Cassie took another deep breath, hating how shaky she felt, and ran to the unconscious man's side.
Her first impression of him was that he was big. And that he was swathed in a lot of layers of stuff. A helmet with a cage-like metal grid over his face concealed his features. He was wearing a parachute harness as well as packs strapped to his back and torso.
One of the packs had opened at some point during his descent, either from hitting the tree or from her car hitting him, and a trail of candy bars, bottles of water, tools, and a few other items she couldn't identify at first glance lay scattered in a wide arc between her car and his motionless figure.
With trepidation, she pressed her fingers to the side of his throat, just under his dark-bearded jaw. To her relief, she felt his pulse beating slow and steady under her fingertips.
He wasn't dead, as she'd first feared. Just unconscious. But his helmet was cracked on the right side of his head, and that worried her.
Moving cautiously, she unbuckled a pair of packs from his chest, then got to work removing the parachute harness around his chest, shoulders, hips, and upper thighs. When she had finally managed to release him from the multitude of straps that bound him, she could finally unzip his thick, padded jumpsuit to look for injuries.
The top of the jumpsuit opened to reveal a tight, long-sleeved yellow work shirt that did nothing to hide his broad chest and densely muscled torso beneath the fabric.
A wave of warm, masculine scent released from the jumpsuit's confines rose to her nose. He smelled good, a clean, healthy male in his prime, his scent tinged with the musky edge she'd noticed earlier.
Yep, definitely a shifter. She felt the weirdest urge to get closer to him and inhale deeply.
Cassie yielded to her impulse, telling herself that she needed to identify what kind of shifter he was. She knelt over him and dipped her head.
Surrounded by his scent, her head lowered so far that the tip of her nose almost touched his throat, she breathed him in.
God, he smelled better than good…he smelled wonderful! Something about his scent teased her senses and made her want to snuggle up to him and bury her face in the crook of his neck.
Horrified by the turn her thoughts were taking, Cassie hurriedly straightened up and sat back on her heels.
She still wasn't sure what kind of shifter he was, except that he definitely wasn't a sabertooth. Thank God.
Cassie blinked as she noticed the logo on his shirt. It was a circle with a stylized mountain in the center. Around the edges, she read the words Rocky Mountain Hot Shots.
Is that a skydiving club?
And more importantly, would they miss him? And search for him? What if they tried to take him to a hospital?
Shifters never went to Ordinary doctors if they could help it. Too risky that a medical test would expose them as more than merely human.
Which meant that Cassie had a big decision to make. But first she needed to know how badly the stranger was injured.
Luckily, she was confident in her assessment and first aid skills.
The constant battles for rank inside a sabertooth pride mean that every sabertooth shifter was trained in first aid as soon as they turned fifteen. That was the age when the young members of the pride were expected to begin establishing their own places in the hierarchy via challenge duels. Those fights were usually brief but vicious, and knowing how to suture the wounds resulting from claw and fang was a necessity.
Cassie slipped her hands under the unconscious stranger's jumpsuit and gingerly patted him down along his chest and torso, feeling for blood and broken bones. All she felt was hard muscle. He might have cracked ribs, but nothing was splintered, and he didn't appear to have any bleeding wounds.
That meant that the blood she had smelled earlier had probably come from the trickle running out of his mouth.
Next, she carefully removed his damaged helmet.
Her jaw dropped when she finally got a good look at his face.
He was frickin' gorgeous, with short, wavy dark hair, long dark lashes, a strong jaw covered by a neatly trimmed beard, and a firm mouth. She wondered what color his eyes were, then forced herself to continue with the examination.
Despite the damage to his helmet and the thin streams of blood trickling from his nose, mouth, and ears, she couldn't feel any lumps or external injuries to his head. She quickly ascertained that he had bitten his tongue at some point during his descent, which accounted for the blood around his mouth, but the nose and ear bleeding worried her.
What she saw in his hazel eyes when she peeled back his eyelids worried her even more. His pupils were different sizes, which indicated a traumatic brain injury of some kind.
Hopefully, it was only a mild concussion. But if he didn't regain consciousness soon, she might have to risk calling in a medical emergency and let him take his chances in the nearest hospital.
Damn. She really and truly did not want to do that to a fellow shifter, even if Ed Baldwin had sent him after her.
Grateful for the shifter strength that allowed her to easily lift him, she carefully peeled back the padded jumpsuit down his arms and legs to reveal his clothed body.
He was dressed in cargo pants made from the same fabric as his shirt. Sturdy logger's boots laced up to his ankles.
She discovered the break in his right forearm when she felt a hot, swollen lump under his shirt sleeve.
The man made a low sound in his throat as she touched it, and Cassie jumped at the sound. But he didn't seem to be waking yet, so she hastily continued her examination.
His right shin sported another swelling below the knee. Great.
If his leg was broken, he wouldn't be able to walk for at least a week. Shifters healed much more quickly than Ordinaries, but healing wasn't instantaneous.
Head injury, possible fracture of his right arm, possible fracture of his right leg. Cassie stared down at him, debating what to do.
