Lindsay McKenna (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

C
AT
FELT
A
sense of urgency. As a fire department paramedic, she took one look at an unconscious Talon Holt and knew he was in serious shape. The snow was dumping in buckets and she could barely see ten feet in front of her SUV as she drove slowly through the foot-and-a-half snow on the highway. If it weren’t for the snow poles placed every tenth of a mile, she might literally drive off the road and slide down the rocky slope and into the churning Snake River below. Not what she wanted to do.

Blindly, she reached out for the fire department radio she had installed in her SUV. She needed to call the Bar H and let them know she was coming in with a sick passenger.

“Hey, anyone awake at the Bar H? This is Cat. Over.” Her heart was pounding a little harder in her chest. The man, who lay slumped, his head tipped back, touched her for some reason. Cat had taken care of hundreds of sick and dying people over the years. What was it about this man that moved her emotionally? Cat had no answer. His beard was scraggly, his hair longish, dirty and unkempt. And that dog of his, Zeke. The animal’s large, intelligent brown eyes never left his master’s wan face. She swore the dog looked as worried as she felt.

“Cat? Don’t tell me you’re out in this godforsaken blizzard?”

A smile twitched at her lips. “Hey, Miss Gus. I figured you’d be up by now.” Gus was eighty-five years old and the matriarch of the Bar H.

Gus snorted. “I was just cooking breakfast for Val and Griff. I didn’t think you’d come in this morning with this blizzard.”

“Yeah,” Cat said with a chuckle, “but I really wanted to learn to can fruit and veggies with you and Val today.”

“What a sucker for punishment you are, my dear,” Gus cackled.

“Listen, I just picked up a man on this highway a few minutes ago,” Cat told her. “He’s in rough shape. I’m bringing him to you, Miss Gus. He needs to be in the E.R. but there’s no way I can make it ten miles back to town in this blizzard. Can you get Griff to meet me out front? The guy is unconscious and has a bad case of pneumonia.”

“Who on earth would be out in this weather?” Gus demanded.

Cat cast a quick glance over at the man. She could smell him. “He told me his name. Talon Holt.”

“Lordy!” Miss Gus exploded. “Talon Holt? He’s Sandy Holt’s son!”

“One in the same.” Cat gulped and felt a lump form in her throat. “That’s right. I knew there was something familiar about him.”

“Sandy said her son, who was a U.S. Navy SEAL, was wounded a year ago. She told me he was coming home, but didn’t say when. Said he was coming with a dog. Is there a dog with him?”

“Yes,” Cat said, driving carefully, feeling the SUV begin to slide a little. She eased off the gas. There was no way to hurry in this stuff. “I remember Sandy saying he was wounded.”

“Yes. He got wounded a year ago on a black ops mission and Sandy said he was getting a medical discharge sometime soon. Didn’t say when. Sandy told me the name of the dog but I can’t recall it.”

“Zeke?”

“Yes! That’s it! Aside from the pneumonia, how bad off is Talon?”

“Really bad,” Cat murmured, frowning. “Listen, we should use your bedroom downstairs. Can you get it ready for him? He’s soaking wet, freezing and he’s breathing pretty badly. I’ve got to get him someplace warm and dry. Griff’s going to have to help me. I can’t carry him into your house by myself.”

“Griff’s out in the barn. I’ll give him a call to come in. Val and I will get my bedroom ready. About how long before you arrive?”

She grimaced. “I’m barely going ten miles an hour. Probably another twenty minutes if I don’t slide off the mountain.”

“We’ll be waiting for you, Cat. Be careful getting here. There’s a sheet of black ice on that pavement.”

“Great, thanks. Out.” Cat felt her emotions unraveling as she gripped the steering wheel, focusing on the slippery road. All around her were evergreens cloaked in heavy white snow. A black, wet, rocky cliff soared a thousand feet above the highway. On her right a skimpy guardrail was supposed to prevent a car from sliding into a hundred-foot rocky abyss below.

Focus on the road. Get him shelter.

Cat didn’t want to feel anything about this man, this vet, but she did. Talon Holt was pale and unconscious, but she could see the toughness in his face, the kindness in the shape of his chiseled mouth. And yes, he
did
look a little like his mother.

She white-knuckled it as the SUV slid a little toward the guardrail. Cat didn’t easily panic. As a firefighter, she’d seen just about everything in her twenty-seven years.

She glanced quickly toward Talon, who was frowning, regaining consciousness. Cat could hear his raw, shallow breaths. She turned again to the snow-covered highway. “Talon?” she asked. “Are you awake? Can you hear me?”

