To Love & Protect Her

Meet the Fortunes of Texas

Griffin Fortune:
He was just doing his job—keeping lovely professor Willa Simms safely hidden away in a cozy mountain cabin. But the longer he was secluded with her, the harder it became to guard his untouchable heart against her beguiling innocence.

Willa Simms:
She had never felt anything as overwhelming as her passion for the covert operative. But she was a woman who wanted home and hearth and he dodged danger on a daily basis. Would love overcome their differences so they could make a life
together?

Teddy Fortune:
The family patriarch longed for his sons and daughter to find the same happiness he has in his own marriage to their mother. Dare he hope that his fondest wish would come true?

MARGARET WATSON

is a passionate reader who has always loved romance. Even when she was reading Nancy Drew books, she was fascinated by Nancy's relationship with Ned. When she outgrew Nancy Drew, she moved on to Mary Stewart, Victoria Holt and Helen MacInnes. Then she discovered Georgette Heyer, and she's never looked back. Margaret is a voracious reader who loves just about any kind of book, but romance and romantic suspense have always been her favorites. She loves exploring the intricacies of relationships and is a sucker for a happy ending. She began writing more than eleven years ago and realized immediately that it was what she wanted to do for the rest of her life.

Margaret lives in Naperville, Illinois, with her husband and three daughters. She is fortunate enough to be involved in two careers that she loves. When she's not writing or spending time with her family, she practices veterinary medicine in Chicago. But writing is definitely her first love. She spends as much time as she can at her computer, working on her stories. When people ask why she does both, she tells them that veterinary medicine is her job, but writing is her passion. And being a romantic through and through, she always follows her heart.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

T
his was the last place Griffin Fortune wanted to be.

He sat in his truck outside Willa Simms's apartment, staring at the door of the upscale, quietly tasteful building, and reflected that those qualities could also perfectly describe Willa. Which was why he didn't want to be here. Willa Simms was way out of his league.

But he had promised his uncle, Ryan Fortune, that he would take a look at Willa's security system and make sure she was all right, so he'd driven the two hours into College Station from the Fortune's Double Crown Ranch. It was the least he could do for Ryan, who had been a generous host to the recently discovered Australian branch of the Fortune family.

He'd only be here for a few hours, he told himself. For a few hours, he could ignore the way Willa stirred his blood. Self-control was second nature to him. And if he found that self-control strained whenever he was around Willa, no one else needed to know.

The glow from the streetlights glistened on the rain-slicked pavement as he watched the door to her apartment. “The place looks safe enough to me,” he muttered to himself. He scowled at the attractive,
sturdy building. But he wouldn't leave without checking it out thoroughly. He'd given Ryan his word, and Griff always kept his promises.

“Might as well get it over with. Hell!” he exclaimed as he stepped out of the truck and into the cold drizzle. “December is a damn uncomfortable season in Texas.”

He had just stepped away from his truck when the door of the apartment building burst open from the inside. Two housepainters dressed in white overalls and with painter's caps pulled down low over their faces, hurried out the door. They carried a rolled-up rug between them, and they seemed to be in a hurry.

Who wouldn't be, on a night like this?
Griff thought sourly. Out of habit, he watched as the painters headed in the opposite direction. Even when he was off duty, he paid attention to his surroundings.

As the painters approached the side of the building, the rug they carried began to wriggle. Griff narrowed his eyes and, without thinking, began to run.

“Hey, there,” he shouted at the painters. “What are you doing?”

The person in the front glanced back at him, then raised his hand and smashed something down on the rug. It stopped wriggling, and Griff broke into a sprint.

He was gaining on the painters and their burden. They struggled to move faster, but it was clear to Griff that whatever they carried was heavy, and it was slowing them down. As he got closer, the person in the lead took one more look at him and said some
thing to the other person. Then they dropped the rug and ran.

They jumped into a dark blue van that had no windows and no signs on the doors. Griff squinted to read the license number, but the van was too far away and the light was too dim. He was reluctant to leave the rug and its contents lying on the cold, damp ground.

The van tore out of the parking lot, its tires squealing, and disappeared into the night. He watched it leave with a flash of regret that he hadn't been able to stop the two housepainters. Then he bent down to examine the rolled-up rug that was now lying in a puddle of water.

Although it was no longer moving, it was roughly the size and shape of a person, and Griff's heart began to pound. What had he interrupted? As he unrolled the carpet, a throaty moan from inside the bundle made him freeze for a moment. Then his hands flew as he pulled the carpet apart.

