Cowboy's Texas Rescue Page 5
“For the record—” Jake’s voice drew her from her gloomy thoughts “—you’re not fat.”
She cringed mentally at his attempt to comfort her. She didn’t want his pity or his false flattery. “Todd thought so,” she mumbled under her breath.
“You’re not.”
“Whatever.”
She heard the rasp of his zipper as he re-dressed, the thump as he stomped his foot back in his boots. She stared down at her own feet. At least Brady—or whatever the convict’s name was—had let her keep her tennis shoes. They had miles to walk before they’d reach shelter and a phone.
“And along those same general lines, when you tell your friends about today, be kind.” She lifted a puzzled look to Jake, and he sent her a wry grin. “Remember that it was cold out here.”
When his meaning became clear, she darted a glance at his groin, then back to his face. And laughed. “Seriously? That was c-cold mode, and you’re worried what I’ll tell my f-friends?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Just sayin’.”
An icy wind buffeted her, burrowing to her bone and stealing the return quip from her tongue. Chelsea hunched her shoulders and blew into her hands. “My parents’ house is about s-six miles that way.” She aimed a finger down the road, her teeth chattering. “That’s where I’m staying while they’re on vacation.”
“Is that where you were headed when the car ran out of gas?”
She nodded.
Jake folded his arms around her, blocking the brunt of the wind with his body. He lifted her hand and rubbed her frozen fingers between his palms. “Is it safe to assume Brady headed there when he left here? Did he know where your parents lived?”
She ducked her head to look in Ethyl’s front window. “Well, the GPS is s-still in the car, so it’s hard to s-say. I was driving, and the GPS only g-gives one step of direction at a t-time. He knew the general d-direction we were headed but maybe n-not a specific address.”
The idea of an escaped criminal breaking into her parents’ house, eating their food, sitting on their sofa to watch their new flat-screen TV made her skin crawl.
“Is your parents’ place the closest house?” Jake asked, twisting at the waist to scan the empty horizon.
“N-no. Henry Noble’s house is about t-two miles from here. Then Darynda Jones and her kids live about a mile d-down Haverty Road. Her husband is deployed in Afghanistan until July.”
“Okay. We’ll head to the Nobles’ because it’s the closest. From there we can call the cops to check out your house before you go home.” He took her hand and started down the road, casting a wary eye to the sky. “Let’s hurry. These flakes keep getting bigger and coming down faster.”
* * *
Jake stopped walking after Chelsea stumbled for the third time in as many minutes. Facing her, he blinked as giant snowflakes battered his face, driven by a biting wind. “Am I going too fast?”
“S-sorry. I j-just... M-my legs are so c-cold, they’re numb. I can’t feel them, m-much less walk straight.”
Frowning his worry over her worsening condition, Jake glanced down the road, gauging how much farther they had to walk to reach her neighbor’s house. Two inches of snow had already accumulated, and the wind blew harder by the minute, dropping the temperature with each gust. His head throbbed where he’d hit it, but he couldn’t do anything about his aching skull, so he shoved thoughts of it aside to concentrate on Chelsea. “Climb on my back. I’ll carry you.”
She stared at him blankly, her slowing mental faculties another sign of hypothermia.
“Chelsea, do you understand what I said? Can you hold on to me if I put you on my back?”
If needed, he could carry her fireman-style over his shoulder. Checking for some sign of coherence, he looked straight into her eyes—gorgeous, green bedroom eyes, he noted again, feeling a kick in his pulse. And, hot damn, but her generous bottom lip begged to be nibbled like a fresh strawberry.
Chelsea frowned. “I—I’m too heavy.”
That again? “Nonsense. I’ve carried men bigger than you, under worse circumstances.” He thought about how his comment sounded, then added, “Not that you’re big... I just mean—” Another lightning bolt of pain shot through his head. He gritted his teeth. “Hell, just get on my back and hold on. Okay?”
