Cowboy Christmas Rescue: Rescuing the Witness / Rescuing the Bride. Beth Cornelison

to leave him. He was so like her father in that way. Always the rescuer, the protector, the one risking his own life to help another. But that selfless heroism had cost her father his life, and she couldn’t bear the idea of losing another loved one to duty.

      Still, she was eager to get out of her predicament and get home. Brady had seen fit to come to her aid, and she accepted that gift gratefully. Uncurling from her huddle against the cliff wall, she pushed onto her knees, shaking so hard from cold and fatigue she feared she might lose her balance and tumble into the swift water.

      Pulse thundering in her ears, she eyed the rushing floodwater dubiously. One miscue could send her into that turbulent river. Like Daddy.

      She swallowed the bitter taste that rose in the back of her throat and angled her gaze toward the top of the arroyo. When Brady tossed the rope down to her, she reached out to grab the end. She swiped a hand toward the dangling rope, but her groping hand came up empty. Even with the tool-weighed end swinging toward her, the overhang above her meant it hung just beyond her reach.

      “I can’t r-reach it!” she called up to him, her teeth chattering. The chill of the wind and rain, along with the cold air that had arrived with the storm, had numbed her muscles enough that her movements felt stiff and clumsy. She stretched as far as she dared, but her balance was off, thanks to lost finesse and chill-muddled dexterity.

      “Keep trying. I’ll swing it down again.” And he did. But she still couldn’t reach far enough to snare the dangling end.

      Next, she tried using the branch she’d made her flag from to knock it closer. She had to hold the very end as she extended it out to the rope, but it was working...until her icy fingers fumbled her grip and the branch dropped into the roiling water below.

      An anguished cry slipped from her throat, rife with both frustration and horror. The churning water swallowed the red scrap of fabric and whisked it away in seconds. She shuddered, knowing the same would happen to her if she fell. The violent current would toss and twist her body like a rag doll. Suck her under...like Daddy.

      “Kara?” Brady’s voice jerked her attention from the turbulent flash flood.

      “It’s t-too far out. I can’t g-get it.”

      “You have to, Kara! Keep trying!” His voice sounded more frustrated than encouraging.

      She hated the idea of admitting defeat. Disappointment plucked hard. “No d-dice, Brady. It’s too f-far away.”

      She heard his muffled curse and shared his frustration. Dispirited, she flopped back on her bottom, and her shoulders drooped. Hugging herself and trying to chafe warmth into her arms, she pushed aside the failure and regrouped. Think! What else could they do?

      “Fine. I’m coming down,” he called.

      She frowned and gave her head a little shake. Surely she’d heard him wrong. “Wh-what did you say?”

      “I’m coming down to you. Just give me a minute to get tied on.”

      Kara’s chest tightened, and her blood pressure spiked. “Brady, no! It’s too dangerous. There must be another way!”

      “You have a better idea? ’Cause I’m all ears. Meantime we’re wasting daylight, and that water’s getting higher.”

      She wished she could see him, could discuss their options face-to-face rather than shouting blindly, their voices drowned out by the wind, cascading runoff and pounding rain. But even more, she wished she had an idea that didn’t involve Brady shimmying down a rope in these horrid conditions to save her. “Brady, wait. We can’t—”

      The scuffling sound of loose rock preceded a shower of gravel and mud, knocked loose from above. Her heartbeat scampered frantically. “Be careful! Brady, I—”

      He grumbled and cursed, and the dangling rope shook and swayed. More loose red clay stone tumbled down near her, and she balled her hands in fists against her chest. Leaning out slightly, she craned her neck to glance up. She saw Brady’s boots, his black tuxedo pants streaked with red mud as he rappelled down the sheer rock. The rope was twined around his leg and over his shoulder in a strange configuration of loops and knots. Though Brady was a champion bull rider and calf roper, rock climbing was not part of his resume.

      Tension twisted inside her as he inched downward. “Brady, please!”

      But she wasn’t sure what her plea was. For him to be careful? For him to abandon his idea and climb back up? For him to hurry and get her to safety? All of the above.

      She held her breath as he eased closer. A few inches, then a few more. Letting out a length of rope, he slid down a foot, then another. His feet kicked at the rock wall, slipping and scrabbling for purchase. Each time he descended, she bit back a gasp, praying the rope would tighten and catch him.

      Finally he was eye-level with her, and the sight of his black hair plastered to his head, the rain spiking the sooty eyelashes around his piecing blue eyes, burrowed deep in her soul. Here was the man she’d loved so dearly, braving the elements of this nasty storm and going to great lengths to bring her safely home. She wanted to cry for what she’d given up, for all he meant to her and for the desperate longing to throw caution to the wind in order to spend the rest of her life with him. “Oh, Brady, I’m sorry. I—”

      A sob choked her, and he shook his head.

      “There’ll be time for that later.” He canted toward her, and the rope creaked. “Grab on. Take my wrist, and I’ll get yours.”

      “I—” She edged closer to him and held out her hand.

      “Come on, Kara. A little closer.”

      She glanced down at the rushing water, at the sizeable gap from the edge of the outcropping to the rope. She wanted to trust him, but simply giving him her hand didn’t solve the dilemma of the distance between them.

      When she hesitated, he stretched toward her, putting himself at a precarious angle.

      “No! Brady, be careful!” Even as she shouted the warning, her own foot slipped on the sodden red clay stone. Her foot shot out, and she landed hard on her backside. Stunned for a minute by the jarring fall, her second of the afternoon, she blinked back the rain that dripped in her eyes.

      “Kara!” She heard the panic in his voice, and though she’d had the breath knocked from her, she nodded to assure him she was unhurt...mostly.

      “Stay there. Let me come to you.” He shifted his position, pushing off the rocks with his feet to swing toward the drooping cottonwood tree branches. Grabbing one of the thick limbs, he used the tree as an anchor so that he could lean farther toward her. “When you take my hand, brace your feet. I’m coming onto the ledge with you.”

      She wasn’t sure what his plan was, but she followed his directions. When he was safely to the small shelf of rock where she’d taken refuge, he drew her into a tight embrace.

      “My God, Kara! Your skin is ice cold. What were you thinking, riding off into this weather like that?”

      She tensed, not wanting to be lectured on her flight from the shooter. She pushed against his chest, struggling to free herself, but his arms were steel bands holding her close. “Obviously, if I’d been th-thinking clearly I w-wouldn’t have ridden out here. The g-guy was shooting at m-me, and I panicked.”

      A twitch of surprise rolled through his muscles. “You saw the sniper?”

      She nodded weakly, her head pressed against Brady’s chest. His body radiated warmth, and she gave up her attempts to push him away. Instead she tucked herself closer to his heat and strength. “And when he saw me, he tried to kill me. When I rode off, I was in shock and scared. I j-just wanted to get out of there. Away from the shooter and...away from you.”

      His fingers dug into her arms, and he shoved her to arms’ length. “Away from me? Why?”

      She heaved a weary sigh. “I’d think that was obvious.”

      “Not