The Loner

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.