Cowboy's Texas Rescue

by Beth Cornelison

  Jake, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content to remain naked. Her pulse spiked again as she cut another glance down his toned warrior body. Oh, Texas!

  He stroked a knuckle along her forearm. “Which leaves us with...”

  She met his gaze. “The pregnancy question.”

  “Yeah.”

  Settling back down beside him, Chelsea chewed her lip and tried to remember where in her cycle she was. “Wrong time,” she said, mixed feelings swirling through her. While she wasn’t ready to have a baby, had no money to support a family, the idea of carrying Jake’s child, having a tiny bundle of life with his eyes and his smile made her heart melt. “It’s the wrong time of the month for me. I know it’s not foolproof, but my Catholic friends swear by—”

  He caught her mouth in a kiss. “You’ll let me know either way?”

  She dragged a finger down his chin and sent him a reassuring grin. “Of course.”

  But even as she promised him, she wondered if she’d be able to find him, get a message to him if he was on one of his top secret assignments, undercover somewhere. And what would he do if she were pregnant? Would he leave the job he loved to help her raise a child? Could she ask him to make that sacrifice?

  She stared up at the unfinished ceiling and chuckled her disbelief. “Well, that was...certainly more fun than I ever thought I’d have in my parents’ basement.”

  Eyes closed, Jake only hummed an acknowledgment.

  Chelsea’s gaze drifted from her father’s workbench to the metal shelves stocked with her mother’s canning and partially finished sewing projects. “When I was little, I used to come down here and play princess. I’d pretend I was locked in a dungeon and my only escape was through that window.” She pointed to the window above the dryer, and Jake opened one eye long enough to look. “I discovered the burglar bars on that window weren’t bolted securely, and by climbing on the dryer, I could open the window and push the bars out far enough to wiggle my eight-year-old self through the gap.”

  Jake’s eyebrows drew together, and he rolled his head to the side to look at her. “Wait a minute. That window’s bars aren’t secured?”

  Her pulse kicked, seeing where he was going. “They weren’t as of ten years ago when I sneaked in that way late one night because I’d forgotten my key. I don’t think I’ve tested them since then.”

  His blue eyes drilled hers. “If you could get out through that window, you could ride to the next nearest neighbor and call the cops.”

  She propped on an elbow and held up her free hand. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I’m like three dress sizes bigger now than I was at fifteen for starters. And even if I could squeeze my breeder’s hips through that little opening, we already know Darynda’s phone is dead—”

  “Hey...” He caught her fingers in his and kissed her palm.

  Chelsea’s heart leaped, and a lump swelled in her throat. “Besides...how can I leave you like this? You’re hurt. I—”

  “I’ll be all right. You can do it.” He started to sit up but stopped short, grimacing and grunting in pain.

  “See? You can’t even sit up!”

  “Don’t go to Darynda’s. Keep heading south,” he persisted. “Head out to the road. Maybe you’ll intercept a snowplow or power company truck.”

  “Don’t ask me to leave you, Jake.” A familiar chill crawled through her, the fear she’d experienced every time she’d left her mother’s hospital room, the tiny voice of doubt that asked, What if she takes a turn for the worse while you’re gone? Fresh tears filled her eyes. If Jake needed her, if his condition worsened and she wasn’t here... “I n-need to take care of you. You’ve lost blood and...” Her stomach pitched, remembering the duty she’d already neglected while she ravaged an injured man. “And—oh, geez!—I still need to sew up your exit wound.”

  Chelsea, you idiot! What were you thinking? she scolded mentally as she crawled to her knees to check his wound.

  “Chelsea, honey—”

  “Can you roll to your stomach? I’ll help.” She put her hand on his shoulder and encountered a warm dampness. But in this cold basement, the old blood should be— “Oh, no! This is new blood.” Panic climbed her throat, squeezed her chest. “You’re bleeding again!”

  “So we’ll stop it, and you’ll stitch it closed like the entry wound.”

