Cowboy Christmas Rescue

by Beth Cornelison

  “But—”

  He disappeared without listening to her protest.

  She growled under her breath and dropped in the chair.

  “Cut him a little slack, honey,” Ms. Scruggs said as she gathered her purse and coat.

  Kara blinked at the woman. “Pardon?”

  “The sheriff.” She smiled sweetly and laid a hand on Kara’s shoulder. “He’s tired, too, and working hard to deal with this mess.”

  Flashing a polite smile, Kara said, “I know. It’s just...”

  “Even though he’s been kinda tough on you tonight, it’s obvious how much he cares.”

  Kara’s pulse kicked. “I, uh—yeah. He cares about his job—” More than he cares about me, she thought gloomily. “And he’s good at it.”

  “Well, yes.” Ms. Scruggs tucked her purse close to her body and stepped out from behind the table. “But I meant how much he cares for you.”

  The comment so closely contradicted her last thought that Kara goggled, stunned for a moment. “Um, wh-why do you say that?”

  Ms. Scruggs chuckled lightly. “Oh, honey. It’s so obvious. Have you not seen the way he looks at you?”

  “Uh...” She’d felt Brady’s gaze even when she couldn’t meet his eyes, but—

  “And from what I overheard at the front desk when I arrived, he took off into the storm this afternoon to look for you. Is that right?”

  Kara gave a small, stiff nod.

  The artist flipped a hand up. “See, there. He could have delegated that to a deputy or another agency or any number of guests from the wedding who know that property like the back of their hand. But Deputy Wilhite said the sheriff didn’t think twice about going after you himself.”

  She shifted in the chair. “Well, we do have some history...”

  “History?” Ms. Scruggs marched over to the door, sliding her arms into her coat. “History implies everything is over, in the past. And there’s nothing ‘over’ about how that man feels for you.” She gave a wink as she pulled the door open and backed out of the room. “And I’d wager, if you were honest, your feelings for him aren’t in the past either.”

  Kara opened her mouth to argue, but a lump clogged her throat.

  “Good night, honey.” Ms. Scruggs waggled her fingers. “And good luck with the sheriff. You’re a lucky girl to have a man like that.”

  A squeak of dismay wheezed from Kara’s throat, but only after the door had swung closed. Burying her face in her hands, she dropped weakly back into her chair.

  Lucky to have Brady? Yeah, that’s how she’d felt...once.

  Okay, if she were honest with herself, she still had feelings for Brady. Of course she did. That’s why it was so hard to be around him. It hurt to think about what she’d lost when she walked away from him. A damnable little voice in her heart said she’d made the most foolish mistake of her life letting him go. The easiest way to shout down that little nagging voice was to simply avoid him. Out of sight, out of mind, right? She snorted indelicately. If only it were so easy.

  And, as if on cue, Brady waltzed back into the interrogation room and closed the door behind him. She eyed him through the gaps between her fingers.

  “All right. Earlene and Anderson are getting copies of the composite of the sniper sent out all around town, and Wilhite should have those mug shots for you to look at shortly. I have to do a bunch of paperwork.” He said the last with a groan of resignation in his tone. Then with a deep fortifying breath, he shook his head and squared his shoulders. Sir Galahad readying for battle. “Do you need anything before I go dig into reports and requisition forms?”

  She moved her hands to the top of the table and let her back hunch, her head loll back. Fatigue had settled deep in her bones, and keeping her eyes open was a bigger challenge by the minute. “My bed.”

  When Brady didn’t reply for several seconds, she raised her head and met his gaze. Though she’d answered honestly and meant nothing provocative with her reply, she saw heat and longing in his eyes. Her mouth dried as her mind conjured the same memories that she guessed, based on his hooded gaze, he was mentally replaying. Nights spent in her bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, sheets twisted and quilts thrown off.

  Tired though she was, a spark of lust zinged through her and fueled her pulse to a needy, expectant rhythm. After the day she’d had, the roller coaster her emotions had been on, the beating her body had taken, she’d love nothing more than to curl up naked under her covers with Brady and lose herself in his kiss, his caress, the heat of his body against hers.