Talon heard her husky voice. Weakly, he raised his hand and forced his eyes open. Every breath he took was a labored effort, as if he had an elephant on his chest. He heard Zeke whine, felt his pink tongue laving his hand.

“It’s okay, Zeke,” he rasped, opening his eyes. He’d never been so damned weak. Not even when he’d been wounded in the field had he felt like this.

“Talon?”

The woman’s voice again. He barely turned his head in the direction of the sound. “Yeah?”

“How are you doing?” Cat demanded, guiding the SUV around the last curved corner that would lead to the Bar H.

“I’m not dead, yet,” he rasped.

A good sign, Cat thought. As sick as he was, Talon was being a smart-ass. “I’m taking you to the Bar H. Miss Gus remembers you. I can’t get you to the hospital where you belong. I’m a paramedic. Miss Gus is going to let you stay in her bedroom and I’ll do what I can to help you. Okay?” Cat gave him a quick glance. His eyes were red rimmed, the gray color glowing with fever, his black pupils large. His face bathed in sweat.

“Miss Gus?” His mind wobbled.

“Yes. She remembers you. You’re Sandy Holt’s son?”

“Yeah, I am,” he managed. Barely able to lift his fingers, he grazed Zeke’s wet, damp head. “Look,” he choked out, struggling to breathe, “you need to know about Zeke, here. He’s a combat assault dog. He’ll bite anyone who gets near me. You need to give the command ‘allow’ to Zeke. Then he’ll consider them as a friend instead of an enemy. I can’t have him biting Miss Gus or anyone else....”

Cat nodded. “Okay, I can do that for you. You just rest, Mr. Holt. You’re in good hands.”

Talon heard the sudden emotion in her voice. “What’s your name again?”

“Cat. Cat Edwin.”

Nice name. Cat. Yeah, with those slightly tilted blue eyes of hers, she looked like a cat. Maybe more a lithe, strong, lean beautiful cougar. Closing his eyes, Talon felt the darkness pulling him down again. “I...” And he lost consciousness.

Cat licked her lower lip, worried. The man’s skin had a gray tint now. It meant he wasn’t getting enough oxygen. A very bad sign. God, Sandy Holt couldn’t lose her son, not when she was fighting for her own life. Cat’s heart pounded anxiously.

She could see the entrance to the Bar H through the thickly falling snow. Wind gusts were pushing the snow sideways. Blizzards took no prisoners.

As Cat drove down the long, graveled driveway now covered with a foot and a half of snow, she saw the enormous main two-story log house appear out of the white stuff. Griff McPherson, now owner of the Bar H, stood in the driveway next to the house. Standing around six foot one, he was bundled up in a sheepskin coat, red knit muffler around his neck, cowboy hat and jeans. He had dark hair and green eyes. Val McPherson, his wife, stood on the porch, the screen door open, a worried look on her face.

Cat pulled up as close as she could. She climbed out, calling, “Griff, don’t open that door!”

Griff halted halfway around her SUV, a puzzled look on his face. “Why?”

Cat hurried through the snow and came up to him. “Talon has a combat assault dog with him. I have to open the door myself or he’ll attack you.”

Grimacing, Griff’s brow rose. “How do we get Talon out of there, then?”

Cat clumped through the snow and struggled over to the passenger-side door. “Come and stand over here, behind me. I’ll open the door and give the dog a command. It’s supposed to make Zeke think you’re a friend instead of an enemy.”

Griff nodded. “Okay,” he said, worried.

Cat opened the door. Zeke immediately growled, his gaze fastened on Griff. “Zeke, allow,” she told the dog in a firm voice. To her relief, she saw the Belgian Malinois relax. She turned to Griff. “I’m getting the dog out of here first so we can pull Talon out.”

“Will Zeke attack Val?” he demanded.

Cat scowled. She noticed a leash trailing off Zeke’s collar. “Probably. Hang on, I’m going to grab his leash and keep him with me so he can’t go anywhere.”

Griff nodded and walked around the SUV, calling to his wife, telling her to stay in the kitchen with Miss Gus because the dog would bite. His wife nodded, closed the porch door and disappeared inside.

“Okay,” he said, “bring the dog out.”

Cat was hoping like hell the military-trained dog wouldn’t chew off her arm as she reached for the leash. Zeke thumped his tail, looking at her with a happy expression, pink tongue lolling outside of his black muzzle.

So far so good. Cat tugged on the leash and Zeke lifted his front legs, leaped over Talon’s thigh and landed in a snowbank.

“Good boy,” she murmured, patting Zeke’s head. Wrapping the leash around her fist several times, Cat pulled the dog aside so Griff could get in there to help Talon.

