Cowboy's Texas Rescue Page 17

  She glanced around the basement one last time, making sure she’d left everything Jake would need within his reach. She’d taken a few of the acetaminophen pills for herself, sipped some more melted snow and eaten half of a candy bar she’d found in her father’s not-so-secret candy stash, leaving the other half for Jake, and stuffed the pistol Jake had given her in the pocket of her coat. Two shots. Make ’em count.

  Taking a deep breath for courage, she faced Jake. “I guess that’s it. I should go.”

  He sat up and waved her to him. “One more thing.”

  She crossed to him and knelt beside him, nervous energy buzzing inside her. “What?”

  “Just this.” He cupped the back of her head and drew her close for a kiss.

  In that moment, she realized she had no way to know what would happen once she left, how long it would take to contact the police, when she would see Jake again. If she’d ever see Jake again. Her throat clogged with emotion and trepidation.

  His lips were warm and gentle, his kiss thorough and deep. She wound her fingers in his thick hair, savoring the taste of him, locking away memories of the heroic and handsome warrior who’d rescued her. She may not get happily ever after with Jake, but she’d never forget the fairy-tale days she’d spent with this man of her dreams.

  When he broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers, she sucked in a shaky breath.

  “Hey,” he whispered, “still not goodbye. Just good luck.”

  Her throat was too tight to answer.

  His fingers curled against her scalp. “I have faith in you.”

  Don’t die. I love you, she wanted to say but didn’t dare.

  She nodded and pulled away before she lost her nerve. Climbing on the dryer, she said a silent prayer that after his sweet goodbye kiss that she didn’t embarrass herself by awkwardly clambering out the window or getting stuck in the small opening.

  Hoisting herself up and pushing off the wall with her toes, she got the top of her body through without problem. Because of her bulky coat, wiggling the rest of her body through the window made her feel like Winnie the Pooh in the honey tree. But she did it. She wedged through the opening and crawled onto the snowy ground of her parents’ side yard.

  “Chelsea!”

  She dropped to her knees and peered back into the basement. Jake had struggled to his feet and leaned against the dryer, holding his injured shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” she scolded. “You’re supposed to rest!”

  “I’m going to create a diversion. Wait until you hear me yelling before you cross the yard to the horses.”

  She hesitated. She didn’t like his plan but knew the basement door was locked. Jake’s relative safety or jeopardy level would remain the same in that respect. “All right.”

  “Last thing...” he said, his gaze intense. “Once you get away from here, once you reach safety, send law enforcement.” She opened her mouth to tell him his request was obvious when he added, “And don’t, for any reason, come back here.”

  * * *

  Jake pulled the window closed to conserve what little heat was left in the basement and heaved a sigh. The hurt that had crossed Chelsea’s face when he ordered her to stay away made him feel as if he’d kicked a puppy. Even though he’d done what was in her best interest, she’d clearly felt rejected, wounded.

  And what did you think would happen when you left her to return to work with the team, Connelly? You can’t make love to a woman like Chelsea, who gives her whole heart to relationships, and not expect her to suffer when it ends.

  He watched through the window as Chelsea eased along the wall of the house, headed toward the backyard where they’d tied the horses. He sent up a quick prayer for her safety, then prepared for his part of the plan.

  Jake gritted his teeth against the pain that assailed him as he crossed to the staircase and slowly climbed to the locked door. His shoulder throbbed as he moved, but a different sort of ache sliced through his chest, squeezing his heart.

  Focus, Connelly. He had a job to do. Keeping Brady’s attention distracted from outside for the next several minutes was essential to Chelsea’s safe escape.

  Jake slammed his fist against the locked door. “Brady! You want a piece of me? Come get it, you worthless sack!” He listened for a moment to see if he detected Brady’s footsteps. “Do you hear me, you jackass? You’re going down!”

  No sound answered his shouts. A tingle of apprehension skittered down Jake’s back. Where was Brady?

