Cowboy Christmas Rescue: Rescuing the Witness / Rescuing the Bride

Weapon braced, he spun around. “Sheriff! Freeze!”

“It’s me, boss.” Wilhite stepped into the light, his own weapon still at the ready. “I haven’t found anyone in here. The shooter must have escaped out the back during all the ruckus. His rifle and tripod are in the loft.”

“Keep looking. Secure the scene and don’t let anyone leave the ranch grounds until a full search can be completed.” Brady unclipped Rooster and climbed into the saddle. “Anderson will assist until more backup arrives.” He tugged the horse’s reins to turn him. “You’re in charge of the scene until I get back. I’m going in pursuit of a person of interest.”

Brady flicked the reins and raced out of the barn. He’d have a hard time making up the lead Kara had on him, even if Rooster was faster than the mare she’d taken off on. He leaned low over Rooster’s neck and charged across the ranch yard. When he reached the edge of the first grazing pasture, he jumped the fence and cut across the field at a full gallop. He knew Rooster wouldn’t be able to keep up this pace for long, but he had to close enough distance to at least know which direction Kara had gone. Setting out on Rooster may have been the most immediate option, but Brady began to regret his hasty choice. An ATV would have been better in the long term.

As Rooster ate up distance, the first fat drops of rain splattered the earth and slapped his cheeks. Ahead of him, the gray veil of a downpour reduced visibility and promised misery as he searched for Kara. More important to Brady, though, was the danger the storm posed. Lightning strikes, flash floods and high winds were among the threats he and Kara faced out on the range, unprotected in this late spring storm. But whatever the risks, he would find Kara and bring her in. And not just because she was key to finding the shooter...but because she was key to finding his future happiness. Kara was the world to him, and her leaving had gored his heart like a raging bull’s horns.

* * *

Kara rode across the wild landscape of the Texas Panhandle with no particular destination in mind other than getting away. Away from the sniper. Away from Brady. Away from the painful memories of what she’d lost. She gave the mare free rein, so long as the horse took her anywhere but the Wheeler Ranch and the many forms of danger there. A cocktail of emotions and shock held her in a semi-trance as she rode into the encroaching storm.

Images of Brady’s hurt expression replayed in her turbulent thoughts, knotting her gut. When her brain shied from memories of Brady’s penetrating gaze, the sniper’s hateful glare crowded her mind’s eye. In her dazed state, flickers of lightning became the muzzle flash as the gunman fired at her. The crack of thunder was the echoing concussion of each shot that rang through the barn.

She didn’t even notice the rainfall until it swelled to a steady, heavy cadence. Juicy drops splashed on her face and dripped from her hair. The cool rain mingled with the tears already tracking down her cheeks and soaked her maxi dress so that it stuck to her skin. She stayed in her inattentive state until a particularly loud clap of thunder shook the earth and spooked the gray mare. Her horse reared up, shaking her mane with a whinny of distress.

Caught unaware, Kara had no chance to shift her weight or tighten her grip. She tumbled awkwardly from the saddle and into a shallow stream of muddy water. Her abrupt unseating jarred her from the grip of shock and heartache.

With pain and adrenaline blasting through her, Kara rolled to avoid the prancing hooves of the agitated mare. She tried to swipe the rain from her face, but her hands were just as sopping as her face, and she only smeared mud on her cheeks. When the dapple gray started to trot off without her, Kara sprang to her feet, slipping in the shallow stream of rain runoff. Her sodden sandals were less than useless in this weather and terrain, so she kicked them off and hurried, barefooted, to catch the reins on the mare.

“Easy, girl.” Kara held her hands up and cooed soothing words to the horse as she approached. She was somewhat surprised the mare had stopped...until she paused long enough to cast a glance around her. Kara groaned as she realized where she was, what had happened while she’d had her head down against the wind and rain, her brain locked in tunnel vision, replaying the frightening events at the ranch.

The mare, given no guidance other than encouragement to keep moving, had taken the path of least resistance...and wandered up the bed of a dry creek at the bottom of an arroyo. She hadn’t run any farther because they were surrounded by steep, striated walls of red clay stone, shale and gypsum. The way forward was rugged and rocky with rivulets of rainwater flowing down to fill the ravine.

Hell and damnation! The worst place to be during this kind of weather was at the bottom of an arroyo, where flash floods quickly turned dry creek beds into swift and deadly rivers. She shifted her panicked gaze to the cold water she stood in. Already the flow of runoff was ankle deep and rising rapidly. Her stomach pitched, and a 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 obsessing over his arguments with Kara and concentrate on finding her. He’d have a hard enough time navigating in this wretched weather and getting them both back to the Wheeler Ranch safely.