Despite his normal clothing, his appearance screamed Native all the way. His shirt suited him. Logan was tall, he was big, and a man through and through, just the way Blaze liked his lovers.
He straightened and smiled at the Indian. His Indian, he thought. “Glad you could make it.” They shook hands, and, at their touch, the anticipation of something great spread through him and robbed him of his breath.
He avoided looking directly in Logan’s eyes. He wasn’t ready for another glimpse of his heart. Please, not yet. It was too unnerving.
Finding breath and voice again, he said, “Gary Johansen, Logan Rider. Logan is my next lesson, so you can check him in on your list. We’ll be on the outside range…station six as usual.”
Gary nodded to Logan and placed a check by his name. To Canis, he said, “Do you need target sheets?”
“No. Bought them this morning, and they’re already there.”
“Enjoy the lesson, Mr. Rider. Your instructor’s the best.”
Logan’s smile lit up his face and extended to his dark eyes. “So I’ve heard.”
“This way.” Blaze held the door open for his student, noticing the revolver in a belt holster at his back as Logan preceded him out the door. “Same weapon you had in class?”
“Yes, and I cleaned it this morning. It’s also unloaded.” He patted a small cartridge pouch on his belt in front.
“Good man!”
They laughed together because of Blaze’s emphasis in class on this.
“I see you left your bandanna home today,” Logan commented.
There it was again, the subtle sense of humor Blaze had enjoyed. “It’s irritating to wear, but it works for the lesson.”
“That was a nice thing you did for the kid, by the way.”
“Thanks. At first, he was so sullen, I wondered why he was there. Maybe he felt intimidated being surrounded by mature men he didn’t know.”
“You gave him a chance to feel he mattered. I liked that.”
“He did matter. Everyone matters.” Unless he’s trying to kill a teammate, someone you’re paid to protect, or you. They only matter then if they’re dead or disabled and you have their weapon.
Logan nodded.
Blaze went over the four safety rules as they followed the sidewalk past the classroom and indoor range before stepping onto a dirt path. This range was located in a narrow clearing of conifer forest, which surrounded it. The deep greens of Engelmann spruce, Douglas fir, and lodgepole pines created a pleasantly scented and soothing backdrop for a deadly sport.
Above them a white-headed osprey spread its wide black wings and soared from a tall tree as they approached the entrance. Blaze noticed Logan tense, relaxing only when he saw the bird fly away from and not into the shooting area. He doesn’t want it injured or killed. It’s an Indian thing. I wonder what he would think if he knew I’ve been a killer of men?
At the gate, they joined a group of men and one woman who would shoot during their time slot. As their group entered, the range master checked each weapon to be sure it was unloaded and locked.
“Afternoon, Blaze,” the range master said as he went through their weapons.
“Hi, Tony.” He turned to his student. “Tony Smith owns Markell’s. Tony, I’d like you to meet Logan Rider. Tony is our RM today. Our range manager.”
Logan nodded in acknowledgment, and Tony extended his hand.
People walked to their stations and laid their open weapons and ammo on the tables provided.
“Station six is reserved for me. If I don’t have clients, I let Tony know it’s open. Right now, the range is considered ‘cold’ because our guns are unloaded, locked, and on the table.”
“No one can get hurt,” Logan said.
“Right. This is a very dangerous place, so safety regs have to be enforced. I’ve seen people kicked out because they were careless or didn’t take the rules seriously. When the RM announces ‘hot,’ we’ll load our weapons and begin firing. When we hear the call for ‘cold,’ all firing ceases and every weapon will be unloaded, locked, and on the tables again.
“Only when he calls ‘downrange’ are we allowed to walk to our targets to check and replace them. Everyone must be back at the tables before the area is declared hot again. Here’s our station.”
“I see the target you set up for me.”
Blaze nodded. “I have more in the locker behind us.”
“What if I miss?”
“We’ll hear your bullets hitting the berm in back.”
