Taming the Lone Wolff. Janice Maynard

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      “Wrong,” she said, her expression triumphant. “A trusted friend of mine made a fake appointment two weeks ago, met you and scoped out your operation.”

      “The hell you say…” His indignation mushroomed.

      “It’s not unethical.”

      “No, but it’s…” He trailed off, unable to articulate the exact mix of emotions he felt. Had a man done the same thing Winnie had done, Larkin would have applauded his thoroughness. Then why was he so taken aback? “Am I allowed to know what your spy uncovered?”

      She chuckled, correctly reading his pique. “He told me you ran a tight ship and that your offices indicated a healthy bottom line. Satisfied?”

      Larkin shrugged. “I expected nothing less. That’s all true.” He turned away, determined to regain control of the situation. “I’ll ramp up the security measures already in place, and I’ll install cameras. With your permission, we can set up a monitoring station somewhere in your house.”

      “What happens when you spirit me away?”

      “My best people will be on the job. I swear to you, Winnie, you’ll be in good hands.”

      Winnie hoped she wasn’t blushing. Her fair skin was a curse. Being in such close contact with Larkin Wolff was making her act like a flustered sixteen-year-old girl.

      She shoved her hands in her pockets to keep them out of mischief. Larkin’s broad shoulders and lean torso were made to cushion a woman’s weary head. Winnie liked the idea, but depending on a man was dicey. It was one thing to hire a professional. That made sense in the most pragmatic way. But fantasizing about close contact on a daily basis shouldn’t—couldn’t—be allowed. Even if handsome blue eyes filled with keen intelligence were her own particular Achilles’ heel. She’d predicated her life on being a good girl…on not rocking the boat. It was disconcerting to realize that she was suddenly contemplating the tantalizing benefits of being bad.

      “I’d prefer that you not go upstairs,” she said abruptly, trying to corral her hormones. “I don’t want to upset my guests unnecessarily.”

      “I suppose it can wait.” He appeared calm, but she picked up a vibe that said he was completely alert, ready to react in a split second to any sign of danger. A hundred and fifty years ago, he would have been the gunslinger seated in the corner of a saloon with his back to the wall.

      All that intensity gave her the shivers. “What next?”

      “I need to make a few phone calls, arrange for a security detail overnight while I’m getting other odds and ends set up. And if it’s not too much bother, I could use something to eat. I skipped breakfast.”

      She raised an eyebrow, mocking him. “The most important meal of the day? Maybe I should reassess my view of your abilities.”

      “Trust me, Winnie. I can run on coffee and sheer cussedness for days. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

      Trust me. He tossed those words out as if they were the easiest thing in the world to do. Little did he know that her ability to trust was as corroded as an old car battery.

      “Are we through here? The women will be wanting to start lunch, but they won’t come down to cook while you’re on the premises.”

      “Fine,” he said. “Let’s head back to your house and get this thing rolling.”

      Why was it that everything Larkin said sounded like a risqué comment? Perhaps it was the fact that Winnie lived like a nun…Mother Superior shepherding her flock. An asexual being, with nothing to show for her youth but a barrage of bad memories.

      Maybe it was sacrilegious, but some days she had a hard time believing in a God who allowed little children to run in fear of their own fathers. It was a question greater minds than hers had wrestled with for centuries. And one that wouldn’t be answered anytime soon.

      Before she could lead the way back to the front of the house, a small head appeared around the edge of the doorway into the hall. “Hello, Miss Winnie. Who’s that guy?” The child’s stubby finger pointed accusingly.

      “Hola, Esteban. ¿Cómo estás?” She crouched in front of him. “This is Señor Wolff. He’s working for me.”

      Esteban’s dark-eyed gaze locked with Larkin’s. “He doesn’t look like un lobo.”

      Larkin chuckled, mimicking her posture. He didn’t try to touch the boy or get near him. Which told Winnie that he knew how to act around someone who had suffered at the hands of a violent loved one. “Wolff is my last name, Esteban. I’m helping Miss Winnie make sure this house is very, very safe.”

      “So my daddy can’t find us and hit me and Mama again?”

      Simple. Direct. And so very heartbreaking.

      Winnie saw a muscle flex in Larkin’s jaw. “That’s right. I have lots of people who work for me, and our job is to keep you from being scared.”

      Esteban inched closer. “Do you have a gun?”

      Larkin nodded. “Several. But I don’t use them unless I have to. Guns are dangerous. Promise me you won’t ever touch one until you grow up.”

      The child eyed him with increasing curiosity. “Okay.” He looked at Winnie. “I wish we could play outside.”

      She grinned. “Mr. Wolff is going to help us with that, too.”

      Her assurance seemed to satisfy Esteban. She pulled him close for a quick hug. Many of the children didn’t like to be touched, but this little rascal craved attention. And she was prepared to shower him with as much TLC as he could handle. “Go tell the ladies that Mr. Wolff and I are leaving. They can come downstairs and prepare lunch.”

      As she and Larkin walked back to the main house, he quizzed her. “So, the residents in your safe house basically take care of themselves?”

      “Yes. I supply them with plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables. I have a standing order with the nearest grocery store for staples and the supplies for basic meals. It gives the women a sense of purpose and also the autonomy to feed their children as they see fit.”

      “Why?” he asked. “Why do you do this?”

      The blunt question caught her off guard. She wasn’t prepared to bare her soul to a man who was little more than a stranger. “It’s the right thing to do. I have the money. I can meet a need. Lots of wealthy people are involved in charity work.”

      He opened the screen door to the veranda and held it for her as she stepped past him. “None I know go quite this far.”

      As she paused on the top step, almost eye to eye with Larkin since he lingered behind her, a harsh, familiar noise filled the air. “Hurry,” she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him inside.

      As they watched, a white-and-navy helicopter hovered overhead. They could clearly see the man who hung out one door, camera in hand. Despite the precariousness of his position, the daring photographer shot for several moments before saying СКАЧАТЬ