Cowboy's Texas Rescue

by Beth Cornelison

  “It’s not that I didn’t enjoy ranching, Dad. I just felt a need to do something...” He fumbled for the right word.

  “Redemptive?” his father supplied.

  Jake opened his mouth to refute his father’s assertion but couldn’t. He had been hoping to find some absolution along with restoring some order to the chaos of a world where a mother doing mission work could be killed for no reason.

  “Chase terrorists if it makes you happy, but if it doesn’t, stop trying to right a wrong that can never be changed. Your mother would never want you to give up what makes you truly happy because of what happened to her.”

  Jake plowed both hands through his hair, reeling from his father’s challenge, trying to make it fit with his reality. “But how do I justify putting myself and what I want over a job where I stop the scum of the world from hurting innocent people? Mom wouldn’t condone a selfish agenda.”

  “No, she wouldn’t. But foreign countries haven’t cornered the market on evil. You got a taste of the local brand of miscreant scum last week and saved a nice young lady in the process.”

  “I have a commitment to my team...” Jake hedged, but his father had given him a lot to think about. As Chelsea had.

  Don’t deny yourself the chance to love and be loved.

  “It’s your choice. Your life,” his father said, settling back against his pillow with a tired sigh. “Don’t live a life that leaves you with regrets, son. Your mother would have hated that.”

  * * *

  “Hi, Mom,” Chelsea sang out as she entered her parents’ kitchen one day that spring. “How are you feeling?” She stooped to pat Sadie, who rushed over to greet her with a wagging tail and full-body wiggles.

  “Depends,” her mother replied, pulling a casserole from the oven. “Are you asking in a rhetorical, polite greeting kind of way or are you still playing the worrywart daughter waiting for your poor mother to relapse?”

  “Sue me. I care.” Chelsea slung her purse down on the counter and cast a furtive glance toward the basement stairs where Jake had been shot. She suppressed a shudder the memory still caused, even though her parents had repaired the house and obliterated any evidence Brady had ever been there.

  “I’m fine, sweetheart. You’re the one who’s losing weight.” Her mother stripped off the oven mitts and gave her daughter a considering glance. “Do you feel all right?”

  Other than the hollow ache in my soul and feeling like my heart’s been ripped out, you mean? “The weight loss is intentional. I’m trying to get back in my old clothes by summer.”

  Her mother waved a dismissive hand. “Buy new things. You deserve a treat after what you went through.”

  Chelsea shrugged and sat on a stool behind the counter. New clothes wouldn’t fill the Jake-shaped hole in her life, so she’d better find a way to move on and stop agonizing over what she’d lost.

  Sadie nuzzled her leg, looking for more attention, and she gave the dog another ear scratch.

  “Speaking of ‘what I went through—’” She drew quotation marks in the air. Her mother found it hard to name the violence Chelsea suffered, much the way Harry Potter’s friends refused to speak Voldemort’s name. “I got a letter today from Jodi Israel, an assistant in the DA’s office. I’m supposed to go in to her office Monday for a deposition. I’ll be the star witness in the state’s prosecution of Brady later this summer.”

  Her mother frowned and stepped close to put her arms around Chelsea. “I know why you have to testify, but I hate that you’ll have to relive all the horror in order for the state to convict that man.”

  “The trial’s a formality. Due process and all that. I’ll do whatever I have to if it’ll keep Brady behind bars.” Chelsea’s cell phone rang, and she wiggled free of her mom’s embrace to dig the phone out of her purse.

  The name on the caller ID stopped her cold.

  Jake Connelly.

  “Um, I’m gonna take this in the other room,” she told her mother as she hurried toward her old bedroom for privacy. As she hustled down the hall, she answered the call. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Chelsea. It’s Jake. I, um... How are you?”

  She shook from head to toe, both elated to hear from him and terrified what it could mean. “I’m, uh...” Missing you like crazy. Heartbroken. Can’t sleep at night because of nightmares about Brady killing you. “I’m okay.”