  Chapter 15

  Brady stuck his shovel in the pile of snow he’d mounded beside the driveway and stretched his back, rolled his aching shoulders and rubbed his throbbing leg. Despite the frigid temperature, he’d worked up a sweat. He wiped his brow with his gloved hand and looked back at the progress he’d made. He’d cleared at least fifty feet. Not bad...except he still had another effing two hundred feet or more to go to reach the highway. Why the hell did houses out in the sticks have to be built so far off the road?

  Brady huffed his disgust. The work was exhausting and back-breaking, and at this rate he wouldn’t finish shoveling until tomorrow. Hell! He needed to be outta here today. Now. Hours ago!

  He’d seen a snowplow lumber down the highway a while ago, and that meant the cops could get out this way if the cowboy had managed to get a call out.

  Brady glanced back at the house. He needed another of Marian Harris’s oxycodone pills and maybe something hot to drink before he finished clearing the driveway. Leaving the shovel where it was, he headed back toward the house. As he neared the house, a commotion in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Someone was in the yard!

  He tensed and dropped to a crouch behind the cowboy’s truck. Damn it! Had the cops arrived without his knowing? His heart slamming against his ribs, Brady peered out, narrowing his gaze on the figure headed to the back of the property.

  Long, thick, brown hair spilled out from under the person’s knit cap. It was the woman—Chelsea! But he’d shoved the refrigerator in front of the basement door. How had she gotten out?

  Had the cowboy moved it? Was the cowboy still alive?

  Brady watched Chelsea approach the horses tied to the clothesline pole and quickly sorted through his options. He couldn’t let her get away. That much was certain.

  When she swung up on the gray mare, he bit out a curse. “Oh, no, you don’t, girlie.”

  He dug the gun out of his coat pocket and, leaning across the hood of Cowboy’s truck, he aimed. Fired.

  * * *

  Chelsea had just gotten in the saddle when a gunshot shattered the quiet. She gasped, flinched. The horses startled, and the gray mare she rode reared up on her back legs. Chelsea held on, crooning calming words to her mount, even as adrenaline jacked through her. Jerking a glance around the yard and toward the house, she searched for the source of the gunfire.

  Immediately, a muzzle flash and the cracking boom of another shot drew her gaze to Jake’s truck. Brady stood near the hood, aiming a gun at her. Her stomach swooped, and she reflexively hunched down against the horse’s neck.

  In the next second, Brady fired again, and a tug on her coat sleeve told her the bullet had grazed her. Where she was, she had no cover other than the horses, but she knew a moving target was harder to hit.

  “H’yah!” She tapped her heels in the mare’s ribs and slapped the reins.

  The nervous horse bolted forward, stumbling through the snow as quickly as she could. Brady fired again, and the gray tossed her head and bucked.

  “Come on!” Again Chelsea urged her skittish horse forward.

  Whinnying nervously, the mare loped behind the house, out of Brady’s line of fire. Chelsea stayed hunched low to make herself a smaller target. Gathering the tattered edges of her wits about her, she headed toward the highway as fast as the horse could go in the deep snow. She had a job to do, and she refused to let Jake down.

  * * *

  When the first gunshot rang out, ice streaked to Jak
e’s core. He stopped pounding the door and jerked his head up, his senses on full alert.

  Chelsea!

  By the time the third shot faded, he had the slide bolts on the basement door unlocked. He ripped open the door only to find the doorway blocked by a massive refrigerator, clearly Brady’s attempt to keep them trapped in the basement.

  Biting out a curse, Jake raced back down the stairs and was halfway to the window when he saw Chelsea ride the gray mare past the window. Relief spun through him so hard and fast that his knees buckled. Or maybe it was blood loss, he acknowledged as black spots danced in front of him. He braced a hand against the washing machine until his head quit spinning and his vision cleared. Climbing onto the dryer, he shoved the window open. He was about to squeeze himself out the narrow opening when the rattle of reins and a male voice called his attention to the back corner of the house.

  “Hold still, you stupid animal!” Brady clambered into the saddle of Jake’s horse and, with a yank of the reins, set off in the same direction Chelsea had gone.

  Following her. Another cold wave of fear washed through him.

  Stop him, his brain screamed. He had to buy Chelsea time to get away, had to keep Brady from tracking her down. He had to end this debacle. Now.

