The Loner
The Loner
Lindsay McKenna
In all her years as deputy sheriff, Shelby Kincaid never met a man as stubborn as Dakota Carson. Practically eaten by a grizzly bear and still that man insists on returning, alone, to his isolated cabin in the Tetons.Shelby’s not even sure why it ruffles her – but she suspects it has a lot to do with the instant, powerful connection she feels with Dakota. If only he’d let down his guard with her…Ten years as a Navy SEAL took its toll on Dakota’s body, his mind, and his heart. Since being released, he’s endured months of painful physical therapy… and brutal nightmares. Dakota wants nothing more than to hide from the world, so why does Shelby’s gentle presence suddenly make him question his seclusion?But when Shelby’s life is threatened, Dakota knows his warrior spirit won’t hide any longer.He just hopes it’s not too late…
A man at war with himself
In all her years as deputy sheriff, Shelby Kincaid never met a man as stubborn as Dakota Carson. Practically eaten by a grizzly bear and still that man insists on returning, alone, to his isolated cabin in the Tetons. Shelby’s not even sure why it ruffles her—but she suspects it has a lot to do with the instant, powerful connection she feels with Dakota. If only he’d let down his guard with her....
Ten years as a navy SEAL took its toll on Dakota’s body, his mind and his heart. Since being released, he’s endured months of painful physical therapy…and brutal nightmares. Dakota wants nothing more than to hide from the world, so why does Shelby’s gentle presence suddenly make him question his seclusion? But when Shelby’s life is threatened, Dakota knows his warrior spirit won’t hide any longer. He just hopes it’s not too late....
Praise for
LINDSAY McKENNA
“McKenna skillfully shows that it’s all about the romance and not only the sex. After all, hard work, honesty and trust is what western romance is all about.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Wrangler
“McKenna’s latest is an intriguing tale…a unique twist on the romance novel, and one that’s sure to please.”
—RT Book Reviews on Dangerous Prey
“Riveting.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Quest
“An absorbing debut for the Nocturne line.”
—RT Book Reviews on Unforgiven
“Gunfire, emotions, suspense, tension and sexuality abound in this fast-paced, absorbing novel.”
—Affaire de Coeur on Wild Woman
“Another masterpiece.”
—Affaire de Coeur on Enemy Mine
“Emotionally charged…riveting and deeply touching.”
—RT Book Reviews on Firstborn
“Ms. McKenna brings readers along for a fabulous odyssey in which complex characters experience the danger, passion and beauty of the mystical jungle.”
—RT Book Reviews on Man of Passion
“Talented Lindsay McKenna delivers excitement and romance in equal measure.”
—RT Book Reviews on Protecting His Own
“Lindsay McKenna will have you flying with the daring and deadly women pilots who risk their lives.…
Buckle in for the ride of your life.”
—Writers Unlimited on Heart of Stone
The Loner
Lindsay McKenna
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To all the service men and women who have suffered PTSD during combat. You are not alone. Nor are you forgotten. There is help out there. Please know we honor your courage. And thank you from the bottom of our hearts for your service and sacrifice to our country.
And to the wonderful, warm and caring staff at Hotel Opera Roma in Rome, Italy. This dedication was well earned. Thank you. www.hoteloperaroma.com (http://www.hoteloperaroma.com).
Dear Reader,
Having been in the U.S. Navy and having had Marine Corps friends in combat, I’ve seen what war does to a person. Post-traumatic stress disorder came into being in the 1980s. Before, it was simply “battle fatigue” or the “thousand-yard stare.” Whatever it is/was called, the wounds our men and women in the military get from combat are real. War isn’t always in a foreign country. Police, firefighters and EMT/paramedics can suffer from it. PTSD is a global phenomenon and can take decades, even a lifetime, to heal from, if ever.
In The Loner, I wanted to bring PTSD to the surface and deal with how it affects the hero, Dakota Carson. A person who has PTSD may well feel like a “loner.” This can be overcome with help, love and understanding. When sheriff’s deputy Shelby Kincaid meets Dakota, she is drawn powerfully to the angry loner. Shelby feels strongly that everyone should help Dakota instead of throwing him away. They soon realize they share a horribly tragic link, and this creates a meaningful connection between them—and unexpected danger. Can Dakota engage his SEAL-driven experience in order to save her?
Strap in for one hell of a ride.
Lindsay McKenna
Contents
CHAPTER ONE (#u1fe490aa-b942-50bb-a58d-08128faa4878)
CHAPTER TWO (#uef53f9ec-f21b-5ee8-a8a5-1d0a87906995)
CHAPTER THREE (#u10d67913-72aa-58e7-9ce5-4105a21a4ae4)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ub366f0d1-ddf5-5978-a8ed-4c0f79e4ce95)
CHAPTER FIVE (#uc2066ab5-d0e5-536d-a2f5-d4b12a6faf0b)
CHAPTER SIX (#u600af1a0-edcb-5cdb-8991-c8a67e2e4926)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
DAKOTA CARSON SENSED danger. A fragile pink dawn lay like a silent ribbon along the eastern horizon. As he exhaled, white clouds congealed for a moment in front of him, telling him it was below freezing on this June first morning. Standing on a small rise at the edge of an oval meadow, he studied a football-field-long swath of willows that ran through the center.
His left arm ached in the cold, reminding him why he’d been discharged from the U.S. Navy and his SEAL team. He’d suffered permanent nerve damage during a firefight. Never mind the post-traumatic stress disorder he coped with 24/7. Now his hyperalertness was telling him something wasn’t right. But what was wrong? Eyes narrowing, he scanned the quiet, early morning area. To his right rose the majestic Teton Mountains, their white peaks taking on a pinkish alpine glow.
It was quiet. Too quiet. He’d been a SEAL for ten years and at twenty-eight, he was no stranger to threatening situations. He knew one when he felt it. To his left, he saw a gray movement. It was Storm, a female wolf he’d rescued a year earlier. Thus far, she treated him like her alpha mate, but he was sure she wouldn’t hang around as she matured. There was every possibility she’d leave him and join the Snake River wolf pack that ruled this valley in Wyoming. Storm was loping at the edge of the forest, ears twitching back and forth, nose in the air, picking up scents.
Yesterday Dakota had laid five rabbit traps out in these willows. It was one of many places he trapped in order to live outside society and the town of Jackson Hole. Since being released from the hospital and months of painful physical therapy to get his shoulder working, Dakota wanted to hide. He didn’t look too closely at why, only that he had to heal up. Ten years spent in the SEALs had been the happiest time of his life, but deployment into Iraq and Afghanistan had taken their toll on his body and emotions.
Sniffing the air, he tried to locate the source of the threat. Grizzlies had their own odor. So did elk. No stranger to studying the land and vegetation, Dakota could spot things few others could. His sniper SEAL training had taught him stealth and tracking.
Storm had disappeared into the tree line again. The months of May and June were prime elk birthing season. It was also the same time when hungry grizzlies came out of hibernation, starving for anything to eat. Elk babies were the number-one food source on their menu. Storm always hunted her own meals. She was looking for smaller prey. One wolf could not take down a baby elk. A pack was needed, instead.
Dakota studied the willows, his hearing keyed, but he heard nothing. Had an elk mother calved a baby in there? What was he sensing? Just because he could sometimes feel a threat didn’t mean he knew what the threat was. If a new elk calf was in there, a grizzly could be skulking around, out of his sight, trying to locate it. The bear could have picked up on the scent of the afterbirth before the mother could eat it and destroy the odor. The thick, naked willows reminded Dakota of a porcupine with its back up, the crochetedlike needles raised skyward. The problem was they grew so high and thick, he couldn’t see through the grove. There was no movement. No sound.
The air was still. Nothing seemed to move, which was odd because dawn was the busiest time of the day for nocturnal and diurnal animals. The pink along the horizon deepened and the sky above lightened. Dakota could no longer see the myriad stars above his head; they were diluted, having disappeared in the dawn light. It would be a long time before the sun would rise, however. He heard a raven cawing somewhere off in the distance. Other than that, it was as if the earth herself were holding her breath.
For what? He rubbed the back of his neck with his gloved hand, but his old shoulder injury protested with the movement. After allowing his hand to drop to his side, Dakota shouldered a .300 Win Mag Winchester magnum rifle with a sling across his right shoulder. He’d been a sniper in the SEALs and had used this rifle to hunt down the bad guys. Out here in the wilds of Wyoming, where grizzly were the predator, Dakota never tracked or hunted anywhere without a big rifle. Grizzlies, especially this time of year, were hungry, irritable and mean. All they wanted was food and they’d kill anything and anyone to protect their carcass or find.
Dakota wasn’t foolhardy. Patience was his best protection. A bear would move eventually, and the willows would tremble and wave back and forth. But if it was an elk calf?
Dakota waited on the rise. He was downwind, something he made sure of because he knew the grizzlies were hunting in earnest. Dakota didn’t want his scent to inspire one of those bears to hunt him, thinking he was a posthibernation meal on two legs. His mouth pulled at one corner over that thought. He’d seen enough mayhem and killing.
After his discharge from the navy, his medical issues as fixed as they were going to be, he’d located a cabin high in the Tetons on the Wyoming side of the mountains. He’d cleaned it up and started living in the ramshackle, abandoned structure. Never mind that it didn’t have electricity or running water. He’d spent the past year in hiding and needed the solitude. There was so much grief and loss in him, he didn’t know what to do with it or how to discharge it. Sleep was a luxury. He rarely got two or three broken hours of sleep at night. His heart sank as he considered all that he’d lost since he was seventeen years old and then more losses in the navy. Wounded in a field of fire deep in the Hindu Kush Mountains of Afghanistan, he found his life repeating the nightmare cycle of his teen years.
It’s too much pain... Too damned much. Purposefully, Dakota lasered his attention on the willow stand. This was the present. When his mind wandered into the past, it was nothing but a mire of serrating grief, rage and helplessness. He didn’t like feeling those turgid emotions. His stomach growled. It had been one day since he’d last eaten. The winter had leaned him down considerably, but he wasn’t starving. Dakota set out enough traps to keep meat on his table, but a sudden, unexpected snowstorm yesterday had stopped him from walking his traplines and gathering up the rabbits he’d caught. A cutting, one-cornered smile creased his face. In Afghanistan, his SEAL team endured days without food, water or resupply. So twenty-four hours without food wasn’t a tragedy.
He had the traps set up in those willows. Rabbits were plentiful in the wide valley through which the Snake River wound lazily. Had a starving grizzly already found his traps and gobbled up the rabbits? Was that the reason for the sense of danger he felt?
He had to take a chance. Shifting the Win Mag to his left shoulder, he looked down at the P226 SIG Sauer pistol strapped low on his right thigh. The two black Velcro straps around his thick leg held the pistol at just the right angle in case he needed to quickly reach for it. All SEALs were given this particular pistol after they graduated from BUD/S. The .40-caliber pistol was specially made in Germany for them. And it had stopping power. One slug would take a human’s life.
The wind had piled up the blizzard snow. Patches of long yellow grass peeked out here and there. As he walked, the grass in the meadow crunched beneath his boots. Each yellowed blade of grass was coated with thick frost. With each step, Dakota tried to stay as silent as possible. The sound could possibly alert the elk mother hidden in the willows. He moved down the gentle slope toward the center of the meadow. Dakota knew from experience an elk mother would defend her calf with her life. And an elk weighed a good thousand pounds, its hooves sharp and dangerous.
Dakota brushed the butt of his SIG Sauer with the palm of his gloved hand. It was an unconscious habit honed in the badlands of the Middle East. He’d unsnapped the retention strap across the pistol so that if he had to reach for it, his palm could fit swiftly around the butt and his fingers could wrap around the trigger. He could draw it up in a single, fluid motion in order to protect himself. He had no wish to shoot an elk. His meat needs were far less than that.
Slowing, the light increasing, Dakota inhaled the scents on the frosty air, his nostrils flaring. He halted and searched for tracks. Some of the grass was clean, shaken free of the frost and snow, about twenty feet south of where he stood. It had to have happened earlier this morning. Craning his neck, Dakota evaluated them. Big print? Little print? Something in between? He had keen eyesight, honed by years of hunting as a teen and, later, as a SEAL. The tracks appeared to be that of an elk.
Dakota stood, debating whether to enter the willows or not. He was used to being afraid but didn’t let that rule him or blot out his logical thinking processes. As Dakota turned his head, he could see Storm was trotting the other way along the tree line above him. Her long pink tongue lolled out of the side of her mouth, her gray body blending in to the surrounding shadows. He stared back hard at the willows in front of him. He’d placed the rabbit traps deep within them. Rabbits weren’t stupid; they were not going to hop around on the outer perimeter of the willows. Something would quickly spot them from air or ground and they’d be dead in a heartbeat. No, they lived deep within the willows and could thrive.
Just as Dakota took a step forward, the willows exploded in front of him. A cinnamon-colored male grizzly bear roared and crashed through them and launched himself at him. The roaring vibration ripped through him. Dakota took half a step back, seeing the bear’s small dark eyes filled with rage. In an instant, Dakota knew the grizzly had been in the willows all along. He’d probably eaten all the rabbits he’d trapped and was snoozing until he heard Dakota approach the stand. Startled and provoked, the bear charged him. The attack was so swift, all Dakota saw was the grizzly’s thick rust-colored body hurtling toward him at the speed of a bullet.
Dakota’s shock collided with his survival training. It would take too long to pull the rifle off his shoulder and fire off a shot. Without hesitation, as the bear flew toward him like a flying tank, his hand moved smoothly in an unbroken motion for the SIG Sauer on his right thigh.
The bear’s spittle, his roar, surrounded Dakota. As he lifted the pistol, he shifted his weight to the right to try to stop the grizzly from fully striking him. If he hadn’t moved in a feintlike maneuver, the bear would have slammed him flat on his back, leaned down and ripped his throat out with those bared yellow fangs. At the same moment, Dakota saw the female wolf come out of nowhere. Storm snarled and flung herself directly at the grizzly, her jaws opened, aiming for his sensitive nose. In her own way, Storm was trying to protect him. The valiant wolf was a mere forty pounds against a thousand pounds of angry bruin.
Everything slowed in his line of vision. Whenever Dakota was in danger of losing his life, the frames of reality intensified and then crawled by with excruciating slowness. The grizzly saw him shift, but Storm latched onto the bear’s nose. The grizzly roared, swiping at her. The wolf yelped and was flung high into the air. The grizzly tried to make a midcourse correction. As he raised his massive paw, the five curved claws flexed outward, the blow struck Dakota full force.
The SIG Sauer bucked in his hand. Dakota held his intense focus, aiming for the bear’s thick, massive skull. The grizzly roared with fury as the first two bullets struck his skull. They ricocheted off! Dakota felt the grizzly’s paw strike his left arm. Pain reared up his arm and jammed into his already torn-up shoulder. He grunted as he was struck and tossed up in the air like a puppet. The massive power of a pissed-off thousand-pound grizzly was stunning.
As Dakota tumbled end over end, all of his SEAL training came back by reflex. He landed and rolled, the cold glittering frost exploding around him on impact. He leaped to his feet. The bear roared, landed on all fours, whipped around with amazing agility and charged him again. Only ten feet separated them.
Dakota cooly stood, legs slightly apart for best balance, hands wrapped solidly around the butt of the SIG Sauer. This was not a bear gun, but if he aimed well, he’d strike the charging grizzly in one of his eyes and kill him before he was killed himself. His breath exploded from him as the bear leaped upward, its jaws open, lips peeled away from his dark pink gums to reveal the massive, murderous fangs. Dakota fired three more shots and saw the third one strike into the right eye of the bear.
Too late!
As he threw up his left arm and spun to avoid the grizzly pouncing on him, the bear’s massive teeth sank violently into his forearm. There was instant, red-hot pain. The bear grunted, fell downward. Dakota was flipped over and dragged down with the bear, his arm still locked in the animal’s massive mouth.
The grizzly landed with a thud, groaning heavily as it sank into the yellow grass. Dakota wrested his forearm out of the bear’s teeth. Breathing hard, he staggered to his feet. There were fifteen cartridges in a SIG Sauer.
He held it ready and stumbled backward, stunned by the ferocity of the attack. He watched the bear breathe once, twice and then slump with a growl, dead.
Dakota gasped for breath, felt the warmth of his own blood trickling down into his left glove. Would the bear move? No, he could see the eye socket blown away by his pistol, the bullet in the animal’s brain. The grizzly was dead. Wiping his mouth, Dakota looked around, his breath exploding in ragged gasps into the freezing air. His heart hammered wildly in his chest. The adrenaline kept him tense and he was feeling no pain.
Once he was finally convinced the grizzly wasn’t going to get back up and come after him a third time, he created distance between him and the beast. He saw Storm come trotting up to him. She whined, her yellow eyes probing his. She was panting heavily. Dakota looked her over to make sure the grizzly hadn’t hurt his wolf. There were some mild scratch marks across her left flank, but that was all.
“We’re okay,” he rasped to the wolf.
Dakota holstered the pistol and drew up his left arm. He always wore thick cammies. The bear’s fangs had easily punctured the heavy canvas material, sunk through the thick green sweater he wore beneath it and chewed up his flesh. There was no pain—yet. But there sure as hell was gonna be.
He sat down and jerked off his gloves. There was a lot of blood and, chances were, the grizzly had sliced into a major artery in his left arm. He went into combat medic mode, one of his SEAL specialties. This meant he never left on a hunt without his H-gear, a harness he wore around his waist that had fifteen canvas pockets. Dakota jerked open his camo jacket. His hand shook as he dug into one pocket, which contained a tourniquet. Quickly, he slipped the tourniquet just below his elbow and jerked it tight. Pain reared up his upper arm, but the bleeding slowed a lot at the bite site. Tying it off, Dakota dug in another pocket, which contained a roll of duct tape. From another, he pulled out a pair of surgical scissors, sharper than hell. He straightened out his right leg out in front of him, then dug into the deep cargo pocket above his knee. In there, he grabbed a battle dressing.
He had to get to the hospital in Jackson Hole. Sooner. Not later. Dakota hated going into town. Hated being around people, but this grizzly had chewed up a helluva lot of his arm in one bite. He quickly placed the battle dressing across the wound, then wrapped it firmly with duct tape. Not exactly medically sound, but duct tape saved many a SEAL from more injury or bleeding to death over the years. After cutting the duct tape with the scissors, Dakota jammed all of the items back into his H-gear.
He was in shock. Familiar with these symptoms, Dakota picked up his rifle and signaled Storm to follow. She instantly leaped to her feet and loped to his side. Looking up, the sky lightening even more, Dakota knew he had a one-mile trek back to where his pickup was parked. Mouth thinning, he shouldered the rifle and moved swiftly through the thick grass. When the adrenaline wore off, he’d be in terrible pain. The shock would make him drive poorly and he could make some very bad decisions behind the wheel. It was a race of ten miles between here and the hospital to get emergency room help.
Cursing softly, he began to trot. It was a labored stride, the grass slick with frost, but he pushed himself. His breath came out in explosive jets, and he drew in as much air as he could into his lungs. Anchoring his wounded arm against his torso, he moved quickly up the slope and onto a flat plain.
Dakota could feel the continued loss of blood. Arteries, when sliced, usually closed up on their own within two minutes of being severed. However, the only time they wouldn’t was when they weren’t sliced at an angle. Then he knew he was in deep shit. A major artery could bleed out in two to three minutes. His heart would cavitate, like the pump it was, and then he’d die of cardiac arrest. Fortunately, the tourniquet was doing its job. It bought him time, but not much.
As he lumbered steadily toward the parking lot at the end of a dirt road in the Tetons, he thought it would be a fitting end if he did bleed out and die here. Some poor tourist hiker would find what was left of his body days or even weeks from now. The grizzlies in the area or the Snake River wolf pack might find him first. The shocked hiker would find only bones, no skin or flesh left on his sorry-assed carcass.
Mind spinning, Dakota continued to slip and slide through grass and drifts of knee-deep snow. Soon, the sun would bridge the horizon. It was a beautiful day, the sky a pale blue and cloudless, unlike yesterday. The snow from the blizzard was knee-deep in places. Several times, Dakota stumbled, fell, rolled and forced himself back up to his feet. As he ran, he discovered something: he wanted to live.
Why now? his soggy brain screamed. All you wanted to do before was crawl away like a hurt animal into the mountains, disappear from civilization and live out the rest of your life. Why now?
Dakota had no answer. He’d hidden for a year. And he’d healed up to a point. He wanted nothing to do with people because they couldn’t understand what he’d been through. No one would get that that was a life sentence—to spend the rest of his days on the fringes of society.
His heart pumped hard in his chest. Ahead, he could see his beat-up green-and-white rusted Ford truck. Only a little bit farther to go. Gasps tore out of his mouth, his eyes narrowing on the truck. With no idea where this sudden, surprising will to live came from, Dakota reached his truck. Storm halted, ready to jump in. He staggered, caught himself and then jerked the driver’s door open. The wolf was used to riding with him since he’d found her as a pup.
Dizziness assailed Dakota as Storm jumped in. He shook off the need to collapse, and glanced down at his arm. The battle dressing was a bright red, blood dripping down his hand and off his curved fingers. The cold was numbing, so he felt nothing, not even the warmth of his own blood. Struggling, he climbed into the truck. Dakota knew it would be a race to reach the hospital in time. The tourniquet stood between him and death right now. That gave him relief as he put the truck into gear and drove slowly down the wet, muddy road.
Storm whined. She thumped her tail once, catching Dakota’s darkened eyes.
“It will be all right,” he growled, wrestling the truck around, pain now pulsing rhythmically through his bite site.
But would it? Wasn’t that what he always told his SEAL friends who were shot and bleeding out? Sure to die, no matter what he did to try to stop the bleeding? It will be all right. Sure. Dakota jammed all those terrifying moments from the past out of his thoughts. He had to concentrate. He had to reach the emergency room of the hospital or die trying....
CHAPTER TWO
SHERIFF’S DEPUTY SHELBY Kincaid was walking toward the emergency room entrance to the Jackson Hole Hospital. She had paperwork on a prisoner that had to be updated by Dr. Jordana McPherson. The cool morning air made her glad she had her brown nylon jacket, although her blond hair lay abandoned around her shoulders. Something unusual caught her eye. Slowing, Shelby hesitated near the E.R. entrance. Was the guy pulling into the parking lot drunk? It was only 6:00 a.m., but she knew from plenty of experience that drunk drivers didn’t care what time it was.
The rusted-out Ford pickup crawled to a stop across two empty parking lanes. Shelby frowned and watched as the driver’s-side door creaked open with protest. She was less than a hundred feet away from the truck. The driver soon emerged. She didn’t recognize him as a local. He wore a two-day beard on his face. Something was wrong. Maybe it was her sixth sense, but Shelby stuffed the papers into the pocket of her jacket and quickly walked toward the man.
She spotted a gray dog in the front seat but kept her focus on the man in camo gear. He was tall, broad-shouldered and reminded her of a hunter she’d see in the fall around Jackson Hole. But this was spring and no hunting was allowed. This man was clearly in pain. His hair was black and military short, face square with high cheekbones. She’d never seen this dude before and she felt a sudden urgency that he was in trouble. The stride of her walk accelerated.
As he lurched drunkenly out of the seat, his large hand caught the edge of the door or he’d have fallen out. It was then Shelby noticed the strapped pistol on his right thigh. She tensed inwardly. Her blue eyes widened for a moment as he spun around, losing his grip on the door, barely able to keep his feet beneath him. That was when she saw his bloody arm pressed against his torso.
As she approached the truck, the dog whined. It was a sound of worry.
“Can I help you?” she called out. “I’m Deputy Kincaid.”
The man bent over, as if willing himself not to fall down. A dark red trail of blood ran down his left pant leg. He’d obviously lost a lot of blood. Automatically, she pressed the radio on the epaulet of her jacket located on her left shoulder.
“Annie, this is Shelby Kincaid. I’m out here I the parking lot of your E.R. Kindly get me a gurney and two orderlies? I’ve got a man out here a hundred feet from your door with an arm wound. He’s lost a lot of blood.” She clicked off the radio just as he raised his head toward her.