  Acid guilt bit her gut, and she moaned. “Oh, God...instead of sewing you up like I should have been, I was shagging you like some wanton—”

  Jake grabbed her wrist and shook her arm lightly. “Chels, quit blaming yourself. Do you really think I couldn’t have stopped us anytime if I’d wanted to?”

  “I threw myself at you.”

  He pulled a face. “Yeah, guys hate that.”

  Somewhat appeased by his teasing, she foraged through the basket of clean laundry and found a cotton nightgown. With shaking hands, she folded the gown to make a compress. “I’m just saying—”

  “Chelsea!” He huffed an exasperated laugh. “Are you hearing me? I take responsibility for what happened. I have no regrets.”

  She held out the nightgown compress. “Roll over.”

  He caught her wrist and locked a steady gaze on her. “I wanted to make love to you, Chels. I’d gladly bleed out for another chance to be with you.”

  She shook her head, tears spilling onto her cheeks. “Don’t say things like that! You are not going to die! I won’t let you!”

  “No, I won’t. I promise.” He cupped his hand behind her head and dragged her close for a kiss. “Don’t cry, sweetheart.”

  Pulling away, she shook the gown at him. “Are you going to roll over or not?”

  “Fine, but help me get my clothes on first. I’m getting cold.”

  With her help, he wiggled back into his jeans, and she repositioned the coat on him like a blanket.

  “Thanks.” He firmed his mouth, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he gritted his teeth, and, growling his pain, he flipped carefully to his belly. “Have at me, darlin’.”

  Gnawing her bottom lip, Chelsea leaned close to better study the wound and what she needed to do first. She plucked the saturated bra strip from the wound and gently wiped the skin around the bullet hole. When she reached for the bleach to sterilize the area, he groaned. “I think I saw some hand sanitizer on the workbench. Could you try that instead?”

  “Sure.” She stroked a hand over his hair and kissed his cheek before pushing to her feet and finding the disinfectant. She used a squirt on her own hands and set to work cleaning his wound, stanching the bleeding, then sewing closed the ragged gap.

  As she worked, Jake’s hands fisted in the bed of laundry, his knuckles white with tension. Her heart twisted every time he’d flinch or hiss in misery.

  “So this Todd person,” he said when she was halfway through stitching him up, “where does he live?”

  Her hands stilled briefly. “Why do you ask?”

  “I thought I might look him up, break his nose for hurting you the way he did.”

  “Who says he hurt me?”

  “You slept with him, and he dumped you for selfish reasons when you needed him most. You have cause...”

  “True, but...” She forced the ache in her chest down. Now was not the time to examine the lingering pain of Todd’s rejection. “I’m over it,” she lied.

  “Are you?” He shifted his head to look back over his shoulder at her.

  She pressed a hand against his back. “Hold still.” She concentrated on her next stitch, then sighed. “Look, the truth is I had gained weight from all the junk food and lack of exercise while my mom was sick. I’d been mopey and tense and putting him off to be at the hospital, just like he said. He was right. I wasn’t the girl he’d started dating anymore. He had cause.”

  He huffed. “That’s crap.”

  “Jake...”

  “No, don’t defend him. You deserved better. He was selfish and shallow, and if I ever meet him, I will bust his chops for the way he treated you.”

  Jake�
��s vehemence on her behalf brought a new sting of tears to her eyes. “Well, let’s hope you don’t ever meet him, then. He’s the sort who’d press assault charges, and I don’t want you going to jail. He’s not worth it.”

  “Yeah, but you are.”

  Chelsea’s breath stuck in her throat. The sweet words, the touching sentiment were heart-wrenching enough without her being in an overwrought state because of Jake’s injury and the threat of Brady’s looming presence upstairs. She blinked hard to clear her vision and tied off the last stitch on Jake’s wound.

  “Well, it’s not pretty.” She sat back on her heels and let her hands lie limply in her lap. “If you don’t get to a doctor soon so they can sew it up properly, you’ll have a rather ugly scar.”

  “Won’t be my first.” Jake dragged in and exhaled a couple ragged breaths, his face pinched with pain.