  “Brady...” she whispered, her voice a husky rasp.

  “I’m afraid we’re not quite finished with you, Miss Pearson.”

  His formal address speared her heart. She’d been snippy about his use of his endearment earlier, but the stiff formality cut at her even more than the intimate nickname had. She wished she could take back her defensive bickering, the testy tone and sharp words born out of her fatigue and pain. An apology rose to her tongue, but before she could find the right words, he said, “We’ll try to make you comfortable until your services are no longer needed.”

  Again with the stiff formality. As if she were some Jane Doe and not someone with whom he’d shared a toothbrush, made love and dreamed of the future.

  Defeat punctured the bubble of emotion filling her chest. Clearly they’d get nowhere laying their past to rest tonight. Not while he was in full-on sheriff mode. Kara sighed and raked fingers through her messy hair. “Why can’t I go home now? You have your sketch, and I’ve told you all I remember about the shooting and seeing the guy at the funeral.”

  “Soon. Once you’ve looked at the mug shots Wilhite is pulling together and I finish a bit of paperwork, I’ll take you home.”

  “I don’t remember inviting you.”

  “Cute,” he said with a wry grin. “But I’m not letting you go back to your house alone. Whoever the shooter was, he hasn’t been caught.”

  A fresh spurt of alarm shot through her. “You think he’ll come after me? But how? He doesn’t know who I am, where I live—”

  “Maybe.” Brady flipped up a palm. “Maybe not.” His eyebrows lowered into a V as his gaze darkened and drilled into her. “If this guy is a professional, a gun for hire, as we suspect he might be, he’ll find a way to identify you. He won’t leave a loose end.”

  Acid puddled in her gut, and despite the quiver of fear shimmying through her, she scoffed a laugh. “You’re not making me feel better.”

  Her humor, her default defense, did nothing to crack the grave look on Brady’s face. “My job’s not to give you a false sense of security. It’s to keep you safe, and that’s what I intend to do.”

  Heart thundering, she gaped at Brady, stunned speechless. This ordeal wasn’t over. She could have a killer tracking her at this moment.

  After a tense moment of silence, he blew out a breath and shuffled back to the door. “You can sleep on the couch in my office until we get the mug shots in for you to look at. Or you can wait in here. Your choice.”

  Still in shock, her tired brain slow to process this latest bombshell, Kara made no move to get up and follow him to his office. He apparently took that as a refusal of his offer and slipped into the hall without a backward glance. The click of the closing door rattled her nerves as if it were the clank of a jail cell slamming shut. She cast a glance around the sterile, aged interrogation room, and a shudder rolled through her.

  She didn’t want to be alone. Though she’d prided herself on her independence since her mother had died of cancer a few years after her father’s drowning, she’d never truly liked being on her own. Her pets and her friends helped fill some of the void in her life, but nothing really filled the empty part of her soul that longed for a companion. Until she’d started dating Brady.

  Her capable and headstrong side chafed at the notion of needing anyone. Counting on anyone, investing herself in anyone only set herself up for heartache and disappointment later, the cynical voice insi
de her said. But at night, when she couldn’t sleep, when the dark revealed her deepest hurts and desires, she longed for someone in her life.

  “Nothing wrong with that,” her friend Hannah had told her when Kara had confessed to being lonely.

  “Wanting love, wanting to find someone to share your life with—a soul mate—doesn’t make you weak,” Hannah had said as they shared a bottle of wine on a recent Friday night. “It makes you human.”

  Kara slumped in the interrogation room’s hard chair, achy, frightened and dejected as she recalled that conversation. For a while, she’d thought that someone special would be Brady. But his new career path—or more precisely, his disregard for her wishes—had forced her to make the hard choice to leave him.

  Not knowing how long it might take for Deputy Wilhite to obtain the mug shots, Kara shoved back her chair and dragged herself to her feet. Stepping into the corridor, she glanced down the empty hall. She knew which office was Brady’s. The sheriff had used the same one since before the days when her father had been a deputy.

