Cowboy's Texas Rescue

by Beth Cornelison

“Then how—”

  “A little help here! Hey! Somebody!” he shouted, angling his head toward the stairs. Glancing back at her, he coaxed, “They’ll be here any second, honey. They said they were sending help up. Don’t give up on me.”

  Her eyes locked on his. Had he intended the double meaning she heard in his tone? The emotion filling his gaze sparked a light deep in her soul. “I won’t.”

  The slam of the courtroom door preceded the sound of pounding feet on the stairs.

  “Grab his legs! Pull him back!” The guard who’d shouted the order dropped to his belly beside Jake and caught Chelsea’s hand. “On three! One, two, three!”

  Clinging to Jake’s wrists, she gritted her teeth against the pain as the men pulled her up and onto the landing. The jagged edge of marble and concrete scraped her stomach through her thin dress and the tugging on her injured shoulder sent paroxysms of pain through her arm.

  “Watch her shoulder!” Jake said, pushing the other men aside as she lay back on the cold marble floor. “Hold her still while I work the joint back in place. Sorry, sweetheart, but this will hurt.” Strong hands pinned her down, and Jake twisted and tugged her arm until it popped back in the socket. Almost immediately the writhing agony stopped, replaced with a tolerable ache, and Chelsea shuddered with relief.

  As the men around her stepped back, she cut her gaze around the landing and spotted Brady crumpled in the corner, blood staining his clothes. His eyes stared sightlessly toward the ceiling.

  A note of distress rose from her throat, and Jake moved into her field of vision to block her view.

  “Don’t look, Chels.” He drew her into his arms, pressing her head to his chest and holding her body against his as she trembled. Or was he the one shaking? The tremors seemed to envelop and move through her at the same time.

  “He’s dead?”

  “Yeah. It’s over, babe. You’re safe. It’s all over,” he whispered as he held her.

  Chelsea let her muscles go limp, collapsing fully against Jake, soaking in the reassuring strength of his body cradling hers.

  Behind Jake, policemen and court officials surrounded Brady’s body, handheld radios crackling and tension thick in the cacophony of voices.

  “Jake, I—”

  He pressed a finger to her lips. “Wait. Let’s go somewhere more private. I have something I need to say.”

  She nodded, and when she tried to stand, he swept her off her feet to carry her.

  She shot him a shaky grin. “My shoulder’s sore, but my feet still work. Let me walk.”

  He frowned his disagreement as she wiggled out of his arms. When her feet touched the floor, her post-adrenaline knees buckled like wet cardboard. Jake scooped her back up before she could fall and growled, “Humor me.”

  He carried her back up the stairs and into the courtroom where EMTs had arrived and were tending to the fallen bailiff and other injured spectators.

  Jodi Israel spotted Chelsea as Jake brought her in, and rushed over. “Oh, my God, Miss Harris, are you all right?”

  She offered a weak smile and nodded. “I am. Thanks to Jake.”

  “Bring her over here.” ADA Israel led them to a less-busy corner of the courtroom where she righted a chair that had been knocked over in the melee. “Can I get you anything? Do you need a doctor?”

  “I’ll see that she gets to the E.R.,” Jake said. He eased her down on the chair and crouched beside her. Sending the ADA a backward glance, he added, “Can we have some privacy for a minute?”

  “Oh.” ADA Israel backed away. “Sure.”

  Chelsea held her arm to her chest, keeping her injured shoulder immobile, and drew slow restorative breaths. “Wow. When I lost that twenty-four pounds for my health, who knew it would literally save my life?”

  Jake blinked and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “What?”

  “I barely held on as it was. If I’d had those extra pounds dragging me down, I don’t think I’d have been able to.”

  He shook his head and grinned. “You lost twenty-four pounds?”

  She cocked her head in dismay. “You really didn’t notice?”

  “I... No.”

  She heaved a disappointed sigh.

  “I mean, I noticed you looked beautiful, but you were beautiful to me before.”