“Your turn,” she told Griff, moving back from the opened door.

Griff moved in and hauled Talon out. He grunted as he took the man’s full weight. Cat quickly got involved, heaving one of Talon’s long arms across her shoulders. Between them, they dragged him up the porch stairs and into the house.

The warmth of the woodstove hit Cat. Zeke obediently walked at her side, his head swiveling toward the kitchen as they passed it.

And then Cat saw Miss Gus, her silver hair like a halo around her head. The woman was at the kitchen sink. Val stood next to her in a protective gesture, partially in front of her, a concerned look on her oval face.

“The bedroom’s ready,” Miss Gus hollered.

“Great,” Cat grunted. “Thanks...” Talon Holt was heavy and two inches taller than Griff. Together, they got him into the room.

Griff maneuvered him to the bed. “Cat, can you get that door shut?”

Cat released Talon and quickly did as Griff ordered. He didn’t want Zeke out wandering around. “Got it,” she said, breathing hard. She took Zeke aside and said, “Sit.” The dog did. “Stay,” she ordered, hoping he knew the command. He did, fortunately.

“Damn, he’s soaking wet,” Griff muttered, getting Talon’s long legs straightened out across the bed.

“He’s in bad shape,” Cat agreed, breathing raggedly. “Listen, can you get my medical bag out of the Cherokee? It’s on the backseat.”

Standing upright, Griff took off his gray Stetson, hitting it against his thigh. “Yeah. Be right back.”

The door closed. Cat gave one look at Zeke, who was sitting, fawn-colored ears with black tips up, alert. He hadn’t moved, which was good. She quickly went to work, shucking the wet clothes off Talon’s body. Her fingers were shaky as she moved Talon around to haul off his jacket. Griff came back with the medical bag.

Zeke thumped his tail. Griff gave the Malinois a narrowed-eyed look as he set the bag on the bed. “Need some help stripping him?”

“I do,” Cat huffed. “He’s heavy.”

“He’s a big man,” Griff muttered. He got out of his sheepskin coat and threw it and his hat on a nearby overstuffed chair.

Together, they stripped Talon of every article of wet clothing. Cat had seen a lot of naked people in her time and tried not to look too closely at Talon. His flesh was cold and nearly gray. She got out of her jacket and dropped it onto the floor, grabbing her medical bag. As Griff layered several blankets over him, she listened to his lungs through the stethoscope.

“Damn,” she muttered. “Griff? Get at least six pillows and pile them under his shoulders and head? He’s got so much fluid in his lungs that he needs to get his upper body lifted up or he’ll drown in this shit.”

“Got it.” Griff left and closed the door.

Cat heard the thunk of his cowboy boots along the wooden floor. She listened closely to both of Talon’s lungs, trying to ignore the powerful breadth of his chest. She ran her fingers gently across his naked shoulder. He was hypothermic. Her heart twinged as she saw his ribs. He was pathetically thin for his height and body build. Why was he starving? When she pulled some skin between her thumb and index finger from his tightly muscled forearm, the skin stood up. It didn’t immediately snap back down, which meant he was severely dehydrated. How long had Talon gone without food and water? She took his temperature and it was a 105°F, an indication his body was fighting hard to survive the infection. His pulse was pounding erratically, his blood pressure too high. All indicators of major war for survival taking place within his body.

Zeke whined.

Cat looked up as she looped the stethoscope around her shoulders. “He’s in bad shape, boy.”

Zeke whined again.

“But we’re going to wage a battle to bring him back,” she promised the dog. Getting up, Cat dug into her pack. In no time, she had an IV going into his right arm, full bore, to start flooding his body with much needed vital liquid.

The door opened.

Zeke growled. And then he recognized Griff with six pillows in his arms and stopped.

“That dog is dangerous,” Griff muttered, keeping one eye on him as he shut the door and brought the pillows over.

“He’s okay,” Cat soothed. She stood and Griff lifted Talon’s upper body forward so she could place the pillows beneath him.

“That’s better,” Cat murmured. With Talon slightly elevated, it would help him breathe easier. “Can you get my large oxygen canister from the truck and bring it in?”

“Yeah,” Griff said, “no problem. Be right back.”

Cat pulled out a bottle of antibiotics and a syringe and sucked up a maximum load. She put it into the IV port so it would quickly go into Talon’s bloodstream, where it would do the most good. She listened to his shallow, raspy breathing. Without thinking, she slid her fingers across his wrinkled brow, feeling the cold, clammy sweat. His hair was matted, filthy, and he so badly needed a shower. Worse, Cat saw a lot of scars on his back and across his shoulders. What the hell had happened to him?