Cowboy Christmas Rescue

by Beth Cornelison

  Before April could formulate an answer, her aunt went on to say, “And you can’t afford to risk it, either, running off on your own with that shooter still on the loose. If you can’t care for your own sake, think about your child, Rory, all of us.”

  After promising she would be careful, April ended the call, thinking about her aunt’s clear belief that she herself had been the shooter’s target. Most likely based on something she’d heard from the sheriff’s office.

  It made April wonder, was Brady pursuing any other theories? Had Mrs. Wheeler even told him about the political future that her husband had been planning, or had she been too distraught or drugged—April vaguely remembered someone calling for a doctor to administer a sedative during the chaos following the shooting—to pass on that information?

  April picked up the cell again, thinking she should call the sheriff’s office. But after her aunt’s scolding, she couldn’t face the idea of Brady lecturing her, too.

  Not until she had more evidence, if there was more evidence to be found. She wasn’t certain where to find it...but she knew just who to call.

  * * *

  He spotted her in the parking lot, not paying the least bit of attention. Anyone could walk up, finish her and drive off, leaving the settling snowflakes to cover up his tracks.

  Nate’s stomach flipped as he imagined some security guard coming across her slumped over the wheel, her body cooling as blood droplets dripped down the—

  He cursed under his breath, angry with himself for letting his imagination run wild. And even angrier with April for putting herself in this position. He was half-tempted to pop her bumper with the front grill of his pickup just to wake her up.

  But he came to his senses, remembering his promise to the young guy he’d found moving returned rental cars, that there would be no trouble, before convincing him with a couple of twenties to describe the last vehicle they’d sent out and the woman driving it. Sympathetic to Nate’s story about wanting to make things up to her after he’d done something stupid, the clerk had mentioned her confirming directions to a nearby megastore.

  Then he’d wished Nate luck—and for once it had been with him. He’d found her within ten minutes, despite the crowded lot filled with those taking advantage of the final weekend shopping day before Christmas.

  Walking up behind her, he rapped sharply on the driver’s-side window. He should have been gratified when she jumped and dropped the phone in her lap. But when she turned to look at him, her eyes wide, all he really wanted was to pull her into his arms and hug her tight against his chest.

  He reminded himself she wouldn’t welcome it, not after the way they’d parted. The wary look she gave him confirmed the suspicion.

  When he motioned for her to roll down the window, she hesitated before unlocking the doors and nodding toward the passenger side instead. By the time he climbed into the small car, she was wrapping up her conversation.

  “If you find anything, you call me. Day or night, Max. Please.”

  Nate felt his temper rising, hearing that she’d called another man for help while he’d been worried sick about her. It hit him hard, mixed with a flare of fear. The realization that he might not be her only option.

  “Do you have any idea how much you—” He shook his head, too upset to admit to the panic crowding into his chest. “While you were chatting away, anybody could’ve walked up. Anyone at all.”

  “No need to yell at me. I’m fine. Or as fine as I can be, after you frightened me to death.”

  “Turnabout’s fair play after the scare you gave me, disappearing the way you did. I’ve got Brady working on a court order to make the rental people give up your GPS location. He’s worried, too,” he told her.

  She winced and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—not about Brady, anyway.”

  “So you did think about me? Or were you too busy reaching out to your ex-boyfriend?”

  She flinched, a tide of redness rising until it covered her face. “For your information, Max Hager’s a colleague, a private investigator I used to work with when I was—”

  “Why so flustered, then? I haven’t seen you flush like this since—” He stopped short, seeing her eyes dangerously close to overflowing.

  “He saw it on the news, Nate, what happened at the wedding.”

  “Who did? This Max Hager?”

  She shook her head and wiped at her eyes. “Not him, no. My—my ex-boyfriend, if you can call him that. Somehow he tracked me down at the hotel and came to save me, if you can believe that.”

  “Wait a minute. You mean that guy the cops arrested at the hotel? Did he hurt you?” When she didn’t answer, he felt his own face heat up. “Did he touch you, April?”

  “He frightened me, that’s all. He’s always been...not violent, but a little off. It’s why I dumped him after only three dates.”

  “He sounds more than a little off.” Remembering something the hotel manager had said, he added, “Let me see your wrist.”

  Her hand pulled back inside the sleeve of her blue jacket like a turtle withdrawing to its shell. “It’s fine—I’m fine. I swear it.”

  Letting the issue drop for the moment, he asked, “Why didn’t you talk to the police?”

  “I—I was still so upset about the hospital, and then—I just wanted to get away from all this. I wanted home. I wanted—”

  Unable to stop himself, he reached out and pulled her into his arms. “You should’ve called me, April. Should’ve let me know.”

  “But you said—you told me you wished you’d never touched—”

  “I know what I said.” He’d thought of little else since he’d gone looking for her. “And I swear to you I didn’t mean it. People say things in the heat of anger.”

  She pulled away to look him in the eye. “They say things they really mean, too. Things they’re normally too polite to let out into the light of day.”

  “Well, that could be the first time any woman’s accused me of being too polite,” he scoffed before his voice softened. “And if I’d really meant it, would I have come for you? With my father heading into surgery?”