  Nela was curled up, asleep on her old bed, and she sat down beside the cat, taking a deep breath for composure. “And you?”

  “I’m good. Busy. The bad guys never take a holiday, so neither do we.”

  “Hmm. Damn inconsiderate of them, I say.”

  He chuckled, then she heard him sigh. “God, I miss that.”

  “What? Vacations?” She stroked Nela’s soft fur, and the feline stretched out, offering her belly for a rub.

  “I miss your dry humor.”

  Her hand stilled on Nela’s tummy. He missed something about her? That he even thought about her was more than she’d hoped. She, on the other hand, missed everything about Jake. Right down to his chipped incisor. “Oh.”

  Jake cleared his throat. “Anyway, I called because I got a letter today from the state district attorney’s office.”

  “Yeah, me, too.” Her spirits lifted. “Does that mean you’ll be coming back to Texas to give your deposition?”

  “Well, probably not. She’s arranged for me to be deposed here via Skype or videotape because of the distance, the nature of my job and all.”

  Chelsea’s heart sank. “Oh.”

  “I’ll probably submit my testimony for the case that way when it goes to court, as well.”

  “Well, that’s...certainly a lot easier for you.” She curled her fingers in Nela’s thick fur, swallowing against the emotion that tried to clog her throat.

  “This Jodi Israel who caught the case is pushing for me to come back for the trial. Live testimony goes over better with the jury.”

  Chelsea mentally clamped down on the hope that fluttered in her chest. Don’t set yourself up for disappointment.

  “So...why did you call?” She didn’t mean to sound so cool and dismissive, but she didn’t want Jake to know how much she missed him. It wasn’t his fault she’d fallen so hard for someone with a career that put him completely out of reach. She wouldn’t lay a guilt trip on him because she’d let herself fall in love with the wrong man.

  “I was thinking about you and just wanted to see how you were,” Jake said. “What happened to you was...traumatic. Are you coping okay?”

  His concern for her touched her, made the raw ache inside her oddly better and more painful at the same time. “I have bad dreams sometimes, but—” Missing you is the hardest. “But I’m handling it all okay. It helps knowing Brady’s in custody and can’t hurt anyone anymore. How’s your shoulder?”

  “Better every day. I’m back in the field, flying missions. Before I left Texas, I had physical therapy to regain my range of motion, and I have exercises I still do to stay loose.” His tone warmed. “I do have an interesting-looking scar. But I kinda like it. It reminds me of a special lady in Texas and her...unorthodox way to manage pain.”

  Chelsea grunted, and her cheeks flushed. “Unorthodox. Is that what you’d call it?”

  She closed her eyes, holding back tears. She replayed their lovemaking, the way Jake felt beneath her, inside her, every night. She longed to feel his body curled around hers, keeping her warm the way he had at Mr. Noble’s.

  “No, I’d call it...hot....” The low, sexy rumble in his tone curled Chelsea’s toes, and heat flashed through her. “Seductive...awesome... Chelsea, there aren’t enough words. You left your mark on me. In more ways than one.”

  Just not the way that mattered. He didn’t love her.

  “Jake, I—” A loud buzzing sounded on his end of the connection, and he cursed under his breath.

  “Sorry, I gotta go. Duty calls.”

  “Right. Of course.” She infused her tone with a cheer she d
idn’t feel. “Be careful. Thanks again for everything you did for me.”

  He was silent for a couple of seconds, though the buzzing continued, telling her the connection hadn’t been broken. “Chels, I—” He fell silent again, then, “Look, I’m not able to talk very often, but you can email me if you ever need anything. I promise to answer as soon as I can.”

  He gave her his email address, and she wrote it down, knowing she’d not likely use it. What was the point of dragging out her one-sided crush on him? Better to move on. Put him behind her with the rest of the heartbreaking events from January.

  “Got it,” she said.

  “Okay. So...bye.”

  And he was gone.

  Chelsea looked at the address she’d written, her heart stinging, then ripped the sheet off the pad, crumpled it and tossed it in her wastebasket.