“Hot,” came over the loudspeaker.
They pulled on muffs to protect their hearing and safety goggles. Blaze stepped up to the table, and Logan stood beside him as they loaded their guns. He instructed Logan in proper grip and firing stance, then he let him fire.
Logan emptied his gun. Even through the muffs, they could hear the bullets thudding into the padded berm. Logan had missed the target.
“Shit. I was aiming at the heart.”
“That’s okay. Let me try your pistol. It may be shooting high. And, by the way, a cop trying to take down a criminal in a kill-or-be-killed situation aims for the head. More and more these days, the bad guys are wearing protective vests.” Taking the revolver, he gripped it with both hands, sighted, and fired.
Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop. In rapid succession, six holes only millimeters apart appeared in the head.
Logan, left hand on one hip, revolver pointed up beside his ear in the right hand, said, “Obviously, it’s the shooter, not the gun. Shit. That’s embarrassing. I’ve forgotten everything I knew.”
“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You want to clear out the rust. Now, try shooting with your left hand.”
“But I’m right-handed.”
“So am I, but I can shoot with both hands equally, and I swing a bat and deal cards with my left. We need to find which eye coordinates best with your dominant hand. Don’t reload yet.”
The drive to touch more than Logan’s hands, to be close enough to at least feel his body heat was so strong Blaze couldn’t resist. He did something he never did with students—he stepped behind him. “Keep your gun in your right hand.”
Blaze moved in closer, absorbing some of Logan’s warmth. He reached under Logan’s arm and straightened it. “Close your left eye and aim at something. Now, close your right eye and open the left. Did your line of sight jump?”
“Yes!”
“That’s what I thought. You’re right-handed, but your left eye is dominant. This is what I want you to do. Watch me.” He stood beside Logan and went through the motions of drawing a weapon from a back belt, gripping it with both hands, sighting with his left eye, and firing.
“Holster your gun.” Retracing his steps until he was behind his student again, he drew Logan’s right arm down to his side.
“So. Remember what I did? On one, I pulled my gun from a back holster and swung it around in front.”
Grasping his student’s wrist, he drew it behind to let Logan free his weapon. In doing this, Blaze’s head swam a moment as the barrel of the gun brushed against his dick, creating a stimulating wash of pleasure so strong, he wanted to wrap his arms around Logan’s hips and finger the bulge in the front of his pants. Easy does it, Blaze. Easy does it. He’s probably hetero, and if you aren’t careful, you’ll make a fool of yourself because of some stupid fantasy.
“On two, I brought my left hand in to form the grip.” Now he had both arms around Logan as he guided his arms and hands together. He was careful not to let his sensitive dick touch what studying had told him was a too-sexy, cock-in-the-hole ass.
With an unsteady voice, he said, “On three, I brought the gun up to sight with my left eye and fired.”
The urge to pull Logan back against him, cradling his butt against his groin to feel the swarm of pleasure bringing his dick to a raging erection was powerful. It took all his resolve to release him and step away. It was dangerous to let his mind wander on a shooting range. He shook his head to cl
ear his mind of such thoughts, then walked around and was beside Logan once again.
“When we go cold in a few minutes, we’ll walk downrange and exchange the target for a fresh one. They’re dated, and I suggest you keep them to see your progress. For now, try that move a few times while I watch. I promise you, with practice it’ll become one smooth motion in time.”
“Being smooth and fast might save my life if I was charged by some wild animal, wouldn’t it?”
“It just might.”
“Cold,” came over the loudspeaker. “Downrange.”
As they walked to the target, Logan said, “I can see it would be easier if my weapon was on my left side.”
“It would, but you need to be able to get to your weapon fast no matter where it’s secured, and, remember, you’re right-handed.”
During the next hot period, Logan took his stance and fired. “I can’t believe I actually hit the damned target twice. Too bad it wasn’t anywhere on the body.”
