Lindsay McKenna Page 4

  “Your fever has just broken,” she said, touching his forehead.

  Just keep on touching me. It feels so damn good. Talon greedily absorbed the feel of her fingers sliding lightly up and down his arm in slow, gentle motions. Did she realize how good it made him feel? How long had it been since he’d felt this kind of peace?

  His dog. Talon barely opened his eyes. “Zeke?”

  She smiled. “He’s right here. We gave him food and water. He’s okay.”

  Relief zigzagged through Talon. Zeke was being looked after. Gratefulness embraced him. He couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, exhausted.

  The last thing Talon knew, her long fingers gently stroked his lower arm, as if to reassure him that everything would be all right. His mind began shutting down. This respite was like heaven to him.

  Cat didn’t want to stop skimming her fingers across Talon’s arm. As she saw him sink into sleep, she remained at his side. Zeke had lain down parallel to the bed, his paws touching her booted feet. Cat swore she no longer saw worry in the dog’s huge brown eyes that glittered with such fierce intelligence.

  She had to stop stroking his arm or else she’d be in big trouble. She fussed with the covers, making sure Talon was snug and warm. Once again, she gazed upon his sleeping features. She wondered again what kind of weight this man carried on his shoulders. Why was he walking out in that miserable blizzard? Did he not have any money?

  Cat stood and walked over to the pile of his wet, smelly clothes. She picked up his jeans and went through the pockets. She found a wallet and sat down on the edge of the bed to take a look. He had a driver’s license, a military ID and about twenty dollars. And that was it. No credit cards. She set the wallet down on the bed stand and turned her attention to the dog. Moving her fingers slowly across Zeke’s long, powerful body, she noted he was thin but not starved like his master. Talon must have fed Zeke before himself. He cared about Zeke, but not himself as much. Cat reached out without thinking, sliding her hand gently down Talon’s forearm. His skin was no longer moist. Instead, she could feel the fever ebbing.

  Cat sat there, couldn’t bring herself to move. She felt an odd peace sitting here, witnessing Talon in sleep. She was rarely at peace with a man around. Oh, the guys that she worked with at the fire department were all known quantities and, over the years, had finally accepted that a woman could do as good as a man in that vocation. She treated them like the brothers she’d never had. And she was no longer threatened by any of them.

  But a new man like this one? Well, she’d usually go into threat-and-defense mode. Her past taught her not to trust a man’s intentions toward her. Ever. She’d blundered in and made some hellacious mistakes with men who’d encouraged her to let down her defenses. Beau Magee had been her last mistake. And now she was paying a heavy emotional price for her poor choice. She couldn’t blame herself for not trusting, but then, why did Talon seem so…unthreatening?

  Maybe he was the worst kind of man—the one who seemed kind on the outside but was a predator on the inside. And yet, she saw humor and kindness in Talon’s expression. Plus, he treated his dog with love and respect. There had to be goodness in Talon.

  Finally, Cat roused herself and reluctantly got up and left. Quietly closing the door, she walked into the warm, bright yellow kitchen. Val, Griff and Gus were sitting at the table having coffee.

  “How’s he doin’?” Gus asked.

  “Much better,” Cat murmured, pouring herself coffee and sitting down next to Gus. “Fever’s broken and that’s good. He drank a glass of water.”

  Gus nodded, eyeing Cat. “He has you to thank for saving his hide.”

  Cat took a sip of the coffee. “Helping people is the reward in itself.”

  Val smiled across the table at Cat. “You’re always so humble, Cat.”

  Gus moved her hand across Cat’s shoulders. “She’s just built that way, Val.”

  “Talon owes his life to you and I’m sure he’ll be grateful,” Griff said.

  Cat always felt uncomfortable when people praised her. “Hey, did someone call Sandy Holt?”

  “I did,” Val said. “She’s thrilled Talon is here but worried sick about him having pneumonia. I told her that he’d be okay and would call her soon.” Standing, Val went to the counter to start cleaning up the breakfast dishes.

  Cat turned and looked out the windows. “That blizzard isn’t letting up, is it?”

  “No,” Griff muttered. “It’s not going to stop until late tonight, from what the radio said.”

