episode 2 by Valerie Twombly
Abby hadn’t been prepared when the door swung open, and Reed Evans greeted her wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and thick black hair that looked as though he’d been ridden hard. She stared into his blazing green eyes and would have melted if not for the fact he looked madder than a bull who’d just lost his nuts.
“Mr. Evans?” What a stupid question. Of course he was, but she’d suddenly lost her nerve.
“Who wants to know?” he growled.
“My name’s Abby Livingston and I’m here on business. May I come in?”
“Woman, you do realize what time it is?” At least he stepped aside, which was a positive sign.
“I am sorry.” She walked through the door, and it was then she spotted a blonde wearing a tee that was three sizes too small. Most likely the woman––if you could call her that––was the reason he looked so rough. Abby pulled back her shoulders and glided across the carpet with the grace and manners her southern grannie would be proud of. She heard the click of the door behind her and when she turned, the girl was gone. No doubt, scooted out and sent on her way with a wad of cash in hand.
Time to get to the point. “Mr. Evans. I find myself in need of a bodyguard, and I was told you’re the best.”
He tipped his head back and laughed. “Oh shit.” Rubbing his temples he glared at her and grabbed a shirt from the back of a chair and shoved his arms through the sleeves. It was a shame to cover up such male perfection, but better for their conversation.
“You should have also been told that I haven’t been in the business since…”
“Yes. Since you took a bullet to the leg. I know.” She shifted her weight. Why the hell had she decided it would be a great idea to wear heels? Sneakers and jeans were more her style, but she’d thought a short skirt and pumps would go further at showcasing her long legs than pants. She’d taken great care with her appearance before she came. After all, if Reed Evans knew she grew up on the poor side of town he’d never agree to help her.
He poured himself a cup of coffee from the carafe on the table and took a long sip. “So you know then that this is a waste of your time?”
“I was also told you never turn down a damsel in distress.” She adjusted the strap of her purse. The one that carried her life savings and she hoped would be enough for at least a down payment on his services. After that, well…she’d figure it out.
“Well darlin’, that’s where you’re wrong.”