  After wiping her hands on the dirty laundry, she smoothed Jake’s hair back from his face and bent to press her cheek against his. “You are the bravest, most extraordinary man I’ve ever met.”

  He grunted softly. “I haven’t done anything any other man worth his salt would have done.”

  “Don’t underestimate yourself,” she whispered, her voice catching. “You’ve gone far above the call of duty for me more than once. I hope you know how much your sacrifice means to me.”

  “Anytime, beautiful.” His reply was quiet, his breathing slowing and growing a little deeper.

  Chelsea closed her eyes, thinking of all Jake had suffered because he’d stopped to help a stranded motorist, because he’d walked unwittingly into her nightmare. How could she do any less for him? Time was crucial. Jake needed a doctor, and if she could do anything to bring him help sooner, she had to try. Like she’d told him earlier at Darynda’s, she couldn’t let fear win. “I’ll do it, Jake. I’ll get out that window somehow and ride for help.”

  Chapter 14

  A loud scraping sound jolted Jake from a combat nap. When he jackknifed to a seated position, white-hot pain seared his shoulder and pulsed through his head. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he scanned his dark surroundings, orienting himself.

  Staircase. Workbench. Washing machine and... Chelsea stood atop the dryer, her arm stretched through the open basement window.

  “Chels?” His throat was raw and dry, and his voice sounded gritty.

  She spun around so fast that she almost lost her footing on the dryer and had to grab the window frame for balance. “You’re awake! Thank goodness. You scared me when you got so still and quiet, but I knew you needed rest after what your body had been through.”

  Jake pressed a hand to his shoulder and found she’d tied a bandage on him that looped under his arm and over his shoulder, covering her handiwork on both the entry and exit wounds. He knew he was lucky as hell the bullet hadn’t hit bone or the upper lobe of his lung. He had some painful physical therapy ahead of him, working his shoulder back into shape once the tendons healed, but he was alive, and that was what mattered.

  And he had no doubt Chelsea’s quick attention to his wound had kept him from bleeding out.

  She jumped down from the dryer and unwrapped a shirt from around her hand. “I got the window open, finally, but the snow piled against the window is keeping me from pushing the burglar bars out of the way like I used to do. They’re too big to come in the window without turning them, but I can’t turn them either...again, because of the snow.”

  Jake smiled. Chelsea’s nervous chatter had grown on him in the past few days, soothing him the way white noise lulled one to sleep.

  She flexed and balled her hand, and even in the fading afternoon light he could tell her fingers were red. “I’ve been digging out the snow, dumping it in that can.” She pointed to an old coffee can under the window. “My dad had nails in there, but I thought if I melted some snow, we could drink it.”

  Considering his tongue felt like cotton and his throat was parched, a drink of water sounded heaven-sent. “Good thinking. I’ll take a sip of that.”

  She brought him the coffee can and helped him tip it up for a drink. “I’m making progress digging out, but it’s slow going. If I don’t get the snow cleared enough for me to move the bars in the next hour or so, I might run out of daylight before I reach Mrs. Posey’s place. She’s the next house down the road. A divorcée, lives alone, kids are grown, but she’s bound to have a cell phone or working landline.” She frowned and added in a mumble, “Please, God...”

  Jake didn’t comment on the fact that Chelsea had clearly had a change of heart about riding out for help. He also kept silent about his true purpose for getting her away from her parents’ house. They were sitting targets if Brady found that basement window. She would be safer somewhere else. The sooner she was gone, the better.

  Knowing how frightened she must be at the idea of sneaking away from the house undetected, leaving him injured and facing the snowy miles alone on horseback, her decision filled Jake with pride. She was a tough cookie, stronger than she gave herself credit for.

  When he finished drinking, she set the can aside and tipped her head as she studied him. “You know, I could make an ice pack for your shoulder. It would reduce the swelling and numb the pain some.”

  “Brilliant,” he said with a nod. “I think I love you.”

  She snapped a startled glance toward him, and he realized how his quip sounded. “I mean...I love the way you think... That you...”

  Clearly flustered, she shook her head. “I know what you meant. Let me fix you up.”