  Val patted her husband’s shoulder. “It’s a stay-in-and-work day.”

  “Are you still going to show us how to can today?” Cat flashed Gus a hopeful look.

  “Of course,” Gus said, grinning. “You have to stay near if Talon needs you, anyway.”

  The suggestion filled Cat with warmth. She wanted to be near Talon. It was more than a patient-paramedic relationship and she knew it. But she wasn’t willing to share that awareness with them. It was embarrassing that she wanted to touch him. How could she be drawn so powerfully to him, out of the blue like this?

  “Well,” Griff said, and sighed, “I’m going out to the barn. Got to tinker with the tractor engine. And I’ve got plenty of work to fill this day.” He slowly rose and picked up his empty coffee mug to bring to the dishwasher. “You learn the art of canning today. I’ll brave that weather and work out in the barn. I’ll see you at lunch.”

  Cat watched the tender glances between Val and Griff. How many times had she wished she had that kind of intimacy and love with a man? She had to be cursed. That was all there was to it.

  Gus slowly rose from her chair and Cat turned toward the elder.

  “Are you really up for teaching us today, Gus?” Cat knew she had arthritis in the hip she’d broken a year earlier and was moving a lot slower. Weather affected it, too, and today she was walking stiffly.

  “Of course,” Gus said, smoothing down the blue apron across her thighs. “I’m going to show you how to can corn, beans and tomatoes.”

  Griff sauntered out of the kitchen, threw on his cowboy hat, shrugged into his sheepskin coat and pulled the gloves out of the pocket. “See you ladies at noon.” He grinned and caught Gus’s attention. “What’s for lunch?”

  “I’m gonna make a big pot of chicken soup,” she said. “Talon’s gonna need something good and filling to eat and the rest of us can use a hearty soup on a day like this.”

  Griff leaned against the entrance, pulling on the gloves. “Miss Gus? Any chance you’re going to make homemade biscuits to go with that soup?”

  Gus grinned. “Just for you, Griff, I’ll make a batch.”

  “Thank you,” he called. “See you ladies later….”

  Val straightened and turned toward Gus. “He loves your biscuits. I wish I could bake them the way you do.”

  Gus patted Val’s arm. “Not to worry. I intend to be around until I’m at least a hundred. Griff will get lots of biscuits between now and then,” she said, and chortled.

  Cat laughed, finishing off her coffee. She loved being a part of the Hunter and McPherson families. And she was grateful to be hired as a part-time wrangler on her days off to help out Val and Griff. “Make lots, Miss Gus. I love hot, homemade biscuits with butter and honey on them, too.”

  Gus shook her head and gave Val a look. “We got a bunch of biscuit eaters on our hands, don’t we, Val?”

  “Yes,” Val said, smiling, “we do. I have a hunch when Talon gets better, he’s going to eat a lot of food. He’s so thin.”

  Cat washed out her mug in the sink. “He’s way underweight. I looked in his wallet and all he had was a twenty-dollar bill on him. That’s nothing.”

  Gus snorted. “He was makin’ sure Zeke was eating and he cheated himself in the process.”

  Cat rested her hips against the counter. “Why doesn’t he have more money?”

  Val shut the dishwasher. “Because he’s been sending most of his paychecks home to his mother, Ca
t. And when he got wounded and then discharged from the Navy, his source of income dried up. He’s out of work. Poor guy was probably trying to make it home before he ran out of whatever savings he had.”

  “Twenty dollars,” Gus grumbled. “That’s paltry. And why was he walking out in that consarned blizzard?” She shook her silver head. “Makes no good sense to me.”

  Val sighed. “Gus, he probably has post-traumatic stress disorder. Talon was in black ops. Those guys are bound to have it big-time.”

  Cat frowned. “And that means he couldn’t ride in a bus? Or fly in a plane?”

  Val shrugged. “He’s got a combat assault dog at his side. I’d imagine the plane or bus people wouldn’t want the dog on board. My guess is he’s hitched and walked to get back home.”

  Cat said nothing, but felt even more deeply for Talon. “And his mother has no money to loan him to get him from the hospital to here. Rough deal.”

