Lone Star Christmas Rescue. Margaret Daley

       FOURTEEN

       FIFTEEN

       SIXTEEN

       Extract

       Copyright

       ONE

      Texas Ranger Drake Jackson hiked to the edge of the cliff and stared at the raw beauty stretching out before him. Not far away was the Rio Grande and Mexico. The case he’d been assigned involved a human smuggling ring that worked both ways—trafficking people both into and out of the United States. One of their corridors had recently been rumored to be along this part of the border in his territory, but every time the task force got close, someone ended up dead and the route disappeared.

      If only they could catch a break.

      A vision of his younger sister materialized in his mind. Smiling. Laughing at something he’d said. But that was fifteen years ago, before she vanished without a trace. At that time, he’d been a Texas highway patrol officer and had taken vacation days to work the case. But he could never find her. In his gut, and based on the evidence he’d gathered, Drake knew she’d become a victim of a human trafficking ring. Even now, he and his family lived in limbo concerning Beth.

      He shook the image from his thoughts. He might not be able to bring Beth back, but he was determined to stop others from ending up like her. He knew firsthand what it was like for a family to have no resolution for a loved one’s fate.

      With a sigh, he turned away from the cliff’s edge. A faint cry from below caught his attention. A wounded animal? Again, the sound drifted to him. A cat—cougar?

      He lifted his binoculars and scanned Big Bend National Park’s rugged terrain below for the source of the noise. The cries grew to wails, allowing him to home in on the source. He sucked in a sharp breath. Nestled between large boulders sat a baby, tugging on the shirt of a woman sprawled on the ground. The location was an odd place for anyone to be. Quickly he checked the surrounding area. He didn’t see anyone nearby. Returning his attention to the lady, he noticed she wasn’t moving or reacting to the crying baby next to her. Something was wrong.

      He shrugged off his backpack and dug into it for the rope and gear he used for rappelling. It would take two or three times longer for him to hike down to the canyon. If the woman was injured, she might need help right away. After putting in his anchors, setting up his rigging and double-checking all the equipment, Drake stepped off the cliff with his backpack. Facing the rock facade, he walked down it at a sixty-degree angle.

      The baby’s continuous bawling urged him to move as fast as he could. Drake kept looking over his shoulder at the pair below. When his feet hit the bottom, he unhooked himself, then hurried the few yards to the woman and child. By the time he reached them, the little boy’s face was beet red, tears running down his cheeks. Dressed in jeans, a dirty long-sleeved white shirt and tennis shoes, the lady beside the child appeared as though she was taking a nap—no obvious signs of an injury.

      Drake knelt next to the child and stroked his hand up and down the baby’s back. “Shh. I’m here to help,” he said in a soft voice and removed a water bottle to offer the little boy a few sips.

      As he continued to pat the child, he turned his attention to the woman, relieved to see her chest rising and falling with each breath. When he felt for her pulse on the side of her neck, its racing beat didn’t surprise him.

      The baby, probably no more than six or seven months old, calmed down and looked at Drake with big brown eyes and long black lashes. Assessing him.

      “You aren’t alone.” He wished he could ask the child what had happened and get an answer.

      What was wrong with the young woman? Why was she out here with a baby and no backpack—or water?

      Heatstroke? He touched her smooth, soft skin, pinkish from the sun but not badly sunburned. He ran his fingertips over her forehead, her flesh sweaty but not hot enough to indicate heatstroke. He breathed a little easier—although it wouldn’t take long for her to become dehydrated, and then her body would shut down.

      Drake leaned down and said in a firm voice, “Wake up, ma’am.” He gently shook her shoulder.

      No response.

      After another glance down the front of her body, he returned his attention to her face, with long light brown hair framing it. Still no obvious sign of why she wasn’t responding. He hated to stop soothing the baby, but he needed to find out why the lady was unconscious.

      The baby whimpered the second he removed his hand so he could roll the woman over to check her back for any injuries. He locked gazes with the little boy for a few seconds, saying, “It’s okay. I’m still here,” before he shifted his focus to the unresponsive lady.

      He immediately saw what was wrong. Blood matted her hair and stained the ground below her head. Had she fallen or had someone hit her? He surveyed the area. Unless someone was hiding behind the rocks, they were the only people in the canyon. He carefully examined the wound—about four inches long but hard to tell how deep.

      As the baby watched him, Drake grabbed his backpack and pulled out his first aid kit. He treated the injury and wrapped gauze around her head to stem the flow of blood. From the amount of it, uncoagulated, soaking into the ground, she’d been hurt recently. He laid the woman on her back again with her face turned to the side, revealing her bandage. Her eyelids fluttered open.

      “I’m a Texas Ranger. I’m here to help. What happened?” he asked, but not before she’d closed her eyes again. “Ma’am, I’m here to help you and the baby.”

      Nothing.

      With no cell reception, he’d have to hike out of the canyon and head for the nearest park road, which was closer than circling the cliffs and making his way to his car. He couldn’t leave her or the baby alone while he did. He’d have to carry them both to the highway. She needed medical help as soon as possible.

      He put his first aid kit away, then took a bottle and drank a long sip before he held the baby and offered him more water. He drank, the liquid running down his chin and neck. After that, Drake quickly fashioned a carrier for the little boy using his backpack with most of his gear removed. After giving him another sip of water, Drake strapped him in, covered the top of the child’s head and then shrugged into the makeshift baby hauler.

      The boy’s giggles brought a smile to Drake’s face. Hopefully, he thought it was a game. He glanced over his shoulders into those big dark eyes. Was the woman his mother? There weren’t too many similarities between them. “This is the way to travel. Let someone else do the walking.”

      The baby babbled in response.

      Drake drew in a deep breath, squatted and gently scooped the injured lady—no more than five feet three inches—into his arms and then stood. As he trudged across the canyon floor, he kept visually sweeping the terrain for any sign of someone else. Occasionally he looked at the slender-built woman or peered over his shoulder at the little boy who had fallen asleep against his back after only ten minutes.

      When Drake emerged from the canyon, he knew a paved road was only about a mile away. He thought about stopping and resting, but instead he paused and used a boulder to prop the woman—heavier than he’d expected—against it so he could get the bottle out and take a gulp of water. The child slept through the maneuvering. Resuming his hike, Drake shoved away the burning sensation in his arms and shoulders and kept going. The woman might be small, but she had a muscular build.

      In