Page 1 of Sworn to Protect

CHAPTER ONE

NATE

Great.My therapist was right. I am officially out of my damn mind.

Hauling my ass across the country to help a woman who doesn’t know me from Adam—yeah, that checks out. But that’s not the worst part. Nope. That’s reserved for when I arrive. Once she finds out who I am, she’ll want nothing to do with me. Smart woman.

The midday California sun slices through the massive F250’s windshield, baking me alive and worsening this unpleasant trip.

I flip down the visor, squinting at the GPS. Two more hours to Naperville. Just enough time along this desolate highway to stew over the fact that I’m on a fool’s errand, all in the name of redemption. A lukewarm shower and a decent bed have my name written all over them. It’s been three long days, preceded by three longer months.

I adjust the air conditioner vents for the umpteenth time, but semi-cool air greets me. Great. No wonder this heat is cooking me. Naperville better have a good mechanic shop. I don’t want to be stuck in that town longer than necessary.

My stomach rolls.

We all know it won’t be my truck’s faulty air-conditioningconfining me to a town I know nothing about. Not in the least. These chains aren’t the tangible kind, but they’re every bit as constricting—emotional bondage at its finest.

Unable to withstand the heat, I unbuckle the seat belt and tug my shirt over my head, questioning why I’m even here again.

Deep down, I know.

The reason—fulfilling last wishes while wiping my slate clean—echoes like a haunted curse in my head.

But, no matter how hard I scrub my hands, the past clings to me like the sweat on my skin. The etching of my sins forever tarnishing my soul. My mistakes. My poor judgment.

I wipe the damp shirt across my brow and don’t replace the seat belt. Why bother? No one cares either way. I could crash through the windshield, and not one family member would mourn. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the story of my life summarized by a few depressing thoughts. I’m destined to be alone, and that’s how I prefer it.

I continue driving, begrudging myself of the beautiful mountainous backdrop and stewing over another mistake. The somber mood hangs with me until the GPS registers one hour remaining. I blow out a breath and stretch my neck. The lengthy road trip weighs on me.

“Whoa, what do we have here?” I cancel the cruise control at the sight of a vehicle parked along the highway and flick my gaze to the rearview mirror. With nothing behind me except the open road, I pump the brakes and pull over to the roadside, fully appreciating the woman bent over, inspecting her tire. Her ass sticking straight up is a thing of beauty. I let out a curse and chastise myself. The last thing I should do is ogle a female in distress. Jesus, what is wrong with me? I feel like a teenage boy discovering his perverted uncle’s stash of Hustler magazines for the first time. I usually have more restraint than this. I blame this long-ass haul coupled with too many offers I’ve turned down lately.

AKA, it’s been too long.

As the truck comes to a halt, the woman in question lifts andspins too fast. That fine ass of hers lands on the ground. Her oomph carries through the cab, and I climb out of the truck quicker than a recruit trying to impress a sergeant during the first rounds of physical fitness testing.

“Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The lady jerks her head up and shakes it back and forth as her hands make the stop motion. I freeze in my tracks. My intent isn’t to scare her, but she clearly needs help.

“I don’t need help,” she says as if reading my mind. “I’ve called the towing company. They should be here any second.”

My gaze flicks to the highway, noting the vast open space—nothing but miles of asphalt in sight. The low hum of her car’s engine competes with my truck’s motor. Yeah, that towing company won’t be here anytime soon. I take another step, but all forward progression stops when I shift my focus back on her. Hell, I think I stop breathing.

Long auburn curls fall just above the swell of her breasts as a pair of bright green eyes I’d recognize anywhere stare back at me. They were the same ones I’d seen whenever I entered my best friend’s barrack.

It’s her.

Mackenzie Gillman.

The woman I’ve sworn to protect.

I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat and peek at the two kids in the car. The older one stares out the back window, tiny hands gripped to the headrest, while the youngest strains to see around his car seat. Mackenzie scurries to her feet and brushes the back of her very short,very sexy, denim shorts. I take another step forward, but she skitters backward, clearly afraid.

“Take one more step, and I’ll shoot.”

My eyebrows shoot up as I stop my forward movement. Those tight little shorts aren’t packing anything, unlike me, but my Glock rests in the passenger seat of my pickup. Besides, I already checked out her backside to know she isn’t wielding a holster. My eyes trace along those long legs down to her feet. The only strap wrappedaround her ankle is from her sandals. “Unless you’re packing in your bra, I highly doubt it. I assure you, I’m only here to help.”

She tosses her shoulders back in defiance and straightens her spine. “I assure you I can shoot you point-blank.”

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