Saddle and a Siren

By Randi Alexander

Responding to a late-night 911 call, Paramedic Clint Black finds a T-boned pickup truck and livestock trailer tipping precariously at the edge of the highway. The injured driver is more concerned with her cattle than with her own injuries. She surprises Clint with her desperate need for his help, and she needs him for more than just her medical problems.

Kally Zappa hasn’t exactly been telling her family the truth. She has left herself in a risky position by taking on complete responsibility for her Chiangus breeding stock. When her paramedic hero Clint turns out to be the answer to all her problems, and her heart races at his every touch, she can’t help wonder whether fate has tossed them together.

Finding in each other the missing part of their existence, Kally and Clint explore the captivating physical connection that keeps them running for the privacy of his bedroom. But when Clint believes she has ulterior motives for being with him, can Kally find the right words to convince Clint he is her forever hero?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Randi Alexander
• Release date: Aug 3, 2016
• ISBN: 9780463126998

Randi Alexander

Randi Alexander writes romance novels in a fun variety of genres, like western, paranormal, menage, BDSM, motorcycle club, and even sweet. When she’s not writing a story or dreaming about her next book, Randi is biking trails along remote rivers or snorkeling the Gulf of Mexico. Forever an adventurous spirit with a romantic imagination, Randi is family-oriented and married to the best guy in the world. Give in to the allure of passion as Randi’s emotional love stories sweep you off your feet and leave you breathless. You’re guaranteed a story that’ll give you a happily ever after.

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Saddle and a Siren

Heroes in the Saddle Series, Book 3

By

Randi Alexander

SADDLE AND A SIREN

Heroes in the Saddle Series, Book 3

Original Printing 2016

Revised Version Copyright © 2021 Randi Alexander

*~*~*~*

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the web -without permission in writing from the author.

Chapter One

Clint Black took the corner sharp, and the fire department ambulance slid sideways on the gravel road.

Try to hold it to sixty ‘round them corners, boy. Buzz, the other, more seasoned paramedic, braced himself with palms pressed against the door and the dash.

Through the darkness of predawn, their siren whirred, and the light bar on top flashed red and white.

There are injuries, Buzz. No time to be overcautious. He turned again, and this time the tires grabbed the blacktop. How far? Clint didn’t dare take his eyes off the road to check the GPS.

I see ‘em up ahead.

Two red lights, like taillights, and white headlights, one on top of the other, rather than side by side. As they drew closer, they spotted an old pickup on its side in the middle of the road, its front end spurting steam into the warm night air.

Goddamn. Rollover. Clint turned off the siren. He hated seeing a vehicle on its side. It nearly always meant major injuries. On the right side of the highway, a huge cattle trailer tilted, the back door facing down toward the ditch. As he pulled to a stop, he spotted a black pickup truck attached to the front of the trailer by a hitch, its front end nosing down toward the ditch. I’ll go check the black pickup and trailer. You get the rollover.

Gotcha. Buzz jumped out as Clint tugged a flashlight from the console and hit the ground running.

The livestock trailer sat with its rear tires on gravel, the far one halfway down the ditch. From inside the box, the sound of snorting accompanied hooves kicking metal. If that animal—or animals—shifted inside the trailer, the whole thing could go over on its side and maybe bring the pickup truck with it.

The pungent scent of manure filled the air, but no scent of smoke accompanied it. A good sign.

Clint raced to the front of the trailer where the new, three-quarter-ton truck with big dual tires on the rear pointed grill-down into the ditch. In the back of the truck, the hitch in the goose neck of the trailer had twisted on the ball in the bed of the pickup; but amazingly, it still held, keeping the trailer from flipping on its side. For now. The light inside the truck was on, and Clint spotted movement.

Hang on in there. Try not to move. He slid down the gravel embankment, stopping at the driver’s door. Blood stained the window. He tried the door handle, but it didn’t budge. The left front fender was crumpled, and the tire looked flat, but the door should still work.

