“But won’t Iris be upset if that happens? She’s paying me for eight hours of work a day.” She saw Gray give her a very male smile.
“Technically, Sky, you work for me. Iris cuts the paychecks every two weeks. If I tell you to go back here to rest, you do it. Iris would understand anyway. She’s hired a number of returning vets from Iraq and Afghanistan in the past. She’s no stranger to PTSD and what it does to us. I know she wouldn’t be upset with you, so don’t you be.”
Sky nodded. “Okay. I get it.”
“Feel like moving? I can make us some tea. Or you tell me what you need.” Gray didn’t want her to leave him. She fit beautifully against him, her soft, womanly curves meshing against his hard angles. He didn’t want to stop touching her here and there, but he knew he had to. There was a difference between care and making love to this woman. He couldn’t cross that line with Sky.
Stirring, Sky sat up, pushing her tangled hair off her face. “I need to get a bath. I reek.” She wrinkled her nose and gave Gray an apologetic look. Touching the damp nightgown she wore, she added, “I’ll take a bath, change into a dry nightgown and then I need to try to go to sleep. Thank you, though, for the offer of the tea.” Thank you for saving my life tonight. Without thinking, Sky placed her hand against his square jaw, leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss against his sandpapery cheek. And then she forced herself to her feet, her knees mushy from fear. Gray held her arm until she got steady enough to walk slowly toward the hall.
He watched her slow progress, worry clouding his expression. His cheek tingled hotly in the wake of her lush lips kissing him. It took everything he had not to enclose her with his arms once more and turn and trap that mouth of hers. He watched her move robotically, her stride tentative, unsure of her balance. Once she reached the hall, Sky put out her hand, using the wall to help guide her toward the bathroom.
Gray wanted to help her, but he understood her need to try to get stronger despite her injuries. And he didn’t want to enable her. It was a fine balance to walk with her.
The door to the bathroom opened and then quietly closed. With the sound of water running in the bathroom, he sat there, elbows resting on his thighs, hands clasped between them. Gray shook his head, feeling the rage and injustice of her torture by the Taliban. He’d contact the senior chief of ST3 and find out the SEALs who were involved in Sky’s rescue. And he’d talk to the men who had found her. She wasn’t telling him everything. If he was going to help her, he had to know the whole story.
Gray slowly got to his feet, very aware of his erection. When Sky had unexpectedly kissed him, he’d gone hot and burned with sudden need for her. Only seconds later did he realize she’d kissed him out of gratitude, not out of desire. His body had its own miniature brain, and sure enough, he’d hardened beneath her entirely innocent gesture. What Gray didn’t want was for Sky to feel he was a sexual predator, using her flashbacks as a way to get to her. She hadn’t said she’d been raped. But he needed to know one way or another. Tomorrow morning, he’d place that call to his old SEAL team in Coronado.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“GRAYSON, HOW ARE YOU, brother?”
“Hey, Jag, good to hear your voice.” Gray smiled as he stood near the door to the wildlife center. It was nearly 8:00 a.m., and he had put in a call to the senior chief of ST3 at Coronado. The senior had given him the contact number of the SEAL who had led Sky’s rescue mission. Gray knew him well, Petty Officer First Class Ryan Stark. He had been a shooter in his squadron, and Gray had been with him when Kell Ballard, the LPO, had headed up the team. When Kell left, Ryan took his place. Everyone knew him as Jag, for jaguar, because Stark was as silent and deadly as the legendary South American cat.
“How’s life in Wyoming? Last email I got from you was two months go. Did you get snowed in?” Jag teased and laughed heartily.
Gray could feel his stomach knotting. “No, just busy putting the final touches on the wildlife center I’m running. Look, I got permission from the senior back at Coronado to ask you about a rescue mission you headed up.”
“Sure. What do you need to know?”
Gray knew all their ops were top secret. But ex-SEALs or retired SEALs were sometimes cut some slack if there was a personal stake in needing to know. “Your rescue of Lieutenant Skylar Pascal. Do you remember it? It was about eight months ago?”
