Читать книгу Cowboy's Texas Rescue - Beth Cornelison - Страница 11

Brady pressed a hand to his throbbing leg. The duct tape bandage the cowboy had fashioned over his wound had worked for a while, but fresh blood was seeping from under the tape. As his adrenaline receded, his pain grew, along with his impatience.

Gusts of wind battered the pickup and made it difficult to control the truck. He swerved as if he were drunk and battled to stay in his lane. The last thing he needed was to let erratic driving draw the attention of a passing cop.

Squinting through the windshield, he spotted a farmhouse ahead and tried to remember how far the GPS voice had said they were from the brunette’s house. Damn it, he should’ve brought the GPS with him, but he’d gotten in a hurry.

Get a grip, man! You’ve come too far, risked too much to screw up now! Brady squeezed the steering wheel. He refused to go back to prison. Confinement was sucking the life from him. He’d eat a bullet before he let them cage him up again.

He pulled into the driveway of the farmhouse and surveyed the scene. An old pickup was parked out front, and a small stable sat a hundred yards or so behind the house. A black-and-white dog noticed his arrival and started barking from behind the fence of its pen. He glowered at the dog, knowing the ruckus was likely to attract unwanted attention.

Sure enough, he’d just cut the engine, intending to take a look around, when an old man stepped out of the stable and sent a curious look his way. Brady cursed under his breath and pulled the cowboy’s gun onto his lap. He rolled down the truck window and waited as the old man ambled closer.

“Can I help you?” the white-haired man asked.

Brady sent him a friendly smile and curled a finger around the trigger of the pistol. “I’m afraid I’m lost. I’m looking for a friend’s house.” Brady called an image to mind of the brunette’s key chain, dangling from the Caddy’s ignition. The miniature Texas license plate clipped to the ring read Chelsea. “Chelsea said her parents were on vacation, and she was house-sitting for them. I’m supposed to meet her for dinner, but I think I missed a turn.”

The man’s face brightened. “You must mean the Harrises. I heard they were taking a cruise or some such.” The old man walked a few steps closer. “Their place is the next driveway on the left. About four miles, I think.” He grinned. “Nice girl, that Chelsea. How did you meet her?”

Brady shoved down his rising impatience. “Mutual friend.” He jerked a nod. “Thanks for the directions.”

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.

“Well?” She held her breath.

“I think the locking pin moved, but the underwire broke off.” He banged on the lid, but nothing happened.

Chelsea battled the disappointment that tried to swell in her chest. Stay positive.

“Watch out,” Jake said, pushing her legs aside with his hand. “Give me some room.”

She scooted as far back from the lock as she could. “What—”

She heard a thud, then another, and the trunk hook bent slightly so that a crack of light and chilly air seeped in. In the weak light that filtered inside, she could see Jake bring his knees to his chest, then kick out with an abbreviated thrust. The heel of his boot hit the lock once, twice…and suddenly the lid sprang open. Chelsea gasped as a blast of icy wind swept over her and relief flooded her veins.

“Hallelujah,” she whispered.

Jake rolled his head to face her, grinning. “And amen.”

He smacked a kiss on her forehead, then grabbed the car frame to pull himself out of the trunk in one swift motion. As he jumped to the pavement, he clutched a hand to his temple, and she remembered the blow to the head he’d taken as he collapsed from the stun gun.

“Are you okay?”

He raised a startled look to her. “Me? You’re the one turning into a human popsicle.”

“I saw you grab your head. You hit it pretty hard when you fell.”

He waved away her concern with a flick of his hand. “I’ll be fine. Right now we have to get something for you to wear.”

She climbed out of the car and tested her cramped legs’ ability to hold her upright. Weak, but she stayed vertical. Spotting his cowboy hat in the trunk, she reached for it, then turned to hand it to him.

He took the hat but jammed it on her head instead of his. “You need this more than I do.”

Admittedly, without the trunk’s protection from the wind or Jake’s body heat cuddled near her, her cold factor had risen exponentially. Along with her awkward, self-conscious factor. Being nearly naked with a stranger in a dark trunk paled to being nearly naked with a hunky cowboy outside in the light of day.

Jake raked his gaze over her, and he frowned.

Her cheeks stinging with humiliation, she wrapped her arms around her middle, both fighting off the cold and hoping to hide her love handles from his scrutiny.

He marched past her and opened Ethyl’s back door. She thought about the horrid orange jumpsuit the escapee had been wearing, and her stomach roiled. Even as cold as she was, the idea of wearing the creepy killer’s prison castoffs disgusted her. But when he backed out of the car shaking his head, she knitted her brow. “The orange jumpsuit?”

