Cowboy's Texas Rescue

by Beth Cornelison

  With her attention focused on the helicopter, she didn’t see Brady closing in behind her until he’d bowled her over, knocking her face-first into the snow. He pinned her down, holding her head in the drift. Snow filled her nose and mouth when she tried to draw air.

  “Not so fast, girlie. If I’m going down, you’re going with me.”

  The hard, cold kiss of steel jammed against her skull.

  Stark panic sluiced through her. He’d found the gun. With one shot left.

  But at point-blank range, one was all he needed.

  * * *

  Jake watched the helicopter swoop over the small house and circle around. Having backup boosted his confidence that Brady would be taken down or brought in within minutes, but he hadn’t seen Chelsea yet, and that fact ate at him.

  The hike to Darynda’s had worn him out far more than he’d expected it would. Just staying atop the horse as he galloped down the snowplowed highway took most of his remaining strength. Every pounding step the horse ran jarred his shoulder and sent paroxysms of pain rolling through him. He stayed conscious through sheer willpower. He couldn’t, wouldn’t surrender to the pain and exhaustion until he was certain Chelsea was safe.

  Her horse and the bay Brady had stolen were wandering aimlessly on the road near Mrs. Posey’s house. They spooked and ran a bit when the helo flew over, but thanks to the snow mounded on either side of the highway, the horses were corralled to some extent on the highway.

  The helo flew past the house, banked left and came around.

  As his horse ran nearer the house, Jake searched the grounds. Where was—

  Chelsea ran out from the carport, her head tipped skyward as she waved to the helicopter. The pressure in Jake’s chest eased, knowing she was safe...only to wrench tight again when Brady stumbled out behind her, a gun in his hand.

  Brady tackled Chelsea, and Jake had seen all he needed. Adrenaline spiked in his blood, and he kicked his horse to run faster. He charged toward Mrs. Posey’s yard, compelling his mount to jump the snow piled at the edge of the road. They landed awkwardly, but his horse staggered forward through the snow, across the yard, toward Chelsea.

  Gripping the horse’s mane, Jake swung his leg over the animal. Sighted his target.

  As the horse raced past the bodies lying in the snow, Jake leaped and landed on Brady’s back. As Jake used his momentum to roll, pulling Brady with him, the gun fired. The concussion of the blast thundered in Jake’s chest, and the noise rang in his ears. The impact of the jump jolted him to his bones. White-hot pain ripped from his shoulder through his body. But he clung to Brady, dragging him away from Chelsea.

  “Sonofabitch!” With a sharp twist, Brady wrenched free of his grip and staggered to his feet.

  Jake rolled to his back, mustering his strength for the battle ahead.

  Swinging his hand up, Brady aimed the gun at Jake’s chest.

  “Jake!” Chelsea screamed.

  Brady pulled the trigger, and the pistol clicked, its magazine empty.

  Fury and frustration darkened Brady’s face, and he flung the weapon away.

  “Chelsea?” Jake called, his gaze seeking her as a deafening rumble approached.

  “I’m okay!”

  The helicopter buzzed past, kicking up a swirl of stinging snow as it settled on the lawn a few dozen feet away.

  Brady jerked his gaze from the helo to the road, then spotted Jake’s horse trotting restlessly at the far side of the lawn near a fence. He took off, his pace a slow-motion run through the deep snow.

  Grunting in pain, Jake shoved to his feet, staggering after him.

  “I got this,” a familiar voice called as a tall, dark-haired man sprinted past him. Alec Kincaid.

  Jake altered his course, veering toward Chelsea. She clambered to her feet and rushed toward him.

  “Are you all right?” Her hands were everywhere—his face, his chest, his hair, his arms—as she assured herself he was in one piece.

  Exhaustion swept through him, and he sank to his knees, pulling her down with him and into a firm hug. “I’ll...live,” he panted. “Are you...hurt?”

  He pushed her to arm’s length, drinking in the sight of her, visually assessing her condition. “Your arm’s bleeding.”

  “He cut me, but it’s not deep.” She smiled through her tears. “I’ll live, too, thanks to you.”

  Daniel LeCroix reached them and paused long enough to drop a first aid bag in the snow beside Jake. “Are we good here?”