  “Oh, no, Nate. What’s gone wrong?”

  “His blood pressure’s started dropping. What with the transfusion he had, they’re thinking that the pressure from the stronger flow broke loose the vessel they stitched. If the surgeon can’t control the bleeding...”

  “I’m so sorry, Nate. You shouldn’t be here. You should have stayed. Your mother needs you.”

  “She begged me to come find you, to tell you how horrified she is about what happened in my dad’s room,” he said, focusing on his mother rather than his own desperation. “She’s scarcely stopped crying since it happened. What she really needs is for you to forgive her. And so do I. I’m sorry.”

  On the side windows, snowflakes linked into a frozen lace, and their combined breath fogged the inner surface. The tip of her nose reddened, but it was the shimmering in her eyes that commanded his attention.

  “Of course I forgive your mother. I understand, and what I said about your father—I never meant for a moment to run him down. I was only thinking of other possibilities.”

  “Like this ex-boyfriend of yours?”

  “Kevin Wyatt might not have an off switch, but he’s no shooter, I’m sure of it. I was referring to your dad. That’s why I called Max.”

  Bothered as he was that she hadn’t said that she forgave him, Nate forced himself to hear her out and to really listen this time.

  “He’s a great PI,” she said, “discreet and thorough, and he didn’t think my idea about someone wanting to keep your dad from taking office was such a crazy one. But then, Max’s seen the ugly postings related to the latest scheme to use private prisons to warehouse unaccompanied minors crossing the border like adults, even kids as young as eight and ten.”

  Nate had heard about the plan, which supporters claimed would save a lot of money and would discourage the influx of illegals from making the
dangerous border crossing. “But what would that have to do with my dad?”

  “I know he’s out of the industry, but think of his connections. It’s not a stretch to imagine he’d be sympathetic to the idea of the same private companies with experience housing adult prisoners taking charge of juveniles.”

  “Why would anyone imagine that my father’s got that kind of influence?”

  “If the vote comes down to party lines—and that’s what everyone is thinking—your father’s could be pivotal. And other senators might be influenced by his experience in the industry.”

  “And these people you’re talking about, you think they’re nuts enough to shoot somebody?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question,” she said. “I’ll admit, it seems a little far-fetched, but the debate’s gotten pretty heated, and all it takes is one crazy willing to settle an argument with violence.”

  Nate thought about it before nodding. “I see where you’re coming from, and it’s not such a bad theory. Except that Brady’s found out something I think might change your mind.”

  “Brady’s found out what?” she asked, her hands tightening on the wheel.

  “I’ll tell you about it on the way to the hospital. Let me take you in my truck, though, with this weather. We can pick up your rental later. Or better yet, return it.”

  She hesitated for a moment, then hit the wipers to clear the windshield of the slushy mess before saying, “I don’t know about that, Nate. I wanted my own wheels for a reason—”

  “Come on, April. This little clown car’ll be skating around on the ice like it’s trying out for the Olympics, and my truck has four-wheel drive.”

  She frowned at him but acquiesced, even allowing him to put her suitcase in the back seat of the pickup.

  As more snowflakes tumbled down around them, Nate headed for the exit and explained what Brady had told him about the Austin police detective currently under investigation, along with the officer’s possible connection to the suspected shooter.

  “So Brady thinks this man—this angry cop—is trying to avenge his sister?”

  “Right. Between that and the fact that Cobb was at your boss’s funeral, Brady’s surer than ever you’re the target after all.”

  “The funeral...” she said.

  “What about it?” Nate asked as he pulled onto the freeway feeder road.

  “I can’t help thinking there’s something huge that I’m forgetting. Something I was too overwhelmed that day to really register. I’ve tried my best to think back, to remember who was there and what was said, but...it’s so frustrating.”

  “Maybe if you quit trying so hard, it’ll pop back into your head,” Nate suggested. “But based on what we know, I think the pros have this right, April. Brady and the Austin PD’s theory makes a lot of sense.”

  She let out a sigh that sounded utterly exhausted. “So while I’ve been off chasing mirages, someone could still be trying to—to—”

  “To kill you, yes.” Nate took a chance and reached out to touch her arm. “I’m sorry, April. I am. But this isn’t about fault. It never has been. It’s about some cop lashing out in his pain because he can’t get to the guy who really hurt his sister.”

  She wiped at her eyes. “And on and on the damage goes, one injustice piling on so many others. And now your father, too.”

  “You need to know,” he said, “I’ll never blame you, even if he doesn’t—if he—”

  “You say that now,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion, “but if he doesn’t make it, every time you look at me, all you’ll think about is how, if he hadn’t stepped in front of—”

  “Don’t talk like that. Please, don’t. I would never, ever wish that you’d been hurt instead.”

  They rolled along in silence, slowing as Nate passed a car that had slid sideways on the icy roadway.

  “Soon as we get to the hospital,” he warned her, “I’m going to get in touch with Brady. Tell him I have you with me, safe and sound.”

  “Tell him that I’m sorry, too, for worrying you both.”

