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“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?
After tucking Talon in with the heavy wool blankets, she moved down and felt his toes. They were chalk-white and cold. She sat down and placed her hands over one foot and then the other, trying to warm them up, bring circulation back into them. Cat liked touching this man. Her heart went out to him. Clearly, he had suffered terribly. No military vet should be found sick along a highway like she’d found Talon. He was due better treatment than that.
Griff came back with a large canister of oxygen. Cat covered up Talon’s feet, tucked the wool in around them and stood.
“Thanks, Griff.”
“How’s he doing?” he asked, watching Cat quickly place a cannula around Talon’s head, the oxygen moving directly into his nostrils.
“Not good,” she murmured.
“There’s no way we can get him to the hospital in this blizzard,” Griff muttered, pushing damp, black strands of hair off his brow as he stood watching Cat work over the man.
“I know.”
“Good thing you came along when you did. I’m no doctor, but he looks in rough shape.”
“He’d have died of hypothermia out there,” Cat said, checking the oxygen tank and twisting the dial a little. Talon needed as much pure oxygen as he could get, but she only had four canisters in her SUV. And that wouldn’t last long.
Griff studied Zeke. “I wonder if he’s hungry?”
“Probably. Can you bring in some food and water for him?” Cat didn’t want to leave Talon’s side. She sat down on the bed, facing him, picking up his limp wrist. His pulse thudded like cannonballs through his arteries, indicating how much harder his heart was laboring without the necessary oxygen to push the blood through his body.
“Yeah.” Griff smiled a little. “How about you? Miss Gus is out there making scrambled eggs, hash and toast for breakfast. Want me to bring you in a plate?”
Cat gave him a warm look. “That would be great. I’m starving to death.”
Smiling a little, Griff said, “Coming up. I’ll be back....”
Silence settled in the large, spacious room. Cat continued to hold Talon’s large, callused hand between hers. She wanted to touch him. He might be unconscious, but she knew the value of a healing touch. Only, there was pleasure connected to touching this man, too. Cat moved her long, spare fingers lightly across his forearm. There were so many new, pink scars, along with older white ones, across his flesh. She knew little about SEALs, but his body was proof he’d gone through major combat many times.
Her gaze moved to Talon’s slack face. He had a beautiful mouth. His nose was strong and had been broken a few times from what she could tell. Talon had a square face, a lean, hard jaw most likely, but the beard covered it up, so she couldn’t really tell. Her lower body clenched. Surprised, Cat had never felt that reaction before. She felt her womb flooding with heat and it made her feel achy. Needy. Talon Holt was ruggedly handsome. She remembered briefly meeting his gray eyes that, despite the fever, contained hard intelligence. Even as sick as he was, Cat had felt the intensity of his eyes upon her. It excited her and scared the hell out of her.
She moved her fingers gently down Talon’s slack forearm, which was lightly dusted with dark hair. For whatever crazy reason, Cat wondered what his hand would feel like exploring her. It was such a ridiculous response that her breath hitched. Get a grip, she ordered herself.
Cat unlooped her stethoscope from around her neck and once more listened to his lungs. She tried to ignore the sexual reaction she had to touching him. His shoulders were broad and his chest massive and well sprung. A dusting of black hair across his chest narrowed downward toward his blanket-covered waist. He was a powerful man, physically speaking, even if he was sicker than a dog right now. Listening intently, Cat could tell the extra oxygen, in addition to him being levered up into a Fowler’s position, was putting less stress on Talon’s lungs. A little relief fled through her. The antibiotics should kick in shortly.
“Hey,” Griff called from the door. “Safe to come in?” he teased.
Cat headed toward the door. “Yeah, it’s safe. Come on in.”
“Miss Gus is asking to see Talon.”
“Oh.” Cat quickly went to Zeke, grabbing a hold of the dog’s leash. “Okay, I got him.”
Griff opened the door.
“Well,” Miss Gus said, holding a bowl of water in her hands, “can you make friends with Zeke for me?”
Zeke was looking at the silver-haired woman, suddenly tense and alert.
“Zeke, allow,” Cat told the dog firmly.
Instantly, Zeke thumped his tail and began to pant.
“Good doggie,” Miss Gus murmured, coming forward with a slight limp. “I got water for you, boy. You should be glad to see me.”
Cat held on to the leash, worried Zeke might do something. But as Miss Gus slowly bent over and set the bowl of water down in front of the dog, he thumped his tail in a friendly fashion and whined.
“Good boy,” Gus praised, reaching out with her parchment-thin hand and gently patting the dog’s head. “Now, you need to drink.”
Cat was amazed when the dog instantly dipped his head, eagerly lapping up the water. She grinned at Gus. “You have a way with animals.”
“I have a way with everyone!” Gus snorted, putting her hands on her hips, grinning widely.
Cat chuckled and released the leash, allowing it to fall beside Zeke. Gus was dressed in a long-sleeved red blouse with a blue apron around her tiny waist. She always wore black wool slacks because of the chill of the long winter in Wyoming.
“That you do,” Cat warmly agreed. Even though Cat’s grandparents were dead, Miss Gus had taken her under her wing and treated her like a granddaughter.
