Shelby knew how important it was to talk about family. “It sounds like it was a happy time in your life?”
Nodding, Dakota placed the fallen screw on a cloth beside him. He went to work on the second one. “My dad taught me how to hunt deer, fish, track and find my way through the mountains from the time I can remember. My mother stayed at home, cooked, cleaned and sewed. She made beautiful leather beaded purses and pouches.” He sat up, hands resting on his long, thick thighs. “My dad had been in the U.S. Navy and he’s the one who got me to thinking about trying to become a SEAL.”
“And Ellie? How did she fit into your life?”
Momentary pain flitted through Dakota’s heart. He looked down at his hands. “Ellie was an extrovert like my dad. I took after my mother, the strong, silent type.” A slight smile tipped one corner of his mouth. “Ellie was incredibly beautiful. She had my mother’s dark brown eyes. Ellie was outgoing and the most popular girl at her high school. She was kind, Shelby. She worked in the soup kitchens of Cody almost every weekend. She was an assistant kindergarten teacher at a women’s shelter. She believed in helping those who had less than we did.”
Reaching out, Shelby touched his slumped shoulder. The pain in his voice was almost unbearable. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel like this. I just wanted to understand you better, your family, was all.”
An unexpected heat flowed through him. Did Shelby know how much her voice affected him? Made him want something he couldn’t have? He set the tool on the floor. Against his better judgment he took her hand and cradled it within his larger one. “I’m finding I’m an open book around you.” He met and held her gaze. Were there tears in her eyes? And he saw something else...desire. Instantly, he rejected the thought. He moved his fingers across her open palm, felt the softness of her flesh but also saw the small calluses across it, too. Shelby was a strong, confident woman.
“You remind me a lot of my mother. She was tough, strong and self-reliant. There wasn’t anything she couldn’t do.” He reluctantly released Shelby’s hand. What the hell was the matter with him? Wanting something he could never have.
“I thought you had some Native American blood in you,” she said.
He snorted and touched his nose. “Yeah, my beak.” He picked up the tool and focused on the bed once more. Because if he didn’t, he was going to do something that could never happen between them.
“I like your profile. It’s strong. Unwavering.”
“That’s my mother’s genetic doing,” he muttered. He leaned down as Shelby got to her knees and positioned herself so he could take out the last screw on the bent leg.
“There,” he growled, triumphant. The four screws were finally removed. Sitting up, he looked over at Shelby. He felt care radiating off her. “You can let the bed down. I’m going to find a piece of wood the same length as the leg, and fix it so you have a bed tonight.”
Shelby set the bed down. Dakota offered her a hand to get up. Reaching out, she curved her fingers into his. He drew her to her feet as if she were a feather. The muscles in his right arm tightened and she felt his monitored strength as she stood. It took effort to let go of his hand.
“How’s your left arm feeling?” she asked, pointing to the dressing around it.
Dakota stepped aside, picked up the toolbox and set it on the table. “It’s okay.”
“No pain? Swelling?”
“There’s no infection,” he assured her.
Shelby sat down at the table, watching him put the tools back into the beat-up metal toolbox. “You’ve had a hard life,” she offered in a low tone.
“Who hasn’t?” Dakota saw the shadow in her eyes, her face set. He ached to touch her golden hair that fell in a soft curve around her face and shoulders. How could he have thought she was one-dimensional? One couldn’t always trust first impressions. The realization that she was like his mother sent warmth through the cold grief he still held over her passing. His mother had been incredibly strong. When the family fell apart over Ellie’s murder, it was she who had gathered all of them within her unwavering embrace.
Shelby picked up the mug and saw there was still some coffee left. She sipped it. “I think I understand why you’re so protective. When I first met you, you were really tough and hard.”
Closing the toolbox, Dakota walked it over to the corner and set it down. “I still am.” He sat down in a chair opposite Shelby and picked up his cooling coffee. “I always will be.”
Looking over the cup she held between her hands, she said, “Because you’re a SEAL?”
“Yes.”