Jake shrugged and headed toward her with his hands upturned. “He must have taken it with him. It was evidence of his trail after all. So…unless you have an emergency blanket or some spare clothes stored in there…”

Chelsea heaved a shivering sigh. “No.”

Already large snowflakes danced around her head and dusted the ground.

Her shoulders slumped. “Now what? The car is out of gas.”

Jake stopped in front of her and started unbuttoning his shirt. “For starters, you take my clothes.”

She jerked her chin up and met his gaze. “B-but then you’ll freeze. I can’t—”

“So be it.” He stripped off his long-sleeved chambray shirt and dumped it in her hands. “A gentleman doesn’t let a lady go without.”

Tears of gratitude prickled her eyes. Being a good Samaritan, stopping to help the stranded driver, could have cost Jake his life, and he was still making sacrifices on her behalf.

“Th-thank you.” Her voice cracked as she wrapped the shirt around her and jammed her arms in the sleeves. The fabric still held his body heat and traces of his woodsy scent. A quiver spun through her that had nothing to do with the chilly weather.

When she glanced up from buttoning his shirt, he’d kicked off his boot and shoved his jeans to his feet. Her breath backed up in her lungs. The sight of his broad bare chest, tautly muscled legs and clingy boxer briefs rooted her to her spot. Oh, Texas, the man was sexy!

“Here.” He extended the jeans to her, rousing her from her gawking stupor, and a new level of awkward reality slapped her. No way would his jeans fit her size 14 butt. If she tried to zip his jeans and couldn’t, she might as well rent a lighted sign with arrows that blinked Chubby.

“I, um…Keep those. You n-need to wear s-some-thing.”

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t feel right wearing them if you were—”

“Jake.” She grabbed his arm. “I…God, this is embarrassing.” She squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “They won’t fit me.” She exhaled harshly, creating a white cloud that slowly dissipated, along with her pride. “I’m too fat for them.”

Jake scowled, his gaze wandering over her as he shook the jeans out to put them back on. “If you say so.”

Chelsea turned away, biting the inside of her cheek and choking down the burn of humiliation that climbed her throat. Even Todd’s cruel bluntness when he’d dumped her hadn’t stung this much. She knew she shouldn’t be so sensitive, shouldn’t care what Jake thought of her appearance. She’d probably never see him again after today. But her waist size was a sore spot for her. And not just because Todd had used her weight gain as an excuse to break up with her.

The extra pounds reminded her of a dark time in her life, long months spent at the side of a hospital bed, weeks of eating fast food and junk snacks from a vending machine so that she could stretch extra minutes from the day. She’d turned to comfort food when she thought she might lose her mother. The added pounds represented grief and a loss of control in her life that she was still struggling to reclaim.

“For the record—” Jake’s voice drew her from her gloomy thoughts “—you’re not fat.”

She cringed mentally at his attempt to comfort her. She didn’t want his pity or his false flattery. “Todd thought so,” she mumbled under her breath.

“You’re not.”

“Whatever.”

She heard the rasp of his zipper as he re-dressed, the thump as he stomped his foot back in his boots. She stared down at her own feet. At least Brady—or whatever the convict’s name was—had let her keep her tennis shoes. They had miles to walk before they’d reach shelter and a phone.

“And along those same general lines, when you tell your friends about today, be kind.” She lifted a puzzled look to Jake, and he sent her a wry grin. “Remember that it was cold out here.”

When his meaning became clear, she darted a glance at his groin, then back to his face. And laughed. “Seriously? That was c-cold mode, and you’re worried what I’ll tell my f-friends?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Just sayin’.”

An icy wind buffeted her, burrowing to her bone and stealing the return quip from her tongue. Chelsea hunched her shoulders and blew into her hands. “My parents’ house is about s-six miles that way.” She aimed a finger down the road, her teeth chattering. “That’s where I’m staying while they’re on vacation.”

“Is that where you were headed when the car ran out of gas?”

She nodded.

Jake folded his arms around her, blocking the brunt of the wind with his body. He lifted her hand and rubbed her frozen fingers between his palms. “Is it safe to assume Brady headed there when he left here? Did he know where your parents lived?”

She ducked her head to look in Ethyl’s front window. “Well, the GPS is s-still in the car, so it’s hard to s-say. I was driving, and the GPS only g-gives one step of direction at a t-time. He knew the general d-direction we were headed but maybe n-not a specific address.”

The idea of an escaped criminal breaking into her parents’ house, eating their food, sitting on their sofa to watch their new flat-screen TV made her skin crawl.