  Once they arrived, she fiddled with her new phone while Nate made the call. When the phone went to voice mail, he instead reached out to Deputy Wilhite at the sheriff’s department. After relaying the message that April was safe with him, Nate asked if he had any further updates.

  “Cobb’s fingerprints were on a car we found abandoned about a half mile from your family’s ranch. We’re taking that as confirmation of the witness ID.”

  Nate wrapped up the call and related what he’d heard to April.

  “I hope Brady’s looking out for her,” she said. “You know, the two of them were...”

  “I know.” Nate remembered how happy his friend had been when the two of them had been together. And how miserable since then, though he did his best to hide it. “But Brady’s a professional. He’ll take care of Kara. Just like I plan to take care of you. Whether you like it or not.”

  Chapter 7

  As they hurried into the hospital, April’s stomach was in knots. No matter how Nate tried to reassure her, she knew their relationship would never heal if something had happened to his father while he was off chasing her down.

  They were soon directed to a private waiting area set aside for families of the most critically ill patients. Inside, she spotted Nate’s mother leaning forward in a padded chair, her hands covering her face.

  “Mom,” Nate said, crossing the room to sit on his boot heels and take her hands. “I’m here. We’re both here. Have you—have you heard anything at all yet?”

  Ella Wheeler looked up, her wrecked mascara ringing both eyes. Her blond hair, normally sprayed within an inch of its life, was sadly mussed, too, and part of her blouse had come untucked. But when her blue eyes found April’s, Nate’s mother swiftly came to her feet.

  “I’m so sorry,” April told her, “about everything. Please believe me.”

  Uncertain whether she would be hugged or slapped again, she sighed when Ella Wheeler’s strong arms squeezed her.

  “Thank God,” Nate’s mother said, stroking her back as if she were a small child. “Thank God that horrible man didn’t find you before Nate did. I was so worried about you.”

  April leaned her head against the taller woman’s shoulder. “So you knew the shooter was aiming for me?”

  “Of course. I heard this morning.”

  “So you know it was my fault.”

  Nate’s mother pulled away to look at her, shaking her head emphatically. “No, you don’t. I won’t have you blaming yourself. You weren’t the one who pulled that trigger.”

  April swallowed hard, knowing that she wasn’t blameless. She’d had her share of doubts about her boss’s death, so why had it never occurred to her that she might be in danger, too, even though she’d moved back home?

  But it was Mrs. Wheeler who was begging her forgiveness. “I’m sorrier than you can ever imagine about what I said and did earlier. And I swear to you, if I’d known for a single moment that there was a bullet flying toward you, I would have knocked my George out of the way. Would have laid down my life gladly to save you and our grandchild myself.”

  Touched by her outpouring, April sniffled until Nate passed them both a box of tissues.

  “About time, you two,” Nate grumbled, with a gruff look April suspected was meant to hide the emotion she spotted gleaming in his eyes. “Now, about Dad’s surgery. Do you know if he—”

  “We’re about to find out, I think.” Mrs. Wheeler grasped their hands, one in each of hers as she stared toward a translucent window, where an approaching figure loomed large before the door swung open.

  But the expression on the man’s face told them all they needed to know.

  * * *

  By the time the surgeon finished explaining that the procedure had been successful, Nate was breathing again. Not only had April and his mother found a way past their earlier blowup, but it also sounded as if his father had a good chance of surviving.

&
nbsp; “His heart is strong, and his vitals are steadily improving, now that he’s not leaking blood,” the doctor told them, sounding more upbeat than Dr. Han had. “If he continues improving, we could be weaning him off the ventilator by this time tomorrow.”

  “He’ll wake up then?” Nate’s mother asked.

  “I can’t make any guarantees, of course, but I’m guardedly optimistic.”

  Nate wanted to ask the question weighing on him about the condition of his father’s brain, but Nate couldn’t bring himself to plant this fear in his mother’s mind. Better she should hold on to the hope that they’d been given than worry all night over other possibilities.

  After thanking the doctor, the three of them returned to the ICU area. Only this time, the charge nurse—the same man who’d been on the unit last night—informed them that Nate’s father could have no more than two visitors at a time.

  “If this is because of what happened earlier,” Nate said, “we’ve got it all ironed out.”

  “I’m sorry,” the nurse told them as he looked up from his computer after Nate’s mother and April both vowed that there would be no more arguments. “I have it right here from hospital admin. They said absolutely no exceptions, no matter what the situation.”

  “It’s all right,” said April, as the nurse went to check a patient. “Why don’t you both go in, and I’ll stay in the waiting area—”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Nate asked her. “I’d rather get Tased again than have to worry about—”

  “Wait a minute.” Her eyes went wide, her face flushing. “Someone shocked you? Right here at the hospital?”

  “It’s a long story,” Nate told her, his face burning with the memory.

  “One you’ll have all evening to tell her,” his mother said, sounding stronger and more confident than the basket case she’d earlier resembled, “because I don’t want you leaving her alone a single minute. Go get some dinner and some sleep. I’ll be just fine with your father on my own.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not leaving you here alone.”