The Loner

Lifting his head, his eyes narrowed, sweat running and following the course of his hard jaw, Dakota tried to think. As he tried to get up, the dizziness felled him. The bed sagged and tipped to one side where the leg had been broken off. His left arm throbbed like a son of a bitch. He looked at it. The arm had swollen so much that the skin on either end of the tape bulged outward. When he touched it, his arm was hard and hot. Bad news.

Help. I’ve got to get help or I’m gonna die. I’ve gone septic...

Moonlight shifted through the small glass windows, which were smudged with dust and dirt. A flash of white on the wood table caught his wandering attention. Dakota knew he’d never get to his truck, much less drive it down the mountain to get help.

Barbie Doll...need to call her... Said she’d help...

The cell phone lay next to her white business card on the table. Could he reach it? Dakota forced himself up, staggering those five feet to the table. He sat down in the chair before he fell down. With shaking fingers, his mind hallucinating from high fever, he slowly punched in the numbers. Would Barbie Doll answer? Did she really mean what she said? She’d help him if he needed her, or was it just lip service? Dakota had never felt so goddamned useless. He’d been a SEAL. He knew how to survive. And yet a high fever was raging through him, had dismantled him in record time. If that blond-haired angel didn’t answer her cell phone, he knew without a doubt she’d find him dead on the floor when she dropped by at 0700.

His senses began to spin. Dakota tried to focus on the phone ringing and ringing and ringing.... Blackness began to assail him. He fought the fever. Fought the darkness encroaching upon him. He couldn’t see anymore. Everything was turning black. Oh God, I’m going to die.... The grizzly bear had gotten its revenge....

Soft, beeping noises slowly brought Dakota out of the darkness. He heard women’s voices. Far off. Too far to understand, but he tried to listen anyway. He had that familiar sensation, as if he was drowning and swimming toward the surface. It reminded him of being a SEAL frogman. He’d had his LAR V Draeger rebreathing system malfunction at fifty feet in the warm waters of the Arabian Sea during a night mission. Holding his breath, Dakota swam strongly, pushing his flippers hard toward the surface. It was barely dawn, but he could see the light above him through his mask. His chest swelled, he felt the pressure, felt the reflex to breathe. But he couldn’t! If he did, he’d inhale a lungful of water and drown. Struggling, fighting, kicking, he willed himself to hold his breath just as he’d done back in BUD/S in that pool. Was he going to make it?

And then a gentle hand touched his sweaty lower arm. Instantly, it broke the hold darkness had on him. Dakota inhaled audibly, gulping in a huge, deep breath. The fingers tightened a little, as if to steady him, help him to reorient. Yes, the hand was cool, fingers long. He could feel their softness against the dark hair and sweat rolling off his arm.

Dragging his eyes open to slits, Dakota saw nothing but blurred green walls. The hand. That cool, soft hand. He forced himself to close his eyes and concentrate. Between heaven and hell, Dakota fought to move toward the light. Toward that hand that was like an anchor promising him life, not death. His mind churned, hallucinated and then like a tide, flowed out, leaving him lucid for a few moments.

“It’s all right, Dakota,” a voice whispered near his ear. “You’re going to be all right. You’re safe....”

Her breath was warm, a hint of cinnamon on it, maybe. Dakota absorbed her husky, breathy tone, the warm moisture caressing his ear and cheek. He felt her fingers tighten just a little, as if to convince him to believe her. Most of all, he was safe. He felt safe even though he swam in a mix of hallucinations and God knew what else. Where was he?

Shelby kept her hand on Dakota’s arm. Jordana McPherson stood on the other side of the bed, watching him. Lifting her gaze, she met Jordana’s. “He’s coming around....”

“Yes,” the doctor murmured, checking the IV drip that was slugging his body with antibiotics and fighting the massive infection within him. “Finally. He’s past crisis. He’s going to make it.”

* * *

THE AFTERNOON SUN SLANTED through the window near the hospital bed. “It was a close call,” Shelby said in a low tone. She watched Dakota struggling to regain consciousness.

Snorting, Jordana rolled her eyes. She watched the monitors for a moment. “No need to tell you. You’re the one who found him at two o’clock this morning.” She frowned. “If you hadn’t responded to his call, he’d have died. He went septic. I was so afraid of that.”

Shelby noticed the red streaks—a sign of sepsis—running up his left arm. His biceps were sculpted and hard. If a streak had reached his heart, it would have killed him. Now the red streaks were receding. Even in his semiconscious state, with a high fever, there was nothing but pure masculinity about Dakota Carson. The man was in top shape. He wasn’t heavily muscled, just lean and honed like a fine knife blade.

“Okay, monitors are looking better. His heart rate and pulse are finally lowering.” Jordana sighed. “His fever’s coming down and now at one hundred three. And his oxygen concentration is okay, considering what he just went through. Stay with him until he gets conscious, okay? I don’t want him waking up and being thrown into instant anxiety because he doesn’t know where he is. He’s going to be woozy for a while.”

“I’ll stay with him.”

“Thanks. Are you off duty?”

“Yeah, for the next three days.”

“Don’t you love shift work?” Jordana grinned.

“I do.” Shelby gazed down at Dakota, who was still struggling. “It came in handy this time.”

“Tell me about it. If you need me, buzz.” Jordana waved and disappeared out the door of the private room.

