Cowboy's Texas Rescue. Beth Cornelison
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