“Willa!” He stared in shock at Ryan Fortune's goddaughter. She lay still and unmoving, her face pale and her eyes closed. Her glasses dangled from her right ear, the frame bent and twisted. There was a nasty gash over her left ear, and a trickle of blood trailed down her cheek. A lump was already forming around the cut.

“Willa, can you hear me?” he asked, placing his hand on her neck. Her pulse felt strong and steady, and his own heart rate steadied a bit.

She moaned again, and her eyelashes began to flut
ter. “No!” she cried. He heard the terror in her voice, and damned the two people who had done this to her.

“It's all right, Willa. Those two men are gone. I'm Griffin Fortune. Do you remember me?”

Her eyes slowly opened, and she stared at him, her blue-gray gaze unfocused. “Griff?” she whispered.

“Right. It's Griff.” He subdued the ridiculous surge of pleasure that she had remembered him. “Can you sit up?”

She stared at him for a moment, then nodded. She winced immediately, and a murderous rage swept over him. “Let me help you.”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, forbidding himself to think about how soft she felt, and how well she fit into his embrace. Willa had been injured, for God's sake. “Easy does it, mate.”

She closed her eyes and clung to him, and he realized that her coat was soaking wet. The water from the puddle had seeped through the rug. He'd have to get her inside as quickly as possible. He didn't want her to get chilled in the cold rain.

“Can you stand up?” he asked, glancing toward the parking lot. He half expected the blue van to reappear at any moment, and he wanted to be safely away from the apartment before that happened.

“I think so.”

She held on to him and pulled herself to her feet. Griff saw her grimace, reflecting a spasm of pain, and his admiration for Willa increased. She was apparently a lot tougher than she seemed to be.

“That's the way, Blue.”

She gave him a quizzical look, then took a step toward her apartment. She stopped immediately, and Griff saw her swaying on her feet. “I seem to be a bit unsteady,” she said, her voice faint. “Could you help me into my apartment, Mr. Fortune?”

“I don't think that's such a good idea,” he said, watching for the blue van. “And what's with the Mr. Fortune stuff? It was Griff just a few moments ago.”

A faint red color washed her cheeks. “You can hardly hold me responsible for what I said after I had fainted.”

“We'll discuss that later,” he said, slipping his arm around her again. Once again, a sense of rightness swept over him. He told himself to ignore it. “And just for the record, you didn't faint. Someone coshed you over the head.”

The red disappeared from her face, leaving her pale and puzzled looking. “Why would someone do that? And why am I out here, and all wet?”

“Let's get in out of the rain,” he said, urging her toward his truck. He didn't want to go back into her apartment. He had no idea what or who he might find waiting for them.

When she saw that he was leading her away from the apartment rather than toward it, she stopped. “Where are we going?”

“Let's go sit in my truck for a few minutes. It's warm there.”

“All right.” Without question, she turned and let him lead her toward the truck. Her complete trust shook him. Willa had better learn not to be so trust
ing, he thought harshly. Her enemies—and apparently she had some—would use that against her.

He helped her into the truck, then got in on the driver's side and locked the door. Turning the heat on full blast, he began to unbutton her coat.

“What are you doing?” she asked, pushing his hands away.

“Your coat is wet. You need to take it off and put on something dry.”

He eased the wet wool off her shoulders, then shrugged out of his own worn leather jacket. He wrapped it around her shoulders, and she seemed to burrow into it. “Is that better?” he asked gruffly.

“Mmm.”

Gently he pushed the hair away from the cut on her head, and felt his mouth tightening again. The gash had stopped bleeding already, but the skin around it was swollen and bruised. “Do you remember what happened, Willa?”

She looked over at him, and he saw the confusion in her gorgeous blue-gray eyes. “I'm not sure.”

“You have your coat on. Were you going into your apartment, or leaving?”

She stared at him, and he saw her effort as she tried to remember. “I was coming home from the university,” she finally said. “I got my mail from my mailbox, and I was walking up the stairs.”

“Then what happened?”

“I don't know,” she said slowly. “There were painters in the hall. They were painting the wall, and they said something to me. That's all I remember.”

“Do you remember what they said?”

“No.” She tried to shake her head, and winced with pain.

