Cowboy Christmas Rescue: Rescuing the Witness / Rescuing the Bride. Beth Cornelison
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low moan rumbled in her chest.
She watched helplessly from the bridge as Daddy battled the current, struggling to reach the woman’s flailing arms. The wind lifted whitecaps in the river that splashed over Daddy’s head. Every time his silver hair disappeared beneath the water, the fist squeezing her lungs choked her harder.
Kara’s heart drummed at a rib-bruising pace, and her breath snagged in her throat. Memories of her father’s final moments had been burned in her brain all those years ago, but most days, she managed to keep the ghosts locked away. But now, with the wind whipping stinging rain into her face and the damp chill soaking her skin, the images surged from the dark corners where she’d shoved them. A shudder raced through her that had nothing to do with the cold wind or icy water.
Another bright flash of lightning and nearby boom of thunder echoed through the canyon. With a shrill, frightened whinny, the mare bucked again and bolted away.
* * *
Brady paused at the fence line that marked the edge of the Wheeler Ranch property and strained to see any sign of gray horse or red dress through the curtain of rain.
Nothing. Not one damn sign of horse or rider in any direction. Only rain and black clouds. The vast Texas prairie stretched beneath the looming caprock escarpment, a line of towering rock which marked the abrupt shift from flat ranch lands to steep canyons, deep arroyos and dramatic hoodoos.
Brady clenched his jaw, frustration biting hard. Kara was out there somewhere. He couldn’t just give up and go home. She had no protection from the rain and wind, and no means to defend herself from wild animals...or human predators.
Had the shooter managed to escape the ranch amid the chaos? Was the sniper, even now, hunting Kara as Brady was? That notion sent a tremor to his gut and gnawed at him with razor teeth. If, in fact, Kara was the only witness who could identify the shooter, it stood to reason the would-be killer would pursue her and try to silence her.
He bristled, his possessive and protective instincts roaring.
As he scanned the horizon, he noticed a shed farther down the fence line. His spirits lifted. Maybe, just maybe Kara had seen that shed and taken shelter from the storm inside. He tugged his reins and clicked his tongue, guiding Rooster toward the small building.
“Kara!” he called over the rumbling thunder and drumming rain. “Kara, are you there?” Reaching the shed, he dismounted and tied Rooster’s reins to the fence. The shed door was secured with a padlock through a hasp. A quick circuit around the building showed no other entrance or window. Disappointment speared him, but another idea came to him. Did the Wheeler ranch hands keep an ATV or any other useful supplies in the shed that would help him find Kara?
Choosing a large rock from the ground, Brady cracked it against the padlock repeatedly until the screws holding the hasp in place jarred loose, and the lock fell free. He could repair the door for the Wheelers later. Right now, he had a mission.
Sure enough, two ATVs were parked inside, along with a small trailer stacked with fence posts and coiled wire. Shelves with tools, engine oil and first-aid supplies lined the walls. The keys for each ATV dangled from a peg by the door, and Brady helped himself. The first ATV chugged and whined but wouldn’t start. Quickly he moved to the second vehicle and sent up a silent prayer as he turned the key. The engine roared to life and Brady released a relieved sigh. He pulled his cell phone out while he was in the protection of the shed and dialed Nate.
After several rings, a distracted-sounding voice came on the line. “Uh, yeah? What?”
“Nate? It’s Brady. Sorry to take off like I did, but I think Kara saw the shooter. She got on April’s horse and lit off toward kingdom come.”
“What? Brady?” They had a bad connection. Reception was poor in many parts of the county, so this didn’t surprise Brady as much as annoy him. Being incommunicado during a crisis was no way to run an investigation.
“Listen, what’s happening at the ranch? Have my men found the shooter?” he said, talking louder as thunder rumbled outside.
“I don’t know. I’m not at the ranch.”
Brady knitted his brow. “Why not?” he barked. “I told Wilhite to keep everyone on premises until I got back.”
“My...shot. Bleeding out, and...trauma cent— April...in my truck.”
The snips of Nate’s reply that Brady caught sent a chill through him. Had something happened to April after he’d left?
“Say that again, Nate? What about April?”
Then he recalled Nate’s mother calling for help during the chaos.
“Gotta go...” Nate said.
“Wait!” Brady ran a hand over his face, wiping rain from his nose and brow. “I’m leaving Rooster tied to the fence by the equipment shed in the north pasture. Can you call and send someone to get him? I’m going after Kara, and I don’t—”
He cut his sentence off as a crack of thunder rattled the shed and loud static crackled in his ear. “Nate?”
He checked his screen and read, Call dropped. Grumbling a curse word, he tried to phone Wilhite. He was painfully aware of how much time he was using, how much farther ahead of him Kara was getting. When Wilhite didn’t answer his cell, he tapped out a rapid text, letting him know someone needed to get Rooster and asking him to let him know if Kara showed up back at the ranch.
Before heading out, he found a scrap of an old grocery sack, and wrapped it around his phone. Not much protection from the rain, but it was better than nothing. After stashing the cell phone in the breast pocket of his tuxedo jacket, he mounted the ATV and headed out.
Given that the rain had softened the ground, he searched the far perimeter of the pasture for hoof prints leading away from the ranch. Ten minutes later, he found what he’d been looking for. A definite set of tracks heading toward the rugged terrain of the Caprock escarpment. Nerves jangling, he wheeled the ATV around to follow the trail of prints. A few hundred yards out onto the plain, he found a sodden white ribbon, evidence he was on the right track. His pulse jacked higher.
He paused long enough to cup his hands around his mouth and shout, “Kara!”
Turning a full three hundred and sixty degrees, he scanned the area. Nothing. Just rain, more rain and an empty landscape.
“Damn it, Kara, where are you? What made you run?” He settled back on the ATV and squeezed the clutch, wondering if he meant what made her run from the barn today...or what made her run from their relationship?
Either. Both. He’d spent the past ten months asking himself what he’d done wrong, why she’d left him, how he could convince her they were made for each other. Sure, she’d been worried about him when he’d taken the interim position as sheriff—an unexpected direction for his career but one he was honored to accept—but her concern for his safety on the job seemed a trifling thing to break up over. It was ludicrous. When he’d told her as much, she’d twisted his words, and they’d had a pointless fight about him not respecting her or some such hogwash.
How could she think he didn’t respect her? She was completely amazing. Her love for and rapport with animals, her quick wit and sharp mind...not to mention her unbelievable courage and skill as a bullfighter in the rodeo.
Calling bullfighters by the more popular term “rodeo clowns” was something of an injustice, in his view. There was nothing funny about what Kara and other bullfighters faced in the arena. Distracting an angry, bucking bull, protecting riders took guts, speed and lightning reflexes. He was proud beyond words that Kara was one of the few women bullfighters in the business. Not respect her? He scoffed at the notion. He respected the hell out of her. He just didn’t understand her. He couldn’t—
The ATV hydroplaned, spinning sideways and nearly tipping over as he crossed some standing water. Righting the vehicle, Brady shook his head and sucked in a cleansing breath. He needed to quit