What Happens at the Ranch...
Автор
Christy Jeffries
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Chapter One
Tessa King never shied away from an army of television cameras pointed in her direction. But she’d never had to face those familiar lenses from the opposite side of her father’s flag-draped casket.
Until today.
Tessa took a deep breath and inhaled the competing scents of flower arrangements and breath mints as she eyed the cheap boxes of tissue the First Congregation of Teton Ridge placed in each pew for the thousands of mourners who’d come to pay their final respects.
Of course, not everyone could fit inside the community church built long before nearby Jackson Hole, Wyoming, had become a popular resort destination. Vice President Roper King could have had a much grander, more formal in-state funeral at the rotunda of the United States Capitol. However, Tessa’s father was well-known for bucking trends and doing things his own way. That was probably why he hadn’t told anyone but his wife about the pancreatic cancer diagnosis. Instead, he’d let his children and his staff think he was returning to the family ranch for a much needed vacation away from the constant demands of Washington, DC.
While small, this church was the most fitting place to hold the patriarch’s final send-off. It was where all of the biggest moments in Roper’s life had occurred. His baptism. His first, third and fourth marriages (the family never discussed wife number two). The christenings of all six of his children, whom he referred to as his late-in-life blessings. And the announcements of his campaigns to run for state senate and, later, governor of Wyoming.
Despite rising through the political ranks and becoming the vice president of the United States of America, Roper King had always remained humble. Especially when he told people that he’d taken his first breath on the Twin Kings Ranch and that’s where he’d take his last.
It would’ve been nice if you’d told us ahead of time that you already knew the final one was coming sooner than we expected, Daddy, Tessa thought as she stared across the aisle at the rest of her family. She was supposed to be sitting in the front row with her mother and five siblings. However, the last time they’d all been to this church together was when they were young children and everyone could still fit on one of the small wooden pews. Nobody had anticipated the fact that while they’d all grown up, everything else in this town had remained the same. Plus, her network producers had thought it more strategic for her to sit on this side of the church, in the same camera shot as some of the most powerful leaders in the world, so she’d volunteered to relocate.
She should’ve told the network bigwigs to go screw themselves, but she was currently in negotiations for a syndicated weekly series and these kinds of opportunities didn’t come around too often.
So instead of being able to lean against her mother, or even her favorite brother, Duke, for physical and emotional support, Tessa was squished next to the current president of the United States. Normally a distinguished woman, the president’s teeth kept making a loud clicking sound every time she shifted her cough drop from one side of her mouth to the other. The president’s husband, who sat beside his wife, kept adding her discarded wrappers to the ball-shaped wad of cellophane he was crinkling in his palm. Tessa would have been annoyed at their distracting sounds if she hadn’t already caught the First Gentleman consoling the president with a tender hug while they’d waited in the shadows of the church’s alcove before the service started. He’d been whispering to his wife that the cool menthol would help limit her sniffling and soothe her throat for the eulogy she had to deliver.
Everyone was mourning the loss of her father, not just Tessa.
Still. She had never felt so alone. She’d been nauseous since the first speaker had started his twenty-minute eulogy and there’d been several speakers since. Even though she’d had absolutely no appetite this past week, she’d gone against her better judgment and forced herself to drink one of her mom’s plant-based protein smoothies this morning. Another queasy wave rolled deep in her belly.
Clearly, that smoothie had been a mistake.
There was no air movement in this old church and Tessa could feel her cheeks growing warmer with each labored breath. The wooden pews had been drenched with furniture polish in anticipation of the biggest media event Ridgecrest County had ever seen, and the silky fabric of her couture black dress caused her to slink lower and lower in her seat.
Keep it together, she commanded her aching head as she strategically propped the toe of her black pump against the hymnal shelf in an effort to angle the rest of her body into a more upright position.
Unfortunately, the speakers kept speaking, the president kept sucking on a cough drop to keep from sniffling, Tessa kept sliding lower and the cameras kept rolling.
She needed to get out of there.
