Forged in Ash (A Red-Hot SEALs Novel)

by Trish McCallan

  She took his advice and headed for the shower, where she took the fastest one on record and fell into bed, instantly falling asleep.

  Wearing the navy-blue sweats his reluctant host had shoved at him, with his hair still wet from the shower he’d taken in the bathroom adjacent to Kait’s, Cosky folded one of the colorful blankets thrown across the back of the couch to use as a pillow and stretched out across the cushions. He checked the hall and immediately lurched to his feet again.

  He shoved the couch across the hardwood floor a foot or so, and checked the hall again.

  All three bedroom doors remained closed. Once his temporary bed was in position, he turned off the living room light and stretched out again, angling his head until he had a good view down the hall through his good eye.

  The hallway was illuminated by a light shining in the kitchen. If any door opened during the night he’d see it. If anyone tried to sneak into someone else’s bedroom, he’d see them.

  It didn’t matter how many times he reminded himself that he’d walked away from Kait—the mere thought of her entwined in that bed with anyone and the urge to maim seized him.

  She deserved better than him.

  But she deserved better than that bastard sleeping in the room beside her too.

  There was no question that son of a bitch was Special Forces. No doubt he pulled the same kind of dirty, dangerous duty as ST7. Damn it. Kait deserved better than that.

  Better than them.

  She deserved a man she didn’t have to worry about dying in some foreign rat hole. She deserved a husband who returned every night and spent weekends by her side.

  Goddamn Wolf couldn’t offer her that anymore than he could.

  His gaze fixed on her bedroom door, Cosky fought the pull toward her. The impulse to get up, walk over, open her door, and bury himself in her heat and softness again.

  At least until Wolf dragged him away and buried him somewhere in this pristine wilderness he called home, because there was no doubt the bastard had his ears tuned to her room, just as Cosky had his eyes locked on that hallway door.

  So he spent his time listening to the quiet. Although it wasn’t truly silent. In fact, the damn place sounded alive. The logs creaked and moaned around him. The wind in the trees outside sounded like whispers against the windowpanes, like eerie, raspy breathing.

  It had been too dark when they’d arrived to get much of a layout of the place. But he’d recognized the huge, wavering shadows arching into the night sky as trees, the metallic sheen behind the cabin as water. Some kind of lake, or a pond. There was no trickle of rushing water, so it couldn’t be a river.

  But beyond the vague sense that they were somewhere south of Yosemite National Park, he had no idea where they were. If he’d had his cell phone, he could have checked the GPS locator.

  But the only cell phone available was Wolf’s.

  Yeah, like he’d hand that over.

  Sighing, Cosky tried to relax. But every single inch of him throbbed or burned—with the exception of his knee. Not even the handful of aspirin he’d taken earlier eased the pain in his hands or face or ribs. But his leg felt better than it had in months. Better than it had any right to feel considering the hell he’d put it through recently.

  He’d checked it out while he’d showered, and he could swear the scar from his surgery looked fainter, less ragged and raw—less red.

  Kait really had healed it. Possibly it was even still healing.

  Too damn bad he couldn’t say that about the rest of his injuries. Although none of them were career threatening, and while they weren’t exactly comfortable, they’d eventually heal on their own.

  When lying there became unbearable, he roamed the interior of the cabin, familiarizing himself with the layout of the place. The walls were rough-hewn, notched logs, varnished to a high gloss. The same wood plank floor in the living room continued down the hall and into the kitchen. Black granite with flecks of white graced the kitchen counters. Stainless steel was everywhere—in the stove, dishwasher, refrigerator, and gas grill fitted into the middle of the kitchen island, as well as in the washer and dryer tucked into the corner of the kitchen, next to the freezer: which was also stainless steel and huge.

  He checked out the freezer and fridge.

  They didn’t have to worry about starving.

  Trying to keep awake, he checked out the walls as he passed. A variety of pictures hung from them: water colors, pastels, a couple of oils. The subjects were as varied as the medium: everything from majestic mountains to pristine lakes, local animals, and flora. His favorites were the birds. There were only a couple in the house, but they caught the eye. So colorful and vibrant they seemed to be hovering there, ready to flap their wings and take flight.

