Page 33 of The Bodyguard and His Bunny

If he even has cereal. I manage to find some homemade granola, and feel elated at the idea of Gunther toasting his own oats and things. We are a far better match than we appear to be on the outside.

As I begin to look for the milk—hoping against hope that he has something like oat milk in the fridge that will agree with my tummy—I suddenly realize that Gunther would not like to have a litter of baby bunnies birthed in his living room. So, distracted from breakfast, I decide to prepare a space for Chutney to deliver in the shed.

“Come on, girl,” I say, carefully lifting her out of the crate and stabilizing her belly. She nips at my hand.

“Ugh, fine. I’ll put you down in a second when we get to the shed. I’ll make a nice cozy area for you to have the babies where we can keep an eye on everything. I can’t have you nesting under Gunther’s bed. He would not like that at all, I think.”

I pad toward the back door where I left my shoes and slip them on, untied. The sound of the front door closing makes me jump.

That’s weird. Why would he come through the front door instead of the back?

I whirl around to meet Gunther halfway.

“Hey,” I call out. “Guess what, Eagle Scout. Chutney’s about to have her—”

“Hand over the rabbit.”

I reel back in shock as someone very much not Gunther stalks rapidly toward me. It’s a man, a stranger, and my brain does some quick analyzing to try to remember if he’s someone I met yesterday, but I come up blank. The man wears a leather jacket and dark glasses, a ball cap pulled down to his eyes. I can’t see all of his face, but no. I don’t know this man.

And then I freeze, clutching Chutney to my chest, who’s starting to paw at my arms with her back legs. That’s a sure sign to put her down, but no way in heck am I doing that right now. On top of that, I’m feeling exposed and vulnerable, wearing nothing but Gunther’s tee shirt.

Finally, my fight-or-flight instinct kicks in. This man is not taking Chutney.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” I ask, my throat tight as I back up and scan the room for something sharp, heavy, or anything to fight this man off with.

“I’m not playing, you little brat. Gimme the rabbit.”

“No!” I scream and turn away, blocking his reaching hands from getting at my pet. Chutney grunts and bats her back legs like crazy.

I run with her toward the kitchen because the kitchen has knives. That’s my only thought. Protect the rabbit and protect me and get him out of here.

But where is Gunther?

A horrible knot forms in my stomach. What if he already took care of Gunther? That’s why I’m alone with my attacker. He surprised him outside and killed him, and now I’m totally helpless.

The man grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls me back as I reach for Gunther’s knife block on the counter.

“Don’t make this difficult, little girl,” he growls.

“Don’t hurt me!”

“Gimme the fucking rabbit!”

Oh man, I’m so stupid. Chutney knows what to do.

“Okay, okay! Hold on…I’ll give her to you just…let me put her in her crate so you can carry her. She doesn’t like most people holding her.”

The man eases up on my hair but keeps his eyes trained on me while I slowly lower Chutney to the floor in front of her crate.

The fluffy prey is in full rabbit-in-distress mode, and takes off like a shot. She hops like she’s running from a fire—not into her crate, but down the hall. Good girl.

The man shoves me against the wall. “Go get it.”

“I don’t know where she went!”

“I said go get it!” He towers over me, shouting so loud it hurts my head.

Okay. I’ve had quite enough now. I rise to full height, balancing against the wall because I stubbed my toe when he shoved me.

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