For a moment, Shelby felt her heart plunge. His face was drawn in pain, his lips thinned, the corners of his mouth drawn in, his pain evident. There was nothing tame about this guy. He was well built, powerful, yet the look in his light gold-brown eyes was marred with vulnerability. As he tried to straighten his left arm, he managed to rasp through gritted teeth, “Get me to the E.R.”
* * *
THE WOMAN REACHED OUT, her hand wrapping quickly around his right arm. “Lean on me,” she told him. “I’ve called for help and they’re on the way. I won’t let you fall.”
The world began to gray out around Dakota as the tall, statuesque blonde in a sheriff’s deputy uniform firmly gripped his upper arm. He was surprised at the cool authority in her unruffled voice, the strength of her hand around his arm. She looked like a Barbie doll, one who easily brought him into a standing position and guided his arm across her shoulders. For a Barbie doll, she was in damn good shape.
“Bullet wound?” she asked, taking his full weight.
“Bear bite,” he managed to rasp out, closing his eyes. “I’m going to faint. Too much blood loss...”
Instantly, Shelby placed her feet apart for better balance. She felt him go limp. Damn! She might be five foot eleven, but this guy was taller and bigger than she was. Glancing upward, she saw the gurney flying toward them with two men in green scrubs pushing it as fast as it would go.
Within moments, the two young men arrived. Together, the three of them wrestled the unconscious hunter up and on the gurney.
“Get him inside,” Shelby ordered, her voice tight with tension. She trotted at his side as the orderlies pushed the gurney full speed toward the doors. Gripping his good shoulder, Shelby didn’t want him to be knocked off while the gurney slipped and slid on the ice and snow across the asphalt. She glanced down at him. In that moment, the hunter looked vulnerable. But just barely. The duct tape around his bleeding left arm made her frown. Duct tape? Helluva way to stop a wound from bleeding out. Who was this guy?
Inside, Shelby spotted Dr. Jordana McPherson, head of E.R., running to meet them as they came inside the warm entrance.
“Shelby?” Jordana called, running up.
“Hunter, I guess. Said he was attacked by a bear and had lost a lot of blood,” she told the doctor. She stepped aside as they pushed the gurney into a blue-curtained cubicle. Shelby watched as Jordana quickly took a pair of scissors and cut through the silver duct tape on the hunter’s bloodied left arm.
“Okay, good to know. Who is he? Do we have any identification on him?”
Instantly, two other nurses appeared in the cubicle to help the doctor. They locked the wheels on the gurney.
Shelby moved next to the hunter. His face looked like chalk beneath his dark stubble. She sensed danger around this man for no specific reason. Quickly patting down his camo pants, she felt something in the right pocket on his thigh. She slid her fingers down into the deep pocket.
“God, he has everything in here but the kitchen sink,” she muttered, pulling articles out and laying them beside him. Finally, she discovered a wallet and stepped back as the nurses covered him with a blanket and started an IV.
She opened up the wallet. “His name is Dakota Carson.” Shelby looked over at Jordana. “Ring any bells, Doc?”
“Yes,” Jordana said, pulling the entire duct tape assembly away from his arm. Wrinkling her nose, she said, “I thought I recognized him. He’s an ex-SEAL, just got a medical discharge from the U.S. Navy. I saw him once, a month ago. He was supposed to come here for follow-up physical therapy on his left shoulder.”
Nodding, Shelby placed the wallet on a tray where the nurse had placed all the other items. “Never seen him before.”
“Mr. Carson is a loner.” Jordana’s mouth tightened as she surveyed his chewed-up lower arm. “This bear has done some major damage to him....” Jordana looked to her red-haired nurse. “Alanna, get me an O.R. ready. And call in the ortho surgeon, Dr. Jamison. Get me his blood type.” Taking out her stethoscope, she pulled back the camo jacket and placed it over his heart.
Shelby felt the urgency and saw it in Jordana’s face. She’d come to like the E.R. doctor who was good at what she did. “How bad?”
“Bad,” she muttered, throwing the stethoscope around her neck. “He’s right, he’s lost a lot of blood.”
Just then, Dakota’s eyes slowly opened. “He’s coming around,” Shelby warned the E.R. doc.
“Amazing.”
Shelby placed her hand gently on his right shoulder. “Mr. Carson? You’re here in the E.R. at the hospital. You’re in good hands.” She looked into his murky-looking brown eyes, which were full of confusion. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a groan issued forth. Shelby tightened her hand on his shoulder. The man was in incredible shape. A former Navy SEAL. She knew enough about SEALs to understand he was a warrior, the toughest of the tough. His eyes wandered for a moment, but then they stopped and focused on Shelby.
Sucking in a breath, Shelby felt the full measure of his intense gaze. Those eyes were hunter’s eyes. Huge black pupils on a field of golden-brown color. Surprise flared in his expression, and then, something else she couldn’t interpret.
She gave him a slight smile. “You’re in good hands. Dr. McPherson is here. You’re going to be all right.”
Jordana came around and Shelby released him and stood aside.
“Mr. Carson, I’m Dr. McPherson. Can you hear me?”
Dakota managed a sloppy grin, only half his mouth working because of the surging pain. “Yeah, Doc. I remember you. I missed a bunch of appointments. I’m blood type A. I’m gonna need transfusions. Bear cut an artery in my left arm....”
“That’s what I needed to hear,” Jordana said quietly, patting his shoulder in a motherly way. “I’m leaving the tourniquet in place until we can get you into surgery and stabilized.” She lifted her head, called to the second nurse, “Joy, get me two pints of type A ready in the O.R.”
“Right away, Doctor.”
“You’re gonna need one and a half pints to put in what I’ve lost,” he grunted. His gaze moved from the worried-looking doctor to the woman standing behind her. Barbie Doll. Damn, but she was beautiful with her sandy-blond hair falling around her shoulders. Her blue eyes were wide and curious. What didn’t make any sense was her sheriff’s uniform, all dark brown slacks that hid her long legs and a nylon jacket showing her name and badge on it. Shelby Kincaid. Funny, for a moment, he thought he recognized her. But from where? His mind wouldn’t work. He memorized her name.
“We’ll see,” Jordana said. “You’re going to need more than stitches on that bear bite, Dakota.”
He smiled a little as the nurse came and stuck a syringe of morphine into the IV tube to drip into his vein. “I figured as much. Just wanted to make it here so you could work your magic, Doc.”
Patting his arm, Jordana said, “I’ll see you in a few minutes, Dakota. I’ve got to go scrub up.”
Dakota felt the pressure of the nurse putting a clean dressing on his wound. At first, it hurt like hell, but then, as the morphine began to flow through his veins, the pain eased considerably. All the time, he held the gaze of the beautiful deputy sheriff standing nearby. Who was she? Looking at her oval face, those blue eyes that reminded him of the turquoise beaches of Costa Rica, that set of full lips, he just didn’t think she fit the image of a deputy sheriff. There was concern in her eyes—for him.
“Mr. Carson,” Shelby said, keeping her voice low as she approached him, “who do you want me to notify? Your wife? Parents? Someone needs to be contacted. I can let them know.” Automatically, Shelby reached out, her fingers resting gently on his broad shoulder. This time, the muscles beneath her fingertips responded. An unexpected heat surged through her. Shocked, Shelby tried to ignore her reaction. This man was half dead from loss of blood, yet the warrior energy around him beckoned to some primal part of herself.
Dakota tried to focus. The Barbie doll sheriff’s deputy had a nice, husky voice. It felt like warm honey drizzled across him, easing his pain even more. Her face was inches from his. Her blond hair had darker strands mingled with lighter ones. Some reminded him of gold sunlight, others, of dark honey. His gaze drifted back to her eyes. God, what beautiful eyes she had. He could dive into them and feel her heart beating. Wildly aware of her long fingers against his shoulder, he muttered, “I’ve got a wolf out in my truck. Her name is Storm. She’s bonded to me. Don’t take her to a dog pound. Keep her...keep her with you... I’ll get out of surgery and take her home with me, please....”
He wasn’t making sense, but Shelby knew the nurse had given him a dose of morphine to stop the pain. People said funny things when drifting in a morphine cloud. His focus began to fade. “Mr. Carson, who can I call? I need to tell your family where you are.”
The husky urgency in her voice felt like a warm, sensual blanket. Dakota was feeling no pain now, thank God. Instead, he could focus on this incredibly arresting woman, her face so close he could rise, capture that sinner’s mouth of hers and make it his own. She looked familiar. But from where? A broken laugh rumbled out of his chest. “I have no one, Barbie. Just me and my wolf. And she doesn’t answer my cell phone.”
“Where do you live? I can take your wolf back to your home,” Shelby asked, trying to remain cool and professional. Again, she saw that devil-may-care grin cut across his tense, chiseled face. He was darkly tanned for this time of year, which told her this ex-SEAL was outside a helluva lot. She didn’t want to admit how much she liked touching this man. And she saw something else in his lion-gold eyes—desire. It was the morphine, she was sure.
“You’ll never find it. No address. Just a shack in the woods. Just keep my wolf with you.” He struggled to sit up. “This repair on my arm isn’t gonna take long. If you can take care of her until I get released, I’ll appreciate it.”
Hearing the sudden, emotional urgency in his gruff tone, Shelby straightened. She gently pushed him back down on the gurney. The pleading expression on his face startled her. In that moment, Dakota Carson looked like a scared little boy watching his world self-destruct. There was something magical, a heated connection, burning between them. “Yes, I’ll take care of her for you, Mr. Carson.”
Instantly, the man seemed to relax, a ragged sigh escaping from his tightened lips. He closed his eyes. What she didn’t expect was his right hand to reach out and grab hers. She felt the strength of his fingers as they wrapped around her wrist.
“Th-thank you....” he rasped.
His fingers loosened and fell open. The nurse had put another syringe into the IV, the drug rendering him unconscious in preparation for surgery. Shelby gently picked up his arm hanging over the gurney and placed it at his side.
“He’s out,” Alanna told her.
“Good. How long will the surgery be, you think?”
Shrugging, Alanna motioned for the two orderlies to come in and transport the patient to the E.R. “I don’t know, Shelby. Maybe an hour if all goes well. Could be nerve damage. We’ll see....”
“Okay, I’ll drop back in an hour. I’ve got some paperwork for the heard nurse to fill out at the nurses’ station before I leave.”
“Great. Want me to call you on the radio when Mr. Carson comes out of E.R?”
“Yes, could you?”
Alanna nodded and smiled. “Can do.”
Shelby watched the two orderlies wheel the unconscious ex-SEAL off to surgery. Standing there for a moment, she digested all the unsettled emotions the stranger had stirred up in her. He was dangerous, risky to her heart. Frowning, Shelby shook her head. She looked down at the blood smeared across her jacket. His blood.
This was the first time she’d seen a bear-attack victim, and it wasn’t pretty. Her fingers still tingled when he’d suddenly reached out and gripped her. Strong fingers, but he monitored the strength of his grip around her wrist, she realized, even in a morphine state. Definitely a special kind of soldier.
She knew little about SEALs. They were black ops. Secret. Defenders of this country. And heroes in her opinion. The look in his eyes guaranteed all of that. The man had shaken her, but not in a bad way, just an unexpected way. He’d somehow gotten to her womanly core. She’d been responding to him man-to-woman. Blowing out a breath of air in frustration, Shelby turned on her booted heel and forced herself to get the paperwork finished. First things first. She’d leave the papers with the nurses’ desk and then go out and make sure the gray wolf was all right.
As Shelby approached the desk, an older nurse with steel-gray hair beckoned to her. Shelby recognized nurse Patty Fielding.
“Hey, Shelby, do you know about that guy?” Patty whispered, coming up to her at the desk.
“No. Why?” Shelby handed her the papers that needed to be filled out.
“He’s known as The Loner around here. He got here a year ago and was supposed to see Dr. McPherson about his shoulder injury once a week. He never came back for subsequent appointments after the first one.”
Shelby’s heart went out to Dakota Carson. “He’s a military vet,” she whispered, feeling sorry for him.
“Oh, honey,” Patty said, taking the papers, “he’s also a SEAL. Those guys rock in my world. They’re on the front lines around the world fighting for us. They’re in harm’s way every time they take a mission.” Patty shook her head. “Such a shame. He’s an incredibly valiant vet. He’s got a lot of problems, physical and mental.”
“And was he seeing Dr. McPherson for his arm injury?”
“Technically, yes, for nerve damage. But she’s our PTSD expert here at the hospital, too.”
Standing there, Shelby asked, “Is that why he lives alone? Out in the middle of nowhere?” She recalled the Vietnam vets who had PTSD. At that time, it wasn’t diagnosed except to call it “battle fatigue.”
Patty filled out the forms and signed them with a flourish. “Yes, and those guys got no help at all. It broke my heart. Oh, and no address on Mr. Carson.”
“What about family?”
Patty sighed and said, “His parents died in a crash when he was eighteen. Froze to death during the blizzard. They found their car two days later and it was too late.”
Shelby’s heart plummeted. “That’s so sad.”
“Yeah, this guy has had a very rough life. You don’t know the half of it.” Patty smiled and handed her the papers. “Gotta go!”
“I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Take care of that wolf of his,” she said, lifting her hand in farewell. “She’s a sweet girl.”
Shelby smiled a little and thanked the nurse for the information. As she headed out the doors of the E.R., the sun just crested the eastern horizon. What was it about this ex-SEAL that grabbed her heart? Grabbed all of her attention? Somehow the name Carson was one she knew. Stymied, Shelby walked carefully over the slick areas of black ice and circumvented the patches of snow. Out in the parking lot, she could see Carson’s beat-up truck. It looked a lot like him, Shelby thought sadly. There was something in his eyes that shouted incredible loss. Loss of what?
CHAPTER THREE
SHELBY HAD THE FEMALE gray wolf and she rode quietly in the backseat of her Tahoe cruiser. She just dropped off the papers to the courthouse when she received a call from Alanna.
Picking up the radio, Shelby continued to drive slowly through Jackson Hole traffic, on her way out to the hospital. The hour was almost up. “Go ahead, Alanna,” she said.
“Shelby, Dr. McPherson said for you to drop by at 9:00 a.m. Can you do it?”
“Sure,” she said, glancing at the clock on the dashboard. “I thought I was supposed to come back in about twenty minutes.”
“No, Dr. McPherson said the surgery on Mr. Carson’s arm is going to be longer than she anticipated.”
“Roger that.”
“Thanks, out.”
Placing the radio back in the bracket, Shelby grimaced. If the surgery was taking longer, it meant Dakota Carson’s bear bite was a lot worse than anyone had thought. Her shift ended shortly, but she’d told the commander at the sheriff’s office what had happened. Steve McCall was humored to see a gray wolf in the backseat of her cruiser. Lucky for her, Steve, who had been her father’s replacement as Tetons County sheriff, accepted her sometimes quirky days. But all deputies had unusual days every once in a while.
As she drove, Shelby couldn’t shake the intense look in Dakota Carson’s eyes. What was his story? She had more questions than answers. Maybe, if she got lucky, she’d intersect with Jordana and find out. As the head of E.R. for the hospital, Jordana McPherson knew just about everything and everyone. Another good source was Gwen Garner, who owned the quilt shop on the plaza.
A call came in, an accident on a side street, and Shelby figured she had time to take the call before showing up at the hospital. Even though she was focused on the accident, her heart was centered on the mystery of Dakota Carson. What the hell was he doing out at dawn killing a grizzly bear? That was against the law. And the Tetons National Park ranger supervisor, Charley, wasn’t going to be happy about it, either. The ex-SEAL was in deep trouble whether he knew it or not.
* * *
DAKOTA CARSON WAS IN recovery when he slowly came out from beneath the anesthesia. As he opened his eyes, he saw two women standing side by side. Dr. McPherson smiled a silent hello. But his gaze lingered on the sheriff’s deputy. In his hazy in-between state, Dakota was mesmerized by the strands of bright color in her hair.
“Dakota? Good news,” Jordana said. “We were able to fix your arm.” Her lips twitched. “And it’s got a nice, new dressing on it without the duct tape.”
Dakota liked and trusted the woman doctor. One corner of his mouth hitched upward. “Good to hear, Doc. Thanks for patching me up.”
“Do me a favor? Move your fingers on your left hand for me. One at a time.”
He moved them. “All five work,” he said, feeling woozy and slightly nauseated. Carson knew it was the anesthesia. The nausea would pass.
Jordana slid her hand beneath his. She gently turned his heavily bandaged arm over so that his palm faced up. “Do you feel this?” She pricked each of his fingers with a slender instrument, including his thumb.
“Yeah, it hurts like hell. They’re all responding,” he assured her.
“Good,” Jordana said, moving his arm so that it rested naturally at his side.
Dakota looked around. “When can I leave?”
“You need to spend the night here, Dakota.”
“No way,” he grunted, trying to sit up. Head spinning, he flopped back down on the pillow. The deputy was frowning, but even then she looked beautiful. She no longer wore her big, puffy brown nylon jacket. It hung over her left arm. Shelby was tall, maybe a few inches shorter than he was. Her shoulders were drawn back with natural pride. The look in her blue eyes, however, was one of somber seriousness. He had a feeling she wanted to question him about the dead grizzly. There would be hell to pay for killing a bear out of season.
“Way,” Jordana said, placing her hand on his white-gowned shoulder. “You’re still in shock, Dakota. You know what that does to a person? You’re no stranger to it.”
He scowled. Dr. McPherson was a PTSD expert. When he’d come back to Jackson Hole, the navy had ordered him to see her once a week for his symptoms. Of course, he saw her only once. He looked up at the physician. “Doc, I just want the hell out of here. You know why. Just sign me out, okay? I’ll be fine.”
Jordana patted his shoulder. “I can’t do it, Dakota. You’re a combat medic. Would you let your wounded SEAL buddy who had your injury and experience walk out of here?”
Dakota grunted. “SEALs suffer a lot worse out in the field, Doc. We’re used to pain. Suffering is optional. You know that.” He pinned her with a challenging glare.
Shelby was startled by the acerbic exchange. Carson didn’t seem to like anyone. But he was in pain and coming out from beneath anesthesia. Both could make a person feisty.
Jordana glanced over at Shelby. “You have a spare bedroom?”
Shelby blinked. “Why...yes.” What was the doctor up to? She felt suddenly uneasy.
“You have Dakota’s wolf with you?”
“She’s out in my cruiser and doing fine.” Shelby frowned and dug into Jordana’s gaze, confused.
“I’ve got a deal for you, Dakota,” Jordana said, her voice suddenly firm and brooking no argument. “If Deputy Kincaid will consent to drive you to her house, which isn’t far from the hospital, and let you stay overnight, I’ll release you. I know how you hate hospitals and closed-in spaces. Deal?”
The look of shock on Barbie doll’s face told Dakota she wasn’t prepared to have him as a visitor. “No way, Doc. As soon as I’m able to wear off this damned anesthesia, I’m outta here and you know it whether you sign a release on me or not.”
Jordana’s beeper went off. She pulled it out of her white coat pocket. Frowning, she said, “I’ve got to go.” Looking over at Shelby, she said, “Talk some sense into him, will you? Because I refuse to sign him out of here unless he goes home with you.”
Surprised, Shelby found herself alone with a man who exuded danger to her heart. His face was washed out, but now there was a flush in his cheeks, at least. “Mr. Carson, are you staying in this hospital?”
Dakota studied her beneath his spiky lashes. He felt and heard the authority in her tone. She wore no makeup, but God, she didn’t have to. He liked what he saw way too much. He’d been without a woman for too long. And she had a great body beneath that uniform.
“How’s my wolf?” he demanded, ignoring her question.
“Storm is fine. I gave her a bowl of water just before I came in here.” Shelby met his belligerent glare. “Are you in pain?”
“No more than usual.”
“I see.”
“You don’t, but that’s all right.”
Testy bastard, she thought. “Look, I need some answers on why you killed that grizzly this morning.”
Okay, she was going to play tough. “Because it charged me,” he growled. “I know it’s illegal to shoot a bear in a national park, Deputy Barbie Doll.” He really didn’t dislike her, but his mood was blacker than hell. The drugs were loosening his normally reined-in irritability.
“My name is Shelby Kincaid.”
He smiled a little. It was a tight, one-cornered smile. Did Dakota dare tell her she was a feast for his hungry gaze? The anesthesia was wearing off fast now, and he felt some returning strength. “Okay, Deputy Kincaid. I was out to pick up my trapline in a stand of willows when the bear came out of nowhere and charged me.” He stared up at her. “What was I supposed to do? Let the bastard kill me because it was out of season?”
Her mouth twitched. “No,” she said. Pulling a small notebook from her pocket, she wrote down his explanation. “Why are you out trapping animals?”
“Because I choose to. That’s not against the law.”
“No, it’s not. Where do you live? I need an address.”
“Third mountain to the north in the Tetons. Where I live, there is no address.”
“Try me. I was raised here. I think I know just about every dirt road in this county.”
“Do you know how beautiful you are when you’re pissed?”
Shelby leaked a grin. This ex-SEAL took no prisoners. Neither did she. “Thanks, but let’s stick to the investigation?”
Shrugging, Dakota actually found himself enjoying her spirited conversation. In some ways, Shelby reminded him of his late sister, Ellie. Both had a lot of spunk and spirit. A sudden sadness descended upon him and he scowled. “The bear charged me. I shot the bear. End of story.” Her blue eyes narrowed. Still, he savored her husky voice. It reminded him of honey, sweet and dark. He looked at her left hand. No wedding ring. He assumed she was in a relationship. A woman this damned good-looking would have men hanging around her.
“Tell me where you live.”
Dakota sighed. “I’ll give you GPS coordinates if you know how to use them. It’s on a no-name dirt road. It doesn’t even have a forest service designation number to it.”
“Which mountain?”
“Mount Owen,” he growled. “Now do you know where it’s at?”
Shelby stood her ground with the ex-SEAL. She reminded herself that he was still coming out of shock and surgery. “I do. When I was a teen, I was up tracking in that area many times with my dad.”
“Tracking?” Dakota certainly didn’t expect that answer. He was a damned good SEAL tracker. He’d spent years tracking Taliban and al Qaeda in the Hindu Kush Mountains.
“Why so surprised?” Shelby grinned at him. If Dakota wasn’t so testy and sour, she’d like his company. If he didn’t have that two-day growth of beard, he’d be a cover model for GQ. He was in top, athletic shape and she liked the way his thickly corded neck and shoulders moved.
“Tracking isn’t exactly what I expected to hear coming out of your mouth.”
“Surprises abound, Mr. Carson. There’s an old miner’s shack up at eight thousand feet on a narrow dirt road. It was pretty well in ruin the last time I was in that area. There’s an old sluice box next to the creek. That shack sits about fifteen feet from the creek. At one time, gold was found in the Tetons, but the miners exhausted it.” She studied him. “Now, is that the cabin where you live?”
Amazed, he simply uttered, “Yeah, that’s it.” How the hell did Deputy Barbie Doll figure out his hiding place? Dakota found himself readjusting his attitude. There was more to her than he thought. And it triggered a curiosity in him he rarely felt. Most women he’d been with in the far past were interested in getting married, having kids and settling down. As a SEAL, he was in a two-year cycle, with six months of it being deployed into the badlands of Afghanistan. It didn’t leave much time to cultivate an honest-to-God relationship with a woman, which was why all of his entanglements crashed and burned.
“So, you were heading for your trapline when the bear charged you?”
“Yes, it’s that simple.”
“Do you have a phone?”
He managed a sour laugh. “Up there? You know there’s no phone or electric lines up to that shack.” Dakota saw her face go dark for a moment. She obviously didn’t like being reminded about the obvious.
“Cell phone,” Shelby amended in a firm tone. What was it about this guy? He was positively bristling and his hackles rose in a heartbeat. It was like flipping a switch off and on with him. Yet when his mouth relaxed and his eyes lost that glitter of defensiveness, she saw another man beneath that grouchy exterior. She liked that man and found herself wanting to know him better. Much better.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I got one.” He gave her the number and added, “Of course, I get, maybe, one or two bars, depending on the storms up there at that elevation.”