  Then again, maybe he was just punchy.

  Daylight slowly seeped through the windows, lightening the interior of the cabin with ghostly fingers of silver and haze. On the front porch, he took a few seconds to breathe in the crisp, pine-scented air.

  He’d been right about the trees. Although Wolf had cleared out the space immediately in front of the place, and layered it with gravel, monstrous trees bowled the cabin in. Towering overhead, they reached for the sky with giant boughs of emerald.

  Yosemite National Park claimed that the area’s weather pattern and deep, alpine soil grew some of the most massive trees in the world.

  He could believe it with these suckers as evidence.

  It wasn’t long before he heard a door open inside the cabin, and the creak of footsteps on the plank floor. Wolf joined him on the front porch.

  Leaning his arms against the rough log that formed the top rail, Wolf closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. His split lip was more swollen than ever, scabby with dried blood. The bruises on his cheeks and chin were a vivid yellowish blue. But his body and face were the most relaxed Cosky had seen them.

  “I can smell the stink on you,” Wolf said, with his eyes still closed, and while his face might have been relaxed, his voice sure as hell wasn’t.

  Cosky straightened, knowing the bastard wasn’t talking about body odor.

  “It rolls off you in waves. The stink of lust. The stink of jealousy. The stink of possessiveness.” He opened his eyes, his gaze flat and cold. “You make no claim on her; you have no right to her. Remember that.”

  Turning, Wolf vanished back in the house.

  Cosky stayed put, his hands clamped around the top rail, practicing some deep breathing exercises.

  Hours later, the smell of bacon wafted through the house. From his position on the couch, he saw Kait’s bedroom door open. She stumbled into the hallway like she hadn’t quite awakened. Her bruised and scraped face was rosy and blank with sleep. She started for the kitchen, but some instinct kicked in and she stopped to glance over her shoulder. When she saw him, she turned and headed his way.

  He didn’t question the satisfaction that she’d come to him first, rather than that bastard cooking in the kitchen.

  Slowly, he sat up as she approached, his gaze lingering on the golden, fluffy rope of hair spilling down from the shining cap of pulled-back hair. She was wearing sweats, like he was, but hers were purple.

  “Did you sleep okay?” she asked on a yawn.

  “Yeah.” He tackled the urge to taste her mouth, taste that yawn, taste her blurry-eyed sleepiness.

  “Wolf makes a mean breakfast if you’re hungry,” she said around another yawn. Turning, she padded back toward the kitchen.

  He checked on Jillian as they passed her room, but she was still asleep, swallowed by the gigantic, four-poster log bed.

  Wolf glanced up as Cosky entered the room. The granite island in front of him was overflowing with platters of crisp bacon, eggs, hash browns, and toast. Wolf went back to filling the plate in front of him, picked up a piece of toast, and plastered it with what looked like strawberry jelly. Without saying a word, he picked the plate up and disappeared into Jillian’s room.

  “Help yourself,” Kait
said, pouring a cup of coffee.

  Cosky took one of the ceramic mugs sitting beside the coffeemaker and one of the plates stacked on the kitchen counter. After pouring himself some coffee, he filled the plate.

  The silence was companionable as they ate. Wolf returned to the kitchen with an empty plate, rinsed it, and stuck it in the dishwasher. After heaping another plate full of bacon, eggs, and hash browns, he carried it out to the back porch. All without saying a word.

  Sighing, Kait pushed aside her empty plate and followed their host out to the porch. Cosky followed, feeling like a third wheel.

  Wolf looked up from the bench he was sitting on and frowned. “It’s cold, bixoo3etiit. There’s a hookoubiixuut next to the door.”

  She backtracked, put on a coat, and then sat next to Wolf on the bench, cuddling into him as he draped a thick arm around her shoulders. The black eyes that met Cosky’s hostile gaze were snapping with challenge.

