* * *
WHEN GRAY QUIETLY opened Sky’s bedroom door at 6:00 p.m., he saw that she was still sleeping. His heart lurched in his chest as he saw how fragile she appeared on the large bed, her hand near her cheek as she slept on her side. It hurt to see she had drawn her body up into a fetal position of protection.
Mouth thinning, he closed the door and walked down the hall to the kitchen. He would make dinner for them tonight. He’d just returned from talking with Iris and giving her feedback on Sky’s lack of money. Tomorrow Iris was going to advance her two weeks’ pay, and that would help de-stress Sky to a degree.
Gray knew she liked salads. He liked meat. Deciding to bake some chicken breasts, he noodled through all the veggies and chose the ones he recognized. A chef he was not. But he could make Sky a nice salad to go with the baked chicken. He also knew how to make rice, so that would be in the mix, too.
Unable to explain the happiness filtering through him as he focused on the food, Gray realized it was because Sky had unexpectedly walked into his life. As he worked, he kept one ear keyed on the hall for a door opening. How long would Sky sleep? No one understood the tentacles of PTSD unless they’d experienced it themselves.
His mind flew from one terrible atrocity that had been done to her to another. When he’d appeared quietly in front of her at the Horse Emporium, she’d nearly lost her composure. Cobbling together all her actions and reactions, Gray had seen recent pink scars around each of her wrists. Granted, he knew the Taliban often skinned an enemy alive, cutting and pulling an inch of skin off the back or front of their body each day. The victim eventually bled to death or had a massive infection, and sepsis killed them. He’d not seen any scars along Sky’s shoulders. She’d worn a blouse that he could look beneath just enough to see her shoulders were clear of any scarring.
His brows fell, and his mouth compressed as he ran through torture procedures. As a SEAL, he’d gone through SERE—Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape—and had every kind of torture experience.
He poured the brown rice into a long Pyrex dish and added water. As he picked up the chicken breasts, his hand halted with the meat midway to the dish.
No, can’t be! No fucking way!
Gray turned, staring down the hall, his heart picking up in heavy beat. A SEAL could control his physical body unlike any other person on the face of the earth. When he was on a mission, his heart rate was slow, his blood pressure normal even though danger and threat surrounded him and his team. But now, as he stared down the dimly lit hall that led to the bedrooms, he felt nausea. And terror.
It can’t be. It just can’t be...
Hissing a curse, Gray placed the chicken breasts into the rice and then covered it with a piece of foil. Washing his hands with soap and water, Gray slowly dried them off, not wanting to admit that he knew without ever being told what kind of torture Sky had endured.
She’d been waterboarded. The scars on her wrists verified it. A person was laid on their back on a wooden board the length of their body, their wrists and ankles manacled to hold them down. The board was canted slightly, so a person’s head was below their chest. A strap was then placed across their brow so they couldn’t move their head as the water was poured slowly into their nostrils. The terror of drowning made them panic and jerk at the restraints, causing deep scarring. And Sky’s wrists proved it to Gray. He cursed beneath his breath, wanting to vomit.
CHAPTER FOUR
GRAY TRIED TO put a choke chain on his emotions when Sky sleepily appeared down the hall near 7:00 p.m. His anger had simmered nonstop when he put the pieces of her torture together. Waterboarding broke a person psychologically and emotionally. And it didn’t take long to do it.
As he moved the dinner plates and flatware to the oak table in the dining room, he savagely stuffed all his feelings into his kill box. Until he could verify what he thought was true, Gray could only conjecture. And looking at Sky’s drowsy features, her hair mussed around her face, she appeared damned fragile. Too fragile to talk about something he knew was terrifying for her.
“Hey,” he called, laying out the flatware, “did you have a good nap?”
Sky yawned and rubbed her face as she walked toward the open area that housed the kitchen, dining room and living room. The cathedral ceiling made the place feel airy and large.