  Jake ducked his head and shoved his good arm out the window. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he pulled himself through the tiny opening and rolled out into the snow. “Hey!” he shouted. “Over here, you bastard!”

  Brady turned his head, his gaze searching before locating Jake at the ground-level window. His expression hardened as he raised his weapon and fired a shot toward Jake. The bullet pocked the siding inches from Jake’s head. Then...click.

  Jake jerked his head up at the telltale sound. Brady was out of ammunition. Jake’s heart accelerated as he shoved to his feet and lumbered through the snow toward Brady.

  Growling his disgust with the empty gun, Brady threw the weapon aside and kicked the horse. “Go, damn you!”

  Jake swiped his good arm toward the bay, hoping to catch Brady’s leg, a corner of saddle blanket, the horse’s tail. Anything to prevent Brady from escaping again. To no avail.

  His heart sank as he watched Brady ride away. Jake was stranded, unarmed and hindered by an injury, but somehow he would stop Brady. Failing Chelsea was not an option.

  * * *

  The plows had cleared the road at some point, which was good. But the road-clearing process had piled huge quantities of heavy snow at the edge of the highway, which was bad. The mounded snow was too deep to ride through without risking injury to the gray or getting the horse stuck.

  Chelsea reined the horse and studied the long ridge of mounded snow along the road. As she debated how to get across the snowy hill, she replayed the moments as she escaped the house and rode away under gunfire. A shudder rolled through her, the fading traces of adrenaline, and she began second-guessing herself. Because Brady saw her leaving, he had to have figured out how she got away. Her escape gave Brady the information he needed to reach Jake. And kill him.

  Should she go back and help Jake, or hurry to Mrs. Posey’s and call the police?

  Don’t, for any reason, come back here....

  Her heart wrenched, knowing Jake was trying to protect her, but his order stung anyway. It felt like a rejection.

  Quit it! She inhaled the frozen air and sobered. Get your head together and do your job. Find help.

  But first she had to figure a way over the snow mound. She swung down from the gray and stomped through the snow to the pile. She tested the edge of the chest-high pile with her foot. Her borrowed boot sank deep into the road debris. She stomped again, next to the first footprint...and an idea settled over her. She had no way to move the snow, but could she pack down enough to make a path through it?

  She stomped again with her foot and packed the snow into a hard, icy layer. Packing the snow down one footprint at a time would take forever. Jake didn’t have that kind of time. She needed another way, something like...snow angels!

  Turning her back to the pile, she flopped backward and sank into the drift. Then clambering to her feet, she did it again. Each time, her body impression packed another few feet of snow. The progress was slow, and she was getting thoroughly chilled, but she kept throwing her body weight into the snow and packing the impression with her boot. Several minutes later, she’d made an initial narrow pass but needed to widen it and pack the base firmer....

  In the stillness, a noise reached her ears—the jingle of reins.

  Holding her breath, praying the sound meant help was nearby, she raised her head. But her fear was confirmed.

  Brady had followed her.

  * * *

  Jake knew he couldn’t catch up to Chelsea and Brady without a horse. Knew that Noble’s third horse was at Darynda’s. Knew Darynda’s cell phone only lacked a working battery. Those factors made his next step a logical choice, even if his heart wanted to go to Chelsea now.

  With no time to waste, he slogged through the drifts to his truck and found his car charger. Pocketing it, he headed back toward Darynda’s on foot, retracing the path the horses had made in the snow coming over.

  His shoulder ached, but he ignored the pain, trying to keep his arm immobile as he waded through the snow. Already weakened by blood loss, he tired quickly. Fatigue pounded at him, and his muscles quivered. More than once he stumbled and fell in the icy drifts, only to shove back to his feet and plow on. He closed his mind to anything but reaching Darynda’s. Saving Chelsea.

  He put one foot in front of the other. Again. And again.

  His feet grew numb in the cold. His shoulder throbbed. His head spun.

  Drawing labored breaths of frozen air into his lungs, he staggered on.

  * * *

  Pulse thundering, Chelsea swung up on the gray and clicked her tongue. Brady had seen her and was closing in.