Blaze’s laugh was low, but Logan joined him.
“My grandfather would be embarrassed all to hell for me.”
“He the one who taught you to shoot?”
Logan nodded. “We hunted small game on the reservation with a twenty-two. I got pretty good at it, but I left the rez when I was twelve and haven’t touched a gun again until now. It’s not like riding a bicycle; it’s something you forget.”
“Don’t be discouraged. It’ll happen. You’re smart, quick, and have good hands for this. It’s just that one-two-three you need practice on.”
Logan’s next shots hit the human outline on the target. By the time the lesson ended and the range was cold, he’d put one hole on the edge of the heart.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Blaze asked as they packed up.
“Feels damn good. I noticed yours were all head shots.”
“As I said earlier, if you’re in immediate danger from a human, that’s the only place to hit. Puts them out of commission on the spot.”
They headed up the dirt path to the sidewalk.
“Do you still practice?” Logan asked.
“Almost every day. It gets a little pricey.”
“When did you learn to shoot?”
“Only after I enlisted in the armed forces.”
Logan stopped, his eyes wide.
Blaze halted midstride. “What?”
“I just noticed your tat. I’ve been on your right and didn’t see it until now. It’s on the other arm, the side your heart is on.” Logan’s fingertips brushed across Blaze’s left deltoid. “You were navy. A SEAL.”
Blaze had had the tattoo so long he’d forgotten it, but he became very aware of the fingers that brushed across it. Smooth and free of calluses, they weren’t the fingers of a laborer. The tantalizing sensation of Logan’s touch accompanied a rush of pride when he gave the team’s number.
“Wow. Heavy-duty stuff.”
“Yeah, heavy-duty stuff.”
“Good Lord, a real live SEAL. Can I touch you?”
Logan was teasing, of course, but Blaze responded, unable to keep the seductive huskiness out of his voice, “You already have.”
And I’d love it if you’d do it again, only somewhere else on my body. It would be nice below the belt, on my inner thighs, my balls and cock. Where it matters.
Logan squinted in the sunlight as he studied the tat. “Whoever did this is a superb artist and an excellent tattooist. The wings of an eagle, an anchor, a trident and—” he smiled and looked into Blaze’s eyes “—a pistol.”
Blaze’s wolf danced so hard in his chest, he had to breathe in deep to get any words out. He was beginning to wonder if it wasn’t his wolf nature but a problem with his heart anytime he connected with this man. He managed to explain the logo’s meaning.
“The eagle represents America and the air. The anchor and trident the sea. Land is represented by the pistol. Sea, air, and land—SEAL. That indicates where our ops take us.”
“What did you do in the SEALs?”
“I was a sniper.”
“No wonder the head shots. That explains your choice of a retirement job as a weapons instructor. Excellent choice.”
“Well, I wasn’t good for much else in civilian life.”
“I doubt that.”
“Believe me, it’s true.” On impulse, he said, “I’m hungry. If you’re not busy, would you like to go somewhere and get a bite to eat?”
“Sounds good. You have a place in mind?”
“I can tell you all the places not to eat in because I’ve probably hit every one of them during my six months here. It depends on what kind of food you want. Fast food or something substantial?”
“Substantial. I’m starving, so how about steak?”
“That suits me too. Would you like to ride with me since I know the way? Your car’ll be safe here in the parking lot. It’s lighted and open until nine tonight.”
“Do most people wear their guns around town?”
“Some. Not many. This isn’t the Wild West. We can lock them in my gun safe in the office if you’d like.”
“I would. Sitting in a restaurant with a gun holstered at my back would be very uncomfortable. Laying it on the table might drive customers away.”
Logan’s bare arm brushed against his as they deposited the weapons in the safe, and Blaze felt a flare of heat on his skin where they’d touched. Logan had paused before stuffing his gun and holster in the opening in one swift motion, and Blaze hoped it was because the flare had happened for him too.