Finally, a large white screen rolled down from the ceiling and a video montage began. Photos of her father flashed behind the casket as somber orchestra music played through the speakers overhead. Daddy hated orchestra music and he hated drawn-out affairs like this. Whoever was in charge of this production would’ve been fired from Tessa’s set if they’d put together such a formulaic and frivolous piece.
But then the image on the screen changed to a picture of her father standing next to the diving board at the Twin Kings’ pool. Roper King had his hands cupped around his mouth as he called out last-minute instructions to ten-year-old Tessa, who was poised on the springboard a few feet above the deep end. Even though she’d gone on to win numerous medals in diving competitions during her teen years, she still remembered the exact words he’d been saying to her in that picture.
“Don’t worry about all those twists and flips, Tess. Just jump high and dive deep.”
But it was the twists and the flips that had won her medals. It was also one of those particularly bad twist-and-flip combinations that had cost her a spot at the Junior National Championships. And her diving career. And so much more.
Tessa’s fingertips instinctively traced the smooth scar the surgeon had thoughtfully hidden along her hairline.
Her head began to pound as the video screen went fuzzy. She gulped, but her mouth was too dry to swallow. The walls of the church felt as if they were closing in on her and the flowers surrounding the casket seemed to be doubling in size. This time when she slid lower in the slippery pew, she hoped the ground would swallow her up.
Tessa’s throat tightened. There was no way this could be happening now. She hadn’t had a full-blown panic attack since that day she’d climbed back onto a springboard after her head surgery. Her rehab therapist at the time had explained that traumatic brain injury could cause anxiety, especially when faced with memories of the past event.
Her brain tried to tell her rising heart rate that she was older now. And nowhere near a diving board, let alone a swimming pool. Yet, no matter how many times Tessa’s normally logical mind tried to remind her of this fact, her lungs wouldn’t cooperate and she couldn’t suck in enough oxygen. Just like back then, she needed to get away from the pressure of failure.
Ignoring the queasiness in her stomach and the shakiness in her knees, she rose from her seat too quickly and tripped over an extension cable as she ran down the center aisle toward the exit. If there were any murmurs from the crowd or any cameras turned in her direction, she didn’t know. All she could hear was the blood pounding in her head and all she could focus on were the giant double doors ahead of her. Outside, the crisp January breeze smacked her in the face, but she didn’t slow her pace. Tessa made it down the first set of steps before crashing into a man wearing a black suit and dark sunglasses.
“Be advised, one of the mares has left the corral. Appears to be Precision.”
Special Agent Grayson Wyatt heard the radioed communication in his earpiece right before the church doors flung open. The Secret Service agency’s Protective Intelligence Division had come up with the code names for the members of the King family, and Grayson immediately recognized this particular “mare” as the former vice president’s oldest daughter—the one whose face was on TV every night appearing cool as a cucumber as she argued with her adversaries.
Tessa King’s code name was Precision, a fact that immediately put Grayson on high alert because the young woman stumbling toward him appeared to be anything but precise.
When she slammed into his chest, Grayson’s hands latched onto her upper arms to steady them both.
“What happened?” he barked, scanning the area behind her for any sign of chaos or a mass exodus of people that would indicate a much bigger crisis was currently underway. Yet the only person who had followed her outside was one of the agents assigned to vestibule detail.
“I can’t stay here.” Her words were rushed and her heavily made-up eyes blinked back her panic. “I’m gonna...” Tessa King attempted a ragged breath but couldn’t seem to draw in any air. Instead, there was a low gagging sound in her throat and she heaved the contents of her stomach directly onto the concrete step to the right of his polished wingtips.
He moved to the left before a second heave, which was thankfully less productive, yet kept one hand on her trembling shoulder, trying to block the public’s view from a rather indelicate situation. When it seemed as if the vomiting had subsided, he patted his empty pockets in vain, wishing he hadn’t foregone the decorative handkerchief when he’d purchased his last batch of suits and ties for this assignment.
Grayson stepped in closer. “Ma’am, do you need me to help you to the restroom?”