  “Right.” She rolled her eyes. “My smile,” she said in a mocking tone.

  Jake caught her chin between his fingers and angled her face toward his. “Yeah, your smile.” His expression was stern, but his eyes were warm and a little damp.

  Chelsea’s pulse stumbled.

  “Your smile is beautiful, because it’s a reflection of the loving, smart, funny woman inside. But for the record, I find the rest of you damn fine-looking, as well. I happen to like curves on my woman, and the woman I met in January had one of the lushest, sexiest bodies I’ve ever seen.”

  Chelsea stared into his bright blue eyes. He was serious. She opened her mouth but was speechless.

  “Now if you’re happier having lost the weight, great. I’m happy for you and proud of the hard work that I’m sure it took to lose the pounds. But I don’t love you because you have a hot body and a beautiful face or a smile like sunshine—”

  Chelsea jolted, stiffened. He loved her?

  “I love you because of who you are, because of the compassionate, courageous, sarcastic woman I got to know nine months ago. That will never change, Chels. It’s yours uncondition—”

  She covered his mouth with her hand to shush him. “Back up a minute. You love me? As in love love?”

  He laced his fingers with hers and brought her palm to his mouth for a kiss. “Hell, yes. I love you, Chelsea Harris, with all that I am.”

  She blinked at him, unable to breathe. She tried to process his profession while a hundred doubts and questions assailed her. “But your job—”

  His mouth tugged up on one side. “Yeah, I need a new one. Know anyone that’s hiring?”

  “And your promise to your mom?”

  “I figure I’ve fulfilled it. I think she’d be happy with my choice. And I know she’d have loved you.”

  A pure, sweet joy flowed through her, warming her from the inside out. “I—I don’t know what to say...”

  He chuckled. “That’s a first. Try ‘I love you, too.’”

  Tears spilled from her eyes as she nodded and threw her good arm around his neck. “I do, Jake. I love you, too.”

  Epilogue

  A chill December wind nipped Chelsea’s cheeks as she hurried into the posh New Orleans country club where Daniel LeCroix and his bride, Nicole White, were having their wedding reception. As one of the groomsmen, Jake had stayed behind at the church for a few pictures and was to meet Chelsea at the party. Chelsea had ridden from the church with Erin Kincaid, Alec’s wife, and their toddler son, Joey.

  “I didn’t think New Orleans got cold,” she said to Erin, holding the country club door for the young mother as she bustled in carrying Joey.

  “This isn’t cold. You should try Colorado in January.” Erin set her son on the floor, and he immediately toddled off toward a Christmas tree lit with hundreds of white lights.

  “I’m not complaining. Really. I swore after last January when I nearly died of exposure that I’d never complain about being cold again.” Chelsea shivered at the memory.

  “That’s right.” Erin’s face lit with a warm smile. “Jake told us how you two met. You were really lucky Jake came along to rescue you when he did.”

  Chelsea grinned, unable to contain the happiness she’d found these past few months getting to know Jake better and helping him take care of his father’s ranch. “I’m lucky Jake came along for a lot of reasons.”

  “Indeed.” They handed their coats to an attendant to check, then Erin’s smile slipped as she glanced at her son by the tree. “Oh, no! Joey, don’t pull!”

  Erin hurried off to prevent a Christmas-tree disaster, and Chelsea called to her, “I’ll find our table.”

 
In the ballroom, no expense had been spared in decorating. White candles, pink and red poinsettias, sparkling glass ornaments and organza drapes created a winter wonderland. A jazz band was already playing soft music, and the rich aroma of Cajun cuisine spiced the air. Chelsea headed to the head table, found her place card next to Jake’s and settled in. Erin joined her a few minutes later...without her son.

  Chelsea arched and eyebrow. “Where’s Joey?”

  “Nicole thought of everything for this wedding. There’s a nursery down the hall staffed by no fewer than six of her teenaged cousins.

  “Awesome. So Mommy’s free to dance and party with Daddy tonight....”

