The Loner

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.