Her pupils were dilated and glazed over, her entire body now shaking. She was either high as a kite or in the middle of a medical crisis. Possibly both.
“Ma’am. Can you hear me?”
“So dizzy,” she slurred, grabbing onto the lapels of Grayson’s suit jacket right as her legs gave way.
There was no time to form any sort of plan. He’d been trained to react to emergency situations—even when he wasn’t sure what the emergency exactly was—and his instincts kicked into gear. Grayson easily swung the woman up into his arms. Her eyes were a bit glassy, but her lids were still open, which meant she wasn’t unconscious. Yet.
“Wyatt has intercepted Precision,” the team leader said over the radio, which transmitted into Grayson’s earpiece. While it wasn’t the same thing as hearing the words Code 4 or All Clear, it was basically his team’s way of communicating that he could handle the situation so that everyone else could maintain their assigned tasks.
“Hate...that...stupid...code name,” the woman in his arms gasped between short breaths. Then her head fell against his shoulder as she went completely limp. Getting her medical assistance became his top priority. Unfortunately, the Emergency Response Team was on the rear side of the church building, stationed away from all the people and news crews.
A blinding flash of cameras exploded behind the temporary barricades where several officers from the uniformed division were trying to hold back a small crowd. Quickly adjusting his priorities to include both medical aid and now protective cover, Grayson rushed her to the closest car where she would be out of the line of sight.
“Take us around to the rear of the church,” Grayson told the surprised driver in the front as he laid the woman on the narrow strip of carpet in the open area in the back of the car.
As the vehicle pulled forward, Grayson spoke into the microphone attached to the clear wire running behind his ear. “Be advised Precision has fainted. We are en route to the ERT staging area so the medics on scene can examine her without compromising the security of the main entrance or impeding the primary evacuation route with additional personnel.”
“Roger that,” the supervising agent in charge replied over the radio. “Ambulance is on standby.”
There was the unmistakable sound of screeching tires as a white news van swerved in front of them, causing their tense driver to jerk the steering wheel to the right. Grayson’s head thumped against the roof and one of the black silk curtains came loose from its holder over the side window. He hoped the guy driving them to safety had been trained in evasion maneuvers.
Tessa’s eyes fluttered open and Grayson scanned the parking lot behind them for any additional threats while simultaneously placing his fingers on Tessa King’s neck to check her pulse. The skin at the base of her collarbone was warm and softer than anything he’d touched in quite a long time.
“What happened?” she asked. Her full pink lips were slightly parted, bringing his attention back to her face—a heart-shaped face with high, rounded cheekbones that framed a perfectly straight nose. He shouldn’t notice how attractive she was, but being observant was part of his job.
The other—and more important—part of his job was to ensure the safety of the First and Second families, as well as the thousands of people gathered both inside and outside of Vice President King’s funeral. Keeping the scene from turning into a full-fledged spectacle made his job, as well as the jobs of all the other assets on the multiagency teams, much easier.
Tessa’s breathing normalized once she’d gone unconscious, but now it threatened to resume its faster pace. She tried to lift her shoulders, but the vehicle swerved again and her elbows lost their traction.
“I asked what happened.” This time her words were more of a command than a question. And in Grayson’s experience, rich and powerful people like Tessa King were accustomed to having their orders followed.
Grayson couldn’t afford to go into some long-winded explanation and risk losing focus of the paparazzi jockeying for position along the sidewalk. “You fainted outside the church.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she replied, her quick breaths making her nose give a little snort.
Tessa tried to sit up again, but Grayson put a hand on her shoulder. “You better stay low until we get to the MultiAgency Command Center.”
“Where?” Creases formed between her brows as she gingerly lowered her head.
He exhaled, still concerned about a possible head injury but relieved she wasn’t putting up any resistance to his keeping her out of harm’s way. “The place where all the federal and local agencies, like the sheriff and fire departments, come together—”
“I know what a MACC is,” she interrupted, her eyes likely rolling upward in annoyance behind her closed lids. Of course Roper King’s daughter would be well-versed on all the government acronyms. Perhaps this wasn’t even the first time something like this had happened to her. “I’m asking where it is. As in how much longer do I need to lie here like some sort of hapless victim.”
