The Loner

“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?”