  Jake glanced across the yard in time to see Alec overtake Brady and drag him down. “Go on. Help Alec subdue that SOB. Don’t let...that bastard get away again.”

  Daniel jerked a nod and headed across the lawn to add his muscle to Alec’s.

  And the spots at the edges of Jake’s vision closed in, blanking his vision as he collapsed in the snow.

  * * *

  “Jake!” Chelsea’s heart lurched as Jake’s eyes rolled back, and he blacked out. She huddled over him and patted his cheek, trying to rouse him. “No, Jake! Don’t do this. Don’t you die! You promised!”

  The dark-haired man who’d dropped the first aid kit beside her hurried back to them. “What happened?”

  “He passed out!” Chelsea felt Jake’s throat for a pulse. “He was shot earlier and lost a lot of blood. He needs a hospital. Fast!”

  The man, whose swarthy good looks were on par with Jake’s golden perfection, nudged her aside. “Let me have a look.”

  “Are you Daniel?” she asked as she scooted aside, giving him room to check Jake’s pupils and pulse for himself.

  He lifted a startled look before opening the first aid kit and rifling through it. “I am, and that’s Alec Kincaid. We’re friends of Jake.”

  “Former black ops teammates.”

  Another startled look. “And you are?”

  “Chelsea Harris.”

  “Harris. That’s your house down the road. Where Jake’s truck and the blood are.” A statement. Not a question. She didn’t bother to ask how he knew. Jake was her priority at the moment.

  “Will he be all right?” she asked as Daniel opened Jake’s coat to examine the gunshot wound. “Can you take him to the hospital in the helicopter? He needs blood. Soon.”

  Maybe blood she drew... The stray thought hit her like a fist, stealing her breath.

  Don’t sell yourself short, Chelsea. What you do is important, too, she heard Jake saying their first night together. Her heart stuttered as something inside her shifted.

  “Did you do this?” Daniel asked, pointing to the crude stitches on Jake’s shoulder.

  She nodded stiffly.

  Daniel’s eyebrows lifted. “Good work.” His gaze narrowed on hers, his expression darkening. “I don’t want to lose him either. We’ll take good care of him.”

  The wail of sirens filtered through the frozen air, and Chelsea glanced to the road as a sheriff’s department cruiser skidded to a stop with an ambulance close behind.

  “Looks like the cavalry’s here,” Chelsea said, her voice shaking with fatigue and emotion. As she watched in a daze, the lights on the ambulance and sheriff’s cruiser strobing red and blue on the snow, Daniel waved an EMT to help with Jake, and two sheriff’s deputies snapped handcuffs on Brady and dragged him up from the ground where Alec had pinned him. She stared numbly as a backboard was carried across the snow from the ambulance and Jake was strapped onto it. She answered questions like an automaton, first for the EMT who bandaged the cut Brady had inflicted—no, she wasn’t hurt anywhere else—then for the policeman—Brady had carjacked her at gunpoint two days ago. Jake had stopped to help....

  Movement in her peripheral vision called her attention to Brady as he was hauled toward the waiting cruiser. Brady narrowed a malevolent glare on Chelsea and curled his lip. “You better be looking over your shoulder every day. I’ll be comin’ for you, girlie. This ain’t over.”

  Chelsea shuddered. She knew she’d be seeing Brady’s dark eyes in her sleep for months to com
e.

  “That’s enough!” the sheriff’s deputy beside Brady barked, shoving his head down and guiding the convict into the backseat.

  “Chelsea?” Daniel’s voice snapped her from her trance, and she turned. “He’s conscious.”

  Holding her breath, she hurried to the side of the backboard and grabbed Jake’s fingers as the EMTs lifted him. “Jake, I’m here.”

  His eyes found her, and his cheek twitched with a grin. “Hey, brave lady.”

  “Hey, yourself. You gave me a scare, passing out like that. Hang on, okay?” She shifted her attention to the nearest EMT as they started through the snow, carrying Jake away. “Where are you taking him? Which hospital?”

  “Depends on the roads.”

  “Put him in the helicopter,” Daniel said. “We’ll fly him. Does the county hospital have a helo pad?”

