Wolf Haven. Lindsay McKenna

skedaddle. Let me know when you have Sky here and acclimated. I’d like her to start day after tomorrow. Give her a ride around the ranch some morning.”

      “Roger,” he said, leaving. Every time Julia’s name was brought up, it was like a branding iron savagely burned into his heart. The pain was insurmountable. The grief, equally serrating. As he took the wooden steps down to the lawn surrounding the building, he scowled. So far, he’d stuffed all his feelings into his kill box regarding Julia’s murder. SEALs learned to completely bury their emotions, leaving them clear-minded and free of distraction so they could operate efficiently. Emotions brought murkiness, indecision and hesitation. It could be a deadly distraction. Unsecured emotions could get a SEAL killed.

      * * *

      A SOFT KNOCK came at Sky’s hotel door shortly after lunch. She had opened up her suitcase, packed her toiletries and was getting ready to leave. She looked through the peephole.

      A man with a weather-hardened face, his hazel eyes large and intelligent, stood relaxed at the door. Sky had seen him briefly the morning of her interview. Remembering Iris had said she’d send one of her wranglers to help her pack and get to the grocery store, she opened it.

      The man wore a black baseball hat, the SEAL symbol embroidered in gold on the front of it. Her heart picked up in beat. He was built like all the other SEALs she’d ever seen at the E.R., lean, hard muscle. Not muscle-bound. She saw the creases at the corners of his eyes, telling her he’d spent a lot of time out in the elements. He had a square face, a nose that had been broken at least once, a scar that ran along the left side of his jaw. His eyes were narrowed upon her, and she could feel him instantly begin to catalog her; that was what SEALs did. They left no stone unturned.

      SEALs reminded her of a primal animal in his element of raw survival.

      “Ms. Pascal?” he asked in a low voice.

      Her gaze moved down his arms. He wore a blue chambray shirt, the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows. His arms were darkly haired, his hands large, fingers long and capable. She gulped. “Yes. Did Iris send you?”

      “Yes, ma’am. I’m Grayson McCoy. I run the wildlife center for Iris.” He saw how pale she’d become, her gaze showing her uncertainty. Wanting to put her at ease, not place her on terror alert, he forced a slight smile. “Iris asked me to come over and help you out. I’ll take you to the grocery store and anywhere else you might want to go to before you move into the employee house this afternoon.”

      Her fingers went to her throat. Sky could feel her pulse bounding beneath her fingertips. That was how much this man, this SEAL, affected her. When the corners of his mouth drew up, his game face dissolved. He looked approachable, human. “That would be nice. Thank you, Mr. McCoy.”

      “Call me Gray. I’m not much on protocol, either,” he said. The change in Sky was stunning. Color rushed back to her cheeks. He liked her long, narrow hands. Seeing her pulse on the side of her slender neck, Gray found himself wanting to explore her as a woman. Sky Pascal was a looker. If he’d thought she was beautiful from a distance, she was exquisite now. “Can I help you pack or carry your suitcase down to your car, Ms. Pascal?”

      Flustered, Sky saw the intense look he gave her. She might be all of twenty-six, but she knew when a man was appreciating her as a woman. For a moment, she was tongue-tied, which wasn’t like her at all before her capture. Since then, broken psychologically by the torture, she’d become shy and unsure of herself, her old self murdered by the Taliban. “Just call me Sky.” She stepped aside and gestured him into the well-appointed room. “I have one suitcase.”

      Gray nodded deferentially and entered the room, feeling the woman’s nervousness. She wore the same pantsuit, looking quietly elegant. He watched as she quickly closed the door, noting her hands trembled. Purposely backing up so he wasn’t crowding her, Gray couldn’t stop liking what he saw. The sunlight was pouring into the window, and her ginger hair shone with gold and red highlights. It swung clean and shining across her shoulders. “Iris said she’d have me pay for the room. She doesn’t want you paying for it.”

      “That was very kind of her. Thank you.” Her heart was going crazy in her chest. Gray McCoy reminded her of a lethal snow leopard, never hearing him come until it was too late. He had that distinctive SEAL walk, one of complete silence. Sky hadn’t been interested in a man for a long time. Now her body was behaving as if it had a mind of its own. She could feel her breasts tightening, feeling the heat of his gaze.

      What was wrong with her? Was the stress too much? And yet, Sky didn’t feel anxious. Oddly, she felt protected by Gray. It was a sense, an energy. Nothing overt or obvious. Maybe it was the care she saw burning in his hazel eyes that missed nothing. She noticed how he gentled his tone of voice, as if dealing with a hyper wild horse. On some days, that was exactly how Sky felt. Bad days. On good ones, she was emotionally stable. But not today.

      “Here,” he said, stepping forward, placing his hand around the handle of the suitcase, his chest barely brushing her shoulder, “let me get that for you.”

      Sky stepped out of the way, her shoulder tingling wildly in the wake of Gray accidentally brushing against her. He smelled of sunshine, pine and a hint of sage that grew so prolifically in other parts of Wyoming. A man’s smell. Masculine. It made her ache. Sky hadn’t felt sexual in such a long time. She’d thought the capture had killed her femininity. Apparently not. At least, not with Gray McCoy, who stood patiently waiting with her suitcase in his hand. As a nurse, she was good at small talk. Now words just jammed up in her throat, and she couldn’t get anything out of her mouth. Sky missed that ability because in the past, she’d been able to gently communicate with men who were in excruciating pain and calm them with her voice and touch.

      Picking up her purse, she said, “I’m ready.” When he smiled a little, one corner of his mouth hooking upward, his green, gold and brown eyes soothing, she felt a sheet of heat wind through her like a warm spring day.

      Gray opened the door and stepped out, holding it for her. “Do you, by the way, have any jeans or work clothes with you?”

      “I don’t.”

      “No worries,” he assured her, shutting the door. “We’ll stop by the Horse Emporium on the way out of town. They have men’s and women’s work clothes. Iris wants you to start the day after tomorrow at 9:00 a.m.” He looked down at her. “That work for you?”

      “Yes.”

      Gray saw her hesitate, sort of looking like a deer in headlights, paralyzed. He knew PTSD could do it to a person when they were becoming overwhelmed with too much information, and they couldn’t process it as quickly as other people. “What would you like to do first?” He knew how important it was to hand back the control to her. It would ease her anxiety.

      Sky gave him a look of apology. “I’m sorry. I’m just stressed. I wasn’t really thinking I’d get the job.”

      Gray smiled. “Iris knows what she wants. And she likes you a lot. Had nothing but praise for you when she told me she hired you.” He watched her begin to relax, some of the tension leaving her face. Did Sky know how beautiful she was? Was she in a relationship? Iris never said.

      “Thanks for understanding.”

      “Follow me,” Gray urged quietly, heading down the hall toward the elevator.

      Sky felt pleasure watching this man walk with such silent grace. The breadth of his shoulders, his well-sprung chest narrowing into a flat, hard belly and narrow hips. The Levi’s hugged his long, thick thighs, telling her he spent a great deal of time in the saddle. As they waited for the elevator, she said, “Iris mentioned you were in the Navy like me.”

      “I was a SEAL.”

      “What team?”

      “ST3.” He angled his head to see if she understood the terminology.

      “I patched up a few ST3 operators the years I was at Bagram,” she said softly.

      “You never saw me,”