Crouching in front of her, he pulled her arms around his neck. When her hold on him tightened, he slid his arms under her legs and stood. If he weren’t so concerned about how red and cold her skin felt, he’d really enjoy having her breasts pressed against him and her legs wrapped around his waist....
His knees still hurt from tackling the worker in the radiation lab the day before, and as he stood, a grunt of pain slipped out.
Chelsea sighed and wiggled weakly. “See. I t-told you I’m too heavy.”
“Relax.” Jake tightened his grip and trudged on down the road. “That grunt was not about you. It was about the abuse my knee took on the job recently.”
“Wh-what do you do?” she asked.
Conversation was good. If he could keep her alert and talking, he could monitor the extent of her hypothermia.
“I do security work.” His standard vague response.
“Like a m-mall cop?”
He chuckled. “No. Overseas contract work.” More nonspecific generalities. Even his family didn’t know the full extent of his top secret black ops work.
“O-oh.” She fell silent for a moment. “I’m a vampire.”
Jake scowled. “A vampire?”
Was this his first sign she was losing touch with reality, disoriented, hallucinating? Not good.
She gave a small laugh. “Y-yeah. I take people’s
b-blood.”
“To drink?” He’d heard of weirder things.
A scoff. “No! For s-surgeries and s-stuff. I’m a phlebotomist at the b-blood center.”
A grin of relief tugged Jake’s lips. “Gotcha. For a minute there, I thought you were losing it.”
She chuckled weakly, then sighed. “Y-you smell good.”
“Uh...thanks.” He thought he smelled like airports and twenty hours on a stuffy plane, but...whatever. Keep her talking.
He asked her basic, easy questions, general get-to-know-you fare. Was she dating anyone?
Where did she go to college? What were her hobbies?
No. Local community college. Reading and quilting. Barrel racing.
Barrel racing? Jake quirked an eyebrow. Interesting.
Did she like sports?
Football and some baseball. Rodeo.
Between the blowing, blinding snow and the extra weight on his back, Jake made slow progress down the highway. He tried to keep his mind on the mundane conversation and not on the bitter temperatures and frigid wind. He’d endured worse conditions in the line of duty, so he could handle a snowstorm with no shirt or coat. No matter how cold he was, Chelsea had to be colder. He admired the fact that she wasn’t complaining, that she kept a sense of humor even though she had to be miserable. Having her body pressed against his back provided him a little added warmth, and he hoped his body heat was helping her against the freezing temperatures.
He cast a narrowed glance around him to figure out how far they’d come. Visibility had quickly diminished once the storm descended.
“How long have you worked at the blood center?”
“Three years. No, almost f-four.” She sounded drowsy, her speech beginning to slur.
“Chelsea, stay with me. Talk to me. How much farther is it to the Nobles’? Am I going the right way?”
Her finger wiggled. “Down that d-driveway.”
Jake squinted through the blowing snow and spotted two reflectors poking through the snow, marking the end of a driveway. Target sighted. Jake ducked his head against the wind and picked up his pace.
As he plowed through the storm, he thought briefly of his father, lying in the hospital in Amarillo, fighting for his life. Jake’s heart sank. Given the weather, Chelsea’s condition and his stole
n truck, he doubted he’d make it in time to tell his father goodbye. As much as he hated missing his last chance to see his father, his job with the black ops team had taught him plenty about sacrificing for the greater good, about priorities. And his first priority now was saving Chelsea, getting her to safe shelter and warming her up.
His second priority was finding Brady. He wasn’t sure when the escaped convict had landed on his radar, but sometime between stopping to help a stranded motorist and finding a woman locked in a car trunk, he’d made Brady his business, his priority. According to the radio, Edward Brady had already killed two policemen. The guy was dangerous, desperate.
But Jake had made a vow years ago when evil men like Brady had taken his mother’s life. He would not turn his back and let evil win again. Jake was determined to put an end to the convict’s reign of terror, no matter what it took. Because stopping dangerous men was what he did, and Brady had made it personal when he crossed Jake.