“I couldn’t forget it if I wanted to,” Jag growled. “How did you get wind about this op?”
Mouth quirking, Gray walked around the corner of the building where he was out of sight of everyone. No one was around on the cold, sunny morning, but he didn’t want this conversation being overheard. He filled Jag in that Sky was going to be his assistant.
“Now, I know a couple of things,” Gray went on in a quiet tone. “She was in a Black Hawk crash, and there were two survivors. The doc was shot in the head later in a cave, leaving her the lone survivor. The Taliban held Sky for two weeks and she was waterboarded.”
“You know a whole helluva lot,” Jag muttered.
“Not enough, though. I need your eyes on this, Jag. You were there. You pulled the op. What else can you tell me about that mission?” Gray held his breath, trying to prepare himself.
“It was a nightmare, man. Me and my team took down four Taliban guarding that Afghan house. We captured two others. The Taliban was hiding her in plain sight in a border village. We got inside the house, found this small room locked. I shot off the lock and kicked the door open. It was dark and smelled bad. Real bad. I aimed my rifle around with the light beneath it and spotted something in the corner of the room. At first, I thought it was just a pile of old, ratty wool blankets. There was a table in the center of the room with chains on each corner of it. I flashed my light around and there was blood all over the freakin’ place. There was vomit, shit and urine. The place smelled bad, man. When I went over to the blankets, I used the toe of my boot to nudge it, and it moved. Scared the hell outta me. I leaped back, ready to fire at it, thinking a Taliban was hiding under it.”
“But it was Sky?” Gray pressed grimly, his eyes narrowing, his gut knotted so tight it hurt.
“Yes, it was. She was naked, hair matted and filthy dirty. I tried to ask her name but she was dazed and in deep shock. All she could do was huddle, arms wrapped around herself, shaking. It was really bad, Gray. Never seen anything like it.”
Mouth tightening, Gray rasped, “What else? I need to know all of it.”
“I knelt down beside her and put my rifle aside, told her who I was. Told her we were there to rescue her. I saw her one wrist, Gray, and man, it was ground up like fresh, raw hamburger. And then as I slowly pulled the blanket off her back to examine her for other wounds, I caught sight of her left ankle.” Jag blew out a breath, his voice deepening. “She had blood poisoning from those chains they were wrapping around her ankles and wrists. Red stripes were running halfway up both her calves. She had a high fever, shaking with chills, and was completely out of it. She didn’t respond to me. They fucking broke her, Gray. And I mean in the worst kind of way. One of my other guys, a combat medic, came over and he about lost it as he quickly examined her for other wounds. She was so filthy, bloody and was sicker than hell.”
“Had she been raped?” Gray closed his eyes, steeling himself.
“We didn’t know at the time. When we got her to Bagram hospital, I talked to one of the doctors in the E.R. who admitted her. He said she hadn’t been raped. Shit, they’d done just about everything else to her. The doc wasn’t sure she was going to make it. Lieutenant Pascal had a fever of a hundred and five degrees with a very advanced case of sepsis, blood poisoning. She was severely undernourished and dehydrated, Gray. Literally, nothing but skin over her bones. I don’t think those bastards fed her at all. The corpsman gave me a clean blanket from his rucksack, and I wrapped her up in it and picked her up, got her the hell out of there. She went un
conscious on me while I was carrying her toward the helo. The corpsman put an IV in each of her arms on the flight into Bagram. None of us were sure she was going to make it. She was in pitiful condition, Gray.”
“Did you get the bastards who did this to her?”
Jag laughed darkly. “Sure did. A little fat man and a tall, skinny bastard. We took ’em prisoner. Later the CIA boys at J-bad, Jalalabad, took them in custody. And after the spooks learned what they’d done to Lieutenant Pascal... Well, let’s just say those two got what they doled out to her in spades.”
“I’d like to kill them,” Gray snarled.