“I know,” she said, writing the info down on her pad.
“How would you know?”
She felt the gauntlet thrown at her feet once more. His eyes were dark with distrust. “Because,” she answered in an unruffled tone, “I was tracking a lost child up in that same area a year ago. I found the lost boy I’d been tracking. When I tried to call in on my cell, I couldn’t get a signal.”
Surprise flowed through Dakota. “You tracked a lost boy?” This blew his mind. Women did not know how to track.
“Yes.” Shelby kind of resented his genuine surprise. He wasn’t the only one with skills. Then the sudden relaxation came to his face. Interest glimmered in those gold-brown eyes of his. She felt a shiver of yearning move through her as the look he gave her was primal, sexual. What was happening here? Stunned by her own reaction toward this snarly ex-SEAL, Shelby said, “Let’s stick to the facts, Mr. Carson.”
Dakota opened his mouth and then closed it. He regarded her with a little more deference. “The only thing women can track is a sale price of clothing at a department store.”
Shelby couldn’t contain her laughter. “What are you? A Neanderthal? I can track as well as any man. Better.”
“Who are you?”
Her entire body reacted to his growling question. Now the wolf was circling the prey—her. “We don’t have time for that, Mr. Carson. I need to get the location of where you shot the bear in order to notify the Tetons Forest supervisor. They’ll want to find the bear, get it out of there and bring it back to their headquarters for autopsy.”
All business. Still, Dakota’s mind reeled over the fact that she was a tracker, of all things. And he knew this area like the back of his hand. It was serious, rugged, backcountry mountainous area. Even a skilled hunter could get lost and disoriented. And she hadn’t. As he gazed up into her sparkling blue eyes, he saw banked humor in them. He gave her the directions to the meadow where he had killed the bear.
“Great, thanks,” Shelby said. She walked away, pressed the button on the radio on her left epaulet.
Watching her, Dakota liked what he saw. She was definitely a throwback to the Victorian age with the proverbial hourglass figure. Her breasts were hidden by the Kevlar vest, but he could tell they were full. Her hips were flared and she had long, long legs. Damn, she was a good-looking woman. He warned himself that she was in a relationship, lay back and closed his eyes. He had to get out of this place. There was no friggin’ way he was staying overnight.
“How are you feeling?” Shelby asked when she came back over to his gurney. “Better?”
Opening his eyes, he said, “Yeah. Better.”
“We have two forest rangers going out to find your bear.”
“Am I going to be charged?”
“I doubt it. I’ll talk to Charley over at Tetons HQ tomorrow. It sounds like self-defense to me.”
His mouth curled into a slight grin. “Oh, it was, Deputy. It was. You should have been there.”
“No, thanks. I’ve had enough grizzly interruptus too many times when I’m tracking. I like to stay away from them. They’re big and they’re fast.”
He held up his bandaged arm. “Tell me about it.”
She liked his black humor. “You were lucky.”
“No luck at all. I had the situation under control.” Well, almost. If not for Storm charging the grizzly and biting the bear’s nose, he wouldn’t have gotten the second shots to kill the charging beast.
“Yeah, right.” Her mouth twitched. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“No, you won’t.”
Shelby frowned. “You have to stay here for the night, Mr. Carson. Or go home with me.”
He sat up, his head clear. The nausea was ebbing. “Bull. I’m leaving....” He threw off the blankets and gave her a look that warned her not to stop him.
CHAPTER FOUR
SHELBY WATCHED DAKOTA Carson get up, unsteadily at first. His calves were knotted, which told her what good a shape he was in. He calmly removed the IV because he knew how to do it and dropped the needle and tube back on the gurney.
“Your clothes are kept in that locker room,” she said, pointing to a door on the left. “Probably got your last name on one of the lockers so you can find them.”
He stopped and studied her. Something about Shelby intrigued him. “You’re smart.”
“I’m field smart, Mr. Carson.”
His mouth twitched. Yeah, she was damned smart for not getting in his way. “If you were a man, you’d rear up on your balls and try to stop me.”
“I have a titanium set, but I choose my battles very carefully.”
His mouth drew into a sour smile. “You ever been in the military?”
“No.”
“Shoulda been.” He turned and walked slowly but surely toward the door.
Shelby wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or an insult. She waited until he was gone and called Jordana McPherson. By the time she arrived, looking upset, Dakota Carson was coming out the door, fully clothed. When he saw Jordana, he glanced over at Shelby.
“I called her,” Shelby said.
“Yeah, I remember. You pick your battles.”
Smiling, Shelby nodded.
“Dakota?” Jordana called.
“No sense in trying to talk me out of leaving this place, Doc. You know I can’t handle closed-in spaces. I’ll just be on my way.”
Jordana shoved her hands in the pockets of her white lab coat, giving him a pleading look. “There’s a high probability of infection after a bite like this, Dakota. I’ve written you a prescription for antibiotics, but I’m worried. Usually, if there is infection, it’s going to hit you in the first twenty-four hours after the operation. That’s why I wanted you to stay overnight for observation. If you could agree to stay at Shelby’s, her house is only a block from this hospital, I wouldn’t worry so much. Please...”
Halting, Dakota studied the deputy. Oh, he’d like to go home with her, all right. For all the wrong damn reasons. “No.”
Jordana reached out, her fingers wrapping around his right arm. “Dakota, you have to! That’s a bad wound. You’re a combat medic and you know the drill. If you could just stay overnight and let me give you an antibiotic IV drip? One night, and drop by and see me tomorrow morning to check it. I’ll feel better.”
“Sorry, Doc, but I gotta go....” He shook off her hand. Glancing at the deputy, he growled, “Now?” Dakota expected the deputy to try to stop him.
Shelby stepped aside. “Timing’s everything.”
Walking slowly by her, Dakota got his bearings and moved toward the elevator. Neither woman made an attempt to stop him.
The elevator doors whooshed closed. Jordana gave Shelby a desperate look. “He shouldn’t leave.”
“I know,” she muttered. “Give me his prescription and I’ll get it filled and make sure he has it before he drives off. I’ll follow him at a safe distance.”
“Can’t you talk some sense into him?” Jordana handed her the prescription.
With a sour laugh, Shelby said, “He calls me Deputy Barbie Doll. Do you really think I have any sway over him?”
“Hardly.” Scratching her head, Jordana groused, “Unbelievable.”
“Is that SEAL behavior?” Shelby asked, walking with her to the elevator.
“No. It’s his PTSD, Shelby. He’s got a very bad case of it. Closed-in places throw him into deep anxiety. He prowls around like a caged lion if he can’t escape.” Jordana added, “I feel so bad for him. He’s a decorated vet, with the silver star and two purple hearts. But he just won’t come in for weekly therapy.”
The elevator doors opened and they stepped in. “I’ll see what I can do,” Shelby said. “But no promises.”
“He’s been out on that mountain for a year, Shelby,” Jordana said in a softer voice. “Alone. And he’s unable to socialize, to fit back into society. It’s as if he’s still in combat mode and he can’t do anything about it.”
“I saw him struggling earlier,” Shelby murmured. The doors opened to the main floor of the hospital. Walking out, she turned to the right. “There he is.”
“Get those antibiotics for him and follow him,” Jordana said, touching her shoulder. “He’s a vet. He’s earned our help even if he doesn’t want it.”
Mouth quirking, Shelby shrugged into her coat. “He fights everyone. All the time, whether he should or not.”
“Good luck.”
She’d need it. Shelby watched him walk gingerly down the hall toward the main exit sliding glass doors. He didn’t look over his shoulder, although she watched him operating like a predator on the hunt. Dakota Carson missed nothing, his gaze swiveling one way and then the other. He might have just come out of anesthesia, but the man was alert. Jordana was right: he was operating in combat mode. He might be in the U.S., but his mind and emotions were still in Afghanistan.
Dakota made it to his truck. He fished the keys out of his pocket. Two parking spaces down was the Tetons sheriff’s cruiser. Storm was looking out the window at him, wagging her big, fluffy gray tail. He smiled and felt a sense of safety. When he looked up, he saw the blond deputy crossing the street to where he was. She stopped and handed him an orange prescription bottle.
“The doctor wanted you to take this antibiotic,” she said. Their fingers touched momentarily. An unexpected warmth moved up his arm, which aggravated him. He stuffed the bottle into his pocket.
“I need my wolf,” he told her, getting into the cab. He shoved the key into the ignition and turned it.
Nothing. Just a clicking sound.
Cursing to himself, Dakota turned the key again.
“Battery’s dead,” Shelby said matter-of-factly. “Cold weather can suck the life out of one real fast.”
Dakota sat back and glared at her. “Sure you didn’t do something to my truck so I couldn’t get home?”
Shelby shrugged. “No, but if you don’t believe me, lift the hood and check it out yourself.”
He did just that. In cold weather, batteries drained quickly. He saw some rust corrosion around the terminals, but that wouldn’t stop the battery from turning over the engine. Son of a bitch. Dropping the hood, Dakota straightened. The woman stood right where she was the last time he saw her, a concerned look on her oval face. He met her shadowed blue eyes and felt as if he could fall into them. What was it about this woman that gave him that sense of safety? Dakota pushed the feeling away.
“I imagine you’re feeling pretty good about this?”
“Not at all, Mr. Carson. I want to help you, not make your life any more miserable than it already is.” Shelby didn’t like their sparring exchanges, but he was terse and defensive. Given his PTSD, she could forgive him and just try to make life a little easier on him.
Dakota studied her in the tense silence. Her husky voice riffled across his flesh. He felt her genuine care. He’d been without a woman for so damn long, it scared him. But a lot of things scared the hell out of him. The morning sky was clear after the blizzard from the day before. The strong sunlight warmed him. “Can I get you to drive me and my wolf back to my cabin?”
Her heart contracted with pain for him. The anger in his eyes died as he must have realized the hopelessness of his situation. He swallowed his considerable pride and asked her for help. She ached for him. “Yes, I can do that. When I get back, I’ll take your battery over to the service station and get it charged. You need to come back here tomorrow morning to see Dr. McPherson, anyway. We can pick it up then and you’ll have your truck again.”
“You do choose your battles.”
“I don’t see you as a battle, Mr. Carson. I see you as someone who needs a helping hand right now.”
Shaking his head, he slid out of the truck. “Okay. Wheels up. Let’s rock it out.”
Shelby didn’t expect a thank you. She wasn’t familiar with the military slang he used, either. His face was pale, and she knew he was fighting to appear confident. He didn’t fool her at all, but she said nothing, walking over to her cruiser and unlocking the system.
When Dakota climbed in, his wolf whined and wagged her tail in welcome. He grinned and stuck his fingers through the wire wall between the front and backseats. The look in Shelby’s eyes startled him as she climbed in. For a moment, he thought he saw tears in them. Her blue eyes were wide with happiness. An unexpected heat surged through him. He turned around, pulled on the seat belt and closed the door. Shelby didn’t behave like most women he knew. She was different. Very different.
On the way out of the town, Shelby asked, “Do you have enough food and water up there? We can always stop at a grocery store.”
“I’m fine,” he managed. As he leaned his head back against the seat rest, exhaustion finally caught up with him. In moments, he was asleep.
Shelby headed out of town, up the long hill that would put them on the road toward Grand Tetons National Park. She knew exactly where Dakota Carson was holed up. The radio chatter broke the silence, but her mind and heart focused on the injured vet sleeping in her cruiser. Once, she looked at his profile. His nose reminded her that he might have some Native American heritage in his blood. And his skin, although washed out, looked more tan than white. In that moment, he seemed vulnerable. It twisted her heart to think of the terror he must have undergone and survived. She quirked her mouth. She had a few symptoms of PTSD herself, but so did everyone who worked in law enforcement. It just wasn’t as bad as for a military person.
When the cruiser stopped, Dakota snapped awake. Wide awake. Looking to the left, he saw his cabin. “You found it.”
Shelby grinned. “I told you I knew where it was.” She turned and studied him. “How do you feel?”
He lifted his bandaged arm. “Better.”
“Good. You needed the sleep.” He needed some care. And she found herself wanting to do just that for this gruff, injured vet. Why? Something tugged at her heart. And triggered her needs as a woman for him as a man. She had no idea why. Shelby opened the door and climbed out.
Dakota couldn’t figure this woman out. No one knew where this road was. But she did. After getting out, he opened the back door and Storm leaped out.
The first thing Shelby did was go to the shack. Carson had done a lot of work over time to fix it up. Once, it had been a log cabin with white plaster between the thick logs. Over the years, all of the plaster had cracked and fallen out, leaving huge gaps between the logs. Now mud and moss stuck in between them, to ward off the cold. Up here, snow was still about three feet deep in shaded spots. Trees were thick, and only the happy gurgle of a nearby creek broke the muted silence. Turning, she saw Dakota making his way toward his home.
“You’ve fixed it up,” she noted, gesturing toward it. “New roof. It needed one. And you’ve repaired the spaces between the logs.” At least he wasn’t lazy. Shelby noted the entire area was picked up, clean and organized. He cared, she realized. In his own way, the man was trying to make life a little better for himself, even if it was in the middle of nowhere.
“I’ve had a year to make it less windy inside.”
Shelby watched the wolf bound happily up to the door. The animal sat, panting and wagging her tail, as she waited for Carson to walk up. He pushed the grayish wood door open with his foot.
“Not locked?”
“No need. I have a wolf alarm.”
Grinning, Shelby said, “Point taken. You’re good to go?”
Dakota hesitated at the door. “Yeah.”
Shelby stepped forward, pulling a business card from her shirt pocket. “Here’s my business card.” She took a pen and circled her number. “This is my private cell phone. If you need anything, call me. Day or night, it doesn’t matter.” His eyes narrowed as he took the crisp white business card. Her fingers tingled briefly when they met his. “Dr. McPherson is really worried about infection. I want you to have a lifeline, all right?”
The silence fell between them. Dakota regarded her from beneath his straight black brows. “You do this for everyone?” he demanded, his voice suddenly gruff. He tried to stop the warm feelings flowing through his chest because she cared.
“Anyone,” she assured him quietly. Just the raw, anguished look in his eyes hit her in the chest like a fist. There was such need in Carson, but he was so broken that it brought tears. She turned so he wouldn’t see them. Shelby’s voice was roughened. “Meet you here at 0700 tomorrow?”
He nodded, watching her turn away from him. She seemed so out of place. Her blond hair was like sunlight in the dark, muted shadows of the woods surrounding the area. She was like a ray of sunshine in his own darkness. “Yeah.”
Nodding, Shelby headed back toward the cruiser.
“Hey...thanks...” he called.
Turning on her boot, she flashed him a tender smile. “Anytime. Take care....”
“Are you sure you weren’t in the military?”
Shelby forced tears away and met his confused gaze. “No. My dad, though, was in the Marine Corps. He served in the military police for ten years before getting out.” She gestured toward Jackson Hole. “We ended up here and he became a sheriff’s deputy. Later, he became commander. He just retired two years ago to fish the trout streams.”
Mouth compressed, Dakota said, “That’s good to know.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re behaving like a SEAL. You take care of your teammates.”
Shelby didn’t know what that meant, but it was important to him. “I’m just glad to be of help, Mr. Carson.”
“Call me Dakota.”
“Will do...”
For a moment, all Shelby wanted to do was turn around, walk straight up to him and throw her arms around his shoulders. That was what he needed: a little TLC. Yet the exhaustion in his eyes and face, that gruff exterior, warned her off. She’d been a deputy for years and could read body language and facial expressions pretty well. That ability had saved her life in the past, but Shelby didn’t feel threatened by this ex-SEAL. If anything, her heart reached out for him, wanted to help him even though he pushed all her efforts away.
She watched him disappear into the claptrap cabin. Frowning, Shelby walked back to her cruiser. She was sure that Cade Garner, who was now second in command at the sheriff’s department, and her boss, would be happy to hear she was off duty. She climbed into the cruiser. Cade would understand because of the unusual circumstances. So often, even as law enforcement officers, they dealt in humanitarian ways with the citizens of their county. It wasn’t always about handing out a speeding ticket. She was raised in the giant shadow of her father, who had taught her that she should always look to help others who needed it. Shelby looked up to him and was inspired to go into law enforcement as a result. It was a good choice, one she had never regretted.
As she turned the cruiser around, worry ate at her. She wasn’t a paramedic, although she had advanced first-aid training. Jordana’s worry was real. Over the past two years, she’d become friends with the doctor and knew she didn’t show her worry often.
Shelby drove slowly down the steep, muddy road, heading back toward Jackson Hole. Something gnawed at her. Taking a deep breath, Shelby tried to shrug it off. Dakota was a man in his element up here in the raw, untamed Tetons. Apparently his SEAL training had given him the ability to survive in the harshest of environments.
As she drove down the narrow, twisting road, she figured out she’d do a Google search of SEALs and educate herself. Her father had been a military police officer in the marines. As a child of a military family, she recalled her moving from one base to another every two years. She lost good friends she made, never to see them again. It had been emotionally hard on Shelby, but her father was good at what he did. And she was proud of him, as was her mother. But she’d never heard him mention SEALs. Once her shift was over, Shelby would drop by for a visit to her parents’ home on the other side of town. Maybe her father would know more about this special breed of military men.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE NIGHTMARE BEGAN as it always did. Dakota was following his LT, Lieutenant Sean Vincent, up a slippery scree slope in the Hindu Kush Mountains of Afghanistan. It was black. So black he couldn’t see a foot in front of him without his NVGs, night-vision goggles, in place over his eyes. Everything became a grainy green. The only problem was there was no depth of perception when using them, and the four-man SEAL team slipped, fell, got up and kept moving.
They were hunting an HTV, high-value-target, Taliban warlord who was hiding out in the cave systems of the Hindu Kush Mountains. The wind was cold and cutting, the Kevlar vest and winter gear keeping him warm. A terrible feeling crawled through Dakota. They called him “woo-woo man,” because he had a sixth sense about danger and coming attacks. After three tours in the Sand Box with his platoon, everyone listened to him.
They were ready to crest a ridge at twelve thousand feet. Their breath was coming in explosive inhales and exhales. The climb of four thousand feet at midnight to catch the warlord by surprise, would be worth it. Or would it?
Dakota was ready to throw up his hand in a fist to signal stop, to warn the other SEAL operatives.
Too late! Just as the LT breasted the ridge, all hell broke loose. Enemy AK-47s fired. Red tracer bullets danced around the LT. Dakota saw him struck, once, twice, three times. The impact flung the SEAL officer off his feet, sent him flying backward, the M-4 rifle cartwheeling out of his hands.
Dakota grunted, crouched and leaped upward, catching the two-hundred-pound SEAL before he crashed into the sharp, cutting rocks. Slammed backward, Dakota took the full brunt of his LT’s weight. He landed with an “oofff,” on his back, the rocks bruising and biting into his Kevlar vest plates. He heard the two other operatives scramble upward, in a diamond pattern, to protect him and the LT as they skidded out of control down the steep grade of the mountain.
A hail of bullets, screams of Taliban charging their position, filled the night air. The SEAL team held their position up above, firing systematically, picking off the men as they launched themselves at them. Head shots, every one.
Dakota came to an abrupt halt, a huge boulder stopping their downward slide. His flesh was torn up beneath both his legs, his elbow raw and bleeding. “LT!” He dragged the unconscious officer around the boulder for protection. Dakota was their combat medic on the team. It was his job to save the lives of his team, his family. Glancing around the boulder, he saw Mac and Gordy on their bellies, firing upward, taking out every Taliban who surged over the mountain at them.
Hands shaking, he carefully turned the officer over. He’d worked with Sean for five years. They’d grown up together in the platoon. He was twenty-eight and had just married Isabel before going out on this rotation, their first child on the way. Blood gleamed dark along the LT’s throat. Dakota saw where two of the three bullets had struck the LT in the chest. The Kevlar had stopped them from killing him outright.
A loud RPG explosion occurred. Automatically, Dakota threw himself over his LT, a rain of rocks hailing down all around them. He heard Mac yell. The next moment, a grenade was fired by the SEAL. More explosions lit the night on that cold ridge. Rolling off the officer, Dakota heard the throaty fire of the M-4s. Both his teammates were fighting back with fury. He heard their comms man, Mac, call for air support. They needed it.
As he pulled away Sean’s collar in his quick examination, Dakota noticed the terrible wound the third bullet had created as it sped through the side of his neck. Gulping, tears blurring his vision for a second, Dakota forced down his emotions. Rapidly, he applied a battle dressing with pressure to the side of Sean’s neck. He could feel the warmth of the SEAL’s blood as it leaked quickly out of the white dressing and through his fingers. He was going to bleed out, his carotid artery cut in half by the bullet. Oh, God, no, no, don’t let this be! Bullets whined around Dakota. He heard a roar of the Taliban to his right. Jerking his head up, he saw at least ten Taliban rush around the slope from another direction, firing at him.
Dakota had to return fire. In doing so, he had to lift his hand and stop the artery from bleeding out. It was a terrible choice....
Groaning, Dakota awakened in a heavy sweat. His chest was rapidly rising and falling, his mouth opened in a silent scream. Flailing around on his bed, the springs creaking, he tried to run from the rest of the nightmare that dogged him. His heart pounded so hard he felt as if it would tear out of his chest. Throwing off the wool blankets, burning up, he pulled himself upright. The moment his bare feet hit the cold surface of the floor, he opened his eyes. Perspiration ran down his temples. He could taste the sweat at the corners of his mouth. Tears were running out of his eyes and no matter what he did, Dakota couldn’t stop them.
Oh God, no...no.... Sean died right there. Right behind that friggin’ rock in the middle of nowhere. He jammed his palms against his closed eyes, trembling. His muscles bunched and knotted. If only...if only he’d have died instead of Sean. He left his beautiful, pregnant wife behind. Somehow, they got off that ridge before being decimated. The Night Stalkers sent in an MH-47 Chinook accompanied by two army Apache combat helicopters. Making a heroic landing, one of the four wheels on the mountain, the others in thin air, Dakota carried his dead LT and himself on board. Then the other two SEALs jumped off the ridge, slid down the rocky scree and leaped into the awaiting helo. As the Chinook powered up and left the ridge, the Apaches lit it up like the Fourth of July, cremating every one of those bastards, sending them straight to hell.
The shaking wouldn’t stop. Dakota rubbed his eyes savagely, trying to force the tears to stop. Sean was like the brother he’d never had. Sean’s platoon was his family. Burning up. He was burning up. At this time of year, it was below freezing at night, but barely. Why wouldn’t his body cool down? His mind felt spongy. Dakota realized he wasn’t thinking clearly. The nightmare still had its claws into him. Still...
Forcing himself to his feet, Dakota staggered. Dizziness assailed him and he found himself falling backward onto the bed. He hit it with force, one metal leg bending and snapping. The jolt of the bed falling on one side shocked him. Breathing hard, his heart refusing to stop pounding as if he were in the middle of a heart attack, Dakota forced himself to focus. It was something SEALs did well. He placed two fingers on his pulse. It was leaping and bounding as if it were about to tear out of his skin. By now his body should be calming down, cooling down. But it wasn’t. His flesh felt scalded beneath his fingertips. What the hell? And then it hit him: he had a fever. Shit. Doc McPherson was right: infection had set in after the surgery.
Lifting his head, his eyes narrowed, sweat running and following the course of his hard jaw, Dakota tried to think. As he tried to get up, the dizziness felled him. The bed sagged and tipped to one side where the leg had been broken off. His left arm throbbed like a son of a bitch. He looked at it. The arm had swollen so much that the skin on either end of the tape bulged outward. When he touched it, his arm was hard and hot. Bad news.
Help. I’ve got to get help or I’m gonna die. I’ve gone septic...
Moonlight shifted through the small glass windows, which were smudged with dust and dirt. A flash of white on the wood table caught his wandering attention. Dakota knew he’d never get to his truck, much less drive it down the mountain to get help.
Barbie Doll...need to call her... Said she’d help...