* * *
“Wait here.” Jake set Chelsea down behind an old truck parked in the neighbor’s front yard. “I’m going to scout things out, make sure Brady isn’t inside ready to ambush us. If there’s trouble, stay hidden. Got it?”
Chelsea gave a jerky nod and slid to the snowy ground, huddled in a shivering ball. She needed heat—and fast—but Jake wasn’t about to go charging into a situation blind. Not while there was an escaped convict in the area. He might not see his stolen truck or any tracks in the snow on the property, but that didn’t mean Brady wasn’t around.
Crouching low, Jake hurried across the lawn to the front window, where he peered inside. Despite the increasing gloom and encroaching evening darkness, no lights were on in the house, making it harder to see the home’s interior. The possibility existed that the homeowner was not there, though the truck parked out front suggested otherwise.
Moving to the next window, Jake peeked inside again, still finding nothing to suggest Henry Noble was home. When he rounded the corner to the back of the house, he discovered a dog pen with a small doghouse in a back corner of the yard. He didn’t see a dog in the pen, but there were paw prints in the snow inside the caged area. Because there were no footprints leading to the dog pen, Jake decided the dog must be huddled inside his doghouse. Another indicator no one was home at the Noble residence. Why would anyone with good sense leave their pet out in such horrible weather?
An uneasy feeling stirred in Jake’s gut. Where was Henry Noble? Had the bad weather stranded him in town? The roads and visibility were bad, but not impassable at this point.
He continued around the outside of the home, checking through windows, scanning the yard for clues of occupancy. As he crept through the backyard, the dog, a medium-sized black-and-white heeler or Australian cattle dog, saw him and charged out of his doghouse barking and pacing inside his pen. Jake waited and watched from behind a woodpile to see if the dog’s barking brought anyone to the back door, if even to look out at the yard for the source of the dog’s agitation.
Nothing. No one.
Not even from the horse stable, one hundred or so yards behind the house. The wind had blown the main door to the stable open, and it banged noisily on the stable wall with each gust of frigid wind. If Henry Noble owned horses, the stable should have been shuttered and secured to protect the animals from the storm. Most ranchers were far more concerned with their animals’ welfare. That Henry Noble seemed not to be didn’t sit well with Jake.
Frowning his puzzlement, Jake completed a full circuit of the house, then approached the front door cautiously and knocked. Pressing an ear to the door, he listening for sounds of someone moving around inside but heard nothing except the dog out back and the howl of the wind in the eaves. Turning the knob, he tested the door and found it unlocked. His pulse kicked uneasily. Where the hell was Noble and why hadn’t he locked his home when he left?
“Hello?” he called into the dark house as he crept into the foyer, wishing he had his gun for self-defense. He made a quick sweep of each room, knowing he needed to get Chelsea inside...like an hour ago.
Empty. No Noble, but more important, no Brady.
He hurried back outside to the old truck where Chelsea huddled, shaking with near-convulsive tremors.
“Okay, sweetheart, let’s get you inside.” He scooped her in his arms, and she looped a limp arm around his neck. He carried her across the yard and into the house, where he laid her on the living room couch.
She turned her head slowly, teeth chattering, and frowned as she studied the dark room. “Wh-where’s M-Mr. Noble?”
“That,” Jake said, taking a throw from a nearby recliner and wrapping it around her, “is a good question. Short answer—not here. Any ideas where he could be?”
Chelsea furrowed her brow and clutched the decorative blanket around her. “N-no.” She sank back in the cushions of the sofa and closed her eyes. “H-he’s retired. M-Mom said that s-since his wife died last
s-summer, he never g-goes anywhere. H-he’s like a hermit.”
“He lives alone?” Jake found another blanket, one of the recent marketing gimmicks, that had sleeves, piled in the seat of the recliner and pulled it around his shoulders like a robe. Moving to the sofa, he pulled Chelsea onto his lap and included her in the circle of the sleeved wrap. She snuggled in as if to nap, and he jostled her. “Hey, I know you’re tired, but you need to stay awake. I’m going to get you something warm to drink and some clothes to put on in a second.”