  He kicked himself mentally. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Chelsea, lead her to believe they had any future together. Her scummy ex had done a number on her already, and she didn’t deserve more heartache.

  Yet when he thought about telling her goodbye and returning to the front lines of black ops work, a hollow ache filled his chest. She’d gotten under his skin. He’d miss her smile, her sense of humor, her compassion and common sense. And her heat, the passion she poured in every kiss, the electricity that crackled between them with every touch, every glance.

  Damn it! Don’t fall in love, Connelly. Your place is with the black ops team. You have a duty to do something, make an impact in the world. That kind of difference and change doesn’t happen without sacrifice. His mom had paid the ultimate price the last time he’d put his love life first. He had no right to indulge himself with a relationship while there were still terrorists to defeat.

  Jake watched Chelsea roll a handful of snow in a

  T-shirt, and his heart kicked. He’d never had a problem with the idea of giving up a relationship and starting a family before now. Before Chelsea. Maybe it was because of his father’s heart attack, but he’d spent a lot of time these past few days thinking about his life, what he’d done with it. And what he hadn’t accomplished yet. Giving his dad grandchildren, taking that father-son trip to the Super Bowl, finishing his college degree.

  He rubbed his eyes. Geezums, he was getting maudlin.

  “Here.” Chelsea placed the ice pack behind his shoulder, and he glanced up at her.

  “How long was I asleep?”

  “Not too long. About thirty minutes.” She adjusted the bandage she’d wrapped around him to hold the snow pack in place.

  “Any noise from upstairs?”

  “A few bumps. Nothing that worried me.” She gathered another shirt. “I’ll make another pack for the entry wound. Are you warm enough? I can cover you up with some of the laundry if you want.”

  “I’m good,” he assured her before an involuntary shiver raced through him.

  She frowned and started spreading shirts and towels over his legs and torso. “Don’t try to be a martyr about this, Jake. If you’re hurting, take more Tylenol. If you’re cold, cover up with more laundry. You don’t get extra points for needless suffering.”

  He grinned and stroked a hand along her cheek. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She caught his fingers in her cold hands and pinned a hard stare on him.
“I mean it. I’m going to be worried enough about you when I leave. Promise me you’ll take care of yourself, that you’ll be careful and not take unnecessary risks.”

  “I will, if you promise the same.”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  He gripped her hand harder. “When you leave, we have to be sure Brady doesn’t see you. Stay quiet. Move quickly and look carefully before you cross an open space. Know where the next protective cover is in case you have to use it.”

  The color drained from her face, but she nodded.

  “When you’re ready to move out, I’ll create a diversion for you, try to draw his attention away from the yard.”

  Worry dented her brow. “Jake...”

  “I’ll be fine.” He tugged up his cheek. “I’m a trained special ops agent, remember?”

  “But you’re not bulletproof.”

  “I’ll be armed,” he lied, nodding to the second gun he’d stashed in his boot. “I plan to get off the first shot.” She didn’t need to know the gun was out of rounds. He still had in his coat pocket the box of ammo Darynda had given him for her .38—the gun Brady now had. Irony seemed to be the theme of the day.

  But as soon as Chelsea was safely away from the house, he’d catch Brady with his guard down. He had enough resources to recapture him...but only after he knew Chelsea was out of harm’s way.

  His power nap had recharged him somewhat, and between the ice pack and the acetaminophen, his pain was manageable. Sitting around this basement doing nothing, waiting for Chelsea to send law enforcement, waiting for Daniel or his team, was unacceptable, unthinkable. Not gonna happen.

  As soon as Chelsea was gone, Jake would put an end to Brady’s reign of terror...one way or another.

  * * *

  Using a shirt wrapped around her hand to protect her from the cold, Chelsea finished scooping out the snow and muscled the burglar bars out of the way. The window she’d climbed through so easily as a kid looked dauntingly high and small now.

  As much as she wanted to stay put and take care of Jake, she knew she had precious few hours of daylight left to reach Mrs. Posey’s house. The last thing she needed was to cripple her horse or get stranded by riding into an unseen hazard.