Shelby saw Storm lying near the door. The wolf’s ears twitched as they spoke in low voices. She realized the female wolf was listening in her own way. “Tell me about Storm.” Shelby wanted to stop digging into his old wounds regarding his family. His light brown eyes softened as he turned and looked over at the wolf.
“I was out laying my line of rabbit traps last April when I ran up on a grizzly who was digging into a wolf den. She’d already killed the mother, a black wolf, who was trying to defend her newly born pups. The grizzly had just come out of hibernation and was starving. She probably picked up the scent of the newborn pups, followed it and discovered the den.”
Shelby said nothing, her hands around the mug. The grief had left his eyes. “She killed all the pups, too?”
“All but one. When I unexpectedly came upon her, I startled her and she took off. I went over to see if anything was left alive. The mother was part of the Snake River wolf pack. I’d seen her and the pack from time to time, running their territory across the valley. The mother had given her life to protect her pups. I heard a whine and got down on my hands and knees to search the torn-up den. I found a little runt of a gray pup buried in a lot of dirt at the end of the den tunnel. Drew it out and there she was.” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder toward Storm and smiled.
“What happened next?”
“I checked the pup and she was dirty but unhurt. I tucked her into my jacket and brought her back to the cabin. I’d just gotten some groceries from town and had some cow’s milk. She was so tiny her eyes weren’t even open yet. I had an eyedropper and warmed up the milk, put some sugar and salt in it and started to feed her.” He smiled fondly. “She was one hungry pup.”
Shelby drowned in Dakota’s gold-brown eyes. When he was happy, she saw the gold tones in them. Her heart lifted as she held his gaze. “And you didn’t call Game and Fish?”
“Is that the deputy sheriff questioning me?”
“No, not really. Your secret’s safe with me,” she said. He should have handed the pup over to the state to be cared for. Knowing how alone Dakota was, she understood why he hadn’t; even he needed company. The company of a wolf. He’d lost everything else: his sister, his parents. He’d lost being in his SEAL platoon, something that gave him a sense of family. “I’m glad you happened upon the situation. Storm looks happy to be with you.”
“She saved my life in that grizzly fight the other day,” he said, drinking the rest of his coffee. “She’s a year old now, and I think she’s going to be missing her own kind pretty soon. I expect her to disappear some day. She goes out and finds food for herself and sometimes she’s gone for days at a time. I don’t know whether she’s looking for her pack or she’s just hunting.”
“Storm never liked dog food, huh?” Shelby grinned.
He grudgingly returned her smile. “Couldn’t get her to eat it. She refused. I finally figured out she needed raw, red meat. I’d just skinned a rabbit and cut some of it up for her. She gobbled it down and that’s when I realized I’d be hunting for two of us until she got old enough to hunt on her own.”
The rumble of his laughter moved through Shelby as if he was touching her physically. The lightness in his brown eyes made her feel good, made her want him all over again. “Storm seems like a wonderful companion.” Looking around the cabin, she murmured, “I couldn’t live out here alone.”
Dakota moved the
cup between his large, square hands. “Shock and trauma leave scars, Shel. I’m like that wolf—happy to be free to roam in the woods. I feel calmer when I’m out here.” And then a corner of his mouth drew inward. “I don’t expect you or anyone to understand.” Yet his fingers positively itched to release the mug and, instead, frame her face, slide his fingers through those golden strands and kiss her senseless. The memory of that kiss in her kitchen burned through him. Dakota wanted more. He wanted Shelby. All of her.
“I know they do,” she said in a quiet tone. “Dr. McPherson wants you to come back to the clinic. She says she can help you.”
Dakota snorted. “How? By medicating me up to my friggin’ eyeballs so I don’t know my name? Therapy?” He straightened. “Sorry, but that’s not my gig. Talk isn’t my thing. And I’ll never use drugs.”
Tilting her head, she asked softy, “Do you feel better talking to me about your past? Your family?”