Quiet descended on the small room. Shelby shifted a little, keeping her hand on Dakota’s good arm. She wanted to touch this man, this warrior. Her talk with her father yesterday had shed a ton of light on SEALs. And truly, Dakota Carson was a genuine hero. A real warrior. As she gazed down at his pale features, the darkness of the beard making his cheeks look even more gaunt from the ravages of the fever, her heart expanded. She moved her fingers gently up and down his arm. She felt even more drawn to this enigmatic man. This loner who held so much pain deep in his heart. How much darkness held him prisoner? Shelby wondered.

His eyes slowly opened. Leaning down, Shelby smiled, catching his wandering gaze. “Dakota? It’s Shelby. You’re back in the Jackson Hole Hospital.”

His eyes moved slowly back to hers. Shelby felt his neediness in that moment. Her breath hitched. There was anxiety and fear in his expression, turning them a muddy brown color. Without thinking, she reached out and threaded her fingers through his damp, sweat-soaked black hair. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You had a close call with an infection, but you’re going to be all right.”

Shelby sounded like an angel whispering to him, calling him out of the darkness that still wanted to drag him back down into hell. As her fingers touched his burning scalp, the coolness soothed his agitation, stopped the panic deep in his chest. The look of calm on her face touched him. In seconds, he relaxed. Watching her, Dakota was sure he’d died and gone to heaven.

His voice was raw. In a barely heard, ragged whisper, he managed, “Angel...”

Shelby withdrew her fingers from his hair. “Not me.” She laughed softly. “I’m no angel.”

A sense of warmth, of coming home, stole through Dakota. That half smile of hers, that humored look dancing impishly in her eyes, gave him a sense of peace he’d never felt before. What was going on? He didn’t care. All he could do was absorb her grazing touch across his forearm. It was Shelby, he decided. His mind shorted out, wandered and then came back to sharper focus.

“Wh-what...”

Shelby leaned near, her lips inches from his ear. Quietly, she repeated the information to him, watching to see if his eyes would focus. As she spoke, he seemed to relax. She saw the evidence in the monitors on the other side of his bed. His pulse became normal. His breathing settled. She understood a soft voice could tame a person in shock at an accident site. Knowing this from her own experience, she repeated once again the information slowly.

His gaze followed hers as she slowly straightened, continuing to keep her hand on his arm. His pupils grew larger, as if grappling with comprehension. What kind of anguish was he experiencing right now? What was he seeing?

When she lifted her hand away, he groaned. The monitors chattered. His blood pressure rose, his pulse skyrocketed and his heart started to pound.

Shelby automatically placed her hand back on his right shoulder. The blue cotton gown hid the hard muscles beneath, but she could feel them leap and respond to her touch. Amazed, Shelby watched the monitors stop beeping so loudly. All his functions lowered back to normal. Touch. That was it. A thread of joy coursed through her, sweet and unexpected. Tilting her chin, she gazed at Dakota’s lashes resting against his pasty cheeks. His mouth, once pursed with pain, was now relaxed.

What would it be like to kiss this man? His mouth was beautifully shaped, the lower lip slightly fuller than the upper. If given the chance, he’d probably be one hell of a kisser. Absently, she moved her hand across his shoulder. His chest rose and fell slowly, no longer swift or moving with anxiety.

She was shaken and emotionally moved by the unexpected experience. Even watching him fall into a deep sleep affected her. He’d been trapped within some unknown nightmare, fueled by the high fever. When she looked once again at the monitor, she was stunned. His temperature had been a hundred and three. Now it had reduced to a hundred and one! How was that possible? Shelby wished she knew more about medicine. She’d asked Jordana later.

Hooking the chair with her foot, she slowly pulled it over to Dakota’s bedside. Because her touch was a powerful healing agent, the least she could do was stay. And allow her touch to give him some peace. As Shelby sat down, she slid her hand across his gowned shoulder to his lower right arm and remembered her dad’s words of warning.

“He’s a man carrying so much grief and pain he doesn’t know where to put it all, Shelby. He’s seen too much. He’s survived things we can’t imagine. He’s a wounded warrior and the past runs his life.”

Shelby felt close to tears. Tears for him, for the horror he still carried within him. Dakota was perilous to her heart. And yet she felt driven to be near him. Most shocking of all, she wanted to care for him. Somehow, Shelby knew love was the key to this man who now slept. Shaking her head, Shelby told herself she was crazy. A man like this would be like a black hole, sucking the life out of everything he ever touched, destroying it.

Or would he?

Shelby heard her dad’s warning words. “Be careful, Shelby. You care about this vet too much. You have no experience with his kind. If you get close to him, he’ll emotionally destroy you. He’s got a severe disorder and he doesn’t know how to handle himself, much less a woman who’s trying to help him. Stay out of his way, Shelby. Don’t get involved.”

CHAPTER SIX

DAKOTA AWOKE SLOWLY to the sound of a robin singing nearby. Dragging open his eyes, he was met by brilliant sunlight coming through frilly white lace curtains. The light hit the pale blue wall opposite of where he lay. His brows drew down. Where the hell was he? What had happened?

The door quietly opened. His eyes widened when he recognized Shelby. She was dressed in a simple orange T-shirt, body-hugging jeans and a pair of well-worn moccasins. Her hair gleamed like gold as she walked through the slats of sunlight. When she saw he was awake, she smiled.

“Welcome back to the land of the living. You’re at my home.”

Dakota pushed himself up into a sitting position. He found himself a helluva lot weaker than he wanted to be. Looking down, he noticed he was wearing a set of blue pajamas. A clean white waterproof bandage covered his left arm. His flesh appeared normal, no longer swollen, bluish or oozing pus. He was no longer feverish, his skin cool and dry to his touch. He looked up as Shelby poured some water from a pitcher.

“Thirsty?”

“Yeah,” he managed, his voice hoarse. He took the glass.