“Is your parents’ place the closest house?” Jake asked, twisting at the waist to scan the empty horizon.

“N-no. Henry Noble’s house is about t-two miles from here. Then Darynda Jones and her kids live about a mile d-down Haverty Road. Her husband is deployed in Afghanistan until July.”

“Okay. We’ll head to the Nobles’ because it’s the closest. From there we can call the cops to check out your house before you go home.” He took her hand and started down the road, casting a wary eye to the sky. “Let’s hurry. These flakes keep getting bigger and coming down faster.”

Jake stopped walking after Chelsea stumbled for the third time in as many minutes. Facing her, he blinked as giant snowflakes battered his face, driven by a biting wind. “Am I going too fast?”

“S-sorry. I j-just…M-my legs are so c-cold, they’re numb. I can’t feel them, m-much less walk straight.”

Frowning his worry over her worsening condition, Jake glanced down the road, gauging how much farther they had to walk to reach her neighbor’s house. Two inches of snow had already accumulated, and the wind blew harder by the minute, dropping the temperature with each gust. His head throbbed where he’d hit it, but he couldn’t do anything about his aching skull, so he shoved thoughts of it aside to concentrate on Chelsea. “Climb on my back. I’ll carry you.”

She stared at him blankly, her slowing mental faculties another sign of hypothermia.

“Chelsea, do you understand what I said? Can you hold on to me if I put you on my back?”

If needed, he could carry her fireman-style over his shoulder. Checking for some sign of coherence, he looked straight into her eyes—gorgeous, green bedroom eyes, he noted again, feeling a kick in his pulse. And, hot damn, but her generous bottom lip begged to be nibbled like a fresh strawberry.

Chelsea frowned. “I—I’m too heavy.”

That again? “Nonsense. I’ve carried men bigger than you, under worse circumstances.” He thought about how his comment sounded, then added, “Not that you’re big…I just mean—” Another lightning bolt of pain shot through his head. He gritted his teeth. “Hell, just get on my back and hold on. Okay?”

Crouching in front of her, he pulled her arms around his neck. When her hold on him tightened, he slid his arms under her legs and stood. If he weren’t so concerned about how red and cold her skin felt, he’d really enjoy having her breasts pressed against him and her legs wrapped around his waist… .

His knees still hurt from tackling the worker in the radiation lab the day before, and as he stood, a grunt of pain slipped out.

Chelsea sighed and wiggled weakly. “See. I t-told you I’m too heavy.”

“Relax.” Jake tightened his grip and trudged on down the road. “That grunt was not about you. It was about the abuse my knee took on the job recently.”

“Wh-what do you do?” she asked.

Conversation was good. If he could keep her alert and talking, he could monitor the extent of her hypothermia.

“I do security work.” His standard vague response.

“Like a m-mall cop?”

He chuckled. “No. Overseas contract work.” More nonspecific generalities. Even his family didn’t know the full extent of his top secret black ops work.

“O-oh.” She fell silent for a moment. “I’m a vampire.”

Jake scowled. “A vampire?”

Was this his first sign she was losing touch with reality, disoriented, hallucinating? Not good.

She gave a small laugh. “Y-yeah. I take people’s b-blood.”

“To drink?” He’d heard of weirder things.

A scoff. “No! For s-surgeries and s-stuff. I’m a phlebotomist at the b-blood center.”

A grin of relief tugged Jake’s lips. “Gotcha. For a minute there, I thought you were losing it.”

She chuckled weakly, then sighed. “Y-you smell good.”

“Uh…thanks.” He thought he smelled like airports and twenty hours on a stuffy plane, but…whatever. Keep her talking.

He asked her basic, easy questions, general get-to-know-you fare. Was she dating anyone?

Where did she go to college? What were her hobbies?

No. Local community college. Reading and quilting. Barrel racing.

Barrel racing? Jake quirked an eyebrow. Interesting.

Did she like sports?

Football and some baseball. Rodeo.

Between the blowing, blinding snow and the extra weight on his back, Jake made slow progress down the highway. He tried to keep his mind on the mundane conversation and not on the bitter temperatures and frigid wind. He’d endured worse conditions in the line of duty, so he could handle a snowstorm with no shirt or coat. No matter how cold he was, Chelsea had to be colder. He admired the fact that she wasn’t complaining, that she kept a sense of humor even though she had to be miserable. Having her body pressed against his back provided him a little added warmth, and he hoped his body heat was helping her against the freezing temperatures.