Gus turned, looking over at Talon. “How’s he doing, honey?”
“A tiny bit better. The oxygen is helping him a lot.”
“Come around yet?”
Cat shook her head. “He was very dehydrated, Miss Gus. And he’s got a really bad case of pneumonia. He’ll eventually become conscious, but I don’t know when.”
Patting Cat’s arm, Gus said, “If anyone can pull him through, you can.”
A fierce love for the old woman flowed through her. “He’s going to need a lot of prayers, too, Miss Gus.”
“We can do that.” She crinkled her face and looked up at Cat. “Hungry?”
Groaning, Cat said, “Yes, I’m starving.”
“Go on out to the kitchen. I got a plate of vittles waitin’ for you. I’ll stay with Talon until you get back.”
Griff set a bowl of kibble down in front of Zeke. “Val’s got the coffee poured for you, Cat.”
Cat hesitated, not wanting to leave Talon. It was a silly, emotional reaction. Zeke dived into the bowl of kibble as if starved. “Okay. I’ll be back as soon as I finish.”
* * *
VAL MET CAT out in the kitchen.
“How’s Talon doing?”
Cat sat down and told her. She grabbed the cup of coffee and took a sip. “This is great. Thanks, Val.” The red-haired woman sat down opposite her. Val’s hair was pulled back in a long ponytail. She wore a heavy cream-colored fisherman knit sweater, jeans and boots.
“Someone should call Sandy Holt,” Cat said between bites.
“I’ll do it,” Val said. She frowned. “Sandy’s not in good shape. Should we tell her how bad Talon is?”
Cat shook her head. “Just tell Sandy that Talon’s here and a little under the weather.”
“She’ll want to know when Talon can see her.”
“Sandy’s immune system is really down,” Cat warned. “As long as he’s sick, he can’t visit her or she could contract the pneumonia. It might finish her off.”
Val nodded and picked up her cup of coffee. “That’s what I was thinking. Maybe we need to tell her he’s got pneumonia and she’ll understand why her son can’t see her right now?”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Cat said. “But say it in such a way that she doesn’t worry. The poor woman has enough stress.”
“I know,” Val said softly. “I feel helpless.”
“Me, too.” Cat knew Val had left her career as an Air Force officer to come home to help Gus keep the Bar H alive. She wasn’t a woman who scared easily at all. And once a week, Gus and Val went to visit Sandy Holt. Talon’s mother was destitute, having lost her job at Mo’s Ice Cream Parlor two months ago because the cancer had come back and was twice as virulent as before. Cat made a point of dropping in to read to her and stay with her for at least a couple of hours once a week. Gwen Garner, who owned the quilting store, had a number of quilters who came over to visit weekly with Sandy and help her where and when they could. Cat felt her heart twinge. Now her son was in dire need of help himself. But that was what a small community did—it rallied those who were weak, sick or in need of help.
“Do you think Talon can talk to her directly?”
Shaking her head, Cat said, “He’s unconscious. And he’s got major trouble breathing. I’m hoping—” and she held up crossed fingers “—that he responds to the antibiotic. Maybe in a couple of days he can talk to her.”
“It sounds like Talon should be in the hospital.”
“Really. But it’s going to take two days to clear the roads after this blizzard leaves,” Cat griped unhappily. She finished everything on her plate and took a sip of her coffee.
Val frowned. “That bad?”
“Yeah. I’m sure they’d put him in the ICU if we could get him to the hospital.”
“Could he die?” Val asked, worried.
“I don’t think he will,” Cat said. “He’s young and he’s strong, although, he’s terribly underweight and dehydrated.”
“Gus said Talon was wounded a year ago. Bad wound, whatever that meant. He might have just gotten out of the hospital?”
“I saw a lot of scars on his back and shoulders.” Again, Cat’s heart ached for Talon. Thanks to an abusive father, she was usually wary of men. Inexplicably, Talon had worked through the protective walls she had up against men in general—he’d gotten to her—and that was disconcerting. But she couldn’t dwell on this right now.
Val stood. “God, the guy has been through his own hell,” she muttered, going to the coffeepot and pouring herself another cup.
“You were in the military,” Cat said, watching her come back and sit down. “What do you know about SEALs?”
“They’re Navy black ops. I worked with them on some missions over in Iraq when I was stationed in the Middle East. I was an intelligence officer in the Air Force and, sometimes, we’d have joint missions with them, Army Special Forces and Air Force PJs.” She sipped her coffee. “Those guys go where angels fear to tread, Cat. They’re the best of the best at black ops. And they take the fight to the enemy. No fear.”
“Assertive?”
Val smiled a little. “For sure. Type-A personalities with egos just as big. They’re used to working as a team. Even though SEALs are U.S. Navy, they are found globally on sea, air and land. Talon was with SEAL Team 3 from what his mother told me. He was a shooter. A guy who was out with a rifle fighting Taliban and al Qaeda over in Afghanistan.”
“I know nothing about the military,” Cat admitted. And then she brightened and grinned over at Val. “With the exception of you, of course.”
“I’m a cowgirl now,” Val said, smiling.