“Hey, man, no worries. I heard about four weeks later that they were found dead from trying to escape. I didn’t ask how. It just made me feel good those two sonofabitches were dead for how they treated that Navy officer.”
“Anything else?”
“No, that’s it. It’s enough,” Jag said wearily. “You say she’s with you now? How is she?”
Gray snorted and started pacing the length of the building. “Considering everything you just told me, she appeared normal to me and to everyone else around here.”
“Man, that’s unbelievable she’s rebounded like that. She’s got a real set of balls.”
Gray wasn’t so sure. “She had a flashback last night, screamed and woke me up. I eventually talked her awake, and she told me about her capture. But I knew there was more. Sky is a very strong woman to have handled everything that’s happened to her and still be able to function in society.”
“Man, I’ll tell you, busting into that room and the rank odor that hit us, the smell of her rotting, infected flesh...”
Nausea burned in his throat. Gray swallowed hard, his voice hoarse. “Did the spooks ever tell you if they learned anything from those two bastards? Why they did this to her?”
“Yeah. I met one of the spooks about six weeks later over at the J-bad chow hall. We were flown up there as part of a task force on an op going down that night. I asked him the same question. The little fat guy said they thought she was a spy.”
Grunting, Gray halted and took a deep breath. “Lying bastards.”
“Hell, yeah. The spook said they’d tortured Lieutenant Pascal just to get even with all Americans. One American was as good as another, as far as they were concerned. Didn’t matter if it was a man or woman.”
Rage flowed through Gray, his hand tightening on his cell phone. “Hey, I owe you on this, Jag. Thanks for letting me know the rest of the story.”
“No problem, man. It’s good to hear she not only survived, but she’s thriving, too. I’d never have believed it myself, seeing her in that state.”
Nodding, Gray said, “It gives me a lot of hope I can help her walk the rest of the way.”
“Seriously, Sky’s in good hands with you, brother. But...are you up for it? Are you over Julia’s death?”
“Some days I think I am, and others, no. It comes and goes.”
“What happened down there in South America with you and her?”
Pushing his fingers through his military-short hair, Gray halted and rasped, “Losing Julia down there took a piece of my soul. One of these days we’ll sit down over some beers, and I’ll tell you the rest of the story. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough. Look, stay in touch a little more closely, okay? I like hearing from you. And if there’s anything else I can do to help you and this gal, let me know.”
Gray was grateful for Stark’s information. He clicked off his cell and stuffed it into his goose-down nylon jacket. Standing, hands on his hips, he surveyed the quiet morning. The Elk Horn Ranch was huge. Low ground fog hung across the wide, green pastures. He saw some mule deer hedging a tree line in the distance, hurrying back to their sleeping areas for the day. Shaking his head to clear it, Gray glanced down at his watch. It was exactly 0800. Time to go see how Sky was this morning. Probably feeling like hell after that episode last night.
Gray moved silently down the wall of the building, his worry front and center. He now understood she was a lot stronger than she appeared. Sky had to be tired from battling the PTSD all the time. He knew in himself, it was a twenty-four-hour-a-day battle. Now, three years out of the teams, the symptoms had ratcheted down. Plus, he was getting help from Dr. Jordana McPherson in Jackson Hole for his high cortisol, which was part and parcel of PTSD.
Mouth taut, Gray turned the corner and walked down the redbrick sidewalk toward the employee house. His heart started to thud harder in his chest. Gray found himself emotionally involved with Sky. It was part his natural inclination to protect someone weaker than himself. The other part? Shaking his head, he felt suspended between the past in South America and the present.
Jesus, whatever was happening between him and Sky was organic. It had a damned life of its own, and he didn’t feel completely in control of it or himself. More than anything, Gray would not allow himself to want her. Sky was healing. She needed support. How the hell was he going to continue to separate those two issues within himself? With a soft curse, Gray lifted his ball cap off his head and then settled it back on, pulling the bill low over his narrowed eyes. What the hell was he going to do?