“It’s in the big white staging tent set up behind the church. We’ll be pulling up to it in about forty-five seconds as long as none of these dumbass reporters get in our way.”
“There’s already a ton of them coming up behind us,” the driver said, using the rearview mirror to give Grayson a pointed look. “This thing ain’t exactly built for speed, you know.”
“Just keep driving,” he told the older gentleman in the front seat. “If anyone gets in our way, run them over.”
“Run them over?” Tessa lifted one brow. “I assume you mean the dumbass reporters?”
Damn. Grayson had forgotten that she was one of them.
He sighed. “Fine, don’t run them over. Let them get close enough to the windows so that they can get a good shot of the former vice president’s daughter right after she tossed her cookies all over the front steps at her daddy’s funeral.”
Tessa squeezed her eyes shut again and Grayson inwardly cringed. Not because of the harshness of his words, but at the unfortunate reminder of the reason they were all there.
Roper King had been a good person and an easy assignment—up until this point. The man had been an admired patriot and deserved to be laid to rest with honor. While the jury was still out on the rest of the King family, Grayson owed it to the heavily decorated military commander, former Wyoming governor and United States vice president to prevent the memorial service from turning into a full-fledged circus.
Tessa squinted one eye open. “I thought you said I fainted?”
“You did. Right after you puked your guts out.” Okay, so maybe that sounded a little worse than it was. But he needed to convey the seriousness of the situation to her.
She rolled her head to the side to get a better look at him. “Do they throw in the black sunglasses for free when you buy your footwear at Agents ’R’ Us?”
“No.” He allowed his eyes to lazily travel down her bare, toned legs until they came to her black suede heels. “Don’t they sell functional winter shoes at Divas ’R’ Us?”
A small huff escaped her lips before she gave him a dismissive glance and turned her head away, effectively reminding Grayson that he wasn’t there to trade insults with Roper King’s grieving daughter. Even though she’d started it.
He cleared his throat and directed his attention back to their driver. “See the barricade next to the tent? Pull straight in there. Don’t worry, they’ll move the barricade for you.”
As soon as the vehicle entered the covered confines of the immense outdoor tent, Grayson reached for some sort of door handle, but only came up with a smooth, leather-covered panel.
“My passengers usually don’t let themselves out.” The driver chuckled as he shifted into Park then added, “They also don’t usually do so much talking back there.”
“Back where?” Tessa blinked several times before her eyes focused on the long, narrow, curtained windows framing the waiting emergency personnel outside. Grayson kept silent, hoping she’d think they were simply in the backseat of one of the fleet of armored presidential limos.
Apparently, he’d been correct in his earlier assumption. King’s daughter didn’t appreciate being ignored. This time, though, when she shot up to a sitting position, he didn’t stop her because they were finally out of view of the news cameras.
The rear hatch opened and Grayson had never been so relieved to jump out of a car or away from a high-maintenance protective detail. He stood to the side as two medics loaded Tessa onto a gurney.
“Is all of this really necessary?” he heard her ask as he tried to concentrate on the operational radio chatter in his ear. “I’m perfectly capable of walking.”
One of the paramedics strapped a blood pressure cuff on her arm as the other bobbed and weaved, using the calculated positioning of his body to politely prevent the reluctant patient from climbing off the gurney. Thank God she was their problem now.
“They need you back in front of the church,” Grayson told the driver as he slammed the door closed. “Thanks for the lift.”
As the black Cadillac pulled forward, Tessa’s head whipped around and her sexy pink lips formed a little O as she gasped. When she turned to face him, her angry glare made him take another step back.
“You put me in the back of a damn hearse! What in the hell kind of special agent would put someone in the back of their own father’s hearse?”
The swear words that peppered her tirade would have been bleeped out if she’d been on live television, and Grayson knew without a shadow of a doubt that his supervisor and his teammates were going to have a field day with this.
Right before he got demoted to a desk job.