He reached out and took her hand, telling himself she needed someone to hold on to. He didn't want to examine his need to touch her, to reassure himself. “Did you go into your apartment?” Was there someone in there still, waiting for her?

“I don't know. All I remember is seeing the painters and hearing their voices. I don't remember anything else until I heard your voice.”

She flushed pink again, and he wondered why. Then she turned to him. “What are you doing here, Mr. Fortune?”

“I like it better when you call me Griff,” he said, and he gave her a quick smile. “We're not very formal down in Australia. And I'm here because your godfather asked me to check on your security system. He was worried about you.”

Willa eased herself carefully back against the seat and turned to face him. “I mentioned that I'd been getting hang-up phone calls, and he got upset. He wanted me to get a security system, and I told him I would. I didn't think he'd get you involved.”

“It's a good thing he did. If I hadn't been here, you'd have been kidnapped.”

He regretted his blunt words when she paled again. “Why would anyone want to kidnap me? It's not as if I have anything anyone wants. I'm not a famous person, and I don't have any money.”

“Maybe it was just a random attack,” he said, al
though he doubted it. It sounded as if the supposed painters had been waiting for Willa. He didn't want to remind her that her godfather had a lot of money. “The reason doesn't matter, though. It happened, and now we have to decide what to do about it.”

“We should go back into my apartment and call the police,” Willa said.

“No. We're not going back into your apartment.”

“Why not?”

“Because we don't know who those two were, or if they had any help. There may be someone waiting for you in your apartment.”

She stared at him, fear welling in her eyes. “I hadn't thought of that.”

“I did.” His voice was grim. “We need to get away from here. I don't want to be around if those two come back to finish the job they started. Let's get you to a hospital.”

He put the truck in gear and pulled out of the parking lot. He didn't like the smell of this. His sister Matilda had been shot at and almost killed while she was on her honeymoon. Everyone had suspected Clint Lockhart was involved, but so far they couldn't prove anything. He didn't know if the attack on Willa was connected, but he wasn't going to take any chances.

Even though Clint was Ryan's brother-in-law by his first wife and therefore one of the family, he'd held a grudge against the Fortunes for years. He believed they had stolen his father's ranch out from under him, taking advantage of his financial difficulties. His desire for revenge had caused him to plot with
Ryan's estranged wife Sophia in an effort to exhort money from Ryan. When things went sour, he'd killed Sophia. He'd escaped from prison several months ago, and the family had lived in fear ever since.

Yes, until he had some answers, he was going to stick close to Willa.

“Where's the nearest hospital?” he asked her as he waited to turn onto the street.

“I don't need to go to a hospital.” Her voice sounded stronger, and she touched the lump on her head. He saw her wince, even in the dim light. “It's just a lump on the head.”

“You should probably get it checked.”

“I'm fine, Griff.” She touched it again. “They'll just tell me to take two aspirins and call them in the morning.” She gave him a weak smile, and his heart rate increased. Even injured and frightened, she was able to make a joke at her own expense.

He didn't want to go to the hospital, either, but for a different reason. He was afraid that the kidnappers would be expecting them to go to a hospital, and be waiting there for them. And he didn't want to take that chance. With the medical training he'd had as part of his job he could probably tend to Willa's injuries. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Positive.” Her voice was firm. “Let's go call the police.”

He hesitated. “I'm not sure we should do that.”

“Why not?” She turned in her seat toward him, and he saw the bewilderment in her face. “Someone
tried to kidnap me. Why wouldn't we call the police?”

“I'm not used to relying on the police,” he finally said. “But maybe you're right. We should let them know. The kidnappers might come back to your apartment. The police can at least keep an eye out for them.”

He pulled over to the side of the road and took his cellular phone out of his jacket pocket. He had to bend close to Willa to reach it, and her scent curled around him. It wasn't the demure floral scent he would have expected. It was sharp and tangy, reminding him of wild, elemental things that he had no business connecting with Willa.

He leaned as far away from her as he could and dialed 9-1-1. When the police answered, he told them what had happened, gave them a description of the van and the two kidnappers, then told them he was taking Willa away to keep her safe. He didn't tell them where he was going. Cutting off their sputtering questions, he snapped the phone closed and set it on the floor.

“Okay, we've called the police.”

Willa had leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes while he talked. Now she opened them and gave him a tiny grin. “That's not exactly what I had in mind. You didn't give them a lot to work with.”

“I told them as much as we knew.”

“Didn't they want to talk to me?”