The cell phone lay next to her white business card on the table. Could he reach it? Dakota forced himself up, staggering those five feet to the table. He sat down in the chair before he fell down. With shaking fingers, his mind hallucinating from high fever, he slowly punched in the numbers. Would Barbie Doll answer? Did she really mean what she said? She’d help him if he needed her, or was it just lip service? Dakota had never felt so goddamned useless. He’d been a SEAL. He knew how to survive. And yet a high fever was raging through him, had dismantled him in record time. If that blond-haired angel didn’t answer her cell phone, he knew without a doubt she’d find him dead on the floor when she dropped by at 0700.
His senses began to spin. Dakota tried to focus on the phone ringing and ringing and ringing.... Blackness began to assail him. He fought the fever. Fought the darkness encroaching upon him. He couldn’t see anymore. Everything was turning black. Oh God, I’m going to die.... The grizzly bear had gotten its revenge....
Soft, beeping noises slowly brought Dakota out of the darkness. He heard women’s voices. Far off. Too far to understand, but he tried to listen anyway. He had that familiar sensation, as if he was drowning and swimming toward the surface. It reminded him of being a SEAL frogman. He’d had his LAR V Draeger rebreathing system malfunction at fifty feet in the warm waters of the Arabian Sea during a night mission. Holding his breath, Dakota swam strongly, pushing his flippers hard toward the surface. It was barely dawn, but he could see the light above him through his mask. His chest swelled, he felt the pressure, felt the reflex to breathe. But he couldn’t! If he did, he’d inhale a lungful of water and drown. Struggling, fighting, kicking, he willed himself to hold his breath just as he’d done back in BUD/S in that pool. Was he going to make it?
And then a gentle hand touched his sweaty lower arm. Instantly, it broke the hold darkness had on him. Dakota inhaled audibly, gulping in a huge, deep breath. The fingers tightened a little, as if to steady him, help him to reorient. Yes, the hand was cool, fingers long. He could feel their softness against the dark hair and sweat rolling off his arm.
Dragging his eyes open to slits, Dakota saw nothing but blurred green walls. The hand. That cool, soft hand. He forced himself to close his eyes and concentrate. Between heaven and hell, Dakota fought to move toward the light. Toward that hand that was like an anchor promising him life, not death. His mind churned, hallucinated and then like a tide, flowed out, leaving him lucid for a few moments.
“It’s all right, Dakota,” a voice whispered near his ear. “You’re going to be all right. You’re safe....”
Her breath was warm, a hint of cinnamon on it, maybe. Dakota absorbed her husky, breathy tone, the warm moisture caressing his ear and cheek. He felt her fingers tighten just a little, as if to convince him to believe her. Most of all, he was safe. He felt safe even though he swam in a mix of hallucinations and God knew what else. Where was he?
Shelby kept her hand on Dakota’s arm. Jordana McPherson stood on the other side of the bed, watching him. Lifting her gaze, she met Jordana’s. “He’s coming around....”
“Yes,” the doctor murmured, checking the IV drip that was slugging his body with antibiotics and fighting the massive infection within him. “Finally. He’s past crisis. He’s going to make it.”
* * *
THE AFTERNOON SUN SLANTED through the window near the hospital bed. “It was a close call,” Shelby said in a low tone. She watched Dakota struggling to regain consciousness.
Snorting, Jordana rolled her eyes. She watched the monitors for a moment. “No need to tell you. You’re the one who found him at two o’clock this morning.” She frowned. “If you hadn’t responded to his call, he’d have died. He went septic. I was so afraid of that.”
Shelby noticed the red streaks—a sign of sepsis—running up his left arm. His biceps were sculpted and hard. If a streak had reached his heart, it would have killed him. Now the red streaks were receding. Even in his semiconscious state, with a high fever, there was nothing but pure masculinity about Dakota Carson. The man was in top shape. He wasn’t heavily muscled, just lean and honed like a fine knife blade.
“Okay, monitors are looking better. His heart rate and pulse are finally lowering.” Jordana sighed. “His fever’s coming down and now at one hundred three. And his oxygen concentration is okay, considering what he just went through. Stay with him until he gets conscious, okay? I don’t want him waking up and being thrown into instant anxiety because he doesn’t know where he is. He’s going to be woozy for a while.”
“I’ll stay with him.”
“Thanks. Are you off duty?”
“Yeah, for the next three days.”
“Don’t you love shift work?” Jordana grinned.
“I do.” Shelby gazed down at Dakota, who was still struggling. “It came in handy this time.”
“Tell me about it. If you need me, buzz.” Jordana waved and disappeared out the door of the private room.
Quiet descended on the small room. Shelby shifted a little, keeping her hand on Dakota’s good arm. She wanted to touch this man, this warrior. Her talk with her father yesterday had shed a ton of light on SEALs. And truly, Dakota Carson was a genuine hero. A real warrior. As she gazed down at his pale features, the darkness of the beard making his cheeks look even more gaunt from the ravages of the fever, her heart expanded. She moved her fingers gently up and down his arm. She felt even more drawn to this enigmatic man. This loner who held so much pain deep in his heart. How much darkness held him prisoner? Shelby wondered.
His eyes slowly opened. Leaning down, Shelby smiled, catching his wandering gaze. “Dakota? It’s Shelby. You’re back in the Jackson Hole Hospital.”
His eyes moved slowly back to hers. Shelby felt his neediness in that moment. Her breath hitched. There was anxiety and fear in his expression, turning them a muddy brown color. Without thinking, she reached out and threaded her fingers through his damp, sweat-soaked black hair. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You had a close call with an infection, but you’re going to be all right.”
Shelby sounded like an angel whispering to him, calling him out of the darkness that still wanted to drag him back down into hell. As her fingers touched his burning scalp, the coolness soothed his agitation, stopped the panic deep in his chest. The look of calm on her face touched him. In seconds, he relaxed. Watching her, Dakota was sure he’d died and gone to heaven.
His voice was raw. In a barely heard, ragged whisper, he managed, “Angel...”
Shelby withdrew her fingers from his hair. “Not me.” She laughed softly. “I’m no angel.”
A sense of warmth, of coming home, stole through Dakota. That half smile of hers, that humored look dancing impishly in her eyes, gave him a sense of peace he’d never felt before. What was going on? He didn’t care. All he could do was absorb her grazing touch across his forearm. It was Shelby, he decided. His mind shorted out, wandered and then came back to sharper focus.
“Wh-what...”
Shelby leaned near, her lips inches from his ear. Quietly, she repeated the information to him, watching to see if his eyes would focus. As she spoke, he seemed to relax. She saw the evidence in the monitors on the other side of his bed. His pulse became normal. His breathing settled. She understood a soft voice could tame a person in shock at an accident site. Knowing this from her own experience, she repeated once again the information slowly.
His gaze followed hers as she slowly straightened, continuing to keep her hand on his arm. His pupils grew larger, as if grappling with comprehension. What kind of anguish was he experiencing right now? What was he seeing?
When she lifted her hand away, he groaned. The monitors chattered. His blood pressure rose, his pulse skyrocketed and his heart started to pound.
Shelby automatically placed her hand back on his right shoulder. The blue cotton gown hid the hard muscles beneath, but she could feel them leap and respond to her touch. Amazed, Shelby watched the monitors stop beeping so loudly. All his functions lowered back to normal. Touch. That was it. A thread of joy coursed through her, sweet and unexpected. Tilting her chin, she gazed at Dakota’s lashes resting against his pasty cheeks. His mouth, once pursed with pain, was now relaxed.
What would it be like to kiss this man? His mouth was beautifully shaped, the lower lip slightly fuller than the upper. If given the chance, he’d probably be one hell of a kisser. Absently, she moved her hand across his shoulder. His chest rose and fell slowly, no longer swift or moving with anxiety.
She was shaken and emotionally moved by the unexpected experience. Even watching him fall into a deep sleep affected her. He’d been trapped within some unknown nightmare, fueled by the high fever. When she looked once again at the monitor, she was stunned. His temperature had been a hundred and three. Now it had reduced to a hundred and one! How was that possible? Shelby wished she knew more about medicine. She’d asked Jordana later.
Hooking the chair with her foot, she slowly pulled it over to Dakota’s bedside. Because her touch was a powerful healing agent, the least she could do was stay. And allow her touch to give him some peace. As Shelby sat down, she slid her hand across his gowned shoulder to his lower right arm and remembered her dad’s words of warning.
“He’s a man carrying so much grief and pain he doesn’t know where to put it all, Shelby. He’s seen too much. He’s survived things we can’t imagine. He’s a wounded warrior and the past runs his life.”
Shelby felt close to tears. Tears for him, for the horror he still carried within him. Dakota was perilous to her heart. And yet she felt driven to be near him. Most shocking of all, she wanted to care for him. Somehow, Shelby knew love was the key to this man who now slept. Shaking her head, Shelby told herself she was crazy. A man like this would be like a black hole, sucking the life out of everything he ever touched, destroying it.
Or would he?
Shelby heard her dad’s warning words. “Be careful, Shelby. You care about this vet too much. You have no experience with his kind. If you get close to him, he’ll emotionally destroy you. He’s got a severe disorder and he doesn’t know how to handle himself, much less a woman who’s trying to help him. Stay out of his way, Shelby. Don’t get involved.”
CHAPTER SIX
DAKOTA AWOKE SLOWLY to the sound of a robin singing nearby. Dragging open his eyes, he was met by brilliant sunlight coming through frilly white lace curtains. The light hit the pale blue wall opposite of where he lay. His brows drew down. Where the hell was he? What had happened?
The door quietly opened. His eyes widened when he recognized Shelby. She was dressed in a simple orange T-shirt, body-hugging jeans and a pair of well-worn moccasins. Her hair gleamed like gold as she walked through the slats of sunlight. When she saw he was awake, she smiled.
“Welcome back to the land of the living. You’re at my home.”
Dakota pushed himself up into a sitting position. He found himself a helluva lot weaker than he wanted to be. Looking down, he noticed he was wearing a set of blue pajamas. A clean white waterproof bandage covered his left arm. His flesh appeared normal, no longer swollen, bluish or oozing pus. He was no longer feverish, his skin cool and dry to his touch. He looked up as Shelby poured some water from a pitcher.
“Thirsty?”
“Yeah,” he managed, his voice hoarse. He took the glass.
“You’ve been out for two solid days,” she said, watching him gulp the water. Jordana had warned her he’d be thirstier than a camel when he came out of his fevered state.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he handed her the glass. “More?” And then he added, “Please?”
Shelby poured him another glass. “You had us all worried there for a while,” she said. His hair was spiky and stiff with sweat. He definitely needed a bath. Still, she thrilled to the fact that his eyes were once more clear and he was fully present.
The water satiated him. “I thought the grizzly was going to get even with me.”
Her mouth quirked. “Almost did. Dr. McPherson flooded you with antibiotics through an IV. It was touch-and-go for a while because you had sepsis, blood poisoning.”
“Karma’s a bitch,” he said, his voice stronger. “How did I get here?”
Shelby sat on the edge of the bed, near his feet, facing him. “Dr. McPherson had you brought over here by ambulance a couple hours ago.” She saw his brows raise. “She didn’t want you waking up in a hospital. She said you didn’t like small rooms. I volunteered my place. It’s close enough to the hospital in case you relapse.”
Looking around, Dakota felt comfortable in the queen-size bed in the large room. He lifted his chin and met her gaze. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I’ve seen your cabin and frankly, it sucks. I wouldn’t put a sick dog up there to get well.” She wanted to add that vets deserved the best, not the worst, when they were injured.
Her lips twitched, merriment gleaming in her blue eyes.
“You should have seen it before I got there. It was a dump,” he said.
“Oh,” she said as she laughed, “I did. Remember? I’ve been to it many times before you homesteaded it.”
His mind wasn’t functioning fully yet. Frowning, Dakota finally remembered. He moved his hand across his jaw. “I need to shave. And I stink.”
“Wouldn’t disagree.”
Smart mouth. Beautiful lips. Dakota appreciated her dry sense of humor. And he was feeling remarkably calm. Almost always, he had anxiety upon awakening. But it was gone. Completely gone, which confused him. “Give me a little while to get my bearings.”
“Take as long as you need. By the way, I’ve checked on Storm daily. She seems happy to stay outside the cabin. I couldn’t find any dog food for her.”
“She hunts for her food. And she’d rather be outdoors than in.” He was grateful for her care of the wolf. It told Dakota she cared a lot more than most people did. “Tell me what happened. The last thing I remember was trying to call you.”
“You did.”
“I don’t remember your answering. I think I blacked out after punching in the numbers.”
“My phone rang and I picked it up. There was nothing at the other end, but I could hear Storm whining in the background. I hung up and checked the callback number and I put it together.”
“And you drove up there?”
“Yes. When I entered the cabin, you were out cold on the floor. You were burning up, your dressing was oozing pus and smelled foul. Storm was whining and sitting near you. I called the fire station and told them to meet me with an ambulance at the bottom of the mountain. No one would ever know how to get up to your cabin.”
Nodding, he studied her beneath his lashes. “You can’t be strong enough to haul my ass off that floor by yourself.”
Her mouth drew into a wicked grin. “I did.” Wasn’t easy, but Shelby did it because the other choice was leaving him to die on that cold floor.
“You aren’t a Barbie doll after all. I owe you a full apology.”
Thrusting out her hand, she said, “Apology accepted. Call me Shelby, will you?” When his hand swallowed hers up, Shelby felt his animal warmth, his strength, and yet he monitored how much pressure he put around her fingers. This was the second time he’d touched her. Really touched her. There was incredible masculinity and power around Dakota. It called her and she felt almost helpless not to respond to it—to him.
“Shelby...yes, I’m sorry I called you Barbie Doll. I guess—” he reluctantly released her long, beautiful hand “—my prejudice about women with blond hair is showing?”
“Dumb blonde prejudice?”
“Yeah.”
Shelby didn’t want him feeling any worse than he already did. There was a sincere apology in his eyes. “Don’t worry about it. Are you hungry, Dakota?” She liked the way his name rolled off her lips. Right now he looked fully relaxed. When would that change? What would cause his anxiety to return? Jason, her older brother, had the same kind of symptoms after three tours in Iraq. And no one had been able to save him. Not even her. Shelby tried to remember her dad’s words of warnings when she’d filled him in on Dakota’s military background. Yet when she met and drowned in Dakota’s gold-and-brown eyes, she felt her heart opening so wide it made her momentarily breathless. Did he realize the effect he had on her? She didn’t think so.
Rubbing his stomach, he said, “Yeah, a little. But look, I don’t want you going out of your way—”
“I’ll let you know when you’re a burden, okay?” Shelby said it half in jest and half with seriousness. Standing up, she asked, “What would you like? I’m a good cook.”
He gazed up at her. She was tall, her shoulders thrown back with natural confidence. Without her uniform on and with that orange T-shirt outlining her upper body to show every curve, he lost his train of thought for a moment. “I...uh... Eggs and bacon sound good.”
“Toast? Jam?”
He nodded. “If it’s not too much trouble?”
“Coffee?”
He groaned. “God, that sounds good. Really good.”
“Cream? Sugar?”
“No, black.”
“Anything else?”
“You? For dessert?”
Shocked by his response, Shelby was fully aware of the sudden glint in his eyes, that predatory look a man gives to a woman. Heat surged up her neck and into her face. “Let’s stick to the eggs and bacon, shall we?” Shelby turned to leave and said teasingly, “I think that’s about all you can handle right now.”
He had the good grace to give her a sheepish smile. “I think you’re right.” He watched her leave as soundlessly as she’d arrived. What the hell was wrong with him? Dakota sat up, pushing the covers aside. Shelby was beautiful, playful, intelligent and smart-mouthed. It all conspired to make him brazen.
Looking down, he realized he was aroused. Damn. He jerked the covers over the lower half of his body and tried to piece together what had happened to him two days earlier. He couldn’t get Shelby’s body out of his mind. She had nice, wide hips, the kind a man liked to slide his large hands around to hold and guide her. Her breasts were full and he wondered what it would be like to cup them. Shaking his head, he cursed softly. Horny as hell, Dakota didn’t like the fact that his body was acting like some love-starved teen’s.
Shelby deserved better. When she came back about twenty minutes later with a tray of food, the first thing he said was, “I’m a lousy houseguest. I’m sorry for what I said earlier. You didn’t deserve it.”
She set the wooden tray across his lap and noticed the bulge beneath the covers. She tried to keep her face carefully arranged. “Apology accepted. You nearly died a couple of days ago. You’re still coming out of it. After almost dying, everyone feels emotionally up and down. In my experience, people say a lot of things in that state.”
He took the pink napkin and laid it absently across his broad chest. The eggs looked perfect, several slices of thick bacon and whole-wheat toast on the plate. His stomach growled. “You give a person an amazing amount of rope to hang himself on,” he told her wryly, picking up the fork.
Shelby sat down, facing him. “Being a deputy, you find people teach you a lot along the way. I’ve handled a lot of situations where there’s shock and trauma going on.” There was something satisfying and even healing to her as she watched him hungrily eat.
He stuffed the eggs into his mouth. Closing his eyes, Dakota simply absorbed their warmth and taste. How long had it been since someone made him a home-cooked meal? For a moment, he felt overwhelmed. He opened his eyes. Shelby sat with one leg tucked beneath her, relaxed, her expression calm. “I imagine you’re a pretty cool dude in a gunfight.”
“Is that SEAL talk?”
“Being a gunslinger? Yeah, I guess it is.”
He ate, starved now. Dakota could tell he’d probably dropped ten pounds, and his stomach was reminding him of that loss in spades. He could feel the food taking hold, reviving his body, replacing his lost strength.
“Do you miss it? I mean, being a SEAL?” Jason seemed to miss his platoon, always wanting to return and go back to Iraq to be with them, not stick around here to visit their parents or her. The military was a powerful draw, but she couldn’t grasp why.
Her voice had gone soft and it was as if she had whispered against his skin. Did Shelby know how her husky voice affected him? Dakota shrugged. “Yeah, I miss it.” More than she would ever realize.
“Do you have family around here?”
“I did. My parents died in a snowstorm after their truck slid off on a back road and got stuck in a ditch.”
“I’m so sorry. When did it happen?” Shelby knew of other people who had died of hypothermia during the long, brutal winter across Wyoming.
Pain filtered through Dakota and he stopped eating. He could tell she wasn’t asking to create social conversation. She cared. “I was eighteen.” As dark rage and grief stirred deep within him, he quickly tried to shut down all feelings. “It was a long time ago,” he said more gruffly than he’d intended.
Shelby sensed a shift in Dakota. She saw devastation in his eyes and then he quickly dipped his head, breaking contact with her. Moistening her lips, she asked softly, “Do you stay in touch with your SEAL teammates?”
“Yes, with a few of the guys.”
“They’re like your family?” He had none of his own, so she could see Dakota regarding the guys he worked with as family.
“Yes, they are. How’d you get so wise for someone so young?”
Shelby shrugged, a ribbon of sadness flowing wide and slow through her. “Ever since I found out you were a SEAL, I’ve been trying to understand and learn about them. Because Jason, my brother, was an Army Ranger, never spoke about his life or what he did in the military. When he came home on leave, he never talked about what he did over in Iraq. Not ever.” Shelby felt shut out and disconnected from her brother, whom she loved so much. Every time Jason came home on leave, there was a thick wall standing between him, her parents and herself. No matter what she tried to do to reach him, she failed.
“Why?”
“Because you’re a big question mark in my world.” Because you remind me of Jason. I couldn’t save him. Maybe I can save you? The words were nearly torn out of Shelby. Stunned by the powerful, invisible connection Dakota had wielded with her, she was unable to deny it or stop it from happening.
A rush of desire coursed through Dakota. There was such an openness to her, as if she trusted the world. How could she? There were bad guys everywhere. It was a world covered in camouflage as far as he was concerned. A powerful sense of protection toward her welled up within him. Okay, she was a law enforcement officer and knew how to take care of herself. But here, in her home, in this room, there was a terrible vulnerability that suddenly shone in her expression, especially her eyes. Something had happened to her. That much he knew. It was his sixth sense working. It always did when there was danger or threat.
Dakota tried to probe beyond her expression. Shelby was good at hiding, he discovered, but she couldn’t stop it from showing in her eyes. If he sensed correctly, something tragic had happened recently to her. But what? He couldn’t ask now. Maybe later. He managed a one-cornered smile, wanting to lift her out of the darkness only she knew about. “Don’t be too curious about me. I’m a dead end.”
She sighed and wrapped her arms around her drawn-up knee. Dakota was trying to tease her, but right now her gut was a knot. Her heart was squeezing with fresh grief, which wouldn’t stop flowing outward and making her want to cry. “Interested, not curious. There’s a difference.”
He smiled thinly and picked up the mug of steaming coffee. “Interested why?”
She took his challenge and tried to deflect the real truth. “I like to learn about people. I see them as my teachers.” Jason had been a hard teacher, nearly breaking her. She’d loved her brother with a fierceness that couldn’t ever be controlled or stopped. They had been so close growing up. So many happy memories until...
“So, I’m a bug under your microscope of life?” he teased, a grin edging his mouth.
“I wouldn’t say a bug,” Shelby protested. Jason and Dakota were so much alike, it scared her. The PTSD was their shared, dark connection. Struggling, Shelby forced herself out of her own personal mire and focused on the man in her bed. How handsome Dakota was when he was relaxed. It was a remarkable change from meeting him out in the hospital parking lot. And where had his PTSD symptoms gone? She wondered if he was peaceful because she was here with him. Did one person make that big of a difference to someone like Dakota? Did she really have that much influence over him?
Shelby had never had that kind of effect on Jason. He grew irritated and irrational when she tried to talk with him. But Dakota was different, or at least, for the time being. The terrible, unanswered questions ate at her. Had she pushed Jason too far? All she wanted was that closeness they’d shared before he’d joined the military.
“What, then?” Dakota challenged, relishing the fresh coffee.
Shelby fumbled, avoiding his sharpened gaze. There was nothing weak about Dakota, the beard making him all the more male and therefore dangerous to her emotions.
“Out of words for once? Or are you carefully choosing our battles?”
Upon hearing the growl of his teasing, she lifted her chin. Her smile faded. The grief from her past stained the happiness she felt being around him. “I...sensed something about you, Dakota. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I felt your desperation, your need.” Shelby gave him a helpless look. “I knew someone once, who was a lot like you.” She choked back the rest of the admission. It was too painful to say. Too painful and shaming to admit. Finally, her voice husky with emotion, she admitted, “There’s just something about you that draws me.”
Her softly spoken honesty rattled him as nothing else ever could. Seeing the flush across her cheeks, the sudden, unexpected grief shadowing her expression, Dakota felt like the proverbial bull in a china shop. Before he could think of something to say, Shelby looked as if she was going to cry.
She quickly uncurled from the bed and picked up the tray from his lap. “I brought some of your clothes down from the cabin the other day and washed them. You’ll find fresh Levi’s, a T-shirt and socks in the bathroom across the hall.” She turned and left the room without another word.
Well hell! That went well, didn’t it, Carson? Shelby had been generous with him. And he’d acted like a total jerk. Something deeper, more visceral was going on between them. Dakota threw off the covers in frustration. He had to get out of here or he’d do something really stupid. He felt protective toward Shelby. He wanted to hunt her down, pull her into his arms and love her until they both died of pleasure. Snorting to himself, Dakota knew he was no prize. He was a horse’s ass, if anything. Looking around, he felt more like his old self before the infection damn near snuffed out his life. He was strong and solid again. He spotted a towel, washcloth and soap on the dresser, and walked over to pick them up.