  * * *

  Jake hung up with Chelsea and hurried out to the tarmac where his team had assembled on a helo, ready to deploy to the next hot spot, the next mission, the next undetermined stretch of weeks. Going black, going undercover, being completely out of touch with his family. And Chelsea. More than ever before, the distance and disconnect necessary for black ops work chafed something deep inside him.

  Hearing Chelsea’s voice again had revived the stir of emotions he couldn’t ignore, no matter how hard he tried to untangle his heart and focus on his job. Being with Chelsea, even for so few days, had given him a glimpse of what he was missing. Roots. An intimate connection with someone special. Love and compassion. He saw so much darkness and depravity on the job, but Chelsea had been a breath of fresh air after too many months smelling the stink of humanity’s cesspool.

  Spending time with his father at the hospital had given him a chance to reflect on the choices he’d made, both in the past and for his future. As much as he wanted to be with his black ops team, doing the work he’d trained for, sacrificed for, he wanted more from life.

  He climbed in the pilot’s seat of the helicopter, the last of the team to arrive, and glanced across the cockpit to his copilot, Bruster.

  Bruster sent him an impatient look. “Glad you could join us.”

  Jake shoved his cowboy hat in place, as he did before every mission, flipped a few switches and glanced over his shoulder to the team leader. “All systems go, sir.”

  “Take her up,” the team leader replied.

  Jake lifted off smoothly and headed toward their next mission. As they neared their destination, enemy fighters on the ground opened fire on them, shooting machine guns and launching small rockets at the helo. Jake tensed, dodging the small arms and praying a stray bullet didn’t reach the fuel tank. An ominous clang told him a round had hit them and crippled the turbine.

  “We’re hit! Prepare for emergency landing, boys and girls!” he shouted over the blast of his team’s returned gunfire.

  An image of Chelsea flashed in his mind along with a clarity he’d never had before. He didn’t want to die. He wanted a future. With Chelsea.

  If he survived this mission, he prayed he could convince her to trust him with her heart.

  Chapter 18

  October

  Brady drew an X over the box for that day on his calendar and ground his back teeth together. Every day behind bars was agony. Tonight, one way or another, would be his last day in this hellhole.

  “Would you sit your ass down? You’re bugging the hell outta me.” Brady glared at his cell mate as the other man paced their tiny cage.

  “Can’t help it. I’m edgy. Somethin’ don’t feel right. There’s gonna be a fight.”

  “You don’t know nothing. Sit down.” Brady stacked his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. “I go to court tomorrow, and I got planning to do.”

  “What kind of planning?”

  Brady sent his cell mate a flat look. “You’ll see. Rather, you’ll hear about it—” he curled his mouth in a gloating grin “—when I don’t come back tomorrow night.”

  “You’re gonna make a break for it again? How the hell you think you’re gonna do that?” His cell mate folded his beefy arms over his chest and stared at him.

  Brady didn’t answer, but he conjured a picture of himself sitting on a beach in Mexico, free as a bird. Another image came to him. Chelsea Harris. The bitch was the reason he was back in custody, starting with her crappy car running out of gas. She owed him.

  Brady grinned to himself. He’d need a human shield to get out of the courtroom alive tomorrow. Chelsea Harris would fit that part real fine. Tomorrow was payback time.

  * * *

  Chelsea climbed the steps of the old courthouse and smoothed her sundress down when it ruffled in a warm autumn breeze. She’d taken extra care when choosing her clothes and fixing her hair and makeup this morning on the off chance that Jake showed up to testify. Chances were he wouldn’t be at court today. But if he did come in person, would her new appearance make a difference to him?

  She clenched her hands in fists and castigated herself for harboring that thin hope. She’d lost weight and gotten back in shape for herself, for her health. Whether Jake noticed or approved of her new look shouldn’t matter. Didn’t matter.