“I did, thanks. Sorry I slept so long. Something smells good.” She halted at the edge of the kitchen where Gray was working. Her mind was spongy. It had been so long since she’d slept so deeply and without interruption. They’d returned from town at 2:00 p.m. Looking at the clock up on the wall, Sky realized she’d slept a solid five hours.
“I threw together what I know,” Gray warned her with an amused look, pulling out the salad dressing from the fridge. He handed it to her. “I even made you a salad.”
Touched, Sky took the bottle of dressing. Their fingers briefly met. Warmth sheeted up her hand and into her arm. There was just something calm and soothing about being around Gray. He moved with a masculine grace around the galley kitchen. Sky couldn’t take her gaze off him. He was handsome in a rugged kind of way, his face hard and weathered by working outdoors as a SEAL. “This will do fine,” she said, turning and taking it to the table.
“You have good timing,” he said, putting on the oven mitts that were really too small for his large hands. Opening the oven, he drew out the chicken-and-rice dish.
“I guess I do. Can I help you at all? Get some water or something to drink with our meal?”
“Nah, I’ll get it. Why don’t you take a seat? My turn to serve you.” He set the dish on a trivet in the center of the rectangular table. Gray had put one plate at one end of the table and the other plate to the right of it. He wanted Sky close, not far away from him. He watched as she chose the seat on the side of the table. Her movements were slow, and he could see how cloudy her eyes were from the sleep. Good sleep. Badly needed sleep. Gray was always grateful when he could sleep without nightmares. At least Sky hadn’t had one yet.
Sky pulled the white linen napkin and placed it across her lap. If nothing else, Gray was quick and efficient. In no time, he’d put the steaming, delicious-smelling dish in front of her. He got rid of the oven mitts, dropping them on the granite counter, and pulled her salad from the fridge.
Sitting down, Gray placed the bowl near her plate. Her eyes widened a little as she stared at it.
“Is something wrong?”
She smiled a little. “That’s a huge salad, Gray. I’m not sure I can eat all of it.” Moved by his thoughtfulness, Sky saw he’d sprinkled tomatoes, sliced carrots and celery across the top of the greens.
“You’re underweight,” he growled, slipping a chicken breast onto his plate. He gave her one, as well.
“I just don’t have much appetite,” Sky protested, apology in her voice. She eyed the chicken breast and then spooned the fluffy brown rice onto her plate. It all smelled so good, though. She was wildly aware of how close she was to Gray. He wasn’t wearing his game face, either, and that helped her relax. She watched him enthusiastically dig into the meal and wished her appetite would return.
“Eat what you can,” Gray urged her gently. “In time, your PTSD symptoms will start to lessen, and you’ll be a little more hungry.” He saw the stressed look on her face as she stared at all the food on her plate.
“It hasn’t been that long,” Sky admitted, picking up the fork and knife, cutting into the juicy chicken breast. “I have good days and bad days.”
“That’s to be expected. You’re in the primary healing phase right now.” Gray wanted to change topics, give Sky something to look forward to. “We’re going to be riding a half a day, starting tomorrow morning,” he said. “Iris wants me to take you around the ranch and start getting you acquainted with the property.”
Maybe that would urge Sky to eat. When her
eyes widened, he felt himself go hot with longing. Much to his chagrin, he felt himself growing hard. What a helluva situation. Gray forced control over himself. His desire for her wasn’t smart under the circumstances, yet this was the first time since losing Julia that he was actually interested in another woman sexually. Hell, this was going to be tougher than he’d anticipated being around Sky. After her ordeal, she wouldn’t be thinking about him in that way. Not at all.
“Seriously? Horseback riding?” Her heart opened with excitement.
“Yep,” Gray said, noticing she was beginning to eat. “You need to get the layout of the ranch. Then we’ll be back by lunch, and I’ll give you the grand tour of the wildlife center I run.”
“This sounds like a dream,” Sky said softly.