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Lindsay McKenna
In all her years as deputy sheriff, Shelby Kincaid never met a man as stubborn as Dakota Carson. Practically eaten by a grizzly bear and still that man insists on returning, alone, to his isolated cabin in the Tetons.Shelby’s not even sure why it ruffles her – but she suspects it has a lot to do with the instant, powerful connection she feels with Dakota. If only he’d let down his guard with her…Ten years as a Navy SEAL took its toll on Dakota’s body, his mind, and his heart. Since being released, he’s endured months of painful physical therapy… and brutal nightmares. Dakota wants nothing more than to hide from the world, so why does Shelby’s gentle presence suddenly make him question his seclusion?But when Shelby’s life is threatened, Dakota knows his warrior spirit won’t hide any longer.He just hopes it’s not too late…
A man at war with himself
In all her years as deputy sheriff, Shelby Kincaid never met a man as stubborn as Dakota Carson. Practically eaten by a grizzly bear and still that man insists on returning, alone, to his isolated cabin in the Tetons. Shelby’s not even sure why it ruffles her—but she suspects it has a lot to do with the instant, powerful connection she feels with Dakota. If only he’d let down his guard with her....
Ten years as a navy SEAL took its toll on Dakota’s body, his mind and his heart. Since being released, he’s endured months of painful physical therapy…and brutal nightmares. Dakota wants nothing more than to hide from the world, so why does Shelby’s gentle presence suddenly make him question his seclusion? But when Shelby’s life is threatened, Dakota knows his warrior spirit won’t hide any longer. He just hopes it’s not too late....
Praise for
LINDSAY McKENNA
“McKenna skillfully shows that it’s all about the romance and not only the sex. After all, hard work, honesty and trust is what western romance is all about.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Wrangler
“McKenna’s latest is an intriguing tale…a unique twist on the romance novel, and one that’s sure to please.”
—RT Book Reviews on Dangerous Prey
“Riveting.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Quest
“An absorbing debut for the Nocturne line.”
—RT Book Reviews on Unforgiven
“Gunfire, emotions, suspense, tension and sexuality abound in this fast-paced, absorbing novel.”
—Affaire de Coeur on Wild Woman
“Another masterpiece.”
—Affaire de Coeur on Enemy Mine
“Emotionally charged…riveting and deeply touching.”
—RT Book Reviews on Firstborn
“Ms. McKenna brings readers along for a fabulous odyssey in which complex characters experience the danger, passion and beauty of the mystical jungle.”
—RT Book Reviews on Man of Passion
“Talented Lindsay McKenna delivers excitement and romance in equal measure.”
—RT Book Reviews on Protecting His Own
“Lindsay McKenna will have you flying with the daring and deadly women pilots who risk their lives.…
Buckle in for the ride of your life.”
—Writers Unlimited on Heart of Stone
The Loner
Lindsay McKenna
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To all the service men and women who have suffered PTSD during combat. You are not alone. Nor are you forgotten. There is help out there. Please know we honor your courage. And thank you from the bottom of our hearts for your service and sacrifice to our country.
And to the wonderful, warm and caring staff at Hotel Opera Roma in Rome, Italy. This dedication was well earned. Thank you. www.hoteloperaroma.com (http://www.hoteloperaroma.com).
Dear Reader,
Having been in the U.S. Navy and having had Marine Corps friends in combat, I’ve seen what war does to a person. Post-traumatic stress disorder came into being in the 1980s. Before, it was simply “battle fatigue” or the “thousand-yard stare.” Whatever it is/was called, the wounds our men and women in the military get from combat are real. War isn’t always in a foreign country. Police, firefighters and EMT/paramedics can suffer from it. PTSD is a global phenomenon and can take decades, even a lifetime, to heal from, if ever.
In The Loner, I wanted to bring PTSD to the surface and deal with how it affects the hero, Dakota Carson. A person who has PTSD may well feel like a “loner.” This can be overcome with help, love and understanding. When sheriff’s deputy Shelby Kincaid meets Dakota, she is drawn powerfully to the angry loner. Shelby feels strongly that everyone should help Dakota instead of throwing him away. They soon realize they share a horribly tragic link, and this creates a meaningful connection between them—and unexpected danger. Can Dakota engage his SEAL-driven experience in order to save her?
Strap in for one hell of a ride.
Lindsay McKenna
Contents
CHAPTER ONE (#u1fe490aa-b942-50bb-a58d-08128faa4878)
CHAPTER TWO (#uef53f9ec-f21b-5ee8-a8a5-1d0a87906995)
CHAPTER THREE (#u10d67913-72aa-58e7-9ce5-4105a21a4ae4)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ub366f0d1-ddf5-5978-a8ed-4c0f79e4ce95)
CHAPTER FIVE (#uc2066ab5-d0e5-536d-a2f5-d4b12a6faf0b)
CHAPTER SIX (#u600af1a0-edcb-5cdb-8991-c8a67e2e4926)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
DAKOTA CARSON SENSED danger. A fragile pink dawn lay like a silent ribbon along the eastern horizon. As he exhaled, white clouds congealed for a moment in front of him, telling him it was below freezing on this June first morning. Standing on a small rise at the edge of an oval meadow, he studied a football-field-long swath of willows that ran through the center.
His left arm ached in the cold, reminding him why he’d been discharged from the U.S. Navy and his SEAL team. He’d suffered permanent nerve damage during a firefight. Never mind the post-traumatic stress disorder he coped with 24/7. Now his hyperalertness was telling him something wasn’t right. But what was wrong? Eyes narrowing, he scanned the quiet, early morning area. To his right rose the majestic Teton Mountains, their white peaks taking on a pinkish alpine glow.
It was quiet. Too quiet. He’d been a SEAL for ten years and at twenty-eight, he was no stranger to threatening situations. He knew one when he felt it. To his left, he saw a gray movement. It was Storm, a female wolf he’d rescued a year earlier. Thus far, she treated him like her alpha mate, but he was sure she wouldn’t hang around as she matured. There was every possibility she’d leave him and join the Snake River wolf pack that ruled this valley in Wyoming. Storm was loping at the edge of the forest, ears twitching back and forth, nose in the air, picking up scents.
Yesterday Dakota had laid five rabbit traps out in these willows. It was one of many places he trapped in order to live outside society and the town of Jackson Hole. Since being released from the hospital and months of painful physical therapy to get his shoulder working, Dakota wanted to hide. He didn’t look too closely at why, only that he had to heal up. Ten years spent in the SEALs had been the happiest time of his life, but deployment into Iraq and Afghanistan had taken their toll on his body and emotions.
Sniffing the air, he tried to locate the source of the threat. Grizzlies had their own odor. So did elk. No stranger to studying the land and vegetation, Dakota could spot things few others could. His sniper SEAL training had taught him stealth and tracking.
Storm had disappeared into the tree line again. The months of May and June were prime elk birthing season. It was also the same time when hungry grizzlies came out of hibernation, starving for anything to eat. Elk babies were the number-one food source on their menu. Storm always hunted her own meals. She was looking for smaller prey. One wolf could not take down a baby elk. A pack was needed, instead.
Dakota studied the willows, his hearing keyed, but he heard nothing. Had an elk mother calved a baby in there? What was he sensing? Just because he could sometimes feel a threat didn’t mean he knew what the threat was. If a new elk calf was in there, a grizzly could be skulking around, out of his sight, trying to locate it. The bear could have picked up on the scent of the afterbirth before the mother could eat it and destroy the odor. The thick, naked willows reminded Dakota of a porcupine with its back up, the crochetedlike needles raised skyward. The problem was they grew so high and thick, he couldn’t see through the grove. There was no movement. No sound.
The air was still. Nothing seemed to move, which was odd because dawn was the busiest time of the day for nocturnal and diurnal animals. The pink along the horizon deepened and the sky above lightened. Dakota could no longer see the myriad stars above his head; they were diluted, having disappeared in the dawn light. It would be a long time before the sun would rise, however. He heard a raven cawing somewhere off in the distance. Other than that, it was as if the earth herself were holding her breath.
For what? He rubbed the back of his neck with his gloved hand, but his old shoulder injury protested with the movement. After allowing his hand to drop to his side, Dakota shouldered a .300 Win Mag Winchester magnum rifle with a sling across his right shoulder. He’d been a sniper in the SEALs and had used this rifle to hunt down the bad guys. Out here in the wilds of Wyoming, where grizzly were the predator, Dakota never tracked or hunted anywhere without a big rifle. Grizzlies, especially this time of year, were hungry, irritable and mean. All they wanted was food and they’d kill anything and anyone to protect their carcass or find.
Dakota wasn’t foolhardy. Patience was his best protection. A bear would move eventually, and the willows would tremble and wave back and forth. But if it was an elk calf?
Dakota waited on the rise. He was downwind, something he made sure of because he knew the grizzlies were hunting in earnest. Dakota didn’t want his scent to inspire one of those bears to hunt him, thinking he was a posthibernation meal on two legs. His mouth pulled at one corner over that thought. He’d seen enough mayhem and killing.
After his discharge from the navy, his medical issues as fixed as they were going to be, he’d located a cabin high in the Tetons on the Wyoming side of the mountains. He’d cleaned it up and started living in the ramshackle, abandoned structure. Never mind that it didn’t have electricity or running water. He’d spent the past year in hiding and needed the solitude. There was so much grief and loss in him, he didn’t know what to do with it or how to discharge it. Sleep was a luxury. He rarely got two or three broken hours of sleep at night. His heart sank as he considered all that he’d lost since he was seventeen years old and then more losses in the navy. Wounded in a field of fire deep in the Hindu Kush Mountains of Afghanistan, he found his life repeating the nightmare cycle of his teen years.
It’s too much pain... Too damned much. Purposefully, Dakota lasered his attention on the willow stand. This was the present. When his mind wandered into the past, it was nothing but a mire of serrating grief, rage and helplessness. He didn’t like feeling those turgid emotions. His stomach growled. It had been one day since he’d last eaten. The winter had leaned him down considerably, but he wasn’t starving. Dakota set out enough traps to keep meat on his table, but a sudden, unexpected snowstorm yesterday had stopped him from walking his traplines and gathering up the rabbits he’d caught. A cutting, one-cornered smile creased his face. In Afghanistan, his SEAL team endured days without food, water or resupply. So twenty-four hours without food wasn’t a tragedy.
He had the traps set up in those willows. Rabbits were plentiful in the wide valley through which the Snake River wound lazily. Had a starving grizzly already found his traps and gobbled up the rabbits? Was that the reason for the sense of danger he felt?
He had to take a chance. Shifting the Win Mag to his left shoulder, he looked down at the P226 SIG Sauer pistol strapped low on his right thigh. The two black Velcro straps around his thick leg held the pistol at just the right angle in case he needed to quickly reach for it. All SEALs were given this particular pistol after they graduated from BUD/S. The .40-caliber pistol was specially made in Germany for them. And it had stopping power. One slug would take a human’s life.
The wind had piled up the blizzard snow. Patches of long yellow grass peeked out here and there. As he walked, the grass in the meadow crunched beneath his boots. Each yellowed blade of grass was coated with thick frost. With each step, Dakota tried to stay as silent as possible. The sound could possibly alert the elk mother hidden in the willows. He moved down the gentle slope toward the center of the meadow. Dakota knew from experience an elk mother would defend her calf with her life. And an elk weighed a good thousand pounds, its hooves sharp and dangerous.
Dakota brushed the butt of his SIG Sauer with the palm of his gloved hand. It was an unconscious habit honed in the badlands of the Middle East. He’d unsnapped the retention strap across the pistol so that if he had to reach for it, his palm could fit swiftly around the butt and his fingers could wrap around the trigger. He could draw it up in a single, fluid motion in order to protect himself. He had no wish to shoot an elk. His meat needs were far less than that.
Slowing, the light increasing, Dakota inhaled the scents on the frosty air, his nostrils flaring. He halted and searched for tracks. Some of the grass was clean, shaken free of the frost and snow, about twenty feet south of where he stood. It had to have happened earlier this morning. Craning his neck, Dakota evaluated them. Big print? Little print? Something in between? He had keen eyesight, honed by years of hunting as a teen and, later, as a SEAL. The tracks appeared to be that of an elk.
Dakota stood, debating whether to enter the willows or not. He was used to being afraid but didn’t let that rule him or blot out his logical thinking processes. As Dakota turned his head, he could see Storm was trotting the other way along the tree line above him. Her long pink tongue lolled out of the side of her mouth, her gray body blending in to the surrounding shadows. He stared back hard at the willows in front of him. He’d placed the rabbit traps deep within them. Rabbits weren’t stupid; they were not going to hop around on the outer perimeter of the willows. Something would quickly spot them from air or ground and they’d be dead in a heartbeat. No, they lived deep within the willows and could thrive.
Just as Dakota took a step forward, the willows exploded in front of him. A cinnamon-colored male grizzly bear roared and crashed through them and launched himself at him. The roaring vibration ripped through him. Dakota took half a step back, seeing the bear’s small dark eyes filled with rage. In an instant, Dakota knew the grizzly had been in the willows all along. He’d probably eaten all the rabbits he’d trapped and was snoozing until he heard Dakota approach the stand. Startled and provoked, the bear charged him. The attack was so swift, all Dakota saw was the grizzly’s thick rust-colored body hurtling toward him at the speed of a bullet.
Dakota’s shock collided with his survival training. It would take too long to pull the rifle off his shoulder and fire off a shot. Without hesitation, as the bear flew toward him like a flying tank, his hand moved smoothly in an unbroken motion for the SIG Sauer on his right thigh.
The bear’s spittle, his roar, surrounded Dakota. As he lifted the pistol, he shifted his weight to the right to try to stop the grizzly from fully striking him. If he hadn’t moved in a feintlike maneuver, the bear would have slammed him flat on his back, leaned down and ripped his throat out with those bared yellow fangs. At the same moment, Dakota saw the female wolf come out of nowhere. Storm snarled and flung herself directly at the grizzly, her jaws opened, aiming for his sensitive nose. In her own way, Storm was trying to protect him. The valiant wolf was a mere forty pounds against a thousand pounds of angry bruin.
Everything slowed in his line of vision. Whenever Dakota was in danger of losing his life, the frames of reality intensified and then crawled by with excruciating slowness. The grizzly saw him shift, but Storm latched onto the bear’s nose. The grizzly roared, swiping at her. The wolf yelped and was flung high into the air. The grizzly tried to make a midcourse correction. As he raised his massive paw, the five curved claws flexed outward, the blow struck Dakota full force.
The SIG Sauer bucked in his hand. Dakota held his intense focus, aiming for the bear’s thick, massive skull. The grizzly roared with fury as the first two bullets struck his skull. They ricocheted off! Dakota felt the grizzly’s paw strike his left arm. Pain reared up his arm and jammed into his already torn-up shoulder. He grunted as he was struck and tossed up in the air like a puppet. The massive power of a pissed-off thousand-pound grizzly was stunning.
As Dakota tumbled end over end, all of his SEAL training came back by reflex. He landed and rolled, the cold glittering frost exploding around him on impact. He leaped to his feet. The bear roared, landed on all fours, whipped around with amazing agility and charged him again. Only ten feet separated them.
Dakota cooly stood, legs slightly apart for best balance, hands wrapped solidly around the butt of the SIG Sauer. This was not a bear gun, but if he aimed well, he’d strike the charging grizzly in one of his eyes and kill him before he was killed himself. His breath exploded from him as the bear leaped upward, its jaws open, lips peeled away from his dark pink gums to reveal the massive, murderous fangs. Dakota fired three more shots and saw the third one strike into the right eye of the bear.
Too late!
As he threw up his left arm and spun to avoid the grizzly pouncing on him, the bear’s massive teeth sank violently into his forearm. There was instant, red-hot pain. The bear grunted, fell downward. Dakota was flipped over and dragged down with the bear, his arm still locked in the animal’s massive mouth.
The grizzly landed with a thud, groaning heavily as it sank into the yellow grass. Dakota wrested his forearm out of the bear’s teeth. Breathing hard, he staggered to his feet. There were fifteen cartridges in a SIG Sauer.
He held it ready and stumbled backward, stunned by the ferocity of the attack. He watched the bear breathe once, twice and then slump with a growl, dead.
Dakota gasped for breath, felt the warmth of his own blood trickling down into his left glove. Would the bear move? No, he could see the eye socket blown away by his pistol, the bullet in the animal’s brain. The grizzly was dead. Wiping his mouth, Dakota looked around, his breath exploding in ragged gasps into the freezing air. His heart hammered wildly in his chest. The adrenaline kept him tense and he was feeling no pain.
Once he was finally convinced the grizzly wasn’t going to get back up and come after him a third time, he created distance between him and the beast. He saw Storm come trotting up to him. She whined, her yellow eyes probing his. She was panting heavily. Dakota looked her over to make sure the grizzly hadn’t hurt his wolf. There were some mild scratch marks across her left flank, but that was all.
“We’re okay,” he rasped to the wolf.
Dakota holstered the pistol and drew up his left arm. He always wore thick cammies. The bear’s fangs had easily punctured the heavy canvas material, sunk through the thick green sweater he wore beneath it and chewed up his flesh. There was no pain—yet. But there sure as hell was gonna be.
He sat down and jerked off his gloves. There was a lot of blood and, chances were, the grizzly had sliced into a major artery in his left arm. He went into combat medic mode, one of his SEAL specialties. This meant he never left on a hunt without his H-gear, a harness he wore around his waist that had fifteen canvas pockets. Dakota jerked open his camo jacket. His hand shook as he dug into one pocket, which contained a tourniquet. Quickly, he slipped the tourniquet just below his elbow and jerked it tight. Pain reared up his upper arm, but the bleeding slowed a lot at the bite site. Tying it off, Dakota dug in another pocket, which contained a roll of duct tape. From another, he pulled out a pair of surgical scissors, sharper than hell. He straightened out his right leg out in front of him, then dug into the deep cargo pocket above his knee. In there, he grabbed a battle dressing.
He had to get to the hospital in Jackson Hole. Sooner. Not later. Dakota hated going into town. Hated being around people, but this grizzly had chewed up a helluva lot of his arm in one bite. He quickly placed the battle dressing across the wound, then wrapped it firmly with duct tape. Not exactly medically sound, but duct tape saved many a SEAL from more injury or bleeding to death over the years. After cutting the duct tape with the scissors, Dakota jammed all of the items back into his H-gear.
He was in shock. Familiar with these symptoms, Dakota picked up his rifle and signaled Storm to follow. She instantly leaped to her feet and loped to his side. Looking up, the sky lightening even more, Dakota knew he had a one-mile trek back to where his pickup was parked. Mouth thinning, he shouldered the rifle and moved swiftly through the thick grass. When the adrenaline wore off, he’d be in terrible pain. The shock would make him drive poorly and he could make some very bad decisions behind the wheel. It was a race of ten miles between here and the hospital to get emergency room help.
Cursing softly, he began to trot. It was a labored stride, the grass slick with frost, but he pushed himself. His breath came out in explosive jets, and he drew in as much air as he could into his lungs. Anchoring his wounded arm against his torso, he moved quickly up the slope and onto a flat plain.
Dakota could feel the continued loss of blood. Arteries, when sliced, usually closed up on their own within two minutes of being severed. However, the only time they wouldn’t was when they weren’t sliced at an angle. Then he knew he was in deep shit. A major artery could bleed out in two to three minutes. His heart would cavitate, like the pump it was, and then he’d die of cardiac arrest. Fortunately, the tourniquet was doing its job. It bought him time, but not much.
As he lumbered steadily toward the parking lot at the end of a dirt road in the Tetons, he thought it would be a fitting end if he did bleed out and die here. Some poor tourist hiker would find what was left of his body days or even weeks from now. The grizzlies in the area or the Snake River wolf pack might find him first. The shocked hiker would find only bones, no skin or flesh left on his sorry-assed carcass.
Mind spinning, Dakota continued to slip and slide through grass and drifts of knee-deep snow. Soon, the sun would bridge the horizon. It was a beautiful day, the sky a pale blue and cloudless, unlike yesterday. The snow from the blizzard was knee-deep in places. Several times, Dakota stumbled, fell, rolled and forced himself back up to his feet. As he ran, he discovered something: he wanted to live.
Why now? his soggy brain screamed. All you wanted to do before was crawl away like a hurt animal into the mountains, disappear from civilization and live out the rest of your life. Why now?
Dakota had no answer. He’d hidden for a year. And he’d healed up to a point. He wanted nothing to do with people because they couldn’t understand what he’d been through. No one would get that that was a life sentence—to spend the rest of his days on the fringes of society.
His heart pumped hard in his chest. Ahead, he could see his beat-up green-and-white rusted Ford truck. Only a little bit farther to go. Gasps tore out of his mouth, his eyes narrowing on the truck. With no idea where this sudden, surprising will to live came from, Dakota reached his truck. Storm halted, ready to jump in. He staggered, caught himself and then jerked the driver’s door open. The wolf was used to riding with him since he’d found her as a pup.
Dizziness assailed Dakota as Storm jumped in. He shook off the need to collapse, and glanced down at his arm. The battle dressing was a bright red, blood dripping down his hand and off his curved fingers. The cold was numbing, so he felt nothing, not even the warmth of his own blood. Struggling, he climbed into the truck. Dakota knew it would be a race to reach the hospital in time. The tourniquet stood between him and death right now. That gave him relief as he put the truck into gear and drove slowly down the wet, muddy road.
Storm whined. She thumped her tail once, catching Dakota’s darkened eyes.
“It will be all right,” he growled, wrestling the truck around, pain now pulsing rhythmically through his bite site.
But would it? Wasn’t that what he always told his SEAL friends who were shot and bleeding out? Sure to die, no matter what he did to try to stop the bleeding? It will be all right. Sure. Dakota jammed all those terrifying moments from the past out of his thoughts. He had to concentrate. He had to reach the emergency room of the hospital or die trying....
CHAPTER TWO
SHERIFF’S DEPUTY SHELBY Kincaid was walking toward the emergency room entrance to the Jackson Hole Hospital. She had paperwork on a prisoner that had to be updated by Dr. Jordana McPherson. The cool morning air made her glad she had her brown nylon jacket, although her blond hair lay abandoned around her shoulders. Something unusual caught her eye. Slowing, Shelby hesitated near the E.R. entrance. Was the guy pulling into the parking lot drunk? It was only 6:00 a.m., but she knew from plenty of experience that drunk drivers didn’t care what time it was.
The rusted-out Ford pickup crawled to a stop across two empty parking lanes. Shelby frowned and watched as the driver’s-side door creaked open with protest. She was less than a hundred feet away from the truck. The driver soon emerged. She didn’t recognize him as a local. He wore a two-day beard on his face. Something was wrong. Maybe it was her sixth sense, but Shelby stuffed the papers into the pocket of her jacket and quickly walked toward the man.
She spotted a gray dog in the front seat but kept her focus on the man in camo gear. He was tall, broad-shouldered and reminded her of a hunter she’d see in the fall around Jackson Hole. But this was spring and no hunting was allowed. This man was clearly in pain. His hair was black and military short, face square with high cheekbones. She’d never seen this dude before and she felt a sudden urgency that he was in trouble. The stride of her walk accelerated.
As he lurched drunkenly out of the seat, his large hand caught the edge of the door or he’d have fallen out. It was then Shelby noticed the strapped pistol on his right thigh. She tensed inwardly. Her blue eyes widened for a moment as he spun around, losing his grip on the door, barely able to keep his feet beneath him. That was when she saw his bloody arm pressed against his torso.
As she approached the truck, the dog whined. It was a sound of worry.
“Can I help you?” she called out. “I’m Deputy Kincaid.”
The man bent over, as if willing himself not to fall down. A dark red trail of blood ran down his left pant leg. He’d obviously lost a lot of blood. Automatically, she pressed the radio on the epaulet of her jacket located on her left shoulder.
“Annie, this is Shelby Kincaid. I’m out here I the parking lot of your E.R. Kindly get me a gurney and two orderlies? I’ve got a man out here a hundred feet from your door with an arm wound. He’s lost a lot of blood.” She clicked off the radio just as he raised his head toward her.
For a moment, Shelby felt her heart plunge. His face was drawn in pain, his lips thinned, the corners of his mouth drawn in, his pain evident. There was nothing tame about this guy. He was well built, powerful, yet the look in his light gold-brown eyes was marred with vulnerability. As he tried to straighten his left arm, he managed to rasp through gritted teeth, “Get me to the E.R.”