“Hell, you’re different. You’re no shrink poking and prodding into my brain like an elephant.” He met her smile with one of his own, absorbing her dancing blue gaze. Shelby was so clean, less touched by life. He was battle-scarred in comparison to her. His life had gone from happy to a war at age seventeen when Ellie was murdered. When she died, he lost a piece of himself. And joining the SEALs and going to war only reinforced the war elements that ran as a continued theme throughout his life.
“Jordana McPherson will not poke or prod you, Dakota. Nor will she necessarily prescribe drugs. She just wants to give you a saliva test to check your cortisol levels. There’s new research available that shows high cortisol is found in people with PTSD. It’s just a test....”
“I’ll think about it,” he growled, none too excited about the prospect.
“She was right, you know,” Shelby said, reaching out and sliding her hand over his. “You went from one war into another.”
Dakota nodded, picked up her hand and held it. “Yeah, there’s always a war going on inside me, Shel.” And that was why, no matter how damn badly he wanted her, he could never have her. “And with Welton and Hartley on the loose and in the area, you’d better believe I’m on war footing. I’m going to find those two and put an end to their lives.”
A small shiver moved up her spine as she witnessed the sudden hatred and animal-like focus come to Dakota’s eyes. She couldn’t blame him. Shelby had no other siblings in her family now, and she tried to imagine how she’d feel if the situation was reversed. If Jason was murdered instead of Ellie by those convicts. How would she feel then?
“I hope someone identifies or sees them,” she whispered, her voice off-key.
“They’ll make a mistake,” Dakota promised her. He studied each of Shelby’s fingers, the nails clipped short on her no-nonsense hands. “Where did you get all these calluses?” He grazed them with his index finger. There was such hidden pleasure in touching her.
“My parents have a home on the outskirts of town. I help my dad cut and chop wood for the winter.” Her skin tingled hotly as he traced each of the calluses across her palm. Throat going dry, Shelby wanted to explore Dakota in the same way he was exploring her. The kiss had never left her and even now, as she licked her lower lip, she wanted to taste him again.
“Your dad taught you to track, hunt and chop wood?” He forced himself to release her hand. “Did he want a son?”
“Fair question,” Shelby said, reclaiming her hand. Her flesh still had wild, heated shocks moving through them afterward. “The answer is no. My dad wanted me to be able to handle any situation that came up. He never believed women were weak, just the opposite. I loved going out hunting with him. I didn’t like killing things, so I was happy learning to track and identify the different animal tracks, instead.”
“And he’s a tracker?”
“He was. When he retired as commander of the sheriff’s department, he had arthritis of the spine. It really hampers his movements now.” Sadness tinged her tone. “He can’t hunt or fish very much. Or chop wood anymore. I really feel badly for him. Arthritis runs in his side of the family.”
Nodding, Dakota forced his hands around the coffee mug. “Your dad should be proud of you. You’re smart, educated and you don’t take grief from anyone.” His mouth curved ruefully. “Even me and I know I’m a handful.”
Meeting his warm gaze, Shelby felt her insides turn weak with need. “You are, but you’re not mean. You’re wounded, Dakota.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “There’s a huge difference.”
He hadn’t thought of himself in that particular light. She didn’t know how dangerous he could become when his PTSD got out from beneath his steel control. Looking around the cabin, he said, “We’ve got a lot to do to make this place work for two people.” As he rose to his feet, Dakota wondered how the hell he was going to sleep with Shelby only a few feet away from him. Oh, he didn’t mind sleeping on a wood floor. Hell, that was good digs compared to sleeping out in the rocky, freezing mountains of Afghanistan. Now, that was a bitch.
What really ate at him was how close Shelby would be to him. He’d be able to reach out a long arm and touch her. His lower body grew hot with longing just thinking about it. Yet, as he put the cup in the sink, Dakota knew it wasn’t right. Yes, they’d kissed. But would it have led to something else? To bed? He wasn’t sure and he wasn’t going to use this situation to trap Shelby and force her into a corner. Dakota was smart enough to respect her. Plus, he had to remain alert and protect her, not get distracted. Distraction got a person killed damned fast.