His gaze landed on the fireplace where three small logs were stacked, and he decided lighting a fire was a good next step. “Hey, do you see any matches or a lighter around here? I’m going start a fire.”
He reached under the shade of a lamp beside the couch and twisted the switch. Nothing happened.
He tried again. Nada.
Frowning, he glanced to the DVD player across the room, to a digital clock beside the recliner and to the cordless phone charging station on the end table beside the sofa. The display screen on each device was dark. He huffed his frustration. “I think the power is out. That’s why it’s so dark in here. And unless he has a corded landline or cell phone lying around somewhere, we have no phone either. The cordless is useless without a working base.”
He chafed Chelsea’s icy legs and rubbed her fingers, praying she didn’t have frostbite. Even though she’d been significantly underdressed for the conditions, her saving grace might be that the temperature had been near freezing and not subzero.
“S-Sadie,” Chelsea croaked.
“What?”
“H-his dog. I h-hear her.”
Jake nodded. “She’s in her pen out back. I’ll bring her in when I get some more wood for the fire.”
Chelsea shook her head, scowling. “No. N-now. It’s freezing out th-there!”
Jake arched an eyebrow and flashed her a lopsided grin. “All right, I’ll get her. Do you know if she bites?”
“Sadie’s a s-sweetheart.” She shuddered again, but he noticed a healthier color was already returning to her cheeks. She licked her pinkening lips, and his libido kicked hard. Her lush mouth tempted him to forget he was raised to be a gentleman and steal a taste. Now might not be the right time, but later...
Squelching the spike of arousal that spun through him, Jake shifted her off his lap and gave her the sleeved blanket as he pushed off the couch. “I’ll be right back.”
Before venturing outside, Jake checked the front closet and found a heavy camouflage hunting jacket, which he commandeered, along with a fleece sweater, which he took for Chelsea. He tossed her the sweater as he passed the sofa on the way to the back door. “Put this on, and I’ll check the bedrooms for more clothes when I get back with the dog.”
“Aye-aye, C-Captain,” she returned, the corner of her mouth twitching in a teasing grin. Her good humor and alertness boded well for her recovery, and Jake drew a deep breath of relief as he headed outside.
Sadie paced and barked at the gate of her pen as he crossed the yard.
Sadie charged out...and tore across the yard toward the stables, barking.
A tingle raced down Jake’s spine. Had the dog seen something he missed?
“Sadie! Here, girl. Sadie!” Blowing into his cold hands, he headed at a trot across the lawn toward the stable. “Sadie?”
The dog appeared in the door of the stable for a moment, as if to say, Are you coming?
Jake jogged to the stable, approaching the open door cautiously. “Hello? Mr. Noble, are you there?”
No answer. Hearing only the agitated nickering of horses, the whip of wind and Sadie’s dog tags tinkling as she paced, Jake moved into the shadowed stable. His gaze assessed every dark corner and egress as he crept inside. “Hello?”
Sadie appeared from one of the horse stalls and gave an uneasy whine.
Apprehension pooled in Jake’s gut. He eased around the half wall of the stall and peered inside.
An elderly man lay on his back, staring sightlessly at the rafters. A bullet hole marred his forehead.
Chapter 4
Brady poked another log into the fireplace, then rose to his feet, groaning when his injured leg throbbed in protest. Rubbing his thigh where the bullet had left a deep gash, he clenched his back teeth and cursed under his breath. He hoped the damn cowboy was freezing his ass off, gasping for his last breath.
As he rubbed his hands together, warming himself in front of the fire, he studied the pictures on the mantel. Most were of the brunette he’d carjacked. Baby pictures. Prom pictures. Rodeo pictures. High school graduation. He had to admit, the girl had been a looker. Pretty face, hot body.