* * *
THE WOMAN REACHED OUT, her hand wrapping quickly around his right arm. “Lean on me,” she told him. “I’ve called for help and they’re on the way. I won’t let you fall.”
The world began to gray out around Dakota as the tall, statuesque blonde in a sheriff’s deputy uniform firmly gripped his upper arm. He was surprised at the cool authority in her unruffled voice, the strength of her hand around his arm. She looked like a Barbie doll, one who easily brought him into a standing position and guided his arm across her shoulders. For a Barbie doll, she was in damn good shape.
“Bullet wound?” she asked, taking his full weight.
“Bear bite,” he managed to rasp out, closing his eyes. “I’m going to faint. Too much blood loss...”
Instantly, Shelby placed her feet apart for better balance. She felt him go limp. Damn! She might be five foot eleven, but this guy was taller and bigger than she was. Glancing upward, she saw the gurney flying toward them with two men in green scrubs pushing it as fast as it would go.
Within moments, the two young men arrived. Together, the three of them wrestled the unconscious hunter up and on the gurney.
“Get him inside,” Shelby ordered, her voice tight with tension. She trotted at his side as the orderlies pushed the gurney full speed toward the doors. Gripping his good shoulder, Shelby didn’t want him to be knocked off while the gurney slipped and slid on the ice and snow across the asphalt. She glanced down at him. In that moment, the hunter looked vulnerable. But just barely. The duct tape around his bleeding left arm made her frown. Duct tape? Helluva way to stop a wound from bleeding out. Who was this guy?
Inside, Shelby spotted Dr. Jordana McPherson, head of E.R., running to meet them as they came inside the warm entrance.
“Shelby?” Jordana called, running up.
“Hunter, I guess. Said he was attacked by a bear and had lost a lot of blood,” she told the doctor. She stepped aside as they pushed the gurney into a blue-curtained cubicle. Shelby watched as Jordana quickly took a pair of scissors and cut through the silver duct tape on the hunter’s bloodied left arm.
“Okay, good to know. Who is he? Do we have any identification on him?”
Instantly, two other nurses appeared in the cubicle to help the doctor. They locked the wheels on the gurney.
Shelby moved next to the hunter. His face looked like chalk beneath his dark stubble. She sensed danger around this man for no specific reason. Quickly patting down his camo pants, she felt something in the right pocket on his thigh. She slid her fingers down into the deep pocket.
“God, he has everything in here but the kitchen sink,” she muttered, pulling articles out and laying them beside him. Finally, she discovered a wallet and stepped back as the nurses covered him with a blanket and started an IV.
She opened up the wallet. “His name is Dakota Carson.” Shelby looked over at Jordana. “Ring any bells, Doc?”
“Yes,” Jordana said, pulling the entire duct tape assembly away from his arm. Wrinkling her nose, she said, “I thought I recognized him. He’s an ex-SEAL, just got a medical discharge from the U.S. Navy. I saw him once, a month ago. He was supposed to come here for follow-up physical therapy on his left shoulder.”
Nodding, Shelby placed the wallet on a tray where the nurse had placed all the other items. “Never seen him before.”
“Mr. Carson is a loner.” Jordana’s mouth tightened as she surveyed his chewed-up lower arm. “This bear has done some major damage to him....” Jordana looked to her red-haired nurse. “Alanna, get me an O.R. ready. And call in the ortho surgeon, Dr. Jamison. Get me his blood type.” Taking out her stethoscope, she pulled back the camo jacket and placed it over his heart.
Shelby felt the urgency and saw it in Jordana’s face. She’d come to like the E.R. doctor who was good at what she did. “How bad?”
“Bad,” she muttered, throwing the stethoscope around her neck. “He’s right, he’s lost a lot of blood.”
Just then, Dakota’s eyes slowly opened. “He’s coming around,” Shelby warned the E.R. doc.
“Amazing.”
Shelby placed her hand gently on his right shoulder. “Mr. Carson? You’re here in the E.R. at the hospital. You’re in good hands.” She looked into his murky-looking brown eyes, which were full of confusion. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a groan issued forth. Shelby tightened her hand on his shoulder. The man was in incredible shape. A former Navy SEAL. She knew enough about SEALs to understand he was a warrior, the toughest of the tough. His eyes wandered for a moment, but then they stopped and focused on Shelby.
Sucking in a breath, Shelby felt the full measure of his intense gaze. Those eyes were hunter’s eyes. Huge black pupils on a field of golden-brown color. Surprise flared in his expression, and then, something else she couldn’t interpret.
She gave him a slight smile. “You’re in good hands. Dr. McPherson is here. You’re going to be all right.”
Jordana came around and Shelby released him and stood aside.
“Mr. Carson, I’m Dr. McPherson. Can you hear me?”
Dakota managed a sloppy grin, only half his mouth working because of the surging pain. “Yeah, Doc. I remember you. I missed a bunch of appointments. I’m blood type A. I’m gonna need transfusions. Bear cut an artery in my left arm....”
“That’s what I needed to hear,” Jordana said quietly, patting his shoulder in a motherly way. “I’m leaving the tourniquet in place until we can get you into surgery and stabilized.” She lifted her head, called to the second nurse, “Joy, get me two pints of type A ready in the O.R.”
“Right away, Doctor.”
“You’re gonna need one and a half pints to put in what I’ve lost,” he grunted. His gaze moved from the worried-looking doctor to the woman standing behind her. Barbie Doll. Damn, but she was beautiful with her sandy-blond hair falling around her shoulders. Her blue eyes were wide and curious. What didn’t make any sense was her sheriff’s uniform, all dark brown slacks that hid her long legs and a nylon jacket showing her name and badge on it. Shelby Kincaid. Funny, for a moment, he thought he recognized her. But from where? His mind wouldn’t work. He memorized her name.
“We’ll see,” Jordana said. “You’re going to need more than stitches on that bear bite, Dakota.”
He smiled a little as the nurse came and stuck a syringe of morphine into the IV tube to drip into his vein. “I figured as much. Just wanted to make it here so you could work your magic, Doc.”
Patting his arm, Jordana said, “I’ll see you in a few minutes, Dakota. I’ve got to go scrub up.”
Dakota felt the pressure of the nurse putting a clean dressing on his wound. At first, it hurt like hell, but then, as the morphine began to flow through his veins, the pain eased considerably. All the time, he held the gaze of the beautiful deputy sheriff standing nearby. Who was she? Looking at her oval face, those blue eyes that reminded him of the turquoise beaches of Costa Rica, that set of full lips, he just didn’t think she fit the image of a deputy sheriff. There was concern in her eyes—for him.
“Mr. Carson,” Shelby said, keeping her voice low as she approached him, “who do you want me to notify? Your wife? Parents? Someone needs to be contacted. I can let them know.” Automatically, Shelby reached out, her fingers resting gently on his broad shoulder. This time, the muscles beneath her fingertips responded. An unexpected heat surged through her. Shocked, Shelby tried to ignore her reaction. This man was half dead from loss of blood, yet the warrior energy around him beckoned to some primal part of herself.
Dakota tried to focus. The Barbie doll sheriff’s deputy had a nice, husky voice. It felt like warm honey drizzled across him, easing his pain even more. Her face was inches from his. Her blond hair had darker strands mingled with lighter ones. Some reminded him of gold sunlight, others, of dark honey. His gaze drifted back to her eyes. God, what beautiful eyes she had. He could dive into them and feel her heart beating. Wildly aware of her long fingers against his shoulder, he muttered, “I’ve got a wolf out in my truck. Her name is Storm. She’s bonded to me. Don’t take her to a dog pound. Keep her...keep her with you... I’ll get out of surgery and take her home with me, please....”
He wasn’t making sense, but Shelby knew the nurse had given him a dose of morphine to stop the pain. People said funny things when drifting in a morphine cloud. His focus began to fade. “Mr. Carson, who can I call? I need to tell your family where you are.”
The husky urgency in her voice felt like a warm, sensual blanket. Dakota was feeling no pain now, thank God. Instead, he could focus on this incredibly arresting woman, her face so close he could rise, capture that sinner’s mouth of hers and make it his own. She looked familiar. But from where? A broken laugh rumbled out of his chest. “I have no one, Barbie. Just me and my wolf. And she doesn’t answer my cell phone.”
“Where do you live? I can take your wolf back to your home,” Shelby asked, trying to remain cool and professional. Again, she saw that devil-may-care grin cut across his tense, chiseled face. He was darkly tanned for this time of year, which told her this ex-SEAL was outside a helluva lot. She didn’t want to admit how much she liked touching this man. And she saw something else in his lion-gold eyes—desire. It was the morphine, she was sure.
“You’ll never find it. No address. Just a shack in the woods. Just keep my wolf with you.” He struggled to sit up. “This repair on my arm isn’t gonna take long. If you can take care of her until I get released, I’ll appreciate it.”
Hearing the sudden, emotional urgency in his gruff tone, Shelby straightened. She gently pushed him back down on the gurney. The pleading expression on his face startled her. In that moment, Dakota Carson looked like a scared little boy watching his world self-destruct. There was something magical, a heated connection, burning between them. “Yes, I’ll take care of her for you, Mr. Carson.”
Instantly, the man seemed to relax, a ragged sigh escaping from his tightened lips. He closed his eyes. What she didn’t expect was his right hand to reach out and grab hers. She felt the strength of his fingers as they wrapped around her wrist.
“Th-thank you....” he rasped.
His fingers loosened and fell open. The nurse had put another syringe into the IV, the drug rendering him unconscious in preparation for surgery. Shelby gently picked up his arm hanging over the gurney and placed it at his side.
“He’s out,” Alanna told her.
“Good. How long will the surgery be, you think?”
Shrugging, Alanna motioned for the two orderlies to come in and transport the patient to the E.R. “I don’t know, Shelby. Maybe an hour if all goes well. Could be nerve damage. We’ll see....”
“Okay, I’ll drop back in an hour. I’ve got some paperwork for the heard nurse to fill out at the nurses’ station before I leave.”
“Great. Want me to call you on the radio when Mr. Carson comes out of E.R?”
“Yes, could you?”
Alanna nodded and smiled. “Can do.”
Shelby watched the two orderlies wheel the unconscious ex-SEAL off to surgery. Standing there for a moment, she digested all the unsettled emotions the stranger had stirred up in her. He was dangerous, risky to her heart. Frowning, Shelby shook her head. She looked down at the blood smeared across her jacket. His blood.
This was the first time she’d seen a bear-attack victim, and it wasn’t pretty. Her fingers still tingled when he’d suddenly reached out and gripped her. Strong fingers, but he monitored the strength of his grip around her wrist, she realized, even in a morphine state. Definitely a special kind of soldier.
She knew little about SEALs. They were black ops. Secret. Defenders of this country. And heroes in her opinion. The look in his eyes guaranteed all of that. The man had shaken her, but not in a bad way, just an unexpected way. He’d somehow gotten to her womanly core. She’d been responding to him man-to-woman. Blowing out a breath of air in frustration, Shelby turned on her booted heel and forced herself to get the paperwork finished. First things first. She’d leave the papers with the nurses’ desk and then go out and make sure the gray wolf was all right.
As Shelby approached the desk, an older nurse with steel-gray hair beckoned to her. Shelby recognized nurse Patty Fielding.
“Hey, Shelby, do you know about that guy?” Patty whispered, coming up to her at the desk.
“No. Why?” Shelby handed her the papers that needed to be filled out.
“He’s known as The Loner around here. He got here a year ago and was supposed to see Dr. McPherson about his shoulder injury once a week. He never came back for subsequent appointments after the first one.”
Shelby’s heart went out to Dakota Carson. “He’s a military vet,” she whispered, feeling sorry for him.
“Oh, honey,” Patty said, taking the papers, “he’s also a SEAL. Those guys rock in my world. They’re on the front lines around the world fighting for us. They’re in harm’s way every time they take a mission.” Patty shook her head. “Such a shame. He’s an incredibly valiant vet. He’s got a lot of problems, physical and mental.”
“And was he seeing Dr. McPherson for his arm injury?”
“Technically, yes, for nerve damage. But she’s our PTSD expert here at the hospital, too.”
Standing there, Shelby asked, “Is that why he lives alone? Out in the middle of nowhere?” She recalled the Vietnam vets who had PTSD. At that time, it wasn’t diagnosed except to call it “battle fatigue.”
Patty filled out the forms and signed them with a flourish. “Yes, and those guys got no help at all. It broke my heart. Oh, and no address on Mr. Carson.”
“What about family?”
Patty sighed and said, “His parents died in a crash when he was eighteen. Froze to death during the blizzard. They found their car two days later and it was too late.”
Shelby’s heart plummeted. “That’s so sad.”
“Yeah, this guy has had a very rough life. You don’t know the half of it.” Patty smiled and handed her the papers. “Gotta go!”
“I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Take care of that wolf of his,” she said, lifting her hand in farewell. “She’s a sweet girl.”
Shelby smiled a little and thanked the nurse for the information. As she headed out the doors of the E.R., the sun just crested the eastern horizon. What was it about this ex-SEAL that grabbed her heart? Grabbed all of her attention? Somehow the name Carson was one she knew. Stymied, Shelby walked carefully over the slick areas of black ice and circumvented the patches of snow. Out in the parking lot, she could see Carson’s beat-up truck. It looked a lot like him, Shelby thought sadly. There was something in his eyes that shouted incredible loss. Loss of what?
CHAPTER THREE
SHELBY HAD THE FEMALE gray wolf and she rode quietly in the backseat of her Tahoe cruiser. She just dropped off the papers to the courthouse when she received a call from Alanna.
Picking up the radio, Shelby continued to drive slowly through Jackson Hole traffic, on her way out to the hospital. The hour was almost up. “Go ahead, Alanna,” she said.
“Shelby, Dr. McPherson said for you to drop by at 9:00 a.m. Can you do it?”
“Sure,” she said, glancing at the clock on the dashboard. “I thought I was supposed to come back in about twenty minutes.”
“No, Dr. McPherson said the surgery on Mr. Carson’s arm is going to be longer than she anticipated.”
“Roger that.”
“Thanks, out.”
Placing the radio back in the bracket, Shelby grimaced. If the surgery was taking longer, it meant Dakota Carson’s bear bite was a lot worse than anyone had thought. Her shift ended shortly, but she’d told the commander at the sheriff’s office what had happened. Steve McCall was humored to see a gray wolf in the backseat of her cruiser. Lucky for her, Steve, who had been her father’s replacement as Tetons County sheriff, accepted her sometimes quirky days. But all deputies had unusual days every once in a while.
As she drove, Shelby couldn’t shake the intense look in Dakota Carson’s eyes. What was his story? She had more questions than answers. Maybe, if she got lucky, she’d intersect with Jordana and find out. As the head of E.R. for the hospital, Jordana McPherson knew just about everything and everyone. Another good source was Gwen Garner, who owned the quilt shop on the plaza.
A call came in, an accident on a side street, and Shelby figured she had time to take the call before showing up at the hospital. Even though she was focused on the accident, her heart was centered on the mystery of Dakota Carson. What the hell was he doing out at dawn killing a grizzly bear? That was against the law. And the Tetons National Park ranger supervisor, Charley, wasn’t going to be happy about it, either. The ex-SEAL was in deep trouble whether he knew it or not.
* * *
DAKOTA CARSON WAS IN recovery when he slowly came out from beneath the anesthesia. As he opened his eyes, he saw two women standing side by side. Dr. McPherson smiled a silent hello. But his gaze lingered on the sheriff’s deputy. In his hazy in-between state, Dakota was mesmerized by the strands of bright color in her hair.
“Dakota? Good news,” Jordana said. “We were able to fix your arm.” Her lips twitched. “And it’s got a nice, new dressing on it without the duct tape.”
Dakota liked and trusted the woman doctor. One corner of his mouth hitched upward. “Good to hear, Doc. Thanks for patching me up.”
“Do me a favor? Move your fingers on your left hand for me. One at a time.”
He moved them. “All five work,” he said, feeling woozy and slightly nauseated. Carson knew it was the anesthesia. The nausea would pass.
Jordana slid her hand beneath his. She gently turned his heavily bandaged arm over so that his palm faced up. “Do you feel this?” She pricked each of his fingers with a slender instrument, including his thumb.
“Yeah, it hurts like hell. They’re all responding,” he assured her.
“Good,” Jordana said, moving his arm so that it rested naturally at his side.
Dakota looked around. “When can I leave?”
“You need to spend the night here, Dakota.”
“No way,” he grunted, trying to sit up. Head spinning, he flopped back down on the pillow. The deputy was frowning, but even then she looked beautiful. She no longer wore her big, puffy brown nylon jacket. It hung over her left arm. Shelby was tall, maybe a few inches shorter than he was. Her shoulders were drawn back with natural pride. The look in her blue eyes, however, was one of somber seriousness. He had a feeling she wanted to question him about the dead grizzly. There would be hell to pay for killing a bear out of season.
“Way,” Jordana said, placing her hand on his white-gowned shoulder. “You’re still in shock, Dakota. You know what that does to a person? You’re no stranger to it.”
He scowled. Dr. McPherson was a PTSD expert. When he’d come back to Jackson Hole, the navy had ordered him to see her once a week for his symptoms. Of course, he saw her only once. He looked up at the physician. “Doc, I just want the hell out of here. You know why. Just sign me out, okay? I’ll be fine.”
Jordana patted his shoulder. “I can’t do it, Dakota. You’re a combat medic. Would you let your wounded SEAL buddy who had your injury and experience walk out of here?”
Dakota grunted. “SEALs suffer a lot worse out in the field, Doc. We’re used to pain. Suffering is optional. You know that.” He pinned her with a challenging glare.
Shelby was startled by the acerbic exchange. Carson didn’t seem to like anyone. But he was in pain and coming out from beneath anesthesia. Both could make a person feisty.
Jordana glanced over at Shelby. “You have a spare bedroom?”
Shelby blinked. “Why...yes.” What was the doctor up to? She felt suddenly uneasy.
“You have Dakota’s wolf with you?”
“She’s out in my cruiser and doing fine.” Shelby frowned and dug into Jordana’s gaze, confused.
“I’ve got a deal for you, Dakota,” Jordana said, her voice suddenly firm and brooking no argument. “If Deputy Kincaid will consent to drive you to her house, which isn’t far from the hospital, and let you stay overnight, I’ll release you. I know how you hate hospitals and closed-in spaces. Deal?”
The look of shock on Barbie doll’s face told Dakota she wasn’t prepared to have him as a visitor. “No way, Doc. As soon as I’m able to wear off this damned anesthesia, I’m outta here and you know it whether you sign a release on me or not.”
Jordana’s beeper went off. She pulled it out of her white coat pocket. Frowning, she said, “I’ve got to go.” Looking over at Shelby, she said, “Talk some sense into him, will you? Because I refuse to sign him out of here unless he goes home with you.”
Surprised, Shelby found herself alone with a man who exuded danger to her heart. His face was washed out, but now there was a flush in his cheeks, at least. “Mr. Carson, are you staying in this hospital?”
Dakota studied her beneath his spiky lashes. He felt and heard the authority in her tone. She wore no makeup, but God, she didn’t have to. He liked what he saw way too much. He’d been without a woman for too long. And she had a great body beneath that uniform.
“How’s my wolf?” he demanded, ignoring her question.
“Storm is fine. I gave her a bowl of water just before I came in here.” Shelby met his belligerent glare. “Are you in pain?”
“No more than usual.”
“I see.”
“You don’t, but that’s all right.”
Testy bastard, she thought. “Look, I need some answers on why you killed that grizzly this morning.”
Okay, she was going to play tough. “Because it charged me,” he growled. “I know it’s illegal to shoot a bear in a national park, Deputy Barbie Doll.” He really didn’t dislike her, but his mood was blacker than hell. The drugs were loosening his normally reined-in irritability.
“My name is Shelby Kincaid.”
He smiled a little. It was a tight, one-cornered smile. Did Dakota dare tell her she was a feast for his hungry gaze? The anesthesia was wearing off fast now, and he felt some returning strength. “Okay, Deputy Kincaid. I was out to pick up my trapline in a stand of willows when the bear came out of nowhere and charged me.” He stared up at her. “What was I supposed to do? Let the bastard kill me because it was out of season?”
Her mouth twitched. “No,” she said. Pulling a small notebook from her pocket, she wrote down his explanation. “Why are you out trapping animals?”
“Because I choose to. That’s not against the law.”
“No, it’s not. Where do you live? I need an address.”
“Third mountain to the north in the Tetons. Where I live, there is no address.”
“Try me. I was raised here. I think I know just about every dirt road in this county.”
“Do you know how beautiful you are when you’re pissed?”
Shelby leaked a grin. This ex-SEAL took no prisoners. Neither did she. “Thanks, but let’s stick to the investigation?”
Shrugging, Dakota actually found himself enjoying her spirited conversation. In some ways, Shelby reminded him of his late sister, Ellie. Both had a lot of spunk and spirit. A sudden sadness descended upon him and he scowled. “The bear charged me. I shot the bear. End of story.” Her blue eyes narrowed. Still, he savored her husky voice. It reminded him of honey, sweet and dark. He looked at her left hand. No wedding ring. He assumed she was in a relationship. A woman this damned good-looking would have men hanging around her.
“Tell me where you live.”
Dakota sighed. “I’ll give you GPS coordinates if you know how to use them. It’s on a no-name dirt road. It doesn’t even have a forest service designation number to it.”
“Which mountain?”
“Mount Owen,” he growled. “Now do you know where it’s at?”
Shelby stood her ground with the ex-SEAL. She reminded herself that he was still coming out of shock and surgery. “I do. When I was a teen, I was up tracking in that area many times with my dad.”
“Tracking?” Dakota certainly didn’t expect that answer. He was a damned good SEAL tracker. He’d spent years tracking Taliban and al Qaeda in the Hindu Kush Mountains.
“Why so surprised?” Shelby grinned at him. If Dakota wasn’t so testy and sour, she’d like his company. If he didn’t have that two-day growth of beard, he’d be a cover model for GQ. He was in top, athletic shape and she liked the way his thickly corded neck and shoulders moved.
“Tracking isn’t exactly what I expected to hear coming out of your mouth.”
“Surprises abound, Mr. Carson. There’s an old miner’s shack up at eight thousand feet on a narrow dirt road. It was pretty well in ruin the last time I was in that area. There’s an old sluice box next to the creek. That shack sits about fifteen feet from the creek. At one time, gold was found in the Tetons, but the miners exhausted it.” She studied him. “Now, is that the cabin where you live?”
Amazed, he simply uttered, “Yeah, that’s it.” How the hell did Deputy Barbie Doll figure out his hiding place? Dakota found himself readjusting his attitude. There was more to her than he thought. And it triggered a curiosity in him he rarely felt. Most women he’d been with in the far past were interested in getting married, having kids and settling down. As a SEAL, he was in a two-year cycle, with six months of it being deployed into the badlands of Afghanistan. It didn’t leave much time to cultivate an honest-to-God relationship with a woman, which was why all of his entanglements crashed and burned.
“So, you were heading for your trapline when the bear charged you?”
“Yes, it’s that simple.”
“Do you have a phone?”
He managed a sour laugh. “Up there? You know there’s no phone or electric lines up to that shack.” Dakota saw her face go dark for a moment. She obviously didn’t like being reminded about the obvious.
“Cell phone,” Shelby amended in a firm tone. What was it about this guy? He was positively bristling and his hackles rose in a heartbeat. It was like flipping a switch off and on with him. Yet when his mouth relaxed and his eyes lost that glitter of defensiveness, she saw another man beneath that grouchy exterior. She liked that man and found herself wanting to know him better. Much better.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I got one.” He gave her the number and added, “Of course, I get, maybe, one or two bars, depending on the storms up there at that elevation.”
“I know,” she said, writing the info down on her pad.
“How would you know?”
She felt the gauntlet thrown at her feet once more. His eyes were dark with distrust. “Because,” she answered in an unruffled tone, “I was tracking a lost child up in that same area a year ago. I found the lost boy I’d been tracking. When I tried to call in on my cell, I couldn’t get a signal.”