Still, as he moved around the cabin, he chafed. So often, he’d wake up at night screaming, caught in the throes of a nightmare from a SEAL mission. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if that happened tonight. The nightmares released all his carefully closeted emotions, grief and rage. He knew from being in the hospital, wounded, that nurses were careful around him precisely because of what he’d endured. If he was asleep, they would pinch his toe to awaken him. He’d automatically come up swinging. They knew his hands were lethal weapons, and that he could kill with one blow if they got too close to him.
Worried, his mouth quirking, Dakota wasn’t sure what to do. Should he warn Shelby about his nightmares? She was the last person he wanted to accidentally hurt. The last one.
CHAPTER TWELVE
CURT DOWNING WAS IN HIS office at Ace Trucking when the door opened. It was dark outside and he was rushing to finish off some paperwork. His stomach grumbled; it was 9:00 p.m. and he still hadn’t eaten dinner. His back to the door, he twisted around. His eyes grew to slits. The door closed, two men were standing and looking at him. “What the hell are you two doing here?”
Vance Welton grinned, glad that the blinds were closed. The small office was ensconced deep within the main trucking bay. “Hey, boss, long time, no see.” He gestured to his partner. “You remember Oren Hartley?” His yellowed teeth were revealed when he smiled. “We worked for you at one time. We need some help.”
Turning in his chair, Curt stared disbelievingly at them. “You stupid bastards! The whole damned state is looking for you two!”
“Yeah,” Vance said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans, “we know.” His smile became broader. “Been stealing cars to keep the cops and FBI off our asses. We need a set of wheels that’s legal. Figure you can loan us a truck for a while?”
Scowling, Curt sat there feeling the danger surrounding the two escaped convicts. Both looked grim. Pistols were stuck into the waist of their jeans, hidden by shirts that were too big for them. Curt always kept a Glock pistol in his drawer. Now he wished he had it sitting on his desk. “Yeah, you worked for me. But I don’t owe you anything, Welton. You were a lousy truck driver anyway.”
Vance’s brown eyes grew thoughtful. “Well, boss, considering I was trucking your heroin, marijuana and cocaine all over the West, you don’t have much room to talk.”
“Just what the hell does that mean?” he snarled, hands curving into fists.
Welton shrugged and looked a
round the small, warm office. “Read between the lines if you want. We need a set of wheels that won’t come up stolen.”
“And you’re leaving town?”
“Sort of,” Welton said, then glanced over at Hartley. “We got some unfinished business here in Jackson Hole to attend to first and then we’ll move on. Don’t worry, you won’t be implicated. If the cops see your truck, they’ll think we’re some of the hired drivers from your company.”
“And if I don’t agree to this?” Curt snarled, tensing.
Vance fingered the handle of the pistol in his waistband. “Well, now, it would be a shame for your men to discover you dead in your office tomorrow morning. Wouldn’t it?” He added a feral smile to go with his threat.
Inwardly Curt was enraged. In his business as a regional drug lord, he dealt with scum like this all the time. His mind flicked over the possibilities. “You have business here?” He jabbed his finger down at the floor.
“We do.”
“Mind telling me what it involves?”
“Can’t.”
“Won’t?” Curt growled.
Vance moved his hand over his triangular-shaped chin. He felt the stubble of hair growing out on his face. “The less you know, the better off you’ll be.”
“But if you’re caught in one of my trucks—”
“We’re not gonna get caught. And we intend to change our looks. It will be hard for anyone to identify us.”
Nostrils flaring, Curt felt evil around Vance. His small, close-set eyes never left him. He was a sexual predator, a murderer and a sociopath. “How long are you going to be hanging around here?”
“As long as it takes. Need to do a little hunting...”
Curt shook his head. “You’re putting me in a helluva spot, Welton. If I give you a truck and you get caught, those damned sheriff’s deputies and the FBI are going to climb down my ass.” He jerked a hand in a gesture toward the truck bay. “I’ve got too much to lose and you know it.”
The Loner Page 11