Cowboy Christmas Rescue

by Beth Cornelison

  Teeth gritted, Nate grabbed for his wrist as a woman screamed behind them.

  “No!” she cried as Mueller ducked beneath Nate’s arm. Speaking to someone outside the room, she shouted, “Call security!”

  Nate felt a stinging bite in his thigh, but there was no gunshot, no gun at all in Mueller’s hand, only a syringe, its needle gleaming like a fang, a drop of venom at its tip.

  “What the hell did you just stick me with?” he demanded, grabbing Mueller by the collar and shaking him until the syringe clattered to the floor. “Tell me now, or I swear, those nice, capped teeth of yours are goin’ down—down your throat.”

  Already, he was breaking out in a cold sweat and feeling dizzy, but Nate told himself it was only the backwash of adrenaline. Surely, whatever this SOB had meant to shoot into his father’s IV couldn’t work so quickly when injected into muscle.

  Kicking the syringe beneath the bed, Mueller fought to free himself from Nate’s grip. “Let go, you son of a bitch,” he yelled, tearing loose just as Nate sent a haymaker flying toward the man’s face. But the punch missed, leaving him so off balance that when the desperate man launched himself at him, Nate fell sideways across a chair, splintering something inside it and sending it—and him—crashing to the floor.

  Nate struggled to his feet—fighting weakness that made his body feel weighted down with a lead suit—his vision blurring as Mueller grabbed the tubes connecting his father to the ventilator.

  “No, don’t! What are you doing?” shrieked a voice he recognized as April’s.

  Get out! Nate tried to shout at her, but he couldn’t find the energy to make a sound. Crumpling to his knees, he saw Mueller turn away from his father. Instead of another hypodermic needle, Mueller pulled a pistol from his jacket and took aim at April’s chest.

  Nate struggled to move, focusing every atom of concentration on the effort to take Mueller down while he was distracted. Instead, Nate’s vision began to gray out, the lead suit dragging him down, down, toward the blackness faster than he could break his fall.

  * * *

  The gun in Mueller’s hand, the wild look in his eyes, should have been enough to make April run screaming from the room. But the sight of Nate on the floor struggling to rise slipped an icy blade of fear between her ribs, and she couldn’t turn away from him. Couldn’t budge for fear that he’d been shot just like his father, and this man, this animal would finish both the Wheeler men the moment she turned her back.

  “Out of the damned way,” Mueller said, lowering the gun slightly. “Don’t think I won’t take out all three generations here and now.”

  He means to kill my baby, too. With the shock of his words detonating inside her, in the place of her cold terror, a fiery rage exploded. A rage that had her pulling out the hand she’d slipped inside her bag and raising the pepper spray to shoot it at his face.

  He fired at the same time, but Nate had rallied enough to slam himself into Mueller’s ankles, knocking him off balance and sending the shot wide. And the room filled with screaming, both hers and Joe Mueller’s as he clawed helplessly at his eyes and struggled to kick free from Nate.

  An instant later, someone grabbed April from behind, yanking her several steps back.

  “Over there, miss. Now,” one of the two uniformed security officers ordered, pointed out the nurses’ station.

  Too stunned to obey, April froze in place as the men raced into the room and disarmed and cuffed the shouting, cursing Mueller. When she saw he couldn’t inflict more damage, she raced back inside, kneeling beside Nate and shaking him.

  “Wake up!” she cried. “What’s wrong with you?”

  But his flesh was cool and clammy, and his eyelids barely twitched.

  “He needs help,” she shouted. “Help! We need a doctor!”

  One of the security officers looked over. “Has he been shot?”

  “I—I don’t know.” She scanned him, her heart pounding so hard, she thought it might burst in her chest. She couldn’t lose Nate now. “I don’t see any blood, but something’s very wrong.” Glaring at Mueller, she shouted, “What did you do to him?”

  But Mueller was rubbing at his red face and running eyes and ranting about George Wheeler destroying his life. Within seconds of the security officers hauling him from the room, a woman and two men in scrubs rushed in, one checking on the still-unconscious George Wheeler while the other two turned their attention to Nate.

  As a thin man pulled out a stethoscope, the woman said, “Please, miss, give us room to work.”

  “But he doesn’t know I love him,” April protested, still holding Nate’s cold hand. “He doesn’t know I want to be with him forever.”

  Say the words, then. Chills blasted through April’s body at the sound of her mother’s voice in her ear. Trust your heart, not your fears, and tell him before it’s too late.

  With the strength of certainty flowing through her, she clutched Nate’s hand for dear life and did exactly as her mother—or maybe her own subconscious—told her.

  Though Nate’s eyes remained closed, she felt him squeeze her fingers...barely. But it was enough to give her hope he might have heard her—hope she wouldn’t have another loss to mourn.

  Chapter 13

  What Child is this who, laid to rest

  On Mary’s lap is sleeping?

  Nate felt moisture against his face, a drop that slowly rolled from his forehead to his temple. His closed eyelids twitched as he felt another strike, and he became aware of the music playing, music that had him clawing his way up to tell whoever was responsible to quit tormenting him with that noise.