  “County doesn’t. Nearest one would be—”

  “Amarillo,” Jake interrupted. “Take me to Amarillo. I need to see my dad.”

  While Daniel and the EMTs had a brief discussion about whether Amarillo by helicopter or the county hospital by ambulance would be faster, Chelsea bent to press a kiss on Jake’s cheek. “I’ll meet you at the hospital. Okay?”

  “No.” He grimaced in pain before adding, “The cops will need you to...answer questions. Take them to Mr. Noble.”

  She nodded. “All right. But then I’ll come. I’ll drive your truck up to you.”

  He frowned. “Can’t. It’s evidence.”

  “Amarillo, then,” Daniel said as he ended his conversation with the EMTs and signaled Alec, who was talking to a deputy. “Let’s roll!”

  Before she could say any more to him, Jake was carried toward the helicopter. She trudged through the deep snow, feeling unsettled, trying to keep up with the EMTs, wanting more time to tell Jake what was in her heart.

  She hovered close by as he was loaded in the helicopter, needing just a moment with him. I love you only took seconds.

  But as Alec jumped in the cockpit and an EMT climbed in next to Jake for the ride to Amarillo, Jake’s gaze found hers. “Wait,” she read on his lips over the whir of the turbines.

  She crowded in close to his side and leaned close to hear and be heard. “Jake, I—”

  “Don’t come, Chels.”

  She blinked, not sure she could trust her ears. “What?”

  “I’ll be all right. And we...” He paused and took a breath, his expression grave. “I hate long goodbyes.”

  “Is that what this is? Goodbye?” Her throat grew tight with tears.

  “I’m sorry. But my work...” He looked away for a moment before finishing. “I can’t give you what you need.”

  A fist of despair squeezed her chest, even though she’d known deep in her heart this was how they’d been destined to end. He could sugarcoat it to spare her feelings, but she recognized the truth. She wasn’t the sort of woman a man like Jake fell in love with, gave up his career for.

  “No, you’re right.” She nodded and smiled bravely. But she hated the idea of Jake spending his life alone because of the guilt he felt over his mother’s death, so she added, “But while I’m not the one for you, don’t deny yourself the chance to love and be loved when the right woman comes along. If you let guilt over your mother’s death keep you from sharing your heart with some lucky girl, it only means the evil that won that day is still winning.”

  Jake’s eyes widened, and his cheeks grew a shade paler.

  Drawing a breath for courage, she stepped back and gave a wave to the pilot.

  “Chels...” he called over the ruckus, but she didn’t want to hear his rebuttal. She was having a hard enough time fighting back the tears, and she refused to cry in front of him, let him see how much his leaving hurt.

  Daniel closed the side door and climbed in the cockpit with a wave. Kicking up snow as the rotors whirled, the helicopter lifted off...and was gone.

  Chapter 17

  Jake’s sister met the helicopter on the roof of the Amarillo hospital and let him know his father was still alive, improving slightly, but still in critical condition. With that knowledge, Jake was taken for tests and treatment before he was allowed to visit his dad from a wheelchair.

  Although he was relieved to be with his father and hear that the doctors were hopeful his dad might pull through, a pall hung over him. The pain in Chelsea’s eyes as he’d said goodbye haunted him, and her parting words replayed in his head. I’m not the right one for you.

  Was that really how she felt? The emotion in her eyes as they’d made love had seemed real, but...

  Hell, the demands of his job made it a moot point.

  As he went through his own recovery and held vigil at his father’s bedside in the days that followed, he missed her wry humor, her peachy-floral scent, her soul-stirring smiles. Telling himself he’d done what was best for her didn’t ease his guilt or the empty ache in his chest. He’d bought a replacement cell phone and had been tempted many times to call her just to hear her voice. But what would he say?

  He texted her once, just to let her know he was healing and that his dad was holding his own, but she never replied.

  A week later, though, while sitting in his father’s hospital room playing cards with Michelle, his cell phone buzzed. He’d checked the incoming text, and his heart rose in his throat. Chelsea.

  Sheriff’s office called 2day. Ur truck is ready @ impound. Chels

  Jake frowned. The terse message lacked the warmth and vibrancy he’d come to associate with Chelsea. Was her cold, all-business message a reflection of her hurt, of where they now stood?

