Cowboy Christmas Rescue: Rescuing the Witness / Rescuing the Bride. Beth Cornelison
A chill slithered through her as his menacing dark eyes narrowed. Something oddly familiar about him tickled her brain. She didn’t know the man, but she knew she’d never forget his sharply angled face or the deadly intent that blazed in his glare.
He let a filthy curse word fly and groped for a pistol at his side. The shock that had rooted her for precious seconds morphed into action. As the sniper swung his weapon up and squeezed off a shot, she used her bullfighter-honed skills to leap and tumble behind a plastic barrel full of water. The bullet left a gaping hole in one side of the container, and water sprayed out. Plastic was no match for a high-speed projectile, a fact borne out when the man fired again.
Kara tucked into a tight ball, just as a bullet ripped through the barrel and pinged off the steel bar of a squeeze chute behind her. Her fright kicked into survival mode, an adrenaline-fueled instinct for flight. She’d seen the sniper’s face. Could identify him. Clearly his intent was to silence the only eyewitness.
Shaking to her core, Kara got her feet under her and sprang from her huddle behind the now-shredded barrel. She sprinted toward the bridal couple’s horses, which kicked the ground and tossed their heads, spooked by the noise and tumult. In one deft swipe, she unclipped the dapple gray mare, then launched into the decorated saddle. Slapping the reins, she urged the horse to run.
As Brady neared the big barn with the Texas flag on its roof, a gray horse charged through the alley doors. He skidded to a stop and narrowly avoided being trampled. When the horse saw him, she reared up, almost throwing the rider. Brady stumbled back a step, dodging the flailing hooves. The panicked eyes of the rider met his for one heart-stopping second. Then in a blur of gray muscle, rippling white ribbons and red dress, the horse and rider galloped away.
Red dress. Brady’s pulse skipped. He blinked against the dust kicked up by the departing mare and focused on the rider. Replayed the glimpse of wide, fearful brown eyes.
“Kara!” he shouted to her retreating back. “Stop! Kara, wait!”
But she didn’t. He saw her kick the mare’s flank as she raced out into the vast stretches of ranch property.
“Damn.” Brady spit out the curse, and his gut kicked. He needed to go after her. Not only was he worried about Kara galloping off into the coming storm, but she was also, almost certainly, his key witness to the shooting. Or his key suspect.
Even as his mind rebelled against the idea that Kara could have anything to do with the shooting, the logical side of his brain couldn’t ignore the fact that she’d been in the barn at the time the shots rang out. And she’d fled the scene immediately after. Until he could question her and gather more facts, he couldn’t write off the possibility she was involved. Which meant he had to stop her. Bring her back for questioning.
Just inside the alley doors, he spotted the roan gelding that had been saddled and gussied up for Nate to ride to the reception. An ATV made the most sense out on the open range, but Nate’s horse was so handy...
Leading with his weapon, he entered the barn and did a visual sweep. Nate’s horse, Rooster Cogburn, pawed the ground restlessly, and Brady grabbed the bridle and cooed under his breath, “Whoa, buddy.”
A shadow moved on the back wall.
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