If he'd been an Ordinary, there would have been no question about the right thing to do. Cassie would have called the park rangers to report the incident, and they would have summoned a Medevac helicopter to rush the injured stranger to the nearest hospital.
But he was a shifter.
And she didn't know any shifter doctors in this area. She had avoided contact with the known Colorado shifter communities, because she was afraid that someone might betray her whereabouts to Ed Baldwin.
Okay, Cassie thought. Let me see if I can find out who this guy is. Maybe he has friends or family I can contact.
With his pulse and breathing both steady, she felt confident that he would be okay lying on the ground for a few more minutes.
Cassie began to gather up all of the stuff that lay scattered across the road and around her car.
Her heart rose when she saw the hard hat wedged under the Subaru's front bumper. It was emblazoned with a US Forest Service decal. A two-way radio lay crushed under the Subie's front passenger-side tire.
Was it actually possible that her mystery shifter hadn't come here to find her? That his presence near her temporary home was some kind of cosmic coincidence?
A further search of his belongings revealed a second parachute, neatly folded inside one of the two packs that had been strapped to his harness across his chest and torso, and a torn duffel-style pack fastened below the spare parachute. The duffel still contained a couple of meal bars, a bottle of water, and a wallet zipped into a side pocket.
Aha! Cassie thought as she eagerly fished out the wallet and opened it.
It contained five twenty-dollar bills and a credit card imprinted with the name "Thor Swanson" and a stern reminder that the card was only for official US government business.
Best of all, she found a Colorado driver's license for a Thor Swanson, with a photo that matched her mystery man.
Thor Swanson, she thought, happy to be able to put a name to the mystery man.
She looked around to see if there was anything she had missed and spotted a bright
blue bag caught on one of the dead tree's branches. It was out of arm's reach, but she could see it was printed with white letters that spelled out "Fire Shelter."
Realization struck.
Thor Swanson the mystery shifter hadn't come here because he was some kind of bounty hunter tracking Ed Baldwin's runaway property. He was a park ranger and had probably been trying to get to the Mt. Thomas wildfire.
She glanced up at the tree again, where the wind was whipping at the parachute tangled in the branches, and shook her head. She didn't know much about skydiving, but she could guess that Swanson had fallen victim to the violent gusts that had started about an hour ago.
Cassie felt like crying with relief. She still couldn't drive him to the nearest hospital, but now she felt no qualms about putting him in her car and driving him to the cabin where she was staying.
When he woke up, she would ask him what he wanted to do. And who she should contact.
She opened the Subie's rear door and returned to the man's side. Lifting him as gently as she could, she carried him over to her car and laid him carefully across her back seat.
Then she gathered up as many of his belongings as she could reach, got in the car, and drove slowly down the road to the cabin.
Once inside the cabin, Cassie lowered Swanson to the living room sofa. She stared down at him, admiring the long sweep of his dark lashes against the tanned skin of his face, and debated about removing his clothes while he was still unconscious.
By necessity, shifters didn't have much of a nudity taboo, but stripping him without his consent felt like an intrusion. And yet she wouldn't be able to splint his leg and arm if he was still wearing his shirt and pants.
Cassie sighed and surrendered to common sense. She did her best to unlace and remove his work boots without jarring his injured leg, then unfastened his pants and lifted his hips just enough to slide them down his legs.
Which were densely muscled and furred with dark hair. The welt on his right lower leg looked more swollen than when Cassie had examined him outdoors.
She forced herself to look away from the interesting bulge under the front of his briefs and began to unbutton his work shirt.
Under his work shirt, Swanson wore a short-sleeved navy-blue T-shirt with another Rocky Mountain Hot Shots logo.
His biceps were impressive, and so were his forearms, corded with taut muscle and lightly covered with dark hair. He had big hands with heavily callused palms and long, blunt fingers.
Cassie swallowed heavily at the sight of so much masculine beauty.
How long had it been since she had let down her defenses long enough to look—really look—at an attractive man with appreciation instead of a threat assessment?
Of course, the fact that this particular man was currently lights-out helped to disarm her usual wariness around male shifters.
Cassie forced her thoughts back to the immediate problem at hand. She took his pulse again and was relieved to find it strong and steady.
Then she gently palpated the large welt on his forearm. Swanson's breathing changed, though he didn't regain consciousness.
Yep, definitely broken, she thought, though without access to an X-ray machine, it was difficult to tell if it was anything worse than a simple fracture.
At least there weren't any bits of bone poking out through his skin…a compound fracture would have made it imperative that she call for medical help as soon as possible.
Of course, there was Swanson's head injury, but she was praying it was only a mild concussion.
The welt on his leg was swelling rapidly. Under the tanned skin and dark leg hair, it looked angry and bruised.
Cassie decided to ice both Swanson's leg and his arm to reduce the swelling before she made a stab at splinting his fractured limbs.
She hurried over to the kitchen and filled two Ziploc sandwich bags with crushed ice from the fridge's water and ice dispenser before returning to Swanson's side.
After applying the icepacks to his arm and leg, Cassie looked around for something to use for the splints.