He cast a narrowed glance around him to figure out how far they’d come. Visibility had quickly diminished once the storm descended.

“How long have you worked at the blood center?”

“Three years. No, almost f-four.” She sounded drowsy, her speech beginning to slur.

“Chelsea, stay with me. Talk to me. How much farther is it to the Nobles’? Am I going the right way?”

Her finger wiggled. “Down that d-driveway.”

Jake squinted through the blowing snow and spotted two reflectors poking through the snow, marking the end of a driveway. Target sighted. Jake ducked his head against the wind and picked up his pace.

As he plowed through the storm, he thought briefly of his father, lying in the hospital in Amarillo, fighting for his life. Jake’s heart sank. Given the weather, Chelsea’s condition and his stolen truck, he doubted he’d make it in time to tell his father goodbye. As much as he hated missing his last chance to see his father, his job with the black ops team had taught him plenty about sacrificing for the greater good, about priorities. And his first priority now was saving Chelsea, getting her to safe shelter and warming her up.

His second priority was finding Brady. He wasn’t sure when the escaped convict had landed on his radar, but sometime between stopping to help a stranded motorist and finding a woman locked in a car trunk, he’d made Brady his business, his priority. According to the radio, Edward Brady had already killed two policemen. The guy was dangerous, desperate.

But Jake had made a vow years ago when evil men like Brady had taken his mother’s life. He would not turn his back and let evil win again. Jake was determined to put an end to the convict’s reign of terror, no matter what it took. Because stopping dangerous men was what he did, and Brady had made it personal when he crossed Jake.

“Wait here.” Jake set Chelsea down behind an old truck parked in the neighbor’s front yard. “I’m going to scout things out, make sure Brady isn’t inside ready to ambush us. If there’s trouble, stay hidden. Got it?”

Chelsea gave a jerky nod and slid to the snowy ground, huddled in a shivering ball. She needed heat—and fast—but Jake wasn’t about to go charging into a situation blind. Not while there was an escaped convict in the area. He might not see his stolen truck or any tracks in the snow on the property, but that didn’t mean Brady wasn’t around.

Crouching low, Jake hurried across the lawn to the front window, where he peered inside. Despite the increasing gloom and encroaching evening darkness, no lights were on in the house, making it harder to see the home’s interior. The possibility existed that the homeowner was not there, though the truck parked out front suggested otherwise.

Moving to the next window, Jake peeked inside again, still finding nothing to suggest Henry Noble was home. When he rounded the corner to the back of the house, he discovered a dog pen with a small doghouse in a back corner of the yard. He didn’t see a dog in the pen, but there were paw prints in the snow inside the caged area. Because there were no footprints leading to the dog pen, Jake decided the dog must be huddled inside his doghouse. Another indicator no one was home at the Noble residence. Why would anyone with good sense leave their pet out in such horrible weather?

An uneasy feeling stirred in Jake’s gut. Where was Henry Noble? Had the bad weather stranded him in town? The roads and visibility were bad, but not impassable at this point.

He continued around the outside of the home, checking through windows, scanning the yard for clues of occupancy. As he crept through the backyard, the dog, a medium-sized black-and-white heeler or Australian cattle dog, saw him and charged out of his doghouse barking and pacing inside his pen. Jake waited and watched from behind a woodpile to see if the dog’s barking brought anyone to the back door, if even to look out at the yard for the source of the dog’s agitation.

Nothing. No one.

Not even from the horse stable, one hundred or so yards behind the house. The wind had blown the main door to the stable open, and it banged noisily on the stable wall with each gust of frigid wind. If Henry Noble owned horses, the stable should have been shuttered and secured to protect the animals from the storm. Most ranchers were far more concerned with their animals’ welfare. That Henry Noble seemed not to be didn’t sit well with Jake.

Frowning his puzzlement, Jake completed a full circuit of the house, then approached the front door cautiously and knocked. Pressing an ear to the door, he listening for sounds of someone moving around inside but heard nothing except the dog out back and the howl of the wind in the eaves. Turning the knob, he tested the door and found it unlocked. His pulse kicked uneasily. Where the hell was Noble and why hadn’t he locked his home when he left?

“Hello?” he called into the dark house as he crept into the foyer, wishing he had his gun for self-defense. He made a quick sweep of each room, knowing he needed to get Chelsea inside…like an hour ago.

Empty. No Noble, but more important, no Brady.

He hurried back outside to the old truck where Chelsea huddled, shaking with near-convulsive tremors.

“Okay, sweetheart, let’s get you inside.” He scooped her in his arms, and she looped a limp arm around his neck. He carried her across the yard and into the house, where he laid her on the living room couch.