  She headed toward Brady’s door, taking in the shiny Christmas garland and pictures of Santa and his reindeer decorating the walls. Earlene’s doing, she felt sure. A pang of sadness twisted in her chest at the thought of spending another Christmas without her parents. Sure, she’d made plans to have dinner with Dr. Rutledge, her boss at the vet clinic, and his family, but she knew it had been a pity invite. Poor Kara, no family to spend Christmas with. Hannah would be in Dallas with her sister. April and Nate were supposed to be on their honeymoon.

  Another twinge of worry tugged at her. She prayed Nate, April and the baby were safe. At least they had each other. Now husband and wife.

  She frowned. Or were they? Had they finished their vows before the sniper opened fire? She hadn’t thought before now to ask.

  When she reached Brady’s door, she paused on the threshold. He looked up from the spread of documents on his desk. He nodded a head toward the worn and aged couch across from him, then bent back over his work. “Help yourself.”

  “Are April and Nate married?” she blurted.

  He glanced up again, clearly startled by her question. “Uh...no.”

  Her heart sank, disappointed for her friends. “No? The sniper stopped the wedding before they got that far?”

  Brady’s desk chair creaked as he leaned back, his expression somber. “Actually, April stopped it.”

  She blinked and scowled. “What?”

  “Right before the shots were fired, she told Nate she’d changed her mind. That she couldn’t go through with it.”

  Dismay rolled through her, and Kara grabbed the door frame for support. “Oh, my God. Why?”

  “Good question. All hell broke loose before she could explain herself.”

  She stumbled to the couch and sank onto the thin cushions. “Poor April.”

  “Poor April?” He gave a humorless chuckle. “What about poor Nate? He’s the one who got dumped. I’m sure he feels pretty rotten.” He shook his head, then muttered, “I know how that goes.”

  She sent him a peeved look for his side comment, then shook it off. Still not the time to get into their relationship...or rather, their former relationship. “I just meant, April must be hurting and so confused to have changed her mind.”

  “I guess. I—” Brady’s desk phone rang, interrupting whatever he’d planned to say. Reaching for the receiver he said, “Excuse me.”

  Kara considered the thin, lumpy couch for a moment while Brady listened to the caller, adding the occasional “mmm-hmm” or “okay.” While the sofa didn’t look especially comfortable, it beat the chair in the interrogation room, hands down. She lay down on the couch, using her stacked hands as a pillow, and closed her eyes.

  Soon, the drone of Brady’s voice and squeak of his chair faded into oblivion, and she drifted into a restless sleep.

  * * *

  When Brady finished his call with the Austin PD sergeant who was sending the mug shots, he turned his chair back to his desk and surveyed the stacks of paperwork that had piled up just since he’d left the office the day before. The shooting incident and manhunt for the sniper meant he was buried with a whole new mountain of documents, forms and reports. The paperwork was tedious and boring for guy like him, who thrived on the mystery and science behind catching criminals. On days like today, he missed forensics. He itched to get in the field and dissect a crime scene, to study the physical evidence in a lab and assemble the puzzle of what happened. Instead, he was trapped in his office signing requests for information, typing up incident reports from others who’d done the interesting work.

  He’d taken a job as interim sheriff because he thought it was a career move he couldn’t pass up. But more and more, he regretted his decision, especially since it seemed to be the crux of the issue behind Kara leaving him.

  He really didn’t understand her objection to his job. After all, her father had been in law enforcement. She’d given him some reason along the lines of how dangerous the work was, but Brady had easily dismissed that excuse. Rusted Spur was hardly a hotbed of criminal activity. With the exception of today’s shooting, the biggest danger he encountered on the job was generally a paper cut from all the stupid forms he had to complete.

  No, he was certain there was more behind Kara’s breakup than him taking the interim sheriff position. He just wished he could pin her down for more than five minutes to get some real answers from her. Maybe today, once he had all of the law enforcement responsibilities behind him, he could wrangle the truth from her. She owed him that much after what they’d shared.