  Cosky ignored the challenge. It was pretty obvious the pair was close. Picking a fight with Wolf because of a Goddamn hug wasn’t going to win him any points with Kait. He’d bide his time and wait, and drive as many wedges as possible between the pair during the next few days.

  After breakfast had been consumed and cleaned up, Kait disappeared into her bedroom and Wolf disappeared outside.

  When Kait returned, she was carrying a sketch pad and pencils.

  “Wolf had them delivered,” she said with a joyous smile as she headed out to the back porch.

  When he checked on Jillian again, he found Wolf sitting beside her bed. Their host looked up with a scowl as Cosky entered the room, the animosity as sharp as ever. Cosky shrugged and headed back out the door. It was no skin off his back if Wolf wanted to play guard dog. It would keep him away from Kait.

  By the time he returned to the back porch, Kait was deep in her sketching. He sat there watching her—memorizing the absorbed look on her face, the faint frown as she tried to get the outline or shading just right, the way her thick, fat braid hung over her shoulder.

  She was so beautiful, his chest ached.

  At some point, he realized she was drawing a bird. It was still raw, sketched in black and white, but he recognized the ink strokes.

  “You’re the artist of the yellow bird in the kitchen. And the blue-gray speckled one in the living room,” he said slowly, remembering how drawn he’d been to the two paintings. The birds had been so lifelike, he’d half expected them to take flight.

  “The kestrel,” she said, looking up with a bright smile. “It’s one of my favorites. Such subtlety to its colors. Did you like it?”

  He wasn’t sure which painting she was talking about. But it didn’t matter. They were both striking. “It’s beautiful. You’re very talented.”

  A smile lit her face, as though he’d just handed her a gift precious beyond measure. She drew in a deep, lingering breath. The smile on her face was almost dreamy.

  “Isn’t it glorious here? I don’t paint much anymore. I’ve moved into glass. But Wolf had an easel along with almost every paint imaginable delivered. So I’ll get plenty of painting in while we’re here.” A shadow slid over her face, and she shivered. But she shook the moment off, and turned the wattage up on that smile again. “You have no idea how incredibly expensive all that paint must have been.”

  Cosky glanced around the million-dollar setting. “I’m guessing he can afford it.”

  Kait’s smile died beneath the suspicion in his voice. “He’s not what you think, Cosky, trust me.”

  “If he’s in Special Forces, Kait—like you say, like Russo claims—then he isn’t making enough money to afford a spread like this.”

  She stared down at her sketch pad, her shoulders stiff. “His family has money. And he’s doing us a favor by letting us stay here until it’s safe.”

  She didn’t ask the questions that were on both their minds: How long they were going to have to stay here. How they were going to resolve the danger. What the hell they were going to do.

  All questions he had no answers for yet.

  Right.

  Cosky took a deep breath, let it out, and scrabbled for an innocuous subject that wouldn’t chill her voice or stiffen her shoulders or send shadows of fear skimming across her face.

  One that wouldn’t mar her joy in her sketching or the beautiful morning.

  “So is your artistic nature part of your Arapaho heritage?” he asked.

  She laughed, relaxing. “No, my aunt Issa, my mother’s sister, was the artist. She taught me.”

  Aiden had talked about an aunt. “She’s the one who stepped in after your mother died? Raised you while Commander Winchester was on deployment?”

  “Yeah.” She stared into the forest surrounding them, memories chasing across her face. “At first she only stayed when Dad was gone. But after a while she moved in permanently.”

  “You were close,” Cosky said softly.

  “She was my mother in every way that counted.” Kait smiled wistfully. “I barely remembered my real mother. She died when I was six. But Issa…she gave up her life to raise us. She was there in the mornings to make us breakfast. There at night to tuck us in. She sat up nights with me when I was sick. Held me when I cried myself sick over some stupid boy. She taught me everything I know about painting and glass—she was my mother.”

  There was a haunted quality to her words, the echo of grief.

  “You still miss her.” The words were out before Cosky could call them back.

  “I’ll always miss her,” Kait said simply. “She died from cancer, you know. A slow, vicious slide into pain and helplessness and death.” She swallowed hard, a tight mask creeping across her face.

