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Cowboy's Texas Rescue

Год написания книги
2019
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He moved his hand from the gun to the ignition key, then hesitated. The old man could identify him if the police did a house-by-house search. He glanced back at the old codger, who wore a bright orange hunter’s cap, and his brain started clicking.

Wrapping his hand around the cowboy’s pistol again, he called to the man, “You’re a hunter?”

The old man flashed a crooked grin. “Yep. Have been since I was six, and my daddy took me deer hunting near Tyler.”

Brady smiled. A hunter would have rifles, shotguns, maybe even a bow. Weapons he might need.

“Good to know.” He popped the driver’s door open and slid out, keeping the pistol hidden from the man’s view.

The old guy frowned. “Whatcha doing? Shouldn’t you be gettin’ to the Harrises’ before this storm hits?”

“I’ll be heading out soon enough. Anyone inside? A wife? Kids?”

“Who wants to know?” The man’s gaze dropped to the bloodstains on Brady’s leg, and he narrowed a suspicious look toward him. “Who are you? What happened to you?”

Brady swung the gun up. “I’ll ask the questions. Who’s inside?”

The man tensed when he saw the pistol, then gave Brady a defiant glare. “What do you want, boy? You think you can frighten me with that thing? I saw combat in World War II. Spent weeks under fire in a trench in France. I’ve already survived hell on earth.” The man straightened and squared his shoulders. “You’re nothing but a punk. I’m not scared of you.”

Brady sneered at him. “Maybe you should be, gramps.”

Permission to manhandle her bra? A strangled sound rose in Chelsea’s throat. Humiliation and modesty warred with her common sense and will to survive. The cowboy’s request made sense. His idea was inspired, logical.

But she couldn’t help the prickle of self-consciousness. Bad enough that her nearly naked size 14 body was pressed intimately against his male perfection. Awkward. Stripping in front of the convict and being discovered by Jake wearing only her skivvies had been mortifying enough, especially knowing the extra weight she’d gained in the past year gave her love handles and unsightly cellulite on her thighs.

Maybe if you hadn’t let your appearance go— Todd’s voice echoed in her head and lanced her heart.

“Chelsea?” Jake said, still waiting for her answer.

She swallowed hard, and mustering her practicality like a shield, she shoved down the twinges of embarrassment. “All right. Should I take it off?”

“Let me see what I can do with it on. I’d hate for you to lose even the tiny scrap of protection from the cold it’s giving you. Hold still, okay?”

She tried not to move, but when his warm fingers slid under her bra and nudged the side of her breast, a current of sensation, a hyperawareness of the übersexy cowboy’s touch charged through her. And she flinched. She bit the inside of her cheek to stifle a moan of pleasure.

Oh, Chelsea…so inappropriate under the circumstances.

Their lives had been threatened, they were trapped in a car trunk, and she was literally freezing to death. But, oh, heavens, the brush of his fingers on her bare skin, the press of his hard chest spooned next to her back, the juxtaposition of his groin against her tush…

How could she not react to him?

He tugged on the fabric at the end of the underwire, flexing and twisting the material until the wire poked through. He pulled the wire, but it held fast.

Chelsea’s breath hitched in her chest as he slid his hand around to the other side of her demi-cup and repeated the process.

“I usually don’t p-put out like this on a first date,” she said with a nervous chuckle. “You owe me d-dinner and a movie when we g-get out of here, pal.”

He gave a short laugh, his breath fanning the back of her neck and sending a thrill to her core. “You got it, darlin’,” he said with a lazy Texas drawl.

She heard the pop of a seam, then felt the tug, as the underwire slid free, and the vibration at her back as he gave a low growl of satisfaction. Maybe it was wrong for such simple things to turn her on, given the gravity of their situation, but tell that to her crackling nerve endings. The cowboy had her every skin cell charged and her heart racing.

“Got it,” he said. “I don’t suppose there’s a flashlight in here, is there?”

“N-not that I could find. Wh-what about a cell ph-phone?”

He jerked. “You have a cell phone?”

“I—No. I w-was hoping you did.”

His muscles relaxed again, radiating his disappointment. “No. I left mine in my truck, charging. If Brady stole my truck, then he has my phone, too.”

Chelsea’s pulse tripped. “Brady? You knew that guy?”

“Naw. I heard the news reports about his escape. I only realized who he was after I saw the orange jumpsuit stuffed under the seat. By then Brady had pulled his gun and…well, you heard the shootout.”

“Yeah.” She shivered again, remembering the echoing shots, imagining the carnage that could have happened just feet from her, fearing a bullet would pierce the trunk and hit her.

“Okay, I’ll go by feel. Hang on, now. I’ve got to work around you.” His body canted closer to hers, his arms shifting and reaching past her for the trunk lock.

She tried to give him room to work, but her legs had grown stiff and cramped, and her arms were almost numb from the cold. While before she’d been certain she would die, either by the convict’s hand or from exposure, Jake’s presence, his level-headed thinking, gave her a morsel of hope, which she clung to with both hands.

“H-have you ever picked a lock before?”

He grunted. “More than once.”

“Oh? Is b-breaking and entering a hobby of y-yours?”

He didn’t answer right away. “Let’s just say picking locks comes in handy at times in my line of work.”

She frowned. “A-and what line of w-work would that be?”

The rattle of metal answered her, but Jake said nothing.

A draft blew through the confines of the trunk as the wind outside gusted harder, and Chelsea couldn’t stop the shudder that rolled through her. Thanks to the darkness that surrounded them, she couldn’t tell if Jake was making any progress on jimmying the lock or not. But for the first time since the escaped con had grabbed her and shoved the gun in her ribs, Chelsea believed she might actually survive this ordeal. Thanks to Jake. What he did for a living didn’t matter in the scheme of things if he could get them out of the car.

While Jake worked on the lock, Chelsea tried to steer her thoughts away from the biting cold long enough to strategize. Before now, she’d been so focused on not getting shot, then on staying warm and getting out of the trunk, that she hadn’t thought beyond those threats. With the real possibility of escaping the trunk at hand, she needed to make a plan. She was determined to stay positive, think clearly and not give up. She could get out of this pickle if she didn’t panic.

Step one: How would she get home if Ethyl was out of gas? While waiting for Jake to wake up, she’d heard a few cars pass by, but increasingly fewer people were out on the road as the storm closed in. She was in her bra and panties. Her parents’ house was still at least six miles away.

The weight of despondency sat on her chest, and she doggedly shook off the negativity.

“Come on,” Jake grumbled under his breath as he worked.

“C-can I help?” she asked, her teeth chattering.

“No.” He moved his hands back to her arms and rubbed her skin briskly again. “The lock is sticking, probably because of rust, maybe ice, but I’ll get it open.”

Seconds later she heard a click, and Jake released a sigh.
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