  As he recognized another sound, he completely forgot about the carol. It was April’s voice—he was certain of it—and it was so much sweeter than the music that he was seized with the desire to drink down each syllable, to make a meal of every word.

  “Just wake up. Wake up, please,” she whispered, the weight of her hand atop his etching itself into awareness. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted, all I’ll ask, if only...”

  He fought his way to comprehension, fought even harder to crack his eyes open to see her. Everything was a blur, a swirling smear of light and sound and color—until he disentangled her sharp intake of breath and her long-lashed brown eyes, her mascara smudged a little with the tears he’d felt on his skin.

  “Nate,” she whispered. “Can you hear me?”

  Fighting his way past the fatigue threatening to overwhelm him, he managed the barest of nods.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked him. “Do you need a nurse? Or what about some water? I have a fresh cup right here.”

  He shook his head, confusion trumping the dryness of his throat. He was in a small, green-walled room, in a hospital bed with an IV line trailing from his left arm. “What—what happened? Are you—did he hurt you?”

  “Mueller? No, thank goodness. And the cavalry arrived just after you saved me.”

  He breathed a prayer of gratitude, relieved beyond measure that the dreams had been no more than fears stealing up out of the darkness. The nightmare of facing life without her, without the child she carried, was forced back into the shadows as he clawed his way back to the light.

  “He’s in jail now, just like Kevin,” April added, “only Joe Mueller’s going to stay locked up forever, if the governor has anything to say about what he’s done.”

  “My—my father? Did he—”

  Her smile warmed parts of Nate grown cold as dead flesh. “Alive and talking,” she said. “He’ll need a couple of months’ recovery, but he’s going to be fine. And he’s going to be our state’s next senator, now that you’re finally back with us.”

  “But Mueller—what he said.” Nate’s mind swirled with confusion, bits and pieces of the last thing he remembered rising from the muck. “About my father and the—something about a lawsuit and a deposition.”

  “Mueller got it wrong, it turned out. There was no shady backroom deal, no quid pro quo to fill that vacant seat in congress.
All your father ever did was speak his conscience about how drastically Mueller slashed the budget after he bought the company, how he’d warned the man he was endangering both prisoner and guard lives. He won’t support locking up kids like convicts, either, especially not for profit.”

  Nate struggled to make sense of it, figured there would be time later. What really mattered was that April was still here beside him, that the gunshot that was the last thing he remembered hearing hadn’t taken her from him forever. “I’m—what happened to me?”

  “Mueller’s wife’s a diabetic. He stole her insulin—enough of it to inject your father with a whopping dose. Only he ended up sticking you instead—and you’re younger, bigger—still, if that syringe hadn’t been found...” Her eyes glistened, and he raised a hand, then thumbed away the single tear that broke free.

  “Don’t cry. I’m here, April. And I swear to you, I’m not going anywhere again.”

  “You don’t understand,” she said, her voice hoarse with emotion. “It’s taken three whole days for you to come around, and the doctors didn’t know if—Nate, all our friends have gathered. Brady and Kara—he bought her an engagement ring for an early Christmas present, and the Rayford brothers—Zach’s wife had two healthy little girls, but she told him he should be here, just in case. In case you didn’t...”

  “I’ve gotta—gotta quit—” Nate coughed, his dry throat getting the better of him until April raised his bed enough so he could drink from the water she pressed to his cracked lips.

  And all the while, the Christmas music continued playing in the background, undoubtedly his mother’s doing. Only now, at last, Nate found he didn’t mind it so much, focused as he was on the woman here beside him.

  Once he’d recovered, he tried again. “I have to stop wrecking everybody’s holidays. It’s getting to be one hell of a bad habit.”

  “What if we gave them a happier reason to gather, since tomorrow’s Christmas morning?” she asked. “I’ve been offered the chance to work from home on the computer for the Texas Justice Project, stay in Rusted Spur with you, no matter what Rory decides.”

  He blinked at her, comprehension dawning. “You aren’t talking about that stupid ultimatum, are you? Because I was crazy, pushing you like that. Crazy not to tell you I’d be willing to wait a lifetime, if that’s what it takes, to get this right with you. And not just sort of right, but absolutely perfect, April. Because that’s what you are to me—the perfect woman, right there all those years waiting for me to quit being the perfect fool about it.”

  She let him pull her into his arms, her eyes shining. “Three days in a coma, and you—you finally—come up with a real proposal.”

  “So how about it, Geek Girl? Or are you going to run out on me again?”

  “Not a chance, Bull Boy,” she said, her lips so close to his that he could taste the promise of their sweetness. “This time you’re stuck with me forever.”

  Unable to bear the space between them, he dragged her a few inches closer. Consumed by the kiss that sealed their union, neither looked up until much later, when they laughed to notice the sprig of mistletoe Nate’s mother had hung earlier, with hope, above his bed.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from

  HER CHRISTMAS PROTECTOR by Geri Krotow.