Running footsteps sounded behind him, and Clint spotted Buzz racing around the old blue pickup truck that lay on its side, his flashlight scanning the ground for yards around the vehicle. Why was he—?

Inside the black truck, a soft moan reclaimed Clint’s full attention. How many of you in the truck?

Just me. But where am I? A very female, very shaky voice.

Ma’am, you’re in Wild Oak, Texas, somewhere between Dallas/Fort Worth and Austin. He gave the handle a harder yank, but nothing happened.

Somewhere? You’re not sure where? She sounded either confused or sarcastic. With the blood on the window, he’d guess confused.

Ma’am, can you reach the button to unlock your door? He put his hands on the glass, his face between them, to get a better view inside without shining his flashlight into her face.

A curvy woman listed to the right, holding something to the left side of her head. A white cloth that was now partially red.

Button? Her voice came softly. In seconds, a metallic pop sounded, and Clint pulled open the door.

Buzz ran over. No one in the other vehicle. I checked the area for ejected persons, but no one’s around.

Looks like the Bewel boys’ truck. The fuckers. They probably ran. Clint didn’t know who’d called in the crash, but it better have been whoever was driving that truck, or he’d personally see to it that they never had the chance to drive anything ever again.

He stepped up onto the running board, pushed aside the flaccid airbag, and made sure the truck had been shifted into park. Let me check you out real quick, then we’ll get you out of here, ma’am.

Pulling his small light from his chest pocket, he shone it into each of her wide, blue eyes. Her pupils were equal and responsive, which was good. The blood oozing onto her short, chin-length brown hair, though? That worried him. Otherwise, she looked unharmed, even amazingly healthy. The lady had the solid look of a woman who worked out—or more likely, handled livestock regularly.

Clint took a look under the bloody rag. The wound on the left side of her head wasn’t long or deep, but that kind of cut always bled. Keep pressure on your head for me.

He wrapped his hand around her left wrist, feeling for a pulse while Buzz went to get the stretcher. A bolt of electricity shot through his fingers and up his arm.

Whoa. She blinked at him. What was that?

She’d felt it, too? Like a static charge but warm and intoxicating.

Not sure, ma’am. Could it be something with the truck? Live wires from the battery touching the frame? The dome light worked, though. He’d get her out fast just in case.

Clint stepped down from the truck. Is there anywhere else you’re feeling pain?

She gasped. My Chi! Jerking her head in both directions, she spotted the trailer behind them and started to clamber out of the truck.

Slow down, ma’am. He grasped her legs to help her sit with her feet on the running board as Buzz parked the stretcher on the blacktop. Clint shone his flashlight on her boots, then up along her jeans, looking for visual injuries. "Show me what you’re calling your chi."

What? Her gaze shot to his. "I’m talking about my Chiangus."

It sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. Show me where, please.

She let out a frustrated cough. Chiangus are cattle. My breeding stock. As she slid out of the truck, her booted feet hit the gravel, making him step back. City boy, huh?

Clint blinked a few times. Damn. He knew what Chiangus cattle were, but in the context of this rescue, the word hadn’t clicked in right away. He helped her scramble up the incline to the road. What’s your name?

Kally Zappa. She rushed back to the trailer, sliding a little on the gravel, and spoke to her livestock in soft tones, her hand on the back door latch.

Buzz pointed down the road. Here comes the cavalry.

Along the blacktop, the lights of squad cars and a fire truck flashed, and seconds later, the sounds of their sirens reached them.

Their patient screamed.

Clint turned as she grabbed her right arm. Ma’am, let us check you over. The livestock can wait until the sheriff and—

Tell them to turn off their damn sirens. She spoke quickly. It’ll send my bull into—

Before she finished talking, Clint pressed the button on his shoulder radio. All units, run silent. We’ve got a situation.

Immediately the distant noise stopped.

Tears ran down her cheeks, blood dripped along her hair and onto her shoulder, but she used soothing tones and soft noises to calm her cattle.

Clint stood beside her and held out his hand. Let me take a look.

No, I need to…. She put her other hand on the latch, the hand holding the bloody cloth.

He set his hand