  Cosky thought of his father’s battle with the disease. It had stripped his dad of everything that had made him the man he was—of his strength, his independence, his control, his ability to provide for his family. It had taken everything from him, months before it had taken his life.

  “I lost my father to cancer too,” he said quietly. “Lung cancer,” he added at her inquiring look. “Even though he hadn’t smoked in over thirty years. It’s the most god-awful feeling, watching while they’re stripped of their dignity and control and left helpless.”

  “Except I should have been able to help,” Kait whispered. “I had the healing ability by then. I should have been able to heal her. Save her.”

  “She was one of the seventy percent?” Cosky asked, remembering Aiden telling him she couldn’t heal everyone. That seventy percent of the time it didn’t work.

  “I guess. It didn’t matter how many times I tried. None of my healings did a thing.” She was quiet for a moment. “I was so angry for so long after she died. I mean, what worth is such a gift, if I can’t use it to help those who matter the most to me?”

  “You healed Aiden,” Cosky reminded her gently. “Maybe you should focus on the people you’ve helped, rather than those you haven’t.”

  She laughed, honest amusement on her face. “You’re going to hate hearing this. But you sound just like Wolf. That’s what he keeps telling me.” She paused to smile at him. “Was your dad in the military too?”

  “No, he was a cop. It’s ironic. My mother spent years worrying about him every time he hit the streets, certain we were going to lose him to a bullet, or a knife…Which would have been kinder actually—if he’d been killed on the job. At least it would have been instant.”

  “You never know what’s down the road,” Kait said. “My friend Demi lost her husband because of a baseball. He was an accountant, talk about low-risk careers. They’re living the good life one moment, the next he gets hit in the head at the company baseball game and he’s gone.”

  Cosky frowned, shook his head slightly. “Anything can happen. Still, high-risk professions like law enforcement or”—he shot her a sideways glance—“special ops, they carry with them a hell of a lot more worry for the loved ones left waiting in the wings.”

  Kait scoffed beneath her breath and
picked up her pencil again. “Of course they do. But if it’s the right man, the worry is worth it. If you ask your mother, I bet she’d tell you she doesn’t regret one moment of the life she had with your dad, regardless of how much time she spent worrying.”

  “You’ve seen what life is like for the women on the teams,” Cosky said—his head suddenly light and dizzy, as though the ground had shifted beneath his feet and he couldn’t find solid footing. “The constant worry, the heartache when that nightmare comes true. Hell—you experienced it firsthand with your father’s death, with Aiden when we dragged him, paralyzed, back to the States.”

  She shrugged. “I’m not saying the worry isn’t there. Or the pain if you lose someone. I’m saying life is messy. Pain is part of life. The worry I feel over Aiden and Wolf’s safety, or the heartache when Dad died, that’s all part of loving them. I’m proud of them. Proud of their courage. Proud that they believe in our country enough to stand up for it, to sacrifice themselves for it. I wouldn’t trade one second of the time I had with Dad, or have with Aiden and Wolf, to avoid the worry when they’re out on rotation or the possible pain if they don’t come back.”

  Her words slammed into Cosky like a Zodiac had flipped and smacked him in the head.

  “You love him.” His voice was hoarse. Raw.

  “Excuse me?” She looked startled.

  “Wolf. Your friend. You just said you loved him,” Cosky said through his teeth.

  “Well, of course I do,” Kait said carefully, her face suddenly cautious.

  Cosky shot to his feet and took a tight trip around the veranda, shocked to find his hands and legs shaking.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Kait. You don’t have a clue who this guy is. You don’t know him. How the hell can you love him, when you don’t even know who the fuck he is?” he roared, forcing the words through the knife piercing his throat.

  Kait shot to her feet, the sketch pad hitting the plank floor with a solid splat. “I do know him, damn it. He’s my brother. Okay? He’s Dad’s oldest son. My brother. Just like Aiden. And I’m not the only one who’s been blessed with a family gift. So I do know him, and a hell of a lot better than you. So back off.”