  Val grimaced. “Being in the military is always tough, Cat. And Talon’s going to have his hands full once he gets back on his feet. Sandy’s in bad shape and the chemo is really taking her down. I worry….”

  Because she was a paramedic, Cat knew what chemo did, understood it took a poison to kill a poison, but the person suffered horrendously during the process. “I wish we could do more for Sandy.”

  Val picked up some of the mason jars from a box on the floor and started lining them up on the counter. “Talon is coming home at a terrible time. I’m worried he won’t be able to handle it all.”

  Cat bent down and put the last of the canning jars on the counter. She picked up the box and got it out of the way. “No one goes through life alone. Maybe Talon’s going to need support himself.”

  Val pulled open a drawer and drew out two aprons, handing one to Cat. “We all need help from time to time. He should go see Jordana. She’s an expert on PTSD and helped a lot of vets in this county.”

  Gus pulled out a huge kettle and set it in the sink to fill it with water. “Well, that young man has a job here at the Bar H. He’s a hard worker. And once he gets well, Griff is going to need a full-time wrangler to help him. Talon grew up on the Triple H, which was next to our ranch, and then Curt Downing stole it from under Sandy Holt’s nose for a song.”

  Cat remembered that Curt Downing was dead, shot by an escaped convict on a trail up in the Tetons. All his holdings, according to his will, went to a nephew by the name of Chuck Harper, who sold the ranch to an Easterner. And he was an even worse person that Downing had been. “I wonder if he’ll sell the Triple H?”

  Gus snorted. “I’m having Griff look into it. We need more land and it makes sense to buy it. The present owner did nothing with it except try to put condos on it. Thank the good Lord that the mayor said no to his plan.”

  Gus had made a lot of money off the sale of her own ranch on the other side of Wyoming decades earlier. She didn’t know exactly how much, but Griff had an MBA from Harvard and was now taking care of the woman’s money for her. Gus had told her one time that Griff was making her a lot of interest and she was very happy to have her son-in-law handle the finances. “If you could buy the Triple H, that would make Sandy and Talon happy.”

  Gus nodded, then became sad. “It was such a shame Sandy’s second husband, Bradley, died in that auto accident. He was in the process of expanding the ranch, doing good things with it. But Sandy wasn’t up to dealing with the ranch after his death. And then, suddenly, there was the cancer. Griff’s going over to see about the ranch after the blizzard is done blowing through. I’d really like to buy the Triple H. Fingers crossed.”

  Cat smiled to herself. Gus was a big thinker and dreamer. But she had the money, the smarts and Griff helping her to make her vision come true. Gus was unstoppable when she wanted something.

  Cat heard Zeke urgently begin to bark.

  “Uh-oh,” Gus muttered, peering toward the hallway. “That dog’s barking. Wonder what’s wrong?”

  “I’ll go see,” Cat said, hurrying out of the kitchen. Her heart amped up a little as she opened the door. Zeke instantly whined, wagging his tail at the doorway. He turned around and hurried to the bed.

  Cat frowned and quietly shut the door. Talon Holt was sitting up, his long legs hanging over the edge of the bed, most of the covers pulled aside. His maleness struck her. He was naked, his body massive and powerful even though he was underweight. His head was hanging almost on his chest, his large hands gripping the mattress to stay upright. Only a few blankets lay across his hard, thick thighs. His feet were large, his legs spaced apart as if to stop him from keeling forward and falling off the bed. She heard his labored, rasping breaths. Her eyes widened as she saw he’d yanked the IV out of his right arm, bright red blood streaming down his forearm. No wonder Zeke was barking.

  “Talon?” she asked, keeping her voice low and soothing as she walked toward him.

  He barely raised his head, his eyes slits as he regarded her.

  Cat felt sudden alarm. Talon was pale, breathing hard, his eyes glassy looking. She crouched down in front of him to make eye contact. “Did you take your IV out?” Did she dare touch him? He was different when he was awake. He’d been so approachable in sleep. Now he trembled, as if it took every last bit of his strength for him to remain upright.

  “Yeah,” he managed with a croak.

  “I need to stop the bleeding,” Cat said softly. She slowly reached out, placing her fingers on his right hand. His fingers dug deeply into the mattress. When she touched him, he winced. Instantly, she withdrew her hand. Something was wrong. She sensed it.