You’re a dream. But Gray kept the comment to himself, forcing himself to pay attention to his dinner and not Sky. Her cheeks had become infused with a pink color. Her eyes were such dark blue pools. Gray felt as if he could drown in them. And in her. His body was going crazy, and he wasn’t thinking clearly around Sky. Why?
“I think you’ve got the best job in the world,” Sky said. “You work with animals.”
He smiled a little, hearing the breathy quality of her voice. “My mother is a world expert of wolves. She’s got a degree in wildlife biology. I was raised around wolves and all kinds of other North American animals while growing up. She’s the one who suggested I try out for the job a year ago. I was lucky enough to get it.”
“What a charmed childhood,” she sighed.
“I was very lucky,” Gray agreed. He watched her begin to relax. The tension disappeared from the skin across her broad cheekbones, her Native American heritage on display. He found himself like a thief, wanting to absorb her into him. Sky’s blue eyes were slightly tilted, giving her an exotic or mysterious look. “What about you, Sky? Tell me about your parents.”
“My mother stays at home. She has a small cottage business and creates one-of-a-kind gorgeous elk-and deerskin bags. She beads them.” Sky turned pensive. “She taught me to bead when I was about ten years old. She makes incredibly intricate flower designs.”
“And your father?” Gray saw her enthusiasm wane a little.
“My father was in the Marine Corps for four years. When he got out, he went to cooking school for four years and became a chef. Then he came back here to Wyoming and met my mom.”
“I’ll bet he was proud of your Navy service.”
Shrugging, Sky picked at her salad. “I guess.”
“Was he unhappy you didn’t join the Marine Corps instead?” There was a lot of challenge and testing between the Navy and the Corps.
“No, not really.”
Gray frowned. “You look sad, Sky.”
“I must be really easy to read.” She cut him a glance. When his mouth curved faintly, all she could think about in that moment was gently touching that full lower lip of his and exploring it with her index finger. Gray had a beautiful mouth. And her instinct told her he would be a good kisser.
“SEAL intuition at work,” Gray teased, wanting to keep her relaxed and open. “Was I wrong?”
Shaking her head, Sky muttered, “No.”
“I imagine your parents were beside themselves when they found out you’d been captured.” He saw her brows dip, her fork suspended in midair for a moment.
“Yes, I found out later after they transferred me back stateside, and I could talk to them via phone, that they had been sick with worry.”
“Were they able to come out and visit you while you were recovering in the hospital?” Gray had been wounded before and knew how boring and lonely it was to be in a hospital half a globe away from his family.
“I—I didn’t encourage them to come and see me at Balboa Naval Hospital.” She gave a small shrug. “I was an emotional basket case, Gray. I just wasn’t myself... I felt so out of control.”
Sky was closing up on him. Though he wanted to reach out and touch her, give her some care, Gray forced his hands to remain right where they were. Time to switch topics. “The first time I got wounded,” Gray confided quietly, “I woke up and found myself at Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany.”
“Gunshot wound?” Sky winced inwardly when he nodded. Gray seemed so strong and vital, as if nothing could harm him. Yet as she saw the darker brown in his eyes, she began to understand that when he was emotionally upset about something, that color was more prominent.
“Yeah.” Gray finished off his chicken breast and the rest of the rice. Pushing the plate aside, he said, “I was with a good team. Kell Ballard was the lead petty officer. We were going in to rescue an American doctor who’d gotten kidnapped by the Taliban. It was a night mission, and I took a bullet to the left arm during the op. Kell saved my life. I was bleeding like a stuck hog from a torn artery, and he got a tourniquet around my arm. I don’t remember much after that, passing out.”
Taking in a slow, ragged breath, Sky understood those types of wounds. “I saw my fair share of them at Bagram.” She lifted her gaze and held his turbulent-looking eyes. “Do you have any residual issues from the wound?”
“No, not enough to get me medically discharged from the Navy,” he admitted.
