His Bodyguard by Lois Greiman

feel good.”
    “Call an ambulance.”
    “You call an ambulance, you won’t never see me again, sweetheart,” Nathan said.
    “And where would you go?”
    “I’d ssslip right out of there.” He nodded. “Become a truck driver.” He said it like a small boy dreaming big dreams.
    “You need your head examined.”
    “Yup. Take me to my room, O’Say. I think I’m tired.”
    “I think you’re stupid.”
    “Yup. But I’m a man.”
    T HE TAXI RIDE WAS SHORT and not too horrific. The trip across the hotel lobby and up to his room was worse. But finally they reached Nathan’s door. Brenna slipped the key into the lock and helped him inside.
    He crawled onto the bed, rested a moment, and finally flopped over on his back. Brenna stared down at him for a moment.
    He stared back, one eye swollen half shut. “Bet you find me attractive now, huh?” he said.
    She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.
    “’Bout this?” He motioned vaguely toward his face. “This is nothing. Once when I was riding bulls…” He paused to catch either his breath or his line of thought—she couldn’t tell which. “I got throwed good. Knocked me senseless for a second. By the time I got to my feet…woosh.” He made a sweeping motion with his hand. “Bull hooked me like I was a sunfish.”
    Brenna winced and eyed his chest. Several buttons had been wrenched from his shirt during the melee, and she was tempted nearly beyond control to brush her fingers across the exposed skin. “Is that where you got the scar?” she asked.
    “Yeah.” He grinned and rubbed his scar as if inordinately proud. “Nice one, huh? Got another rodeo in August. Wanna come and see me take a beating?”
    Tears suddenly stung her eyes. “I’ll get a washcloth,” she said, and hurried away.
    A minute later, with her emotions under better control, she returned with an ice bucket half filled with cold water and settled her hip on the edge of the mattress. He watched her face as she gently dabbed the blood from his nose. The room was silent.
    “So why aren’t you married, Ms. O’Say?” he asked.
    She cleared her throat and hoped she wouldn’t cry. “Why aren’t you?”
    He shook his head, then scowled as if any quick movement wasn’t such a good idea. “Life on the road,” he said. “Tough. Rover’s been divorced twice. Did you know that? Never sees his kids. And Fry. Once. What kind of woman’d want to buy into this kinda life?”
    She remained quiet for a moment, but it seemed to be an honest question, so she answered finally. “Quite a few, I’d think.”
    He snorted. “Yeah. But what kind? They’re—” he sighed “—not like Mom. Shauna…I thought she was. ‘Course, I stole her from Sarge in the first place, so I suppose he’s got a right to be a pain in the ass. But they’re back together, you know.”
    His eye looked horrible. God, she’d made a mess of things. “No.” She sniffed. “I didn’t know.”
    He nodded. “’Course he doesn’t see her much, seein’s how he’s married to his clipboard. Him and Shauna were singing together before I ever hooked up with them. They were set on making it big. But—”
    “What?”
    He grinned. “Sarge says he grew up. Now he baby-sits me. Surprised me he could give up the dream.”
    “Of being a star?”
    “Yeah. Damn dream’s got a bite like a damned sheepdog. Most guys can’t give it up without getting bitter.”
    “How about Shauna?” She knew she shouldn’t ask. There was probably nothing lower than prodding a man for information when he was drunk.
    “She’s a nurse in Nebraska. She used to be good though. When I first saw her on stage…” He sighed. “She was a country gal. Wheat farmers. Can ride horse and everything.”
    She let the words lie there, but she couldn’t hold back the question for long. “You’re still in love with her?” The question didn’t sound quite so innocuous as she’d intended.
    But Nathan merely turned his