Cowboy's Texas Rescue

The brunette screamed. Jerked stiff. Dropped the pistol.

“I’ll take that.” Brady took the pistol as well as the cop’s empty service weapon and shoved them in the waist of the girl’s oversized jeans. “You’re not the first chick to screw me over, and because I am, as you said, a bully…” He leered at the brunette, who gaped at him with tear-puddled eyes and an expression of horror. He wished he could put Angi, his backstabbing ex, in a trunk to freeze, but this girl could pay for Angi’s sins. “I think I’ll let you die slowly. Suffering.” He wrenched the ranch coat off the girl and shoved his own frozen arms in its warmth. “Thanks. I’ll take this, too. Call it payback for the bullet in my leg.”

He closed the trunk, retrieved the ignition key and locked them inside. Slapping the trunk lid, he shouted, “Have fun, girlie. You should freeze to death by morning, if you don’t suffocate first!”

With that he limped to the backseat of the Caddy, collected his prison jumpsuit, the girl’s purse and cell phone, then glanced about for any other evidence he’d been there. He couldn’t do anything about the broken rear windshield or bullet holes in the Caddy, but he could take the cowboy’s truck and get the hell out of there before a witness showed up.

Hobbling to the pickup, Brady tossed the armload in the back of the truck and sent a disgusted look toward the darkening sky. The wind had started gusting, and the first wet snowflakes swirled from the sky.

Time to find shelter.

Jake woke by degrees, fighting the black abyss that sucked at him. He cracked his eyes open slowly, taking in information from all of his senses. He lay on his side, a hard, cold, lumpy surface beneath him. His head throbbed. Darkness surrounded him. He could smell motor oil, mildew and…something sweeter. Flowers? Peaches?

All was quiet, except for the whoosh of gusting wind…until a quiet sniff and muffled sob reached him through the blackness. He wasn’t alone.

A soft body nestled against him, shivering, shifting. He tried to move, to sit up, but he immediately hit his head on an unyielding barrier above him. Lightning bolts streaked through his skull, and with a groan, he sank back to the cold surface below him.

A soft gasp filtered through the dark.

“You’re awake?” a female voice whispered.

Jake raised a hand to his pounding temple. “Yeah. I…Where are we?”

“He put us in the t-trunk.” The woman sniffled again, then added, “I’m sorry. I tried to stop him, to shoot him, but your gun was out of bullets.”

A flurry of memories scrolled through his brain. Gunfight with an escaped con. A nearly naked young woman in the trunk—a brunette with big green eyes and freckles on her pale cheeks. Pain screaming through his body. “Taser,” he groaned. “Hell.”

“A-are you all right?” she asked, and her teeth chattered.

“I’ll live. You?”

“J-just scared. And c-cold.”

He felt the tremor that rolled through her and reach blindly for her in the darkness. Her arms, torso and legs were bare except for her bra and panties. That matched his memory of her lack of clothes when he’d opened the trunk earlier, but…

“What happened to the coat I gave you?” But he knew the answer.

“The convict took it,” she confirmed. “H-he stole your t-truck.”

Jake gritted his teeth, fury and frustration coursing through him. Reaching behind him he felt for his pistol and the police sidearm he’d lifted from the convict. Both were gone. “Hell.”

Drawing a slow breath, he focused on the situation at hand and the more immediate need to get them out of the trunk and warmed up. Based on his companion’s shivering and state of undress, she was well on her way to hypothermia. “What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Ch-Chelsea Harris.” Her voice cracked with emotion and from the cold.

Compunction and compassion twisted inside him. He was cold, but she had to be miserable. And if he’d been more thorough ensuring the area around his prisoner was secure, they wouldn’t be in this mess. Hell and damnation.

“Hi, Chelsea,” he said in a calm, reassuring tone. “I’m Jake Connelly, and I’m going to get us out of here. I need you to trust me. Okay?”

She hesitated, her skepticism obvious in the silence, then she whispered, “Okay.”

“First things first. I’m going to chafe some warmth into your arms and legs. Your shivering means you’re dangerously low on body heat. I’m not groping you. Got it?”

“Y-yeah.”

Jake wrapped his hands around her arm, which was frighteningly cool to his touch, and vigorously rubbed her skin. “Did he hurt you?”

“Not as b-bad as he hurt you.”

“Meaning he did hurt you.” Jake pressed his mouth in a tight line of disgust and fury.

“He h-hit me once. Gave me a z-zap from the stun g-gun. Grabbed my hair. S-stuff like that.” She said it as if getting jolted by a stun gun was nothing, but he heard the telltale warble of fear in her voice.

He muttered an invective under his breath.

“Hey, w-we’re alive,” she said, putting steel in her voice. “That’s all I c-care about.”

“True that.” In his head, he began working through the possibilities for getting them out of the trunk. “Does your bra have an underwire?”

“Wh-what?”

He chuckled under his breath. “That sounded skeevy, didn’t it? Sorry. I need something I can use it to pick the lock and get us out of here.”

“Oh. Uh…yeah. It d-does, but how—”

“Permission to manhandle your bra?”

Chapter 3

Brady pressed a hand to his throbbing leg. The duct tape bandage the cowboy had fashioned over his wound had worked for a while, but fresh blood was seeping from under the tape. As his adrenaline receded, his pain grew, along with his impatience.

Gusts of wind battered the pickup and made it difficult to control the truck. He swerved as if he were drunk and battled to stay in his lane. The last thing he needed was to let erratic driving draw the attention of a passing cop.

Squinting through the windshield, he spotted a farmhouse ahead and tried to remember how far the GPS voice had said they were from the brunette’s house. Damn it, he should’ve brought the GPS with him, but he’d gotten in a hurry.

Get a grip, man! You’ve come too far, risked too much to screw up now! Brady squeezed the steering wheel. He refused to go back to prison. Confinement was sucking the life from him. He’d eat a bullet before he let them cage him up again.

He pulled into the driveway of the farmhouse and surveyed the scene. An old pickup was parked out front, and a small stable sat a hundred yards or so behind the house. A black-and-white dog noticed his arrival and started barking from behind the fence of its pen. He glowered at the dog, knowing the ruckus was likely to attract unwanted attention.

Sure enough, he’d just cut the engine, intending to take a look around, when an old man stepped out of the stable and sent a curious look his way. Brady cursed under his breath and pulled the cowboy’s gun onto his lap. He rolled down the truck window and waited as the old man ambled closer.

“Can I help you?” the white-haired man asked.

Brady sent him a friendly smile and curled a finger around the trigger of the pistol. “I’m afraid I’m lost. I’m looking for a friend’s house.” Brady called an image to mind of the brunette’s key chain, dangling from the Caddy’s ignition. The miniature Texas license plate clipped to the ring read Chelsea. “Chelsea said her parents were on vacation, and she was house-sitting for them. I’m supposed to meet her for dinner, but I think I missed a turn.”

The man’s face brightened. “You must mean the Harrises. I heard they were taking a cruise or some such.” The old man walked a few steps closer. “Their place is the next driveway on the left. About four miles, I think.” He grinned. “Nice girl, that Chelsea. How did you meet her?”

Brady shoved down his rising impatience. “Mutual friend.” He jerked a nod. “Thanks for the directions.”