Surprise flowed through Dakota. “You tracked a lost boy?” This blew his mind. Women did not know how to track.
“Yes.” Shelby kind of resented his genuine surprise. He wasn’t the only one with skills. Then the sudden relaxation came to his face. Interest glimmered in those gold-brown eyes of his. She felt a shiver of yearning move through her as the look he gave her was primal, sexual. What was happening here? Stunned by her own reaction toward this snarly ex-SEAL, Shelby said, “Let’s stick to the facts, Mr. Carson.”
Dakota opened his mouth and then closed it. He regarded her with a little more deference. “The only thing women can track is a sale price of clothing at a department store.”
Shelby couldn’t contain her laughter. “What are you? A Neanderthal? I can track as well as any man. Better.”
“Who are you?”
Her entire body reacted to his growling question. Now the wolf was circling the prey—her. “We don’t have time for that, Mr. Carson. I need to get the location of where you shot the bear in order to notify the Tetons Forest supervisor. They’ll want to find the bear, get it out of there and bring it back to their headquarters for autopsy.”
All business. Still, Dakota’s mind reeled over the fact that she was a tracker, of all things. And he knew this area like the back of his hand. It was serious, rugged, backcountry mountainous area. Even a skilled hunter could get lost and disoriented. And she hadn’t. As he gazed up into her sparkling blue eyes, he saw banked humor in them. He gave her the directions to the meadow where he had killed the bear.
“Great, thanks,” Shelby said. She walked away, pressed the button on the radio on her left epaulet.
Watching her, Dakota liked what he saw. She was definitely a throwback to the Victorian age with the proverbial hourglass figure. Her breasts were hidden by the Kevlar vest, but he could tell they were full. Her hips were flared and she had long, long legs. Damn, she was a good-looking woman. He warned himself that she was in a relationship, lay back and closed his eyes. He had to get out of this place. There was no friggin’ way he was staying overnight.
“How are you feeling?” Shelby asked when she came back over to his gurney. “Better?”
Opening his eyes, he said, “Yeah. Better.”
“We have two forest rangers going out to find your bear.”
“Am I going to be charged?”
“I doubt it. I’ll talk to Charley over at Tetons HQ tomorrow. It sounds like self-defense to me.”
His mouth curled into a slight grin. “Oh, it was, Deputy. It was. You should have been there.”
“No, thanks. I’ve had enough grizzly interruptus too many times when I’m tracking. I like to stay away from them. They’re big and they’re fast.”
He held up his bandaged arm. “Tell me about it.”
She liked his black humor. “You were lucky.”
“No luck at all. I had the situation under control.” Well, almost. If not for Storm charging the grizzly and biting the bear’s nose, he wouldn’t have gotten the second shots to kill the charging beast.
“Yeah, right.” Her mouth twitched. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“No, you won’t.”
Shelby frowned. “You have to stay here for the night, Mr. Carson. Or go home with me.”
He sat up, his head clear. The nausea was ebbing. “Bull. I’m leaving....” He threw off the blankets and gave her a look that warned her not to stop him.
CHAPTER FOUR
SHELBY WATCHED DAKOTA Carson get up, unsteadily at first. His calves were knotted, which told her what good a shape he was in. He calmly removed the IV because he knew how to do it and dropped the needle and tube back on the gurney.
“Your clothes are kept in that locker room,” she said, pointing to a door on the left. “Probably got your last name on one of the lockers so you can find them.”
He stopped and studied her. Something about Shelby intrigued him. “You’re smart.”
“I’m field smart, Mr. Carson.”
His mouth twitched. Yeah, she was damned smart for not getting in his way. “If you were a man, you’d rear up on your balls and try to stop me.”
“I have a titanium set, but I choose my battles very carefully.”
His mouth drew into a sour smile. “You ever been in the military?”
“No.”
“Shoulda been.” He turned and walked slowly but surely toward the door.
Shelby wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or an insult. She waited until he was gone and called Jordana McPherson. By the time she arrived, looking upset, Dakota Carson was coming out the door, fully clothed. When he saw Jordana, he glanced over at Shelby.
“I called her,” Shelby said.
“Yeah, I remember. You pick your battles.”
Smiling, Shelby nodded.
“Dakota?” Jordana called.
“No sense in trying to talk me out of leaving this place, Doc. You know I can’t handle closed-in spaces. I’ll just be on my way.”
Jordana shoved her hands in the pockets of her white lab coat, giving him a pleading look. “There’s a high probability of infection after a bite like this, Dakota. I’ve written you a prescription for antibiotics, but I’m worried. Usually, if there is infection, it’s going to hit you in the first twenty-four hours after the operation. That’s why I wanted you to stay overnight for observation. If you could agree to stay at Shelby’s, her house is only a block from this hospital, I wouldn’t worry so much. Please...”
Halting, Dakota studied the deputy. Oh, he’d like to go home with her, all right. For all the wrong damn reasons. “No.”
Jordana reached out, her fingers wrapping around his right arm. “Dakota, you have to! That’s a bad wound. You’re a combat medic and you know the drill. If you could just stay overnight and let me give you an antibiotic IV drip? One night, and drop by and see me tomorrow morning to check it. I’ll feel better.”
“Sorry, Doc, but I gotta go....” He shook off her hand. Glancing at the deputy, he growled, “Now?” Dakota expected the deputy to try to stop him.
Shelby stepped aside. “Timing’s everything.”
Walking slowly by her, Dakota got his bearings and moved toward the elevator. Neither woman made an attempt to stop him.
The elevator doors whooshed closed. Jordana gave Shelby a desperate look. “He shouldn’t leave.”
“I know,” she muttered. “Give me his prescription and I’ll get it filled and make sure he has it before he drives off. I’ll follow him at a safe distance.”
“Can’t you talk some sense into him?” Jordana handed her the prescription.
With a sour laugh, Shelby said, “He calls me Deputy Barbie Doll. Do you really think I have any sway over him?”
“Hardly.” Scratching her head, Jordana groused, “Unbelievable.”
“Is that SEAL behavior?” Shelby asked, walking with her to the elevator.
“No. It’s his PTSD, Shelby. He’s got a very bad case of it. Closed-in places throw him into deep anxiety. He prowls around like a caged lion if he can’t escape.” Jordana added, “I feel so bad for him. He’s a decorated vet, with the silver star and two purple hearts. But he just won’t come in for weekly therapy.”
The elevator doors opened and they stepped in. “I’ll see what I can do,” Shelby said. “But no promises.”
“He’s been out on that mountain for a year, Shelby,” Jordana said in a softer voice. “Alone. And he’s unable to socialize, to fit back into society. It’s as if he’s still in combat mode and he can’t do anything about it.”
“I saw him struggling earlier,” Shelby murmured. The doors opened to the main floor of the hospital. Walking out, she turned to the right. “There he is.”
“Get those antibiotics for him and follow him,” Jordana said, touching her shoulder. “He’s a vet. He’s earned our help even if he doesn’t want it.”
Mouth quirking, Shelby shrugged into her coat. “He fights everyone. All the time, whether he should or not.”
“Good luck.”
She’d need it. Shelby watched him walk gingerly down the hall toward the main exit sliding glass doors. He didn’t look over his shoulder, although she watched him operating like a predator on the hunt. Dakota Carson missed nothing, his gaze swiveling one way and then the other. He might have just come out of anesthesia, but the man was alert. Jordana was right: he was operating in combat mode. He might be in the U.S., but his mind and emotions were still in Afghanistan.
Dakota made it to his truck. He fished the keys out of his pocket. Two parking spaces down was the Tetons sheriff’s cruiser. Storm was looking out the window at him, wagging her big, fluffy gray tail. He smiled and felt a sense of safety. When he looked up, he saw the blond deputy crossing the street to where he was. She stopped and handed him an orange prescription bottle.
“The doctor wanted you to take this antibiotic,” she said. Their fingers touched momentarily. An unexpected warmth moved up his arm, which aggravated him. He stuffed the bottle into his pocket.
“I need my wolf,” he told her, getting into the cab. He shoved the key into the ignition and turned it.
Nothing. Just a clicking sound.
Cursing to himself, Dakota turned the key again.
“Battery’s dead,” Shelby said matter-of-factly. “Cold weather can suck the life out of one real fast.”
Dakota sat back and glared at her. “Sure you didn’t do something to my truck so I couldn’t get home?”
Shelby shrugged. “No, but if you don’t believe me, lift the hood and check it out yourself.”
He did just that. In cold weather, batteries drained quickly. He saw some rust corrosion around the terminals, but that wouldn’t stop the battery from turning over the engine. Son of a bitch. Dropping the hood, Dakota straightened. The woman stood right where she was the last time he saw her, a concerned look on her oval face. He met her shadowed blue eyes and felt as if he could fall into them. What was it about this woman that gave him that sense of safety? Dakota pushed the feeling away.
“I imagine you’re feeling pretty good about this?”
“Not at all, Mr. Carson. I want to help you, not make your life any more miserable than it already is.” Shelby didn’t like their sparring exchanges, but he was terse and defensive. Given his PTSD, she could forgive him and just try to make life a little easier on him.
Dakota studied her in the tense silence. Her husky voice riffled across his flesh. He felt her genuine care. He’d been without a woman for so damn long, it scared him. But a lot of things scared the hell out of him. The morning sky was clear after the blizzard from the day before. The strong sunlight warmed him. “Can I get you to drive me and my wolf back to my cabin?”
Her heart contracted with pain for him. The anger in his eyes died as he must have realized the hopelessness of his situation. He swallowed his considerable pride and asked her for help. She ached for him. “Yes, I can do that. When I get back, I’ll take your battery over to the service station and get it charged. You need to come back here tomorrow morning to see Dr. McPherson, anyway. We can pick it up then and you’ll have your truck again.”
“You do choose your battles.”
“I don’t see you as a battle, Mr. Carson. I see you as someone who needs a helping hand right now.”
Shaking his head, he slid out of the truck. “Okay. Wheels up. Let’s rock it out.”
Shelby didn’t expect a thank you. She wasn’t familiar with the military slang he used, either. His face was pale, and she knew he was fighting to appear confident. He didn’t fool her at all, but she said nothing, walking over to her cruiser and unlocking the system.
When Dakota climbed in, his wolf whined and wagged her tail in welcome. He grinned and stuck his fingers through the wire wall between the front and backseats. The look in Shelby’s eyes startled him as she climbed in. For a moment, he thought he saw tears in them. Her blue eyes were wide with happiness. An unexpected heat surged through him. He turned around, pulled on the seat belt and closed the door. Shelby didn’t behave like most women he knew. She was different. Very different.
On the way out of the town, Shelby asked, “Do you have enough food and water up there? We can always stop at a grocery store.”
“I’m fine,” he managed. As he leaned his head back against the seat rest, exhaustion finally caught up with him. In moments, he was asleep.
Shelby headed out of town, up the long hill that would put them on the road toward Grand Tetons National Park. She knew exactly where Dakota Carson was holed up. The radio chatter broke the silence, but her mind and heart focused on the injured vet sleeping in her cruiser. Once, she looked at his profile. His nose reminded her that he might have some Native American heritage in his blood. And his skin, although washed out, looked more tan than white. In that moment, he seemed vulnerable. It twisted her heart to think of the terror he must have undergone and survived. She quirked her mouth. She had a few symptoms of PTSD herself, but so did everyone who worked in law enforcement. It just wasn’t as bad as for a military person.
When the cruiser stopped, Dakota snapped awake. Wide awake. Looking to the left, he saw his cabin. “You found it.”
Shelby grinned. “I told you I knew where it was.” She turned and studied him. “How do you feel?”
He lifted his bandaged arm. “Better.”
“Good. You needed the sleep.” He needed some care. And she found herself wanting to do just that for this gruff, injured vet. Why? Something tugged at her heart. And triggered her needs as a woman for him as a man. She had no idea why. Shelby opened the door and climbed out.
Dakota couldn’t figure this woman out. No one knew where this road was. But she did. After getting out, he opened the back door and Storm leaped out.
The first thing Shelby did was go to the shack. Carson had done a lot of work over time to fix it up. Once, it had been a log cabin with white plaster between the thick logs. Over the years, all of the plaster had cracked and fallen out, leaving huge gaps between the logs. Now mud and moss stuck in between them, to ward off the cold. Up here, snow was still about three feet deep in shaded spots. Trees were thick, and only the happy gurgle of a nearby creek broke the muted silence. Turning, she saw Dakota making his way toward his home.
“You’ve fixed it up,” she noted, gesturing toward it. “New roof. It needed one. And you’ve repaired the spaces between the logs.” At least he wasn’t lazy. Shelby noted the entire area was picked up, clean and organized. He cared, she realized. In his own way, the man was trying to make life a little better for himself, even if it was in the middle of nowhere.
“I’ve had a year to make it less windy inside.”
Shelby watched the wolf bound happily up to the door. The animal sat, panting and wagging her tail, as she waited for Carson to walk up. He pushed the grayish wood door open with his foot.
“Not locked?”
“No need. I have a wolf alarm.”
Grinning, Shelby said, “Point taken. You’re good to go?”
Dakota hesitated at the door. “Yeah.”
Shelby stepped forward, pulling a business card from her shirt pocket. “Here’s my business card.” She took a pen and circled her number. “This is my private cell phone. If you need anything, call me. Day or night, it doesn’t matter.” His eyes narrowed as he took the crisp white business card. Her fingers tingled briefly when they met his. “Dr. McPherson is really worried about infection. I want you to have a lifeline, all right?”
The silence fell between them. Dakota regarded her from beneath his straight black brows. “You do this for everyone?” he demanded, his voice suddenly gruff. He tried to stop the warm feelings flowing through his chest because she cared.
“Anyone,” she assured him quietly. Just the raw, anguished look in his eyes hit her in the chest like a fist. There was such need in Carson, but he was so broken that it brought tears. She turned so he wouldn’t see them. Shelby’s voice was roughened. “Meet you here at 0700 tomorrow?”
He nodded, watching her turn away from him. She seemed so out of place. Her blond hair was like sunlight in the dark, muted shadows of the woods surrounding the area. She was like a ray of sunshine in his own darkness. “Yeah.”
Nodding, Shelby headed back toward the cruiser.
“Hey...thanks...” he called.
Turning on her boot, she flashed him a tender smile. “Anytime. Take care....”
“Are you sure you weren’t in the military?”
Shelby forced tears away and met his confused gaze. “No. My dad, though, was in the Marine Corps. He served in the military police for ten years before getting out.” She gestured toward Jackson Hole. “We ended up here and he became a sheriff’s deputy. Later, he became commander. He just retired two years ago to fish the trout streams.”
Mouth compressed, Dakota said, “That’s good to know.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re behaving like a SEAL. You take care of your teammates.”
Shelby didn’t know what that meant, but it was important to him. “I’m just glad to be of help, Mr. Carson.”
“Call me Dakota.”
“Will do...”
For a moment, all Shelby wanted to do was turn around, walk straight up to him and throw her arms around his shoulders. That was what he needed: a little TLC. Yet the exhaustion in his eyes and face, that gruff exterior, warned her off. She’d been a deputy for years and could read body language and facial expressions pretty well. That ability had saved her life in the past, but Shelby didn’t feel threatened by this ex-SEAL. If anything, her heart reached out for him, wanted to help him even though he pushed all her efforts away.
She watched him disappear into the claptrap cabin. Frowning, Shelby walked back to her cruiser. She was sure that Cade Garner, who was now second in command at the sheriff’s department, and her boss, would be happy to hear she was off duty. She climbed into the cruiser. Cade would understand because of the unusual circumstances. So often, even as law enforcement officers, they dealt in humanitarian ways with the citizens of their county. It wasn’t always about handing out a speeding ticket. She was raised in the giant shadow of her father, who had taught her that she should always look to help others who needed it. Shelby looked up to him and was inspired to go into law enforcement as a result. It was a good choice, one she had never regretted.
As she turned the cruiser around, worry ate at her. She wasn’t a paramedic, although she had advanced first-aid training. Jordana’s worry was real. Over the past two years, she’d become friends with the doctor and knew she didn’t show her worry often.
Shelby drove slowly down the steep, muddy road, heading back toward Jackson Hole. Something gnawed at her. Taking a deep breath, Shelby tried to shrug it off. Dakota was a man in his element up here in the raw, untamed Tetons. Apparently his SEAL training had given him the ability to survive in the harshest of environments.
As she drove down the narrow, twisting road, she figured out she’d do a Google search of SEALs and educate herself. Her father had been a military police officer in the marines. As a child of a military family, she recalled her moving from one base to another every two years. She lost good friends she made, never to see them again. It had been emotionally hard on Shelby, but her father was good at what he did. And she was proud of him, as was her mother. But she’d never heard him mention SEALs. Once her shift was over, Shelby would drop by for a visit to her parents’ home on the other side of town. Maybe her father would know more about this special breed of military men.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE NIGHTMARE BEGAN as it always did. Dakota was following his LT, Lieutenant Sean Vincent, up a slippery scree slope in the Hindu Kush Mountains of Afghanistan. It was black. So black he couldn’t see a foot in front of him without his NVGs, night-vision goggles, in place over his eyes. Everything became a grainy green. The only problem was there was no depth of perception when using them, and the four-man SEAL team slipped, fell, got up and kept moving.
They were hunting an HTV, high-value-target, Taliban warlord who was hiding out in the cave systems of the Hindu Kush Mountains. The wind was cold and cutting, the Kevlar vest and winter gear keeping him warm. A terrible feeling crawled through Dakota. They called him “woo-woo man,” because he had a sixth sense about danger and coming attacks. After three tours in the Sand Box with his platoon, everyone listened to him.
They were ready to crest a ridge at twelve thousand feet. Their breath was coming in explosive inhales and exhales. The climb of four thousand feet at midnight to catch the warlord by surprise, would be worth it. Or would it?
Dakota was ready to throw up his hand in a fist to signal stop, to warn the other SEAL operatives.
Too late! Just as the LT breasted the ridge, all hell broke loose. Enemy AK-47s fired. Red tracer bullets danced around the LT. Dakota saw him struck, once, twice, three times. The impact flung the SEAL officer off his feet, sent him flying backward, the M-4 rifle cartwheeling out of his hands.
Dakota grunted, crouched and leaped upward, catching the two-hundred-pound SEAL before he crashed into the sharp, cutting rocks. Slammed backward, Dakota took the full brunt of his LT’s weight. He landed with an “oofff,” on his back, the rocks bruising and biting into his Kevlar vest plates. He heard the two other operatives scramble upward, in a diamond pattern, to protect him and the LT as they skidded out of control down the steep grade of the mountain.
A hail of bullets, screams of Taliban charging their position, filled the night air. The SEAL team held their position up above, firing systematically, picking off the men as they launched themselves at them. Head shots, every one.
Dakota came to an abrupt halt, a huge boulder stopping their downward slide. His flesh was torn up beneath both his legs, his elbow raw and bleeding. “LT!” He dragged the unconscious officer around the boulder for protection. Dakota was their combat medic on the team. It was his job to save the lives of his team, his family. Glancing around the boulder, he saw Mac and Gordy on their bellies, firing upward, taking out every Taliban who surged over the mountain at them.
Hands shaking, he carefully turned the officer over. He’d worked with Sean for five years. They’d grown up together in the platoon. He was twenty-eight and had just married Isabel before going out on this rotation, their first child on the way. Blood gleamed dark along the LT’s throat. Dakota saw where two of the three bullets had struck the LT in the chest. The Kevlar had stopped them from killing him outright.
A loud RPG explosion occurred. Automatically, Dakota threw himself over his LT, a rain of rocks hailing down all around them. He heard Mac yell. The next moment, a grenade was fired by the SEAL. More explosions lit the night on that cold ridge. Rolling off the officer, Dakota heard the throaty fire of the M-4s. Both his teammates were fighting back with fury. He heard their comms man, Mac, call for air support. They needed it.
As he pulled away Sean’s collar in his quick examination, Dakota noticed the terrible wound the third bullet had created as it sped through the side of his neck. Gulping, tears blurring his vision for a second, Dakota forced down his emotions. Rapidly, he applied a battle dressing with pressure to the side of Sean’s neck. He could feel the warmth of the SEAL’s blood as it leaked quickly out of the white dressing and through his fingers. He was going to bleed out, his carotid artery cut in half by the bullet. Oh, God, no, no, don’t let this be! Bullets whined around Dakota. He heard a roar of the Taliban to his right. Jerking his head up, he saw at least ten Taliban rush around the slope from another direction, firing at him.
Dakota had to return fire. In doing so, he had to lift his hand and stop the artery from bleeding out. It was a terrible choice....
Groaning, Dakota awakened in a heavy sweat. His chest was rapidly rising and falling, his mouth opened in a silent scream. Flailing around on his bed, the springs creaking, he tried to run from the rest of the nightmare that dogged him. His heart pounded so hard he felt as if it would tear out of his chest. Throwing off the wool blankets, burning up, he pulled himself upright. The moment his bare feet hit the cold surface of the floor, he opened his eyes. Perspiration ran down his temples. He could taste the sweat at the corners of his mouth. Tears were running out of his eyes and no matter what he did, Dakota couldn’t stop them.
Oh God, no...no.... Sean died right there. Right behind that friggin’ rock in the middle of nowhere. He jammed his palms against his closed eyes, trembling. His muscles bunched and knotted. If only...if only he’d have died instead of Sean. He left his beautiful, pregnant wife behind. Somehow, they got off that ridge before being decimated. The Night Stalkers sent in an MH-47 Chinook accompanied by two army Apache combat helicopters. Making a heroic landing, one of the four wheels on the mountain, the others in thin air, Dakota carried his dead LT and himself on board. Then the other two SEALs jumped off the ridge, slid down the rocky scree and leaped into the awaiting helo. As the Chinook powered up and left the ridge, the Apaches lit it up like the Fourth of July, cremating every one of those bastards, sending them straight to hell.
The shaking wouldn’t stop. Dakota rubbed his eyes savagely, trying to force the tears to stop. Sean was like the brother he’d never had. Sean’s platoon was his family. Burning up. He was burning up. At this time of year, it was below freezing at night, but barely. Why wouldn’t his body cool down? His mind felt spongy. Dakota realized he wasn’t thinking clearly. The nightmare still had its claws into him. Still...
Forcing himself to his feet, Dakota staggered. Dizziness assailed him and he found himself falling backward onto the bed. He hit it with force, one metal leg bending and snapping. The jolt of the bed falling on one side shocked him. Breathing hard, his heart refusing to stop pounding as if he were in the middle of a heart attack, Dakota forced himself to focus. It was something SEALs did well. He placed two fingers on his pulse. It was leaping and bounding as if it were about to tear out of his skin. By now his body should be calming down, cooling down. But it wasn’t. His flesh felt scalded beneath his fingertips. What the hell? And then it hit him: he had a fever. Shit. Doc McPherson was right: infection had set in after the surgery.
Lifting his head, his eyes narrowed, sweat running and following the course of his hard jaw, Dakota tried to think. As he tried to get up, the dizziness felled him. The bed sagged and tipped to one side where the leg had been broken off. His left arm throbbed like a son of a bitch. He looked at it. The arm had swollen so much that the skin on either end of the tape bulged outward. When he touched it, his arm was hard and hot. Bad news.
Help. I’ve got to get help or I’m gonna die. I’ve gone septic...
Moonlight shifted through the small glass windows, which were smudged with dust and dirt. A flash of white on the wood table caught his wandering attention. Dakota knew he’d never get to his truck, much less drive it down the mountain to get help.
Barbie Doll...need to call her... Said she’d help...
The cell phone lay next to her white business card on the table. Could he reach it? Dakota forced himself up, staggering those five feet to the table. He sat down in the chair before he fell down. With shaking fingers, his mind hallucinating from high fever, he slowly punched in the numbers. Would Barbie Doll answer? Did she really mean what she said? She’d help him if he needed her, or was it just lip service? Dakota had never felt so goddamned useless. He’d been a SEAL. He knew how to survive. And yet a high fever was raging through him, had dismantled him in record time. If that blond-haired angel didn’t answer her cell phone, he knew without a doubt she’d find him dead on the floor when she dropped by at 0700.