  She huffed her frustration. Who was she fooling? As she’d prepared herself mentally for today, she’d been more nervous about the possibility of seeing Jake again than she had been over the certainty of facing Brady across the courtroom. Because no matter how she tried to convince herself otherwise or talk herself out of it, the simple truth was, she’d fallen hard for Jake last winter. Over the months since he’d been loaded into the helicopter and left her standing in the snowy field, that fact hadn’t changed.

  She sighed. Pitiful.

  Snap out of it! said a voice in her head that sounded a lot like Cher, à la Moonstruck.

  The call last spring had been the last she heard from him, a clear indication that she was clinging to a fantasy, hoping that someday he’d see her in a new light, that he’d deem her worthy of huge changes in his life. Even if he’d cared about her a little bit, he’d obviously weighed the choice between her and his career and she’d lost. The guilty mind-set over his mother’s death was hardwired in his brain and had shaped his life the past twelve years. How did she compete with that? And did she want him to forsake his career for her? His heroism and courage were a large part of what made him the man she loved.

  Disgusted with her one-track, pipe-dream train of thought, she pulled open the courthouse door. She had to find a way to move on, as Jake clearly had. With a shaky hand, Chelsea removed her sunglasses, surveying the line of people waiting to go through the security check. Several of the men wore cowboy hats, and her stomach performed a forward roll as she scanned each one. Just in case.

  No Jake.

  Moving to the shortest security line, she set her purse on the counter to be searched, then showed the security guard her subpoena. “Do you know where I’m to report?”

  He directed her to the stairs that led to a waiting area outside the courtroom on the third floor. After thanking him, she made her way up the steps, then paused before leaving the stairwell.

  She pressed a hand to her newly flat stomach as she drew a fortifying breath. Time to collect herself and remember the directions ADA Israel had given her last week. God, she’d be glad when this was over. Brady had stolen enough of her life.

  Maybe once the trial was over, she could truly put the events from January and everyone involved behind her, make a fresh start. Squaring her shoulders, she opened the stairwell door and stepped out into the corridor. She cast a searching gaze down the long hall, spotted the double doors to courtroom number three and studied the faces of the people already waiting on the hard chairs lining the wall.

  No Jake.

  Her heart gave a painful throb as she ambled to an empty chair and took a seat. She shouldn’t be surprised he wasn’t there. He had an important job. He had lives to save. He was probably deep undercover and couldn’t blow his cover to fly back to Texas. He’d t
old her he couldn’t have a relationship. It was time her heart accepted the truth, and she moved on.

  Crossing her ankles, she pressed her thumbs together, trying to burn off nervous energy. She needed to get her thoughts together, organize herself in preparation for testimony. While the state had a solid forensic case without her, she gave the jury the all-important human angle. Her job was to personalize the charges against Brady and make the jury identify with the trauma she went through.

  She had to keep her recounting of events succinct. Stick to the facts. Displays of emotion were fine and played well with the jury as long as the sentiment was genuine and kept under control. Don’t be afraid to look at Brady, but make the jury your focus. Make eye contact. Don’t mumble or ramble. If she got nervous and chattered too much, she might give the defense an opening to discredit her testimony. She had to remember to—

  “Hello, Chelsea.”

  Her heart lurched, and she jerked her head up at the sound of the familiar baritone voice. Unable to contain her pleasure at seeing him, she smiled so broadly that her cheeks hurt. “Jake!”

  He gave her a cursory appraisal, his own heart-stopping grin in place, before he took the seat next to her. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

  Her smile faltered. “I haven’t?”

  Her mother had told her she could see the weight loss in her face, her cheekbones being more prominent. She’d hoped even if her dress hid her flatter stomach and slimmer hips, that at least he’d notice the changes in her face.

  Instead, he shook his head and gave her a wink. “Nope. Same beautiful smile I remembered. How are you?”

  Beautiful smile? Didn’t that fall in the same backhanded-compliment category as “But she has a great personality”? Disappointment pierced her bubble of hope and brought her crashing back to reality.

  Shoving down the lump that tightened her throat and chafed her edgy mood, she worked to keep her expression upbeat and her voice even. “I’m well. I got a promotion at the blood center. I’m the shift manager now.”