  “Come on, girl!” She urged the horse toward the narrow path she’d made through the snowplow’s pile. The gray balked. “Please, girl. We gotta go!”

  She kicked her horse again, and finally the gray took a few tentative steps on the packed snow, picking her way through. The gray’s hooves sank into the snow up to her fetlocks, but she squeezed through the gap in the snowy hill.

  Chelsea cast a glance over her shoulder, monitoring Brady’s progress. Despite the deep snow cover, he’d pushed his horse to close the gap between them, and the bay was breathing hard, acting jittery.

  “Go, you dumb animal!” Brady shouted, fighting the reins, clearly inexperienced in handling a horse.

  Chelsea seized on what might be her only advantage, whispering an apology to the bay under her breath. As the gray’s flanks brushed the snow pile on either side, Chelsea scooped a handful and formed a snowball. Twisting in her saddle, she lobbed the snowball at the bay’s head and hit the horse on the neck. The bay shook his mane, confused. Chelsea followed with another snowball that hit the bay’s nose.

  “What the h—” Brady’s shout ended abruptly as his horse reared, throwing him.

  Her own mount slipped on the packed snow, but Chelsea crooned to her and coaxed her through to the road. On sure footing again, the gray bobbed her head and set off at a trot down the highway. Knowing she had to make the most of her lead, Chelsea bent low over the gray’s neck and squeezed the horse’s ribs with her knees. “Come on, girl. Let’s fly.”

  * * *

  “That’s got to be the place. The coordinates we triangulated for his phone match up,” Daniel LeCroix said, glancing across the helicopter cockpit to his former black ops partner.

  Alec Kincaid pointed through the windshield. “That looks like Cowboy’s truck parked in the drive.”

  “Yep.” Daniel set the GPS locator aside and twisted in his seat to retrieve two Kevlar vests.

  “I’m gonna set her down in that pasture.” Alec shot a side glance to Daniel. “You ready to move out?”

  “Let’s do this.”

  Within minutes of his abrupt
ly ended phone call with Jake, Daniel had Alec on the phone and had a plan to assist Jake in the works. The cell phone connection Daniel had had with Jake may have been spotty, but the sound of gunfire at Jake’s end had been clear. His buddy’s reference to an escaped convict and the past three hours of radio silence from Jake told Daniel all he needed to know—his former black ops teammate needed backup.

  Alec had met him at an airstrip in Amarillo minutes earlier, having flown down from Colorado the same way Daniel had gotten to Texas from Louisiana, via private jet.

  As the helo settled on the frozen ground, Daniel shoved a Kevlar vest at Alec. “Suit up, man. You’re a daddy now, and I promised Erin I’d return you in one piece.”

  The mention of the two loves of his life—his wife, Erin, and their infant son, Joey—brought a smile to Alec’s lips. “How did you convince Nicole to let you come?”

  “Just told her Jake needed my help. Because Cowboy was instrumental in her rescue last year, she couldn’t say no.” He double-checked the magazine of his pistol, then stuffed the earpiece to his two-way comm with Alec in his ear.

  “How’s your knee? You up for this?” As he strapped on his vest, Alec nodded toward the knee Daniel had had a full joint replacement on months earlier.

  Daniel jerked a nod and opened the helicopter door. “All healed up and ready to go to work.”

  “You want to take point?” Alec asked, adjusting his lip mic.

  “Roger that.” Daniel climbed out onto the snow-covered field and ran toward Jake’s truck while Alec covered him from the helo. Once he reached the truck, Alec made his move, joining Daniel behind the protective cover of Jake’s vehicle. Daniel rose enough to peer inside the truck. “We’ve got blood in here. Looks old.”

  Alec looked for himself, then pointed out a bullet hole in the back panel. “He took fire.”

  Daniel exchanged a grave look with Alec. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

  Alec arched an eyebrow. “Ditto, Obi-Wan.”

  Hitching his head toward the house, Daniel crept toward the carport door. Tested it. When the door swung open, he stood aside and peered around the frame, weapon poised. Signaling Alec, he waited until his partner was at his six, then moved inside, leading with his gun.