His senses began to spin. Dakota tried to focus on the phone ringing and ringing and ringing.... Blackness began to assail him. He fought the fever. Fought the darkness encroaching upon him. He couldn’t see anymore. Everything was turning black. Oh God, I’m going to die.... The grizzly bear had gotten its revenge....
Soft, beeping noises slowly brought Dakota out of the darkness. He heard women’s voices. Far off. Too far to understand, but he tried to listen anyway. He had that familiar sensation, as if he was drowning and swimming toward the surface. It reminded him of being a SEAL frogman. He’d had his LAR V Draeger rebreathing system malfunction at fifty feet in the warm waters of the Arabian Sea during a night mission. Holding his breath, Dakota swam strongly, pushing his flippers hard toward the surface. It was barely dawn, but he could see the light above him through his mask. His chest swelled, he felt the pressure, felt the reflex to breathe. But he couldn’t! If he did, he’d inhale a lungful of water and drown. Struggling, fighting, kicking, he willed himself to hold his breath just as he’d done back in BUD/S in that pool. Was he going to make it?
And then a gentle hand touched his sweaty lower arm. Instantly, it broke the hold darkness had on him. Dakota inhaled audibly, gulping in a huge, deep breath. The fingers tightened a little, as if to steady him, help him to reorient. Yes, the hand was cool, fingers long. He could feel their softness against the dark hair and sweat rolling off his arm.
Dragging his eyes open to slits, Dakota saw nothing but blurred green walls. The hand. That cool, soft hand. He forced himself to close his eyes and concentrate. Between heaven and hell, Dakota fought to move toward the light. Toward that hand that was like an anchor promising him life, not death. His mind churned, hallucinated and then like a tide, flowed out, leaving him lucid for a few moments.
“It’s all right, Dakota,” a voice whispered near his ear. “You’re going to be all right. You’re safe....”
Her breath was warm, a hint of cinnamon on it, maybe. Dakota absorbed her husky, breathy tone, the warm moisture caressing his ear and cheek. He felt her fingers tighten just a little, as if to convince him to believe her. Most of all, he was safe. He felt safe even though he swam in a mix of hallucinations and God knew what else. Where was he?
Shelby kept her hand on Dakota’s arm. Jordana McPherson stood on the other side of the bed, watching him. Lifting her gaze, she met Jordana’s. “He’s coming around....”
“Yes,” the doctor murmured, checking the IV drip that was slugging his body with antibiotics and fighting the massive infection within him. “Finally. He’s past crisis. He’s going to make it.”
* * *
THE AFTERNOON SUN SLANTED through the window near the hospital bed. “It was a close call,” Shelby said in a low tone. She watched Dakota struggling to regain consciousness.
Snorting, Jordana rolled her eyes. She watched the monitors for a moment. “No need to tell you. You’re the one who found him at two o’clock this morning.” She frowned. “If you hadn’t responded to his call, he’d have died. He went septic. I was so afraid of that.”
Shelby noticed the red streaks—a sign of sepsis—running up his left arm. His biceps were sculpted and hard. If a streak had reached his heart, it would have killed him. Now the red streaks were receding. Even in his semiconscious state, with a high fever, there was nothing but pure masculinity about Dakota Carson. The man was in top shape. He wasn’t heavily muscled, just lean and honed like a fine knife blade.
“Okay, monitors are looking better. His heart rate and pulse are finally lowering.” Jordana sighed. “His fever’s coming down and now at one hundred three. And his oxygen concentration is okay, considering what he just went through. Stay with him until he gets conscious, okay? I don’t want him waking up and being thrown into instant anxiety because he doesn’t know where he is. He’s going to be woozy for a while.”
“I’ll stay with him.”
“Thanks. Are you off duty?”
“Yeah, for the next three days.”
“Don’t you love shift work?” Jordana grinned.
“I do.” Shelby gazed down at Dakota, who was still struggling. “It came in handy this time.”
“Tell me about it. If you need me, buzz.” Jordana waved and disappeared out the door of the private room.
Quiet descended on the small room. Shelby shifted a little, keeping her hand on Dakota’s good arm. She wanted to touch this man, this warrior. Her talk with her father yesterday had shed a ton of light on SEALs. And truly, Dakota Carson was a genuine hero. A real warrior. As she gazed down at his pale features, the darkness of the beard making his cheeks look even more gaunt from the ravages of the fever, her heart expanded. She moved her fingers gently up and down his arm. She felt even more drawn to this enigmatic man. This loner who held so much pain deep in his heart. How much darkness held him prisoner? Shelby wondered.
His eyes slowly opened. Leaning down, Shelby smiled, catching his wandering gaze. “Dakota? It’s Shelby. You’re back in the Jackson Hole Hospital.”
His eyes moved slowly back to hers. Shelby felt his neediness in that moment. Her breath hitched. There was anxiety and fear in his expression, turning them a muddy brown color. Without thinking, she reached out and threaded her fingers through his damp, sweat-soaked black hair. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You had a close call with an infection, but you’re going to be all right.”
Shelby sounded like an angel whispering to him, calling him out of the darkness that still wanted to drag him back down into hell. As her fingers touched his burning scalp, the coolness soothed his agitation, stopped the panic deep in his chest. The look of calm on her face touched him. In seconds, he relaxed. Watching her, Dakota was sure he’d died and gone to heaven.
His voice was raw. In a barely heard, ragged whisper, he managed, “Angel...”
Shelby withdrew her fingers from his hair. “Not me.” She laughed softly. “I’m no angel.”
A sense of warmth, of coming home, stole through Dakota. That half smile of hers, that humored look dancing impishly in her eyes, gave him a sense of peace he’d never felt before. What was going on? He didn’t care. All he could do was absorb her grazing touch across his forearm. It was Shelby, he decided. His mind shorted out, wandered and then came back to sharper focus.
“Wh-what...”
Shelby leaned near, her lips inches from his ear. Quietly, she repeated the information to him, watching to see if his eyes would focus. As she spoke, he seemed to relax. She saw the evidence in the monitors on the other side of his bed. His pulse became normal. His breathing settled. She understood a soft voice could tame a person in shock at an accident site. Knowing this from her own experience, she repeated once again the information slowly.
His gaze followed hers as she slowly straightened, continuing to keep her hand on his arm. His pupils grew larger, as if grappling with comprehension. What kind of anguish was he experiencing right now? What was he seeing?
When she lifted her hand away, he groaned. The monitors chattered. His blood pressure rose, his pulse skyrocketed and his heart started to pound.
Shelby automatically placed her hand back on his right shoulder. The blue cotton gown hid the hard muscles beneath, but she could feel them leap and respond to her touch. Amazed, Shelby watched the monitors stop beeping so loudly. All his functions lowered back to normal. Touch. That was it. A thread of joy coursed through her, sweet and unexpected. Tilting her chin, she gazed at Dakota’s lashes resting against his pasty cheeks. His mouth, once pursed with pain, was now relaxed.
What would it be like to kiss this man? His mouth was beautifully shaped, the lower lip slightly fuller than the upper. If given the chance, he’d probably be one hell of a kisser. Absently, she moved her hand across his shoulder. His chest rose and fell slowly, no longer swift or moving with anxiety.
She was shaken and emotionally moved by the unexpected experience. Even watching him fall into a deep sleep affected her. He’d been trapped within some unknown nightmare, fueled by the high fever. When she looked once again at the monitor, she was stunned. His temperature had been a hundred and three. Now it had reduced to a hundred and one! How was that possible? Shelby wished she knew more about medicine. She’d asked Jordana later.
Hooking the chair with her foot, she slowly pulled it over to Dakota’s bedside. Because her touch was a powerful healing agent, the least she could do was stay. And allow her touch to give him some peace. As Shelby sat down, she slid her hand across his gowned shoulder to his lower right arm and remembered her dad’s words of warning.
“He’s a man carrying so much grief and pain he doesn’t know where to put it all, Shelby. He’s seen too much. He’s survived things we can’t imagine. He’s a wounded warrior and the past runs his life.”
Shelby felt close to tears. Tears for him, for the horror he still carried within him. Dakota was perilous to her heart. And yet she felt driven to be near him. Most shocking of all, she wanted to care for him. Somehow, Shelby knew love was the key to this man who now slept. Shaking her head, Shelby told herself she was crazy. A man like this would be like a black hole, sucking the life out of everything he ever touched, destroying it.
Or would he?
Shelby heard her dad’s warning words. “Be careful, Shelby. You care about this vet too much. You have no experience with his kind. If you get close to him, he’ll emotionally destroy you. He’s got a severe disorder and he doesn’t know how to handle himself, much less a woman who’s trying to help him. Stay out of his way, Shelby. Don’t get involved.”
CHAPTER SIX
DAKOTA AWOKE SLOWLY to the sound of a robin singing nearby. Dragging open his eyes, he was met by brilliant sunlight coming through frilly white lace curtains. The light hit the pale blue wall opposite of where he lay. His brows drew down. Where the hell was he? What had happened?
The door quietly opened. His eyes widened when he recognized Shelby. She was dressed in a simple orange T-shirt, body-hugging jeans and a pair of well-worn moccasins. Her hair gleamed like gold as she walked through the slats of sunlight. When she saw he was awake, she smiled.
“Welcome back to the land of the living. You’re at my home.”
Dakota pushed himself up into a sitting position. He found himself a helluva lot weaker than he wanted to be. Looking down, he noticed he was wearing a set of blue pajamas. A clean white waterproof bandage covered his left arm. His flesh appeared normal, no longer swollen, bluish or oozing pus. He was no longer feverish, his skin cool and dry to his touch. He looked up as Shelby poured some water from a pitcher.
“Thirsty?”
“Yeah,” he managed, his voice hoarse. He took the glass.
“You’ve been out for two solid days,” she said, watching him gulp the water. Jordana had warned her he’d be thirstier than a camel when he came out of his fevered state.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he handed her the glass. “More?” And then he added, “Please?”
Shelby poured him another glass. “You had us all worried there for a while,” she said. His hair was spiky and stiff with sweat. He definitely needed a bath. Still, she thrilled to the fact that his eyes were once more clear and he was fully present.
The water satiated him. “I thought the grizzly was going to get even with me.”
Her mouth quirked. “Almost did. Dr. McPherson flooded you with antibiotics through an IV. It was touch-and-go for a while because you had sepsis, blood poisoning.”
“Karma’s a bitch,” he said, his voice stronger. “How did I get here?”
Shelby sat on the edge of the bed, near his feet, facing him. “Dr. McPherson had you brought over here by ambulance a couple hours ago.” She saw his brows raise. “She didn’t want you waking up in a hospital. She said you didn’t like small rooms. I volunteered my place. It’s close enough to the hospital in case you relapse.”
Looking around, Dakota felt comfortable in the queen-size bed in the large room. He lifted his chin and met her gaze. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I’ve seen your cabin and frankly, it sucks. I wouldn’t put a sick dog up there to get well.” She wanted to add that vets deserved the best, not the worst, when they were injured.
Her lips twitched, merriment gleaming in her blue eyes.
“You should have seen it before I got there. It was a dump,” he said.
“Oh,” she said as she laughed, “I did. Remember? I’ve been to it many times before you homesteaded it.”
His mind wasn’t functioning fully yet. Frowning, Dakota finally remembered. He moved his hand across his jaw. “I need to shave. And I stink.”
“Wouldn’t disagree.”
Smart mouth. Beautiful lips. Dakota appreciated her dry sense of humor. And he was feeling remarkably calm. Almost always, he had anxiety upon awakening. But it was gone. Completely gone, which confused him. “Give me a little while to get my bearings.”
“Take as long as you need. By the way, I’ve checked on Storm daily. She seems happy to stay outside the cabin. I couldn’t find any dog food for her.”
“She hunts for her food. And she’d rather be outdoors than in.” He was grateful for her care of the wolf. It told Dakota she cared a lot more than most people did. “Tell me what happened. The last thing I remember was trying to call you.”
“You did.”
“I don’t remember your answering. I think I blacked out after punching in the numbers.”
“My phone rang and I picked it up. There was nothing at the other end, but I could hear Storm whining in the background. I hung up and checked the callback number and I put it together.”
“And you drove up there?”
“Yes. When I entered the cabin, you were out cold on the floor. You were burning up, your dressing was oozing pus and smelled foul. Storm was whining and sitting near you. I called the fire station and told them to meet me with an ambulance at the bottom of the mountain. No one would ever know how to get up to your cabin.”
Nodding, he studied her beneath his lashes. “You can’t be strong enough to haul my ass off that floor by yourself.”
Her mouth drew into a wicked grin. “I did.” Wasn’t easy, but Shelby did it because the other choice was leaving him to die on that cold floor.
“You aren’t a Barbie doll after all. I owe you a full apology.”
Thrusting out her hand, she said, “Apology accepted. Call me Shelby, will you?” When his hand swallowed hers up, Shelby felt his animal warmth, his strength, and yet he monitored how much pressure he put around her fingers. This was the second time he’d touched her. Really touched her. There was incredible masculinity and power around Dakota. It called her and she felt almost helpless not to respond to it—to him.
“Shelby...yes, I’m sorry I called you Barbie Doll. I guess—” he reluctantly released her long, beautiful hand “—my prejudice about women with blond hair is showing?”
“Dumb blonde prejudice?”
“Yeah.”
Shelby didn’t want him feeling any worse than he already did. There was a sincere apology in his eyes. “Don’t worry about it. Are you hungry, Dakota?” She liked the way his name rolled off her lips. Right now he looked fully relaxed. When would that change? What would cause his anxiety to return? Jason, her older brother, had the same kind of symptoms after three tours in Iraq. And no one had been able to save him. Not even her. Shelby tried to remember her dad’s words of warnings when she’d filled him in on Dakota’s military background. Yet when she met and drowned in Dakota’s gold-and-brown eyes, she felt her heart opening so wide it made her momentarily breathless. Did he realize the effect he had on her? She didn’t think so.
Rubbing his stomach, he said, “Yeah, a little. But look, I don’t want you going out of your way—”
“I’ll let you know when you’re a burden, okay?” Shelby said it half in jest and half with seriousness. Standing up, she asked, “What would you like? I’m a good cook.”
He gazed up at her. She was tall, her shoulders thrown back with natural confidence. Without her uniform on and with that orange T-shirt outlining her upper body to show every curve, he lost his train of thought for a moment. “I...uh... Eggs and bacon sound good.”
“Toast? Jam?”
He nodded. “If it’s not too much trouble?”
“Coffee?”
He groaned. “God, that sounds good. Really good.”
“Cream? Sugar?”
“No, black.”
“Anything else?”
“You? For dessert?”
Shocked by his response, Shelby was fully aware of the sudden glint in his eyes, that predatory look a man gives to a woman. Heat surged up her neck and into her face. “Let’s stick to the eggs and bacon, shall we?” Shelby turned to leave and said teasingly, “I think that’s about all you can handle right now.”
He had the good grace to give her a sheepish smile. “I think you’re right.” He watched her leave as soundlessly as she’d arrived. What the hell was wrong with him? Dakota sat up, pushing the covers aside. Shelby was beautiful, playful, intelligent and smart-mouthed. It all conspired to make him brazen.
Looking down, he realized he was aroused. Damn. He jerked the covers over the lower half of his body and tried to piece together what had happened to him two days earlier. He couldn’t get Shelby’s body out of his mind. She had nice, wide hips, the kind a man liked to slide his large hands around to hold and guide her. Her breasts were full and he wondered what it would be like to cup them. Shaking his head, he cursed softly. Horny as hell, Dakota didn’t like the fact that his body was acting like some love-starved teen’s.
Shelby deserved better. When she came back about twenty minutes later with a tray of food, the first thing he said was, “I’m a lousy houseguest. I’m sorry for what I said earlier. You didn’t deserve it.”
She set the wooden tray across his lap and noticed the bulge beneath the covers. She tried to keep her face carefully arranged. “Apology accepted. You nearly died a couple of days ago. You’re still coming out of it. After almost dying, everyone feels emotionally up and down. In my experience, people say a lot of things in that state.”
He took the pink napkin and laid it absently across his broad chest. The eggs looked perfect, several slices of thick bacon and whole-wheat toast on the plate. His stomach growled. “You give a person an amazing amount of rope to hang himself on,” he told her wryly, picking up the fork.
Shelby sat down, facing him. “Being a deputy, you find people teach you a lot along the way. I’ve handled a lot of situations where there’s shock and trauma going on.” There was something satisfying and even healing to her as she watched him hungrily eat.
He stuffed the eggs into his mouth. Closing his eyes, Dakota simply absorbed their warmth and taste. How long had it been since someone made him a home-cooked meal? For a moment, he felt overwhelmed. He opened his eyes. Shelby sat with one leg tucked beneath her, relaxed, her expression calm. “I imagine you’re a pretty cool dude in a gunfight.”
“Is that SEAL talk?”
“Being a gunslinger? Yeah, I guess it is.”
He ate, starved now. Dakota could tell he’d probably dropped ten pounds, and his stomach was reminding him of that loss in spades. He could feel the food taking hold, reviving his body, replacing his lost strength.
“Do you miss it? I mean, being a SEAL?” Jason seemed to miss his platoon, always wanting to return and go back to Iraq to be with them, not stick around here to visit their parents or her. The military was a powerful draw, but she couldn’t grasp why.
Her voice had gone soft and it was as if she had whispered against his skin. Did Shelby know how her husky voice affected him? Dakota shrugged. “Yeah, I miss it.” More than she would ever realize.
“Do you have family around here?”
“I did. My parents died in a snowstorm after their truck slid off on a back road and got stuck in a ditch.”
“I’m so sorry. When did it happen?” Shelby knew of other people who had died of hypothermia during the long, brutal winter across Wyoming.
Pain filtered through Dakota and he stopped eating. He could tell she wasn’t asking to create social conversation. She cared. “I was eighteen.” As dark rage and grief stirred deep within him, he quickly tried to shut down all feelings. “It was a long time ago,” he said more gruffly than he’d intended.
Shelby sensed a shift in Dakota. She saw devastation in his eyes and then he quickly dipped his head, breaking contact with her. Moistening her lips, she asked softly, “Do you stay in touch with your SEAL teammates?”
“Yes, with a few of the guys.”
“They’re like your family?” He had none of his own, so she could see Dakota regarding the guys he worked with as family.
“Yes, they are. How’d you get so wise for someone so young?”
Shelby shrugged, a ribbon of sadness flowing wide and slow through her. “Ever since I found out you were a SEAL, I’ve been trying to understand and learn about them. Because Jason, my brother, was an Army Ranger, never spoke about his life or what he did in the military. When he came home on leave, he never talked about what he did over in Iraq. Not ever.” Shelby felt shut out and disconnected from her brother, whom she loved so much. Every time Jason came home on leave, there was a thick wall standing between him, her parents and herself. No matter what she tried to do to reach him, she failed.
“Why?”
“Because you’re a big question mark in my world.” Because you remind me of Jason. I couldn’t save him. Maybe I can save you? The words were nearly torn out of Shelby. Stunned by the powerful, invisible connection Dakota had wielded with her, she was unable to deny it or stop it from happening.
A rush of desire coursed through Dakota. There was such an openness to her, as if she trusted the world. How could she? There were bad guys everywhere. It was a world covered in camouflage as far as he was concerned. A powerful sense of protection toward her welled up within him. Okay, she was a law enforcement officer and knew how to take care of herself. But here, in her home, in this room, there was a terrible vulnerability that suddenly shone in her expression, especially her eyes. Something had happened to her. That much he knew. It was his sixth sense working. It always did when there was danger or threat.
Dakota tried to probe beyond her expression. Shelby was good at hiding, he discovered, but she couldn’t stop it from showing in her eyes. If he sensed correctly, something tragic had happened recently to her. But what? He couldn’t ask now. Maybe later. He managed a one-cornered smile, wanting to lift her out of the darkness only she knew about. “Don’t be too curious about me. I’m a dead end.”
She sighed and wrapped her arms around her drawn-up knee. Dakota was trying to tease her, but right now her gut was a knot. Her heart was squeezing with fresh grief, which wouldn’t stop flowing outward and making her want to cry. “Interested, not curious. There’s a difference.”
He smiled thinly and picked up the mug of steaming coffee. “Interested why?”
She took his challenge and tried to deflect the real truth. “I like to learn about people. I see them as my teachers.” Jason had been a hard teacher, nearly breaking her. She’d loved her brother with a fierceness that couldn’t ever be controlled or stopped. They had been so close growing up. So many happy memories until...
“So, I’m a bug under your microscope of life?” he teased, a grin edging his mouth.
“I wouldn’t say a bug,” Shelby protested. Jason and Dakota were so much alike, it scared her. The PTSD was their shared, dark connection. Struggling, Shelby forced herself out of her own personal mire and focused on the man in her bed. How handsome Dakota was when he was relaxed. It was a remarkable change from meeting him out in the hospital parking lot. And where had his PTSD symptoms gone? She wondered if he was peaceful because she was here with him. Did one person make that big of a difference to someone like Dakota? Did she really have that much influence over him?
Shelby had never had that kind of effect on Jason. He grew irritated and irrational when she tried to talk with him. But Dakota was different, or at least, for the time being. The terrible, unanswered questions ate at her. Had she pushed Jason too far? All she wanted was that closeness they’d shared before he’d joined the military.
“What, then?” Dakota challenged, relishing the fresh coffee.
Shelby fumbled, avoiding his sharpened gaze. There was nothing weak about Dakota, the beard making him all the more male and therefore dangerous to her emotions.
“Out of words for once? Or are you carefully choosing our battles?”
Upon hearing the growl of his teasing, she lifted her chin. Her smile faded. The grief from her past stained the happiness she felt being around him. “I...sensed something about you, Dakota. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I felt your desperation, your need.” Shelby gave him a helpless look. “I knew someone once, who was a lot like you.” She choked back the rest of the admission. It was too painful to say. Too painful and shaming to admit. Finally, her voice husky with emotion, she admitted, “There’s just something about you that draws me.”
Her softly spoken honesty rattled him as nothing else ever could. Seeing the flush across her cheeks, the sudden, unexpected grief shadowing her expression, Dakota felt like the proverbial bull in a china shop. Before he could think of something to say, Shelby looked as if she was going to cry.
She quickly uncurled from the bed and picked up the tray from his lap. “I brought some of your clothes down from the cabin the other day and washed them. You’ll find fresh Levi’s, a T-shirt and socks in the bathroom across the hall.” She turned and left the room without another word.
Well hell! That went well, didn’t it, Carson? Shelby had been generous with him. And he’d acted like a total jerk. Something deeper, more visceral was going on between them. Dakota threw off the covers in frustration. He had to get out of here or he’d do something really stupid. He felt protective toward Shelby. He wanted to hunt her down, pull her into his arms and love her until they both died of pleasure. Snorting to himself, Dakota knew he was no prize. He was a horse’s ass, if anything. Looking around, he felt more like his old self before the infection damn near snuffed out his life. He was strong and solid again. He spotted a towel, washcloth and soap on the dresser, and walked over to pick them up.
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Lindsay McKenna
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
Отзывы: Пока нет Добавить отзыв
О книге: In all her years as deputy sheriff, Shelby Kincaid never met a man as stubborn as Dakota Carson. Practically eaten by a grizzly bear and still that man insists on returning, alone, to his isolated cabin in the Tetons.Shelby’s not even sure why it ruffles her – but she suspects it has a lot to do with the instant, powerful connection she feels with Dakota. If only he’d let down his guard with her…Ten years as a Navy SEAL took its toll on Dakota’s body, his mind, and his heart. Since being released, he’s endured months of painful physical therapy… and brutal nightmares. Dakota wants nothing more than to hide from the world, so why does Shelby’s gentle presence suddenly make him question his seclusion?But when Shelby’s life is threatened, Dakota knows his warrior spirit won’t hide any longer.He just hopes it’s not too late…