“You don’t need to,” Liana said, her voice dropping to just above a whisper.
“How about I step outside for a minute?” Dean offered. He held up his phone. “I need to call Zander, anyway.”
Hope waited until Dean closed the front door behind him, then she held up her hands. “Look, I know you don't really need a bodyguard. But you could use a friend—one you don't also employ," she added, clearly anticipating Liana’s protest that she had Jackie, her lead guitarist and closest friend on tour. "Think of Dean as my proxy."
He was friendly, and kind, but there was something about him that unsettled Liana. She wrinkled her nose. “It would be easier if you could just abandon your family and come with me on tour."
Hope laughed.
Liana wasn't kidding. She sighed. "He won't have anything to do."
"He'll be learning to be a bodyguard. Think of it as Bodyguard Bootcamp."
"My tour is not the place for some country boy to play at—”
“I’m thinking of taking Ryan and the kids with me on a film shoot next summer. I’ll need bodyguards, and I’ll need to know they’d do anything to protect our children. These guys might be the only option Ryan would accept.”
Oh. Well, when she said it like that…Ryan’s first wife had been killed in a police raid, and to say he was overprotective of his children was an understatement. “Okay.”
“So if you need to think of it as a favour to me…”
“I said okay.” She smiled to soften the snap in her words. “You’re the only family I’ve got beyond my band. It’s not a favour. I’ll hire him. But I’m not going to bare my soul to him.”
“I’d never ask you to do that. But you can trust him, should you need anything. I’m sure of that.”
As they hugged, a dull regret settled in Liana’s chest. What would it be like to share Hope’s trust in people?
Chapter Five
When Dean came back inside, Hope excused herself to read on the deck, and Liana waited for him to ask her something. Say something. Do anything to guide the conversation, because she was at a loss.
She listened to the hum of the fridge, the tick of the clock on the wall, and drew herself up to the full extent of her height.
Nope. Still no words came to her.
Dean just waited.
She walked across the kitchen and got herself a glass of water. “You want a drink?” She stumbled over the offer, becauseshehadn’t forgotten the other day, but he pretended not to notice.
“Sure.”
She passed him the same, and he downed a quarter of it before giving her his undivided attention again.
That prickled at her, so she gave himherattention, too. She looked him over again. “You’re wearing jeans.”
He gave her a bland look. “I am.”
“It’s hot outside.”
“What should I be wearing?”
“I don’t know. Shorts.” She was wearing jeans, too, although hers ended just below her knees. He didn’t point that out. And she was wearing a tank top, where he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, albeit rolled up, over another shirt beneath that. It was the middle of summer for goodness sake.
“I’m used to wearing a bulletproof vest over a heavy navy blue uniform, as you may recall.” He gestured at his cotton shirt. “This is light compared to that. And we get nasty blackflies at night.”
“How perfectly reasonable.” Man, she was grasping at straws here. She moved across the room again, restlessly roaming for a place to sit. She finally settled at the kitchen table, and Dean moved over there with her, sitting on one of the chairs kitty-corner to hers.
When she didn’t push that conversation any further, he gave her a quiet, patient smile and called a spade a spade. “Are you always this petulant?”
