Robin Perini - Cowboy In The Crossfire

She clutched the handle, but the simple movement nearly tore her insides. She bit her lip. If anything happened to her… She stared at Ethan, his lips trembling, his expression haunted. They needed help.

Gritting her teeth, she slipped out of the car and into the night. She had no choice. She had to go to Blake.

* * *

SHERIFF BLAKE REDMOND paced the wooden floor, nerves wound tighter than an overcinched saddle. He had a bad feeling about tonight but didn’t know why. Sleet pounded the roof, hammering the century-old ranch house with what the Weather Channel had termed the worst ice storm in decades. Four-foot-long icicles and West Texas didn’t go together.

Below-freezing temperatures and unrelenting ice made travel deadly. He’d issued an order hours ago for folks in his county to hunker down until further notice, but there were always those fools who didn’t listen.

A whine escaped the Lab mix curled on the rug next to the fire.

“I know, boy.” Blake glanced at the old police radio sitting silent on the hand-carved sofa table. He’d spent several hours tinkering with the ancient equipment. A few paper clips and pencil erasers strategically placed, and it worked like a new one. “Gonna be a long night, Leo.”

The dog rose and paced the floor, unable to settle.

“You feel it, too?”

Blake bent and ruffled the oddly shaped ears of the stray mutt. He’d wandered into his barn shortly after Blake had moved back to Carder, Texas, to take over as sheriff following his father’s sudden death. The dog had hung around until finally they’d both surrendered to the inevitable.

The animal’s unease didn’t bode well, and the sparse living room gave Blake no distraction. Despite moving into his childhood ranch home nine months ago, Blake still kept his memories stored away in boxes. Easier to avoid them that way.

The police radio cracked with static, and the dispatcher’s voice broke through the old speaker. “Sheriff?”

Blake snagged the microphone. “Donna, are you still manning the station? I ordered you home hours ago.”

“Deputy Parris just called in. Streets are clear, though he couldn’t stop complaining the storm ruined his trip to his fishing cabin.”

“No one’s supposed to be on these roads tonight but me. If Mom finds out her best friend’s working on a night like this, I’m dead. Go home.”

“You’re like your father,” Donna said.

Which meant she ignored Blake’s orders, too. Maybe that’s where his unease had originated. Donna had run the Sheriff’s Office dispatch for his father since he was a kid. He’d inherited her just like he had the job. He’d also learned from his dad exactly how to handle her. “Go home, Donna. Or I’ll put you in jail and lock away the key to be sure you’re safe.”

“Yep, just like him.” She chuckled. “Dispatch out.”

Blake glanced at the clock. He’d give her fifteen minutes. On his patrol, he’d verify she got home. He tugged on a wool sweater over his corduroys. His uniform didn’t have the warmth he’d need tonight.

A low growl rumbled from Leo. The dog rose and his ears lay back as he stared at the front door. Blake tensed, his hand automatically going to his sidearm. A movement outside the front window caught Blake’s attention. A pair of blue eyes under a thatch of reddish-brown hair peered just above the windowsill. Right at him.

“What the hell…”

Blake flung open the door. Freezing wind and needles of sleet invaded the room. A small boy huddled in a Chicago Bears coat and scarf stared up at him, his cheeks red, his lips blue, dried blood on his pants. “My mommy’s dying. She said you’d help us.”

The boy sank to his knees.

With an inward curse, Blake scooped up the shaking child, kicked the door shut and sat him down by the fire. He crouched down and slid the boy’s pant leg up to his knee. No obvious injury. “Where did this blood come from, son? Are you hurt?”

The boy shook his head and pursed his lips together. “Please. Help Mommy.”

“Where is she?”

“Our car slid. It crashed.” The boy’s eyes filled with tears. “Mommy kept falling asleep. She made me leave her.”

No one could survive for long in that storm. Blake shoved his arms into his shearling coat, yanked on his gloves and grabbed a flashlight from the top of the refrigerator. “Is it only your mom out there? No one else?”

The boy nodded. “Only Mommy.”

“Stay here. Understand?” The kid couldn’t have walked far. His mother had to be nearby. “Leo, come.”

The dog, who’d been nosing at their small visitor, bounded to Blake. The boy waited pathetically in front of the fire, shivering, yet his eyes locked on Blake. “Are you a good guy?”

Blake pulled his Stetson down over his ears. “You can trust me.”

The boy’s lips quivered in uncertainty. He was a brave little guy. A sharp pang twisted Blake’s heart. Did every boy practice that same look? In that one instant, he’d looked…just like Joey. Just like the son Blake had lost.

He shoved the pain into the hole where his heart had been. “I’ll be right back. Stay by the fire. Don’t touch anything.” He gave the kid his most stern look.

With Leo at his side, Blake yanked open the door and stepped into the frozen night. The lights from the barn were bare flickers against the onslaught of sleet and roaring wind. Ice pricked his face, making his eyes water. He scanned for any movement through the darkness. Nothing between here and the horse barn. He had only minutes or the boy’s mother was dead.

Long icicles dangled from the porch eaves and looked like something out of a horror movie. He shoved through them, breaking off several. They fell to the steps, the howl of the winter wind swallowing all sound.

Even if the woman were screaming he wouldn’t hear her until he tripped over her body. He swept his flashlight across shiny layers of ice. As he stepped past a large pine, blinking orange just at the edge of his vision caught his attention. Hazard lights. Tilted. The car must be in the ditch. He veered toward the vehicle, but Leo barked, tugged on Blake’s sleeve and shot in the opposite direction.

“You’d better be right, mutt.” Blake hurried after the animal, swinging his light toward a small gully that lined his long driveway.

Nothing was visible from the road. When he reached the edge and shined the beam into the ditch, Leo leaped toward a small, snow-covered figure, huddled out of sight of the driveway. Blake slid down the frozen dirt and turned her over. If it hadn’t been for her son and the dog, Blake may never have found her in this mess. She was soaked and freezing, but a small puff of air escaped her nose. Thank God.

He lifted her into his arms, and she moaned, squirming, pushing at him. “Ethan—”

“Your boy’s fine,” Blake said. “Now stay still or we’ll both freeze to death.”

“Blake?” She clutched at his collar feebly. “Please. Help us.”

Blake’s ears had gone numb, but he could have sworn she said his name, although with this wind he couldn’t be sure. He could barely feel his hands, even through the gloves. She must be closing in on hypothermia. He had to get her inside. Fast.

He struggled up the gully, his boots losing traction even though she didn’t weigh more than a minute. Each step was treacherous. Leo raced past Blake to the porch light as he slugged his way home. The wind and sleet slammed at him from the side. He stumbled, jostling her to maintain his balance. She whimpered in his arms.

Blake’s legs stung with cold. Each step took more and more effort. He squinted toward his house. The curtain pushed back, and a small face pressed to the front window. The ranch house looked unbelievably far away. By the time he reached the porch, the woman in his arms quivered uncontrollably.