It would be even better if Logan Rider was gay. Bi or a hetero trying gay out wouldn’t do for Blaze. Surely his wolf wouldn’t respond as it did over a hetero, but it also could be warning him away from Logan.
He sighed.
“Something wrong?” Logan asked.
“No. Just thinking about things I need to put out of my mind. Tell me about yourself. Do you live around here?” Like a child, he wanted to cross his fingers. Instead, he put his hands on the wheel and drove to Kaye’s.
“I live in Encinitas. That’s—”
“I know where it is. My SEAL team was stationed in Virginia, but I’ve been on the Coronado Island Naval Base. Did an op with some of the across-country members of my team. I even drove up the coast to Los Angeles one day when I was on leave. The terrain’s really different in the east.”
Inside the restaurant, they chose a table for two overlooking the deep green forest.
“Quick. Look.” Blaze pointed to a young, tan moose gamboling on lanky legs through the trees. “You don’t see many of them around here. The Lamar Valley is the best place to spot wildlife.” He added, “Some people mistake coyotes for wolves, but their ears stand more upright and are taller than a wolf’s.”
“At the motel they told me a deer had run into someone’s rental car and dented the door last night as he was driving in from an airport. It bounded off into the woods, so the driver hoped it was okay. He was worried the insurance company might not believe him.”
Blaze laughed. “Oh, I think they will. It’s not the first time for that. You do have to be careful driving here at night, even in town. Be alert, and keep the speed down so you can stop on a dime.”
“And you, do you live here?” Logan asked.
“I’m renting. Haven’t made up my mind about staying.” In taking in the looks of the man across the table, his eyes fell on the shirt again. “Talk about my tattoo, I’m just now noticing the signature on your shirt.”
Logan looked down, as if shy about his work. “I’m an artist. I do Native American and wildlife subjects in charcoals and pastels, but I also take commissions to paint portraits in acrylics or oil. I used to work in a photography studio doing touch-ups on portrait photos. Magazines would call it airbrushing, but when digital cameras came in, that work dried up.”
Blaze nodded in understanding. “No wonder you were impressed by the artistry of my tattoo. Is your work in a gallery?”
“Yes, several. One in San
Diego.”
“I’d love to see it sometime.”
Logan smiled. “That can be arranged.”
Their food arrived, and as they settled into their meal, news on the TV monitor above the bar caught Blaze’s attention.
“Authorities have recovered the unidentified body of a man washed up by the Lamar River where it feeds into the Yellowstone River. Wounds over the carotid and femoral arteries suggest the manner of death was an attack by animals. Residents and visitors are cautioned to remember the animals in the park are wild and dangerous. They should be viewed from a distance and never fed, approached, or touched.”
Blaze’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. Wolves, he thought in horror. In the harsh Alaskan winters, starving wolves were known to attack and eat human flesh, but not here. Even sightings of wolves were rare, except in the Lamar Valley early in the morning, because they were shy creatures who hid. And this man had not been eaten, only killed.
When wolves attacked an animal, they tore at the rump and flank, not the throat like lions and tigers did. They certainly didn’t go for the groin.
Only a human would know the vulnerability of arteries and veins in a man’s groin. The human had died by bleeding out. The flesh hadn’t been torn for eating.
Blaze laid his fork on his plate and thought about the scruffy man in the market. Alpha for sure, he knew now—a gray wolf, even though he was black, who probably lived in the area where Blaze was born. He might be a loner or a pack leader, but the darkness Blaze believed he’d sensed could have been the smell of that kill.
Why would a shifter in its wolf form murder a man?
It made no sense.
Chapter 7
“Blaze? You okay?” Logan had noticed his preoccupation with the news and the tightening of his jaw at what he’d heard.
“Oh, sorry. Had a mind fuck there.” He seemed to snap back, his full attention on his companion again. “So we know why I’m here. Why did you choose Yellowstone for your vacation?”
Awakening the Alpha Page 5