“Did you like being a SEAL?”
“I liked being a shooter, and I was good at what I did.” He didn’t want to go any further with his life as a SEAL. Gray patted his thigh. “Later, I took another bullet. It took out fifty percent of my femur in the area where it struck. Even though I healed up, my leg was never going to be as strong as before and take the weight and beating it could before. My days with the SEALs were over at that point.”
“I’m so sorry,” Sky whispered, seeing the sadness in his eyes. “SEALs are special. They’re a tight group of men. I’m sure your platoon were like brothers to you.”
“They still are,” Gray said, always feeling the loss. “We stay in touch with one another to this day.”
Sky began to eat again. “So, you’ve been out for just a year? After being discharged, you got the job here?”
It was his turn to feel under a microscope. Gray clasped his hands on the table. “I got out three years ago.” Hoping to avoid more questions, he added, “I took a contractor’s job down in Peru for a little while. After that, I came home to Wyoming. My mother had been working with Iris Mason on the wildlife-center concept. She suggested me to run the facility for Iris, and the rest is history.”
Sky sensed trepidation and grief around Gray. It was mirrored deep in his eyes. Nothing obvious. But there was a heaviness, much like a deep, untended wound in him. “Were you worried about finding a job when you got discharged? I know I was.”
“Like every vet, yes, I was. I was worried about my money I’d saved drying up while I tried to find something. If I hadn’t had my mother’s lead on this job, I’m not sure how long it would have taken to find work. Did you have the same problem?”
Groaning, Sky nodded. “I left the hospital and drove home to my parents’ place. I tried working as an R.N. at the local hospital, but the stress was too much for me.” She hitched her shoulder and whispered, “It was my PTSD. After that, I tried for any job that would hire me. I worked at a fast-food place, but again, the stress made me quit. I just couldn’t handle it, Gray.”
“PTSD does that,” he agreed gently, seeing the shame in her expression.
“My mother understood. But my father doesn’t to this day. He said it was all up in my head.”
Anger flared within Gray. He stared disbelievingly at her. “He said that?” Tension thrummed within him as he saw the devastation in Sky’s eyes. She could hide nothing from him.
“Yes. I just stood there looking at my dad, stunned. Wondering if he’d ever been tortured...ever been so scared of dying...” And she pulled her lower lip between her teeth, worrying it.
&nb
sp; “I know what it’s like to be scared,” he said.
“You were a SEAL. You guys are always in danger. What you do could get you killed on any given day.”
Gray nodded. “Right on. But it’s different for you, Sky. I don’t think most women in the military ever think about the possibility of capture.” Or being tortured. He wanted to tread lightly on the subject, but felt starved to know exactly what had happened to Sky.
The only physical clues he could find were new, pink scars around her wrists. If she’d been waterboarded, Gray would bet his life she also had scars around her ankles. They tied the person down on a wooden board, cuffing their wrists and ankles. And knowing the Taliban like he did, they probably threw chains around her extremities, not caring if her flesh was ripped bloody as they dropped a cloth on her face and then poured water through it, suffocating her in the process.
Sky moved her fingers in an aggravated motion through her loose hair. “No...I never, ever thought about capture or—” her voice lowered with pain “—torture.”
He could see he’d pushed her far enough. There would be other days maybe, when Sky was emotionally stronger, that he could approach the topic with her again. “Hey, I made some chocolate pudding for dessert.” He rose in one fluid motion, picking up their plates. Giving her a warm smile, he asked, “Interested?”
His smile was like hot sunlight through her icy gut and heavily beating heart. Just talking about her capture sent adrenaline spiking into her bloodstream, still too fresh, like an open wound in her soul.
“Come on. You did a good job of eating,” Gray coaxed her. Indeed, she’d finished half the chicken breast, most of the rice and all of the salad. Not bad for someone who said they weren’t hungry. Gray gave her a pleading look and saw her resistance melt.
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