  She gave Erin a wink, and Alec’s wife leaned close and pitched her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I wonder if they’d keep him long enough for Alec and me to slip back to the hotel for a...private party?”

  Chelsea laughed. “I promise not to tell.”

  “Promise not to tell what?” Jake asked from behind her.

  Chelsea spun around in her chair. “Jake! What about wedding party pictures?”

  “All done. Told you I wouldn’t be long.”

  Alec approached the table and kissed his wife before taking his assigned seat as best man, next to the groom. “Did you, uh...lose something, honey? Like our kid?”

  While Erin explained about the nursery to Alec, Chelsea grabbed Jake by the lapels of his tuxedo and hauled him close for a kiss. “Have I told you how devastatingly handsome you are in that tux, Mr. Connelly?”

  Jake cradled her cheek with his palm and returned her kiss with fervor. “You look rather delicious yourself in this sassy number.” He ran a finger along the spaghetti strap of her clingy red-and-white candy-striped cocktail dress. He nuzzled her ear and murmured, “Are you supposed to look like a candy cane? Because all through the wedding, I kept looking at you and thinking how much I’d like to lick you.” He gave her earlobe a playful nip, and Chelsea’s cheeks warmed with a flush.

  “Hold that thought, cowboy,” she returned with a lopsided grin. “I know where we can buy peppermint body paint on the way back to the hotel.”

  Jake’s eyebrows lifted, and his eyes darkened with desire and intrigue.

  “Ladies and gentleman,” the wedding director shouted from the door of the ballroom, “It is my pleasure to introduce to you for the first time...Mr. and Mrs. Daniel LeCroix!”

  Chelsea, Jake, Erin and Alec all rose to their feet to applaud the happy couple. Jake loosed a piercing whistle, and Alec shouted, “About time, Lafitte!”

  The band started playing Andrew Lloyd-Webber’s “All I Ask of You,” and Daniel led Nicole onto the floor for their first dance. Chelsea watched the newlyweds sway and stare into each other’s eyes with such unabashed and undeniable love that her own eyes misted.

  As other couples joined the bride and groom, Jake took Chelsea’s hand. “Dance with me.”

  She followed him onto the dance floor and drifted into his arms, feeling like the luckiest girl in the room to be on Jake’s arm. As she pressed close to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, a lump under his tuxedo coat dug into her chest.

  Chelsea levered back and patted the bump with a wrinkle in her brow. “What’s this?”

  “Well, it was supposed to be a surprise,” Jake said with a wry grin, “but because you’ve found it, I’ll do this now.”

  “Do what?” she asked as he stepped back from her.

  Jake reached in the breast pocket of his tuxedo as he dropped to one knee.

  All the air whooshed from Chelsea’s lungs when she spotted the velvet jewelry box in his hand. Her knees started shaking, and the music faded to a drone as she gaped at him. “Jake?”

  A wickedly handsome grin tugged his lips. “Chelsea Harris, you once told me not to deny myself the chance to love and be loved when I found the right woman for me. Well, you are the right one for me, and I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life without you in it.”

  “Oh, Texas!” she gasped, fanning her face as tears of joy prickled her eyes. “I can’t believe this!”

  Around them, other couples on the dance floor realized what was happening and turned to watch, murmuring in delight.

  Jake’s smile widened. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Tears flowed from Chelsea’s eyes, and her throat was so tight she could only squeak, “Yes.”

  A cheer went up in the room along with a round of applause. Jake slid the huge oval diamond solitaire ring on her shaking finger, then rose to his feet to pull her into his embrace.

  Laughing and crying at the same time, Chelsea kissed Jake and repeated, “Yes. Yes. Yes. I love you, Jake. So, so much.”

  He brushed the hair back from her face and kissed her again. “You’re the world to me, Chels. Don’t ever doubt that.”

  “I don’t. You’ve made me a believer.” She stroked his jaw, remembering when he rescued her from Ethyl’s trunk, the first time she saw his handsome face. “Turns out Brady did me a favor the day he kidnapped me.”