  “Talon, you’re safe. You’re here at the Bar H. My name is Cat Edwin and I’m a paramedic. I’m here to help you. Will you let me touch you?”

  He scowled, staring sightlessly past her, his attention on something else she couldn’t fathom. Was he hallucinating? The way his naked shoulders were bunched, Cat felt in danger herself. Maybe it was overreaction from her past, from her childhood. And then she saw him lift his chin and look directly at her.

  “Blue?”

  Cat stared, her lips parting. “Blue? Who’s Blue?” she asked softly. And then tears came into his murky gray eyes. He seemed to fight them back. He swallowed convulsively several times.

  Talon had to be hallucinating. Cat eyed the dark red blood still leaking from the IV wound. He must have ripped it out of his arm, because the flesh looked torn and ragged. She had to stop the bleeding and get him to see and hear her instead of whatever held him prisoner.

  Slowly getting up, she called Zeke over. She guided the dog over to Talon.

  “Talon? This is your dog, Zeke. He needs you to pet him. He’s worried about you.”

  Zeke began licking the blood off Talon’s arm, whining and anxious.

  Holding her breath, Cat watched Talon slowly blink a few times. His mouth opened and then closed. His eyes became harder and more focused on the dog sitting between his legs. The dog was thumping his tail against the pine floor, the only sound in the room. Talon slowly released the fingers of one hand from the mattress and he laid his hand on the dog’s broad skull. A little fear left her and she slowly unwound from her crouched position.

  “Talon? I’m going to fix your arm. Is it okay if I touch you?” Cat stood uncertainly, her own senses telling her that if he wasn’t yet here with her and Zeke and if she touched him again, he might lash out at her. She had no experience with soldiers or anyone with PTSD. Druggies, yeah. But not this. And she knew enough to go slow, to allow Talon to process her request.

  Zeke whined, reaching up, licking Talon’s bearded cheek.

  “Yeah…go ahead,” he rasped thickly, his gaze fixed on his dog.

  Relief sped through Cat. She went to her medical bag, drew out items and then walked to his side. Putting on a pair of gloves, she cleaned the area inside his right arm and quickly patched it up, halting the bleeding. There was a bowl of water on the dresser and she took the washcloth and wiped away the blood left on his arm and hand. When she crouched dow
n to gently pry his fingers out of the mattress, she felt the heat of his stare on her. Her skin prickled and her heart took off in an unsteady beat. He turned his large hand over for her and she saw the many calluses across his fingers and palm. After wiping his hand free of blood, she placed Talon’s hand back on the mattress.

  “You okay?” she asked, meeting his eyes. There was clarity now in them. Huge gray eyes with large black pupils staring intently at her. For a second, Cat’s imagination took off. He was the hunter. She was the prey. Oddly, she didn’t feel threatened. Instead, she felt her womb contract. Felt the heat of his intense stare, the utter masculinity of him, the power of him as a man. It excited her and simultaneously scared her.

  No man had ever made her feel hot, needy and achy in her lower body. But Talon did. In spades. Gulping, Cat stood up and quickly moved to the dresser to rinse out the bloody washcloth. What the hell was going on with her? Licking her lip nervously, Cat cast a glance over her shoulder. Talon had lain back down, drawing the blankets haphazardly across his lower body. His eyes were closed.

  Zeke lay down by his bed.

  Watching the dog helped Cat understand what was going on with Talon Holt. He’d also ripped off the cannula that had given him extra oxygen and it lay on the floor next to the broken IV line. She picked them both up and shut off the IV. Did she dare sit down beside him as she had before? No, she couldn’t. Her throat went tight and she found it hard to breathe for a moment.

  As she worked near the bed, she felt his eyes open and focus on her again. Looking up, he was watching her. Cat muttered, “I’m cleaning up.”

  He barely nodded his head.

  Her hands were shaky. Cat removed the IV and placed it in her medical bag. She wrapped up other equipment.

  “I remember you.”

  Cat froze for moment. Talon’s voice was deep and hoarse. But he was awake and alert. Considering his medical condition, she was stunned by the strength of his tone and the clarity in his eyes. “What do you remember?” she asked.