Her first aid instructor had told her that you could use rolled newspapers or magazines to make splints. But as Cassie's gaze fell on the slatted wooden magazine holder at the foot of the couch, she had a better idea.
I'll have to make sure to buy Amanda a new magazine rack, she thought as she dumped all the magazines out onto the floor.
The thin slats that formed the sides of the holder were no match for her shifter strength, and Cassie quickly had four flat lengths of wood that were approximately the same dimensions as a ruler. A quick dash outside to the big first aid kit stored in the back of her Subie, and she returned with a roll of gauze and a roll of medical tape.
Splinting Swanson's forearm went quickly. His lower leg was a bit more challenging, since she knew she had to immobilize his ankle. And then there was the hair on his legs, which caught in the medical tape she used to fasten the gauze wrapped around the wooden slats.
He was not going to be a happy camper when the time came to remove the splint.
If he ever woke up. Had he slipped into a coma?
Worried now, Cassie finished wrapping gauze around his foot and under his arch in an attempt to keep it from moving, and glanced up at her patient.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw he was awake and silently watching her work. A small frown creased a line between his dark brows.
Cassie tried and failed to interpret his expression.
Is he mad at me? Or just trying to figure out where he is?
She saw his nostrils flare slightly as he took in her scent. She froze.
Then he blinked and turned his head slowly to look around the cabin before his gaze returned to her. She noticed that his hazel eyes were still slightly unfocused.
"Hi," he said, in a soft, slow, deep voice that reached right down into the pit of her belly. "You smell really good."
Alarm warred with a quick surge of warmth at his compliment. It was a reminder that she was alone here with a stranger…and not just any stranger, a big, heavy male shifter, who could probably overpower her if he wanted to.
Cassie rarely worried about Ordinaries—she might be a pathetic excuse for a shifter, but she was still faster and stronger than any Ordinary man. But male shifters were a different story. Bitter experience had taught her that she could never hold her own with any of them.
As she felt her heartbeat begin to speed up, she told herself that even if Swanson did try to attack her, he wasn't going to get far with a broken arm and leg.
At least now she could ask him if he knew a shifter doctor she could contact on his behalf.
"Hi," she replied, feeling breathless. "Are you Thor Swanson?"
Instead of answering immediately, her patient frowned again. After a few moments passed, his expression turned bewildered.
"I…don't know who I am."
Chapter 2 – Mystery Man
He returned to consciousness slowly. The first thing he registered was the wonderful scent that surrounded him. Under a surface veneer of cooking odors, he smelled something sweet and clean and comforting, with a muskily thrilling base note of a young, healthy woman. It excited and soothed him at the same time.
And—holy shit, Batman!—did he ever need soothing!
He hurt all over, as if he'd been in some kind of bar brawl and gotten the worst of the deal.
Of all the competing aches and pains that spread over his entire body, the red-hot spike of pain that drove through his temple to the base of his skull was the most severe. It felt like it was scorching the backs of his eyeballs and melting through the back of his head.
Beating a counterpoint rhythm was the slow, deep throb of pain in his right arm and his right leg. And his left side stabbed him with a sharp knife of pain as he stirred.
What the hell did I get myself into this time? He tried to remember what had happened, and couldn't.
Maybe when this fucking headache goes away…
; With an effort, he opened his eyes, wincing as the afternoon light streaming through the windows skewered his eyeballs.
He was indoors and lying on a sofa. He gazed up at a wood-beam ceiling and realized that his surroundings felt completely unfamiliar.
Where the hell was he? And how had he gotten here?
What felt totally right was seeing the tawny-haired woman occupied in wrapping gauze around a makeshift splint on his leg, right where he hurt most.
He inhaled deeply and felt his headache recede a tiny fraction at the infusion of her appealing scent.
His return to consciousness alerted her somehow.
Her head came up like that of a startled deer, and she gazed at him, wide-eyed and obviously wary. He felt the impact of her striking, blue-green gaze like a gut-punch.
She was utterly breathtaking. Thin golden brows arched over her beautiful eyes. Her fine-boned features were smooth and darkly tanned under a dense, curling mass of sun-streaked hair the color of a lion's mane, pinned up in a loose bun.
And her mouth, with luscious lips slightly parted to reveal even white teeth…despite his killer headache and everything else that hurt, he was seized with the sudden crazy desire to sit up and kiss her. He badly wanted to taste her.
His gaze traveled down her curvy figure with appreciation.
She wore a scoop-necked T-shirt emblazoned with "The Cougar Creek Diner, est. 1997" and a cartoon mountain lion standing upright with a burger in one paw and a soft drink cup with a lid and straw in the other paw. The shirt dipped low enough to give him a tantalizing hint of her generous cleavage before going on to outline a truly sweet pair of—
On the periphery of his vision, he noticed her darkening expression. Oops. I'm being rude.
With an effort, he dragged his gaze back up to her face.
At a loss for something to say, and desperate that she like him, he said the first thing that came to his mind.
"Hi," he blurted. "You smell really good."
And immediately felt like an idiot.
Instead of laughing at him, she just blinked and looked surprised.
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