  Jake’s smile grew pensive. “Yeah. Despite all the terrible things he did, some good came out of his evil.”

  Chelsea nestled closer. Held his gaze. Made sure he was paying attention. “Jake, good won.”

  She felt his muscles tense beneath her hands. Then he blinked. Exhaled. Smiled. “You’re right. This time good won.”

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Colton Showdown by Marie Ferrarella.

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  Chapter 1

  He wasn’t one of those people who had an obsession about cleanliness. Tate Colton had never had a problem with getting his hands—or any other part of him, for that matter—dirty, if the job required it. That kind of dirt he could put up with and ignore.

  But dealing with these subhuman creatures who made their living trafficking in human flesh, in destroying young lives and thinking absolutely nothing of it, was an entirely different matter. It made him want to go back to the hotel room where he was registered under his assumed name and take a shower. A long, scalding-hot shower to wash away their stink.

  Once he received the assignment from his supervisor, Hugo Villanueva, he knew that going undercover in order to find and save the Amish young women who had been kidnapped would require him to associate with, in his opinion, the absolute dregs of the earth.

  Dregs in expensive suits.

  You could dress a monkey up in fine clothes, but he was still a monkey, Tate thought. No amount of expensive clothing could change that, or change the fact that the people he was forced to interact with were lower than scum.

  He’d think more about stepping on a beetle than he would about terminating the existence of one of these cockroaches.

  To look at the man who had brought him up to this particular hotel suite—his current tour guide to this underworld—someone might have thought the man was a successful businessman or the CEO of a Fortune 500 company instead of the utterly soulless lowlife that he actually was.

  Impeccably dressed in what was easily a thousand-dollar suit, his guide to this lurid world of virgins-for-sale smirked at him confidently as he opened the door leading into the suite’s bedroom.

  “I’m sure we can find something to pique your appetite, Mr. Conrad,” he said.

  Tate scowled at the shorter man. “I said no names,” he sn
apped, mindful of the part he was playing in this surreal drama.

  The other man laughed, enjoying what he considered to be the display of ignorance on the part of this new client.

  “Nothing to be worried about. What are they going to do?” he asked, gesturing at the bedroom and the young women being held there. Each and every one of them were dressed in identical long, slinky white gowns. “Post it on the internet? None of them even know what the hell the internet is,” he stressed, jeering at the young women who were virtually prisoners in this suite. “They all live in the Stone Age. Trust me.” He patted Tate’s arm and the latter shrugged him off as if he was flinging off an annoying bug—an act that wasn’t lost on the man. “Your name—and your sterling reputation—are both safe here,” he assured Tate.

  “C’mon, c’mon,” the man snapped at the young woman he was herding into the room for his “client’s” final review. “He hasn’t got all night. Or have you?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at Tate, a lecherous grin spread across his angular face. “You know, if you’ve changed your mind and want to make your purchase now—” He left the sentence open, looking at Tate expectantly.

  “I haven’t changed my mind,” Tate answered formally. The deal was that he got to see the young women in person in order for him to finalize his choice, and then the negotiations regarding the pending “purchase” would go from there.

  Inside, Tate was struggling to contain his fury. The woman he’d “requested,” “Jade,” was looking at him apprehensively like a mistreated animal afraid of being beaten.

  Had she been beaten?

  Tate looked her over quickly. “What’s wrong with her?” he demanded, channeling his anger into the part he was playing—a man who wanted the “goods” he was considering purchasing to be perfect. He was well aware of the fact that the blue-gray eyes continued to watch his every move. Tate swung around to confront the other man. “She looks like she’s been manhandled,” he accused angrily.

  The man shrugged indifferently. “Don’t worry. Nothing happened that would have left a visible mark on her.” His flat, brown eyes raked over Hannah from head to toe, as if to reassure himself that she wasn’t displaying any sign of bruising in plain sight. “That’s the one rule—other than payment up front—the boss won’t tolerate any visible marks left on the merchandise.”