The Loner

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.