Free Blackwood's Woman by Beverly Barton Page A

Blackwood's Woman er bodyguard when we've got J.T.
    It's what he does for a living."
    "No, Elena, I—"
    "We're not going to argue about this. You're going to stay here on the ranch and live every day as normally as you possibly can. J.T. is an expert on private security.
    He'll know what to do to keep you safe."
    "I can't tell J.T. that I was—"
    "Don't sell my big brother short. He'll understand. You can count on him. Trust me, Jo. Please. And trust J.T."
    Trust J.T.? How could she trust him? How could she trust any man?
    "This agency in Atlanta," Joanna said, "are there other agents? Someone J.T.
    could send back here when he returns? Mother will pay for—"
    "What do you mean when he returns! Once I tell him about your situation, he'll stay here and guard you himself."
    "I wouldn't ask him to do that." She wasn't sure what she feared most, Lenny Plott finding out where she was or J.T. Blackwood agreeing to act as her bodyguard. If he found her, Plott could kill her. But if she allowed herself to become involved with J.T., he could completely destroy her emotionally.

    * * *
    J.T. dismounted, dropped the reins and spoke softly to Washington, who followed behind him while he walked along the bank of the stream—his favorite spot on the ranch, high in the hills, secluded and quiet, close to nature.
    The rage inside him simmered. A hot fury that he barely controlled consumed him.
    Part of the anger he felt was directed at himself for being such a macho jerk, such a total idiot. He should have known there was more to Joanna Beaumont's skittish nature and wariness than just an instant dislike of him. His damn ego had gotten in the way of his usual keen perception. His ego and his male libido.
    He wasn't sure he had ever wanted a woman the way he wanted Joanna.
    J.T. pulled his rifle from its leather holster attached to the saddle and removed the cloth bag he'd hung over the saddle horn. He ordered Washington to stay, then began a slow, steady climb up the mountainside. When he reached the summit, he braced his rifle against the side of a huge rock, then opened the cloth bag and removed a varied assortment of bottles and cans. He lined them up across the top of the rock formation, then lifted his rifle and walked backward, close to the edge of the summit. He aimed his rifle and fired repeatedly, destroying the row of inanimate objects he pretended were Lenny Plott. When he finished, he stood there and stared up at the blue sky, the afternoon sun blinding in its intensity.
    "Joanna was raped five years ago." J.T. heard his sister's voice. "She testified against her rapist. He has escaped from prison and already killed one of the women who testified against him. He swore he'd hunt all four women down and kill them."
    J.T. let out a bloodcurdling cry as savage and brutal as the primitive emotions he felt.
    "I told her that she'd be safe here on the ranch. I assured her that you'd know what to do to protect her."
    Protect Joanna. Yeah, he knew all about protecting people. He'd spent most of his life acting as someone's bodyguard. He had laid his life on the line every day he'd been a member of the country's Secret Service.
    After the army and college, he'd spent more than a year undergoing exams, F:/…/Beverly Barton - Blackwood's Wo…
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    10/31/2009 er the army and college, he'd spent more Blackwood's Woman than a year undergoing exams, interviews and a complete investigation into his background before being hired in Washington. He had served time in field offices from Omaha to New Orleans, which had taken him from tediously boring assignments to stakeouts of underworld counterfeiting operations. He had guarded presidential candidates more than once, and had even pulled White House detail for several years.
    His last assignment had nearly cost him his life—had cost him the vision in his left eye. But it had gotten him the Medal of Valor and an early retirement.
    For the past six years, he'd worked with Sam Dundee, a