The scent of bacon frying hit Gray’s flaring nostrils as he quietly entered the house. Sky was in the kitchen, dressed in a pair of jeans, wearing one of her long-sleeved pink tops, her hair clean and shining. Gray felt his body react. When she lifted her head, his heart slammed into a strong beat. Gray hoped she’d slept deep and long. There were faint shadows beneath her deep blue eyes. His gaze fell to her lips, and they parted as he homed in on them. There was a sizzling connection between them, burning him up, turning him inside out with hunger for her.
“Hey,” he greeted her, taking off his cap and hooking it on a peg near the door, “you look pretty good this morning.”
Sky felt her knees go a little weak beneath the intense look Gray gave her. He was clean-shaven this morning, and he looked way too good in his tight-fitting Levi’s that showed off his sculpted, hard thighs. Nervous beneath his inspection, unsure of how he was going to react to her this morning after last night’s debacle, she asked, “Have you eaten yet?”
Gray sauntered into the kitchen, pulled down a mug and poured coffee into it. “No. I was waiting for you to get up.” He liked the way the Levi’s outlined her butt. She had a very, very nice one along with long, coltish legs to go with it. Gray nearly burned his tongue as he sipped the coffee. Scowling, he had to get out of the kitchen. Get away from Sky because he wanted to turn her away from the stove, where she was frying the bacon, slide his arms around her and kiss her senseless. He knew he could do that. Knew he could give her the kind of pleasure she likely had never experienced. Maybe it was his SEAL confidence. Maybe it was the fact he’d had a lot of women as a SEAL before finding Julia and falling in love for the first time in his life.
“What time did you get up?” Sky asked, transferring the bacon to a basket lined with paper towels.
“0430.” He watched her like the starving wolf he was. Sky was all grace, her long hands and fingers once more reminding him she was a healer. “You?”
“0700.” She smiled a little. “I feel like I’m back in the military.”
He grinned a little, resting his hips against the counter. He enjoyed watching her work at the stove. “You okay with it, or do you want me to give you civilian time instead?”
“No, I’m fine with it. How many eggs do you want?”
“You feel up to doing this?” Gray demanded, concerned. Sky’s face was clear and so were her eyes. It was a change from how she’d looked last night.
“Yes.” She cut him a sideways glance. “I’m not fragile, Gray. I’m healing.”
“I get overprotective sometimes,” he apologized. “I’ll take six eggs, please.”
“You’re a SEAL. Why wouldn’t you be that way?” H
er eyes met his. “And thank you for what you did last night.” I needed you. I was falling apart.
“I’ll do it every time, Sky. No one should go through this alone.”
Her hands trembled a bit as she broke the eggs into a bowl and then added salt and pepper. “You have PTSD,” she said softly, whisking the eggs and seasoning together in the bowl. “Did you go through it alone?”
Gray nodded. “Yeah.”
Sky’s heart tore open. “Well, if you have a nightmare and it wakes me up, I’m coming in to hold you like you held me last night. No questions asked. I can be there for you, too.”
He watched as she poured the mixture into a large black skillet without physical reaction. The idea of Sky holding him sent scalding heat through Gray. It was what he was trying to avoid with her.
“That might not be a good idea,” he cautioned her quietly. When she looked up briefly, he said, “As a SEAL, I have powerful muscle memory. You can’t touch me when I’m in the throes of a nightmare, Sky. I’ll strike out. I might hurt you badly, never realize it until later.” His mouth flattened, and he gave her a dark look. “That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do to you. You’ve suffered enough pain for one lifetime.”
“You forget, Gray, I was an R.N. for three years at the Bagram hospital. Plenty of SEALs and other black-ops guys went through my ward. Trust me, I know not to go running to their bedside when they’re trapped in a flashback.”
He’d forgotten about that and met her wry smile. “Good to know.” Because some part of him would die if he ever hurt Sky by accident.
“You didn’t touch me last night,” Sky said, stirring the fluffing eggs in the skillet with a fork. “You talked me down. Your voice, your care, penetrated that nightmare of mine last night. You knew how to handle the situation, and so do I.”
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