Page 33 of Seaside Cowboy's Fairy Tale

Well, there was only one thing left to do. The shooters didn’t have to know she had no clue where their fuel tank was. They just had to think she might hit it. She returned fire again and again. This time, hot pain singed her.

Grinding her teeth, she held in a scream as she slumped back down below the plush seats at what he called the stern. They didn’t feel very stern. In fact, she’d never sat on anything quite so sumptuously soft. But even such a soft cloud could act as a good shield, so she pressed in tight. She didn’t need to signal to the shooters that she’d been hit.

Oh no. That was her shooting arm. She had to find a way out of this!

“They are leaving! They’re leaving! We did it.” Tex shouted. He might’ve even clapped, but she wasn’t sure. While she enjoyed looking at him—way too much—she had other priorities now.

“Awesome.” She made her voice sound strong. But not strong enough. She infused all the enthusiasm she could muster and yelled, “Whoo-hoo!”

Her pulse was beating in her temples, and that was no good. She took a deep breath, then another one. One more. She needed to calm down, which was easier said than done.

It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.

Riiight.

The adrenaline in her veins would pump blood out much faster if she was terrified. She needed to stop the blood flow. For the lack of a better idea, she ripped off her cap and pressed it to her wound, turning away from him, so he wouldn’t see she was injured. A jacket would be better than a flimsy cap, but she didn’t take one along for such a warm sunny day. Tex must have a first aid kit, but she didn’t want to distract him.

She didn’t trust the shooters not to change their minds and come after them again, after all. He needed to put the maximum distance between them. Blood soaked through the cap’s canvas fabric fast, so her gaze searched for other material.

It latched onto the white tablecloth and fancy cream-colored linen napkins—monogrammed, no less—Tex had brought for their lunch. All still looked clean. No food or drinks were spilled. It would have to do for now. She snatched them greedily, grateful for his upscale habits this time. Then she pressed the tablecloth and napkins to her wound.

It wouldn’t be enough, of course. She gnashed her teeth from pain.

She needed to tell him.

Of course, she needed to tell him lots of things. She’d done more research about the thefts, then about Ms. Mueller, and him and his family. Things didn’t add up. She didn’t believe in his guilt. Lots of people were present during both thefts, so why point the finger at him? Could it be jealousy and revenge of a rejected woman? But Rachel would’ve been a hypocrite if she pointed a finger at Ms. Mueller without having any proof yet. There was also a viable suspect with way more valid reasons, Fred Sersen. Then there was a person she didn’t want to suspect, and the reason for her suspicions was ridiculous to start with.

Well, right now, she had a much bigger problem to worry about.

Rachel suppressed a groan, partly from pain, partly from regret as her right arm weakened. Blood seeped through her shirt, coloring it crimson red, and the white tablecloth turned the same color, as well. No hiding the wound now.

“We’re getting closer to the shore. We made it, Cinderella!” He must’ve glanced at her because then his voice turned from jubilant to terrified. “You’re shot!”

“Yeah.” What was the point in denying it?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He turned off the motor and rushed to her.

“I need you to stay at the, well, whatever that part of the boat is called and steer.” She looked at a few boats far ahead before the thin line of the shore. “I don’t want the boat to run into something. Or someone.”

“We won’t. Why didn’t you just hide?” His voice broke.

Did he worry about her that much? Nobody besides Irene Bruzlin had ever worried about Rachel. Well, and her mice, of course. Tears burned behind her eyes. She had a friendly relationship with her colleagues but never let anyone close. The few times she had, the guys had wanted more than friendship, and she’d seen how romantic relationships could go sour in the workplace. Her job was too important to risk it.

She’d already decided to come clean with Tex days ago, save for Ms. Mueller’s name and other details, of course. She’d probably never see him again after her confession, which sounded like a trivial thing to worry about considering she’d been shot. Yet her heart ached already.

“It’s okay. It’s probably just a flesh wound.” She managed a weak smile, but his worried features remained taut, so her smile probably didn’t look persuasive. “I’ve been hit before.”

He radioed for the ambulance to meet them at the shore, opened the first aid kit, then eased her hand away from the wound, sliding his into its place.

She’d have told him already, but she had to run it by Irene first to make sure it wouldn’t affect her company, and Irene was coming home from a vacation abroad today. Having fulfilled the conditions of the contract with Ms. Mueller, Rachel had given her resignation notice and refused to sign a new contract. The resignation was needed so their company wouldn’t be liable for her actions. She’d also briefed Irene about the case before she’d left for vacation, so her boss knew the theft situation.

Leaving the only place that had become like home to her was going to hurt emotionally. But now, physical pain pulsed in her arm, spreading to her shoulder and reverberating through her body and edging out other thoughts.

Meanwhile, he cleaned her wound and pressed the gauze he’d found in the kit to it. “You need to remain calm.”

“Are you telling me or yourself?” She wanted to infuse teasing notes in her question, but the words just came in a whisper.

“I meant for you so the blood surge diminishes, but good point.” He bandaged up her arm, but they both knew it would get soaked through fast. “Lord, please, please, please save Cinderella.”

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