Page 27 of Protective Cowboy

The sound of the driveway gravel crunching under tires drifted through the open dining-room windows. Justin, the family’s black-and-white sheepdog, began barking and racing back and forth in front of the living room windows.

Everyone craned their heads to see who it was. Apparently, the Snowberrys weren’t expecting any other guests this evening.

“Oh crap,” Autumn whispered. She suddenly quivered with tension.

Then Matt recognized the silver-haired figure climbing out of a white rental car parked haphazardly in the driveway. Shit.

“Who the hell invited him? Bob Snowberry growled.

Chapter Seven

Protective Pretense

“Autumn! I know you’re in there!” Phillip shouted from the gravel driveway. “Autumn! Baby! We need to talk!”

Autumn’s heart began pounding. Panic froze her in place.

The dining room fell silent except for Justin’s frantic barking from the living room.

“You gotta be kidding me!” Winnie snarled. She turned her head to glare through the dining room windows.

As if impelled by a single thought, the men all shoved back their chairs and shot to their feet. Matt’s chair leg caught on the edge of the dining room rug and toppled over with a clatter against the hardwood floor.

Every inch of his lean, tall frame radiated anger and protectiveness. It sent warmth arrowing through the churn of anxiety triggered by her ex-husband’s unexpected, unwelcome appearance.

Jayden shrank down in his chair.

At the sight, a surge of red-hot anger banished Autumn’s nerves. How dare Phillip come here? And how dare he frighten my little boy?

She stood. “I’ve got this,” she said in a hard voice she didn’t recognize.

The Snowberry men—and Matt—looked ready to protest.

She forced herself to smile at them. “And if I can’t handle him, I’ll scream like a girl. Feel free to rush to my aid.”

Her brother chuckled. “Go kick his butt, Tum-tum.” Then he sat down again. Everyone else followed suit.

Except for Matt, who remained on his feet, watching her with concern.

She squared her shoulders and marched out of the house.

“Oh, there you are, babycakes. Thought you were gonna hide from me,” Phillip slurred as she pushed open the front door and stepped out onto the ranch house’s wide porch.

“What are you doing here?” She crossed her arms, studying him with a mixture of anger and wariness.

Her ex looked a mess. Food stains splotched his dress shirt, his chin and cheeks were rough with silver stubble, and his face was flushed with alcohol.

“You wouldn’t answer my texts or phone calls,” he said with a sulky expression.

“So now you’re stalking me?” Her heart was still pounding crazily, but miraculously, her voice sounded calm.

Phillip scoffed loudly. “Stalking? Is that what you’re calling it? Sheesh.” His gaze darted around the porch, as if addressing an invisible audience. “All I did was send you a few text messages and call you once or twice,” he continued plaintively.

“Fifty text messages,” Autumn corrected him. “And twenty missed calls, all with voicemail messages.”

“And since when is trying to talk to my wife a crime?” he blustered.

“I’m not your wife anymore,” Autumn reminded him, yet again.

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