“Who on earth would be out in this weather?” Gus demanded.
Cat cast a quick glance over at the man. She could smell him. “He told me his name. Talon Holt.”
“Lordy!” Miss Gus exploded. “Talon Holt? He’s Sandy Holt’s son!”
“One in the same.” Cat gulped and felt a lump form in her throat. “That’s right. I knew there was something familiar about him.”
“Sandy said her son, who was a U.S. Navy SEAL, was wounded a year ago. She told me he was coming home, but didn’t say when. Said he was coming with a dog. Is there a dog with him?”
“Yes,” Cat said, driving carefully, feeling the SUV begin to slide a little. She eased off the gas. There was no way to hurry in this stuff. “I remember Sandy saying he was wounded.”
“Yes. He got wounded a year ago on a black ops mission and Sandy said he was getting a medical discharge sometime soon. Didn’t say when. Sandy told me the name of the dog but I can’t recall it.”
“Zeke?”
“Yes! That’s it! Aside from the pneumonia, how bad off is Talon?”
“Really bad,” Cat murmured, frowning. “Listen, we should use your bedroom downstairs. Can you get it ready for him? He’s soaking wet, freezing and he’s breathing pretty badly. I’ve got to get him someplace warm and dry. Griff’s going to have to help me. I can’t carry him into your house by myself.”
“Griff’s out in the barn. I’ll give him a call to come in. Val and I will get my bedroom ready. About how long before you arrive?”
She grimaced. “I’m barely going ten miles an hour. Probably another twenty minutes if I don’t slide off the mountain.”
“We’ll be waiting for you, Cat. Be careful getting here. There’s a sheet of black ice on that pavement.”
“Great, thanks. Out.” Cat felt her emotions unraveling as she gripped the steering wheel, focusing on the slippery road. All around her were evergreens cloaked in heavy white snow. A black, wet, rocky cliff soared a thousand feet above the highway. On her right a skimpy guardrail was supposed to prevent a car from sliding into a hundred-foot rocky abyss below.
Focus on the road. Get him shelter.
Cat didn’t want to feel anything about this man, this vet, but she did. Talon Holt was pale and unconscious, but she could see the toughness in his face, the kindness in the shape of his chiseled mouth. And yes, he did look a little like his mother.
She white-knuckled it as the SUV slid a little toward the guardrail. Cat didn’t easily panic. As a firefighter, she’d seen just about everything in her twenty-seven years.
She glanced quickly toward Talon, who was frowning, regaining consciousness. Cat could hear his raw, shallow breaths. She turned again to the snow-covered highway. “Talon?” she asked. “Are you awake? Can you hear me?”
Talon heard her husky voice. Weakly, he raised his hand and forced his eyes open. Every breath he took was a labored effort, as if he had an elephant on his chest. He heard Zeke whine, felt his pink tongue laving his hand.
“It’s okay, Zeke,” he rasped, opening his eyes. He’d never been so damned weak. Not even when he’d been wounded in the field had he felt like this.
“Talon?”
The woman’s voice again. He barely turned his head in the direction of the sound. “Yeah?”
“How are you doing?” Cat demanded, guiding the SUV around the last curved corner that would lead to the Bar H.
“I’m not dead, yet,” he rasped.
A good sign, Cat thought. As sick as he was, Talon was being a smart-ass. “I’m taking you to the Bar H. Miss Gus remembers you. I can’t get you to the hospital where you belong. I’m a paramedic. Miss Gus is going to let you stay in her bedroom and I’ll do what I can to help you. Okay?” Cat gave him a quick glance. His eyes were red rimmed, the gray color glowing with fever, his black pupils large. His face bathed in sweat.
“Miss Gus?” His mind wobbled.
“Yes. She remembers you. You’re Sandy Holt’s son?”
“Yeah, I am,” he managed. Barely able to lift his fingers, he grazed Zeke’s wet, damp head. “Look,” he choked out, struggling to breathe, “you need to know about Zeke, here. He’s a combat assault dog. He’ll bite anyone who gets near me. You need to give the command ‘allow’ to Zeke. Then he’ll consider them as a friend instead of an enemy. I can’t have him biting Miss Gus or anyone else....”
Cat nodded. “Okay, I can do that for you. You just rest, Mr. Holt. You’re in good hands.”
Talon heard the sudden emotion in her voice. “What’s your name again?”
“Cat. Cat Edwin.”
Nice name. Cat. Yeah, with those slightly tilted blue eyes of hers, she looked like a cat. Maybe more a lithe, strong, lean beautiful cougar. Closing his eyes, Talon felt the darkness pulling him down again. “I...” And he lost consciousness.
Cat licked her lower lip, worried. The man’s skin had a gray tint now. It meant he wasn’t getting enough oxygen. A very bad sign. God, Sandy Holt couldn’t lose her son, not when she was fighting for her own life. Cat’s heart pounded anxiously.
She could see the entrance to the Bar H through the thickly falling snow. Wind gusts were pushing the snow sideways. Blizzards took no prisoners.
As Cat drove down the long, graveled driveway now covered with a foot and a half of snow, she saw the enormous main two-story log house appear out of the white stuff. Griff McPherson, now owner of the Bar H, stood in the driveway next to the house. Standing around six foot one, he was bundled up in a sheepskin coat, red knit muffler around his neck, cowboy hat and jeans. He had dark hair and green eyes. Val McPherson, his wife, stood on the porch, the screen door open, a worried look on her face.
Cat pulled up as close as she could. She climbed out, calling, “Griff, don’t open that door!”
Griff halted halfway around her SUV, a puzzled look on his face. “Why?”
Cat hurried through the snow and came up to him. “Talon has a combat assault dog with him. I have to open the door myself or he’ll attack you.”
Grimacing, Griff’s brow rose. “How do we get Talon out of there, then?”
Cat clumped through the snow and struggled over to the passenger-side door. “Come and stand over here, behind me. I’ll open the door and give the dog a command. It’s supposed to make Zeke think you’re a friend instead of an enemy.”
Griff nodded. “Okay,” he said, worried.
Cat opened the door. Zeke immediately growled, his gaze fastened on Griff. “Zeke, allow,” she told the dog in a firm voice. To her relief, she saw the Belgian Malinois relax. She turned to Griff. “I’m getting the dog out of here first so we can pull Talon out.”
“Will Zeke attack Val?” he demanded.
Cat scowled. She noticed a leash trailing off Zeke’s collar. “Probably. Hang on, I’m going to grab his leash and keep him with me so he can’t go anywhere.”
Griff nodded and walked around the SUV, calling to his wife, telling her to stay in the kitchen with Miss Gus because the dog would bite. His wife nodded, closed the porch door and disappeared inside.
“Okay,” he said, “bring the dog out.”
Cat was hoping like hell the military-trained dog wouldn’t chew off her arm as she