She turned her head slowly, teeth chattering, and frowned as she studied the dark room. “Wh-where’s M-Mr. Noble?”

“That,” Jake said, taking a throw from a nearby recliner and wrapping it around her, “is a good question. Short answer—not here. Any ideas where he could be?”

Chelsea furrowed her brow and clutched the decorative blanket around her. “N-no.” She sank back in the cushions of the sofa and closed her eyes. “H-he’s retired. M-Mom said that s-since his wife died last s-summer, he never g-goes anywhere. H-he’s like a hermit.”

“He lives alone?” Jake found another blanket, one of the recent marketing gimmicks, that had sleeves, piled in the seat of the recliner and pulled it around his shoulders like a robe. Moving to the sofa, he pulled Chelsea onto his lap and included her in the circle of the sleeved wrap. She snuggled in as if to nap, and he jostled her. “Hey, I know you’re tired, but you need to stay awake. I’m going to get you something warm to drink and some clothes to put on in a second.”

His gaze landed on the fireplace where three small logs were stacked, and he decided lighting a fire was a good next step. “Hey, do you see any matches or a lighter around here? I’m going start a fire.”

He reached under the shade of a lamp beside the couch and twisted the switch. Nothing happened.

He tried again. Nada.

Frowning, he glanced to the DVD player across the room, to a digital clock beside the recliner and to the cordless phone charging station on the end table beside the sofa. The display screen on each device was dark. He huffed his frustration. “I think the power is out. That’s why it’s so dark in here. And unless he has a corded landline or cell phone lying around somewhere, we have no phone either. The cordless is useless without a working base.”

He chafed Chelsea’s icy legs and rubbed her fingers, praying she didn’t have frostbite. Even though she’d been significantly underdressed for the conditions, her saving grace might be that the temperature had been near freezing and not subzero.

“S-Sadie,” Chelsea croaked.

“What?”

“H-his dog. I h-hear her.”

Jake nodded. “She’s in her pen out back. I’ll bring her in when I get some more wood for the fire.”

Chelsea shook her head, scowling. “No. N-now. It’s freezing out th-there!”

Jake arched an eyebrow and flashed her a lopsided grin. “All right, I’ll get her. Do you know if she bites?”

“Sadie’s a s-sweetheart.” She shuddered again, but he noticed a healthier color was already returning to her cheeks. She licked her pinkening lips, and his libido kicked hard. Her lush mouth tempted him to forget he was raised to be a gentleman and steal a taste. Now might not be the right time, but later…

Squelching the spike of arousal that spun through him, Jake shifted her off his lap and gave her the sleeved blanket as he pushed off the couch. “I’ll be right back.”

Before venturing outside, Jake checked the front closet and found a heavy camouflage hunting jacket, which he commandeered, along with a fleece sweater, which he took for Chelsea. He tossed her the sweater as he passed the sofa on the way to the back door. “Put this on, and I’ll check the bedrooms for more clothes when I get back with the dog.”

“Aye-aye, C-Captain,” she returned, the corner of her mouth twitching in a teasing grin. Her good humor and alertness boded well for her recovery, and Jake drew a deep breath of relief as he headed outside.

Sadie paced and barked at the gate of her pen as he crossed the yard.

“Hi, Sadie,” he said in a soothing, friendly tone. “Good girl. Where’s your person? I bet you’re cold, huh?” He let the dog smell his hand through the fence, and Sadie wagged her tail as she wiggled excitedly waiting for him to open the gate. “Let’s go inside. Okay, girl? Good dog.” Judging Sadie not to be a bite threat, he opened the gate.

Sadie charged out…and tore across the yard toward the stables, barking.

A tingle raced down Jake’s spine. Had the dog seen something he missed?

“Sadie! Here, girl. Sadie!” Blowing into his cold hands, he headed at a trot across the lawn toward the stable. “Sadie?”

The dog appeared in the door of the stable for a moment, as if to say, Are you coming?

Jake jogged to the stable, approaching the open door cautiously. “Hello? Mr. Noble, are you there?”

No answer. Hearing only the agitated nickering of horses, the whip of wind and Sadie’s dog tags tinkling as she paced, Jake moved into the shadowed stable. His gaze assessed every dark corner and egress as he crept inside. “Hello?”

Sadie appeared from one of the horse stalls and gave an uneasy whine.

Apprehension pooled in Jake’s gut. He eased around the half wall of the stall and peered inside.

An elderly man lay on his back, staring sightlessly at the rafters. A bullet hole marred his forehead.