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  Her Christmas Protector

  by Geri Krotow

  Chapter 1

  Detective Bryce Campbell climbed out of his aging Ford Mustang and walked across the Silver Valley Police Department’s graveled lot to the waiting unmarked cruiser. Its taillights glowed like two red Christmas tree bulbs in the darkness. Both of the officers assigned to him for this patrol were in the car, and he made out a third, smaller head in the backseat of the sedan.

  A third person?

  He opened the back passenger’s door and slid into the car. Slim hands rested on slim thighs in utilitarian khakis.

  A woman.

  “Evening.”

  No response from the stranger.

  “We never get enough of you, Detective Campbell.” Officer Julian Samuel—Jules to the force—spoke from the driver’s seat. He never wasted a chance to send a zinger at Bryce. They’d been up for promotion at the same time, and Bryce had not only received the advancement, he’d been assigned as one of three detectives on Silver Valley’s force.

  He ignored Jules. “How are you doing, Nik?”

  “I’ll be better when we catch the killer.” Officer Nika Pasczenko’s voice purred from the passenger’s seat in front of Bryce. Although he couldn’t see her in the dark interior, Bryce knew the first-generation Polish-American woman wore no makeup to emphasize her model-quality beauty. Not on the job. She’d been a godsend to Silver Valley, as her natural talent with languages, including Spanish and Russian, had helped them break into the drug and crime rings that were ever-expanding into their central Pennsylvania town from New York City, Philadelphia and Baltimore.

  “And you’re...?” Bryce didn’t want the mystery rider to feel left out.

  “Colleen Hammermill. I’m the volunteer chaplain tonight.”

  He made out shoulder-length hair, probably dark as it wasn’t catching any of the ambient light in the car, and a throaty voice that sounded vaguely familiar.

  “Bryce Campbell. Have we met?”

  The leather seat creaked as she shifted.

  “No.”

  Liar.

  She was a rookie, too, at whatever she was trying to pull off. That tell with her body language could cost an officer his or her life.

  “Are you a minister?”

  “Yes, but I’m not assigned to a local church at the moment. I’m ecumenical and float from congregation to congregation as needed to give the local pastors a break.”

  He knew every volunteer chaplain, made up of local ministers, counselors and psychologists. They rode with the officers on a rotating basis and sat in the backseat as they encouraged the officers to open up about what dedicated law enforcement agents usually avoided—their emotions. Sometimes the volunteer chaplains were present during a crime or right after, and often proved excellent witnesses. No matter their background, they were all required to be certified counselors. If they thought an officer might be in emotional or mental difficulty, they were free to inform the superintendent of police.

  Bryce had ridden with all of the chaplains, or so he thought.

  He’d never met Colleen Hammermill.

  His phone buzzed in his front pocket and he pulled it out.

  Superintendent of police Colt Todd.

  Now what?

  “Campbell.”

  “Bryce, I assume you’re in the cruiser and have met the new chaplain?”

  “Yes, sir. But I don’t...”

  “No, she’s not on the permanent roster, and yes, she’s temporary. No questions. Just...”

  “Sir?”

  “Watch her six for me, will you?” Superintendent Todd’s voice was gruff. That wasn’t unusual, but his more personal request to watch Colleen’s back, using the military term both Todd and Bryce knew well, certainly was. Superintendent Todd’s request was clear—he needed him to protect the mystery ride along.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Bryce ended the call and stared at the phone’s screen for a full beat.

  Just who the hell was Chaplain Colleen Hammermill?

  * * *

  Zora
Krasny wanted to kick herself for even thinking about squirming when Bryce Campbell slid in beside her. She’d be able to do that later, after this mission was complete. The fact that he’d acted as if he was suspicious of her, as though he knew she was giving him a fake name, as if he might find her familiar, made her want to bolt.

  But they had a mission to accomplish.

  Zora unobtrusively stretched her shoulders under her body armor. While her Kevlar vest was like an old friend and still fit her perfectly, she needed to get used to it again. She rarely needed bulletproof gear in her new job. She’d resigned her navy commission and ended her seven-year naval intelligence officer career three years ago. After six months of downtime she agreed to go to work for the Trail Hikers on an as-needed basis while she completed her civilian counseling degree program.

  She’d been sporadically employed for the past two years by the Trail Hikers, a secret government shadow agency that existed to aid local and federal law enforcement with particularly difficult cases. Cases that needed more financial backing or expertise than was provided in the everyday operating budgets of regular law enforcement.

  The training she’d received from the Trail Hikers had far surpassed her military schooling and she relished the new tactics she’d learned. The only reason she felt any jitters at all was that Bryce Campbell was sitting next to her.

  So far the Trail Hikers had only sent her into the field on basic missions. Decoy, undercover distraction, tailing a suspect. Nice breaks from her schoolwork and new, permanent counseling position in the Silver Valley community. The Trail Hikers took care of clearing her counseling schedule whenever they needed her, as they paid for her answering service. She’d worked hard to get her psychology degree and knew that assisting clients through their tough times was one of her passions, as she’d had help in her darkest hours. When she’d had to start over because of the criminal actions of others.

  Justice was another passion.

  This was the first time the Trail Hikers had assigned her to track with the intent to ensnare a criminal. The fact that it was in her hometown made it that much more personal, more imperative to her that she get the suspect.