Army Ranger Redemption. Carol Ericson

and superstitions around the whole Timberline Trio case.” He held up his hands. “Hey, they weren’t the only ones.”

      As far as she could recall, Jim never had a problem with the Quileute, but his father was another story—loudmouthed bigot. Members of her tribe had been in a few barroom brawls with Slick Kennedy.

      He’d gotten the nickname Slick because of his movie-star handsomeness and pumped-up physique. Her gaze tracked over Jim as he stood in the middle of the room, and she swallowed. The apple hadn’t fallen too far from that tree.

      But Jim had never been in any trouble with her people, although all the guys her age had been wary of him because of his father, his brother and his father’s buddies—beer-drinking, bigoted bikers.

      She lifted and dropped her shoulders quickly. “Yeah, there were some crazy stories going around at the time.”

      He crossed the room and joined her at the door. “Anyway, you might want to look into securing this place better—at least until the deputies can figure out why that man dropped dead in the woods outside your cabin.”

      “I’ll do that, thanks.” She closed the door to the studio. Halfway down the hallway, she turned suddenly and Jim bumped into her. She placed a palm against his chest where his heart thundered beneath her touch. “Sorry.”

      His body tensed as he stepped away from her, and she dropped her hand.

      “What are you doing back here, Jim?”

      His lids lowered over his eyes and he studied her from beneath his thick, dark lashes. “Trying to get away from it all, just like you.”

      She blinked and turned, calling over her shoulder. “How long have you been out of the army?”

      “Over a year.”

      “Is that...is that what happened to your leg?”

      “Long story.”

      It didn’t sound like he had any intention of sharing it with her. Maybe he’d loosen up after a few beers or a shot of whiskey.

      When they reached the living room, he made a beeline for the front door. “See you around.”

      Scarlett blinked. “I was going to offer you something for your trouble tonight and for staying with me. Beer? Coffee?”

      “I’m good, thanks.”

      Now it seemed as if he couldn’t get away from her fast enough. Must’ve thought she was prying into his business. She followed him to the front door, which he’d already opened.

      He stepped out onto the dark porch.

      “Oops, I turned off my porch light. Be careful. I have some plants...”

      As he turned, Jim tripped over one of the pots and stumbled down the two steps, falling to the ground.

      He cursed on his way down and landed with a thud in the dirt.

      “I’m so sorry.” Scarlett switched on the porch light and flew down the steps. As she lowered herself to the bottom step to help Jim, his bare back, exposed by his shirt hiking up, drew her gaze.

      Shock tingled through her body as she saw the edge of Jim’s tattoo—an L and a C curled together—just like the tattoo on the dead man.

       Chapter Four

      “Dammit.” If Scarlett touched him or tried to help him, his humiliation would be complete.

      She jerked back and pushed to her feet. She must’ve sensed the vibe coming off him.

      “Why’d you turn off the porch light?” He rolled to his back and peered up at her wide eyes. “I’d forgotten those damned potted plants were there.”

      “Yeah, sorry. It’s a habit for me to turn off that light when I come inside for the night.” She took another step up, reaching for the door behind her. “You okay?”

      “I’m all right.” He hoisted up to his feet and brushed the dirt from his jeans.

      “Maybe one of the deputies can give you a ride home.”

      She wasn’t offering? He didn’t blame her, the way he’d snapped at her. Wasn’t her fault he had a gimp leg.

      “I think I can make it.” He stomped his boots on the ground. “No permanent damage, or at least no more permanent damage.”

      “Okay, then. Good night.” She slipped into her cabin and slammed the door.

      That spark he’d felt between them had just been extinguished. The fall made her realize he was damaged goods. A woman like that needed a strong man to match her, not some physically weakened, brain-addled vet.

      He trudged through the trees toward the deputies canvassing the crime scene, giving them a wide berth to avoid being questioned tonight. He couldn’t handle it right now.

      Seeing Rusty Kelly’s dead body had been a shock. What was Rusty doing back here? That type always rode in packs. Did that mean the rest of them were close on his heels? Was it a coincidence that Rusty had turned up dead a week after Jim had arrived in Timberline?

      He edged around the squad cars and took the long way back to his cabin by following the road. When he got back to his place, he withdrew his Glock and checked out the perimeter of the cabin.

      Unlike Scarlett’s place, this cabin had a wide clearing around it that extended all the way to the road. He believed in having an unobstructed view of whatever was coming at him.

      But he hadn’t seen Scarlett Easton coming at him. He’d noticed the smoke from her chimney since he’d been back, but he’d figured it was Gracie Butler living in her folks’ place. He hadn’t been prepared for a dark-haired beauty to hit him like a thunderbolt.

      Scarlett had been something of a mystery in high school—a rebel but not a bad girl, lost both of her folks in a car accident. She’d never partied much unless it was on the rez, and she’d traveled with a pack of very protective guys from her tribe. That bunch wouldn’t have let him within two feet of Scarlett, but then they’d judged him based on his old man. He didn’t blame them.

      Satisfied there were no strangers or, worse, people he knew lurking around the cabin, he went inside. He locked the door behind him and faced the room, his breath coming in short spurts.

      Squeezing his eyes shut, he massaged his bad leg. It didn’t hurt him anymore, but sometimes it ached in remembrance.

      He dragged in a deep breath, but it didn’t do any good. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel the room spinning, the darkness closing in on him.

      He managed to make it to the couch, dragging his left leg behind him. Collapsing to the cushions, he ripped off his jacket and dropped it to the floor. He sank, his head in his hands, his fingers digging into his scalp.

      The heat. He couldn’t take the heat. He yanked off his shirt and the T-shirt beneath it. He bunched them both into a ball and pressed it against his face to mop the sweat pouring from his brow.

      Falling to his side on the couch, he let out a low moan. Then the images began flashing behind his closed lids. He drove his fists against his eyeballs to make the pictures in his head go away...but they kept coming.

      He needed his medication. How had he thought he could do without it, especially in this place?

      He needed a drink. He needed to sleep. He needed a warm body.

      He needed Scarlett Easton.

      * * *

      “HE WAS KILLED somewhere else?” Scarlett cupped her hands around her mug of tea and inhaled the fragrant steam as it rose to meet the cool morning air. “I suppose that’s...a relief.”

      Deputy Collins, from the county’s homicide division,