  “Who was that?” Michelle asked.

  “Chelsea. The cops have released my truck.” Jake had told his dad and Michelle about what had happened to delay him, beyond the snowstorm, including the amazing woman he’d met.

  “Are you going to see her again?” Michelle asked now.

  He grunted. Making love to Chelsea in her parents’ basement had given him fodder for restless nights of longing in the months to come, but he knew that wasn’t what Michelle meant. “No,” he said. “A long-distance relationship would be too difficult and, because of my job, would ultimately go nowhere. She deserves better.”

  He was about to set his phone aside when it buzzed again.

  P.S. I’m not pregnant.

  He stared at the message, knowing he should feel relief, but instead feeling...disappointed...and not knowing what to do with his reaction.

  “What wrong, Jake? Bad news?”

  He should be glad Chelsea wouldn’t have to deal with an unplanned pregnancy, shouldn’t he? So why—

  “Jake?” Michelle said, louder.

  “No, it’s...good news actually.” He paused, reading the words again, then hedging, “Kinda, I guess.”

  But his heart was unconvinced.

  “What the— She’s not pregnant?”

  He shot his sister a disgruntled look as he hid the screen against his chest. “Hey! A little privacy?” He frowned across the small table at Michelle, confused. “Wait. How did you know?”

  “Same way she’s been reading your cards all evening,” said their father, his voice thin. “The refection in the window behind you.”

  Jake turned his head to the night-darkened glass behind him, then stood to lower the blinds in a huff. “Michelle, you brat...”

  “This baby Chelsea’s not having... Yours?” his father asked, a note of disapproval in his tone. “Yet you had no plan to see her again?”

  “If there’d been a baby, things would be different.” Was that the root of his disappointment? Had he been looking for an excuse to see Chelsea again, some way to hold on to what they’d shared for a few sweet days? He shook his head and divided a scowl between his father and sister. “But there’s not, so drop it.”

  “Geez, Jake, I never knew you were the love-’em-and-leave-’em sort,” Michelle said. “I’m disappointed in you.”

  He sighed and shot his sister a scowl. “And I never kn
ew you cheated at cards.” He tossed his phone on the table. “My job doesn’t leave room for a relationship.”

  “So...the job means more to you than Chelsea does?” his father asked.

  “I...” Jake frowned, not wanting to answer the question or examine his feelings too closely. “I don’t know that I’d say that. But...the work I do is important. It’s a critical part of this country’s security, and I’m good at what I do. I’m making a difference. How can I walk away from that?”

  “Your work is important, son. And I’m proud of what you’re doing, but...” His father’s brow furrowed. “You can fight terrorists till the end of the age, and it still won’t bring your mother back.”

  Jake sat back in his chair, stunned by his father’s comment. “I know that.”

  “Do you?” His father stacked his hands on his chest and took a wheezing breath. “I’ve watched you struggle with your mom’s death for the last twelve years. I understand what you’re doing and why you’re doing it, but I can’t see where it’s bringing you any closure.”

  Jake stared at his father silently for several stunned seconds, gathering his thoughts. “Maybe...closure isn’t my end goal. Maybe there is no end goal. Maybe I just want to live the kind of life she’d have been proud of. Maybe I want to be on the front lines fighting the kind of viciousness that took her from us, the malignance that is too prevalent in the world.”

  “And you have,” his father said.

  “Is this some kind of survivor’s guilt thing?” Michelle asked.

  “No. My job gives my life purpose and meaning. Direction.”

  “Are you happy?” his father asked.

  Jake blinked. “Happy? Dad, I’m a counterterrorist agent, not a clown. My work is dark and stressful most days. But I have a feeling of accomplishment when we finish a mission. I have a pretty good life.”

  “But are you happy?” His father’s eyes narrowed on him. “I may not have a lot of time left on this earth—”

  “Dad!” Michelle protested. “Don’t say that!”

  Their father raised a hand to silence her. “The one thing your mother and I wanted for you two was for you to be happy. That’s why I didn’t stop you when you left the ranch. If ranching’s not for you, I don’t want you spending your life doing something you don’t love.”