1
Today was a bad day.
Ex-SEAL turned private-security-for-hire Clint Buckman liked to think he was prepared for anything, but no way had he expected this.
“Mr. Buckman, I’m sorry,” said Viola Winters, the twenty-something nanny he’d hired to care for his six-year-old daughter, Ashley. She had his daughter in tow—and despite her words, she didn’t actually sound sorry at all. “This isn’t what I signed up for,” she continued.
Well, that made two of them, then.
Clint tore his eyes away from his current task, keeping watch over the beautiful woman who was stepping up to the mic on stage at the outdoor rally, and focused instead on the irate young woman pitching a fit in front of him. “What’s wrong?”
“I had to dig your daughter out of that stinky compost pile again and she yelled at me about climate change and saving the planet and my mother’s sick and in the hospital and I’m not there and—”
“That’s not true, Daddy,” Ashley said, cutting her off. “I was raking the compost like you’re supposed to for aeration and next thing I know, she comes up and starts yelling at me.”
The two of them started bickering, but Clint tuned out from that point, his brain switching into fixer mode. He’d known Viola probably wasn’t a good fit for them, with her preppy clothes and persnickety ways, but he’d been desperate. He and the guys had made a success of their security agency, Southern Soldiers of Fortune, but after almost five years of rapid growth, they’d had to make some big investments recently—hiring on more staff to handle the caseload, renting larger offices, increasing their training standards—and none of that came cheap. They were all investments that would pay off in the long run…but for now, finances were tight, and they couldn’t afford to turn down any jobs, including this current one. Granted, playing bodyguard to activists wasn’t his usual MO, but hey. It paid well, so yeah.
But that had meant he needed to find someone to watch Ashley while he worked and Viola had been the only candidate the nanny service had who was willing to start immediately.
Dammit. His target, Tara Crumb, finished her speech on-stage and walked off to applause from the crowd. He tracked her as she weaved her way through the crowd toward him, the caramel-colored streaks in her long brown hair glinting in the sunshine. There went any hopes of getting the argument with Viola wrapped up before Tara caught him in this unprofessional mess.
“Mr. Buckman,” the nanny said, drawing his attention to her again. “I quit.”
Well, shit.
“How’d I do?” Tara asked him as she reached their group, her smile bright and expectant.
For a moment, all Clint could do was blink at her, his usual ordered mind swirling with chaos. Damn, she was pretty. Under different circumstances, Tara Crumb would have been just his type. Except he didn’t date assignments. Hell, truth be told, he didn’t date anyone. His relationship with Ashley’s mom had been just a brief fling—he hadn’t even known it had resulted in a baby until he’d gotten the call from Child Protective Services that the mother had abandoned the baby and that he was listed as the father.
“Mr. Buckman, is everything okay?” Tara asked, her pretty hazel eyes filled with concern.
He opened his mouth to answer, but Viola cut him off.
“Goodbye, Mr. Buckman,” she said, before flouncing off through the crowd, her phone to her ear as she called the nanny service or her mother or someone other than him. At least her brusque tone helped jar him out of his thoughts.
“Uh, sorry,” he said, trying to cover. “I was dealing with a personal matter.”
“Your speech was great!” Ashley said to Tara. “I’m an environmentalist too!”
“You are?” Tara crouc
hed to put herself at eye level with his daughter, the flowy, ankle-length gauze of her dress gathering around her in the breeze and showing off a set of long, tanned legs. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and grinned. “That’s awesome! And thanks for listening to my speech.”
“No problem,” Ashley said, then tugged on Clint’s hand. “Daddy, I’m thirsty.”
Great. So much for having an easy day. He’d mistakenly thought watching a bunch of tree huggers would be a walk in the park, no pun intended, but now he had to juggle taking care of his daughter with doing his job. He risked failing at both and that wasn’t an option.
Clint didn’t fail. Couldn’t fail. He’d been there, done that. Had the deep emotional scars to prove it.
“Daddy’s working right now, sweetie. Let me text the guys in the green room to see if they can take you.”
He’d just messaged Noah and Levon, when the nightmare continued.
“I have to tinkle too,” Ashley said, crossing her legs awkwardly. “Bad!”
Yep. Couldn’t ask the guys to handle that one. There wasn’t enough hazard pay in the universe to cover guarding the ladies room.
Tara straightened and bit her lip, clearly trying hard not to laugh at his predicament. “I can take her, if you want. I could use a minute to freshen up myself, anyway.”
Clint’s first reaction was to decline. It was a nice offer. A perfect one, actually. But he couldn’t ask the woman he’d been hired to protect to help him babysit his daughter. That was unprofessional and Clint was nothing if not a consummate professional. He prided himself on it.
But Ashley kept doing her potty dance and whining about wanting a Slush Puppy, whatever the hell that was, and the next speaker—another client he was supposed to be watching—was getting ready to take the stage, and the guys still hadn’t answered his text and… oh hell with it.
“Okay. Thank you. But I do need to keep an eye on you. Please stay in sight—except for when you’re in the bathroom, of course,” he said to Tara, getting lost for a second in her smile again before coughing to distract himself. Thankfully, the entrance to the ladies room was visible from where he was standing. He could watch the stage and watch the restroom, too. He transferred Ashley’s hand to hers, then handed Tara a twenty-dollar bill. “One slushie thing for her—from a stand where I can see you—then if you could drop her off at the VIP tent with the other guys from my team, that would be great. After that, head back to me, please. That’s it. Keep the change.”
Tara snorted. “Gee, thanks. My first tip.”
Heat prickled Clint’s cheeks. “I didn’t mean…”
She laughed, the musical sound chiming through the air. “It’s fine. Be back in a minute.”
Embarrassed and flustered, both rare occurrences for him, Clint just blinked after them, watching them walk toward the small brick building with the bathrooms while they laughed and whispered to each other like they were best pals or something.
God, he was such a dork, getting all gaga over a woman he had no business having heart-eyes for.
Time to get back to business, bud.
Clint took up his usual at-ease stance while he waited, alternating his attention between the bathroom and the stage while also keeping a general eye on the surroundings, scouting for anyone who looked like they might want to start trouble. This was what he was here to do—not moon over Tara Crumb. He was here to guard her and the other activists. That was all.
The sooner he got his head on straight and remembered that, the better.