  He shifted his gaze to where she slept, curled on his sofa, and something deep inside him quickened at the sight. She’d hate to be called vulnerable. She would, no doubt, lift her chin in that irreverent, stubborn way she had and scoff in his face if she heard him use that term about her. She was, after all, the same woman who climbed in the ring with bucking bulls. She was the woman who’d risked her life in the flash flood today to save his neck. She was the woman who’d picked up the pieces after losing both parents in a few short years and worked her way through college. But she wasn’t immune to bullets, and when he thought of how close the sniper had come to shooting her today, his stomach filled with acid.

  He also could have lost her to exposure if he hadn’t seen the wandering mare and tracked Kara down. Or she could have died in the swift water, trying to rescue him. Yeah, his Kara was brave and capable—sometimes a little reckless—but she was human. And the traumas of the day had taken their toll on her.

  Even in sleep, her brow bore a dent of worry. With her hands tucked under her head, she reminded him of his five-year-old niece when she napped at his house during his sister’s visits. Kara’s cheeks were still red and raw-looking from weathering the cold front, and her chapped lips were parted slightly as she slept. He thought of days past when he’d watched Kara sleep early in the morning before he’d kiss those same lips and head out to work.

  His possessive and protective instincts surged inside him, tensing his muscles. If the sniper was looking for Kara, he’d have to come through Brady to get her.

  Shifting his attention back to his paperwork, he groaned aloud when he found a purchase order from Earlene for toilet paper and office supplies that needed his approval. Clearly his predecessor had been a control freak.

  His desk phone buzzed, and he punched the speaker button so he could continue signing forms while he talked. “Yes, Earlene?”

  “I’ve got Harold Bunch from down at the Stop-N-Shop on line two. He says he thinks he saw the guy in the sketch you released a couple hours ago.”

  Brady paused mid-signature, his pulse kicking. “Put him through.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Oh, and, Earlene, the next time you have to buy toilet paper or any other supplies for the office, just buy the damn stuff and don’t fill up my inbox with more paperwork. All right?”

  “I... Yes, sir, sheriff.”

  He scru
bbed a palm over the stubble on his cheek and jabbed the button for line two. “Mr. Bunch? You say you saw the man in the sketch we sent out earlier?”

  “That’s right, sheriff. He came in ’bout ten o’clock, I’d say, bought some cigarettes and a sandwich outta the deli case. He had one of them knit hats on—you know, like the teenagers wear even when it’s a hundred degrees outside. I don’t understand why kids today think they need a winter hat on all the time. This is Texas, after all. I mean, I can see it today, now that it’s turned cold—”

  Brady drummed his fingers on the desk, trying to be patient with the store clerk. “Mr. Bunch, the man who came in...you’re sure it’s the same guy in the sketch?”

  “I reckon so. That hat was pulled low, but I saw his face plain enough. It’s the same guy.”

  Brady processed that information. So the sniper had stayed in the area. A dangerous move. Maybe he thought April was still in town and wanted another shot at her.

  “Mr. Bunch, did anyone else see him? Do you have security cameras in the store?”

  “Well, Jim and Mabel Greer was in here at the same time, and we was talkin’ about the wedding down at the Wheeler Ranch today. The guy seemed like he was in a real big hurry to get outta there after he paid for his cigarettes, but then he slowed up all of a sudden and acted mighty interested in the candy aisle. When I asked him if I could help him find anything, he shook his head and took off. I think he was eavesdroppin’ on Mabel and Jim.”

  A prickle of apprehension crept up Brady’s neck. “Can you remember, specifically, what you were discussing that might have caught his attention?”

  “Well, let’s see...”

  Brady shoved the paperwork aside and leaned toward the phone as if he could hurry the store clerk’s recollection with his anxious body position.

  “We’d talked about how it looked like the bride was changing her mind right before everything went to hell. Then Mabel was sayin’ how the Pearson gal lit out of the barn on the bride’s horse and...well...”

  When the man hesitated, Brady gritted his teeth. “Go on.”