Wrangler's Challenge

Book 4: Wind River Valley

by Lindsay McKenna

Genres: Western Romance

Synopsis

The new novel from the bestselling author of Wind River Cowboy

Healing, like love, takes time.

For Noah Mabry, it's easier sometimes to relate to the dogs and horses he trains than to other people. Ever since his marriage became a casualty of the war in Afghanistan - torn apart by the PTSD he brought back with him - he prefers to be on his own. At the Bar C Ranch, where he works with a crew of fellow military vets, his gentle patience helps tame even the rowdiest mustang-but he's about to meet a woman who needs a healing touch he's not sure he can give.

Dair Wilson, a half-Comanche ex-Marine who lost a foot to an IED, has been hired on to assist Noah, but her deepest wounds aren't visible. Growing up in an abusive home, she learned not to trust men, even ones who seem nothing but kind. After a wild horse sends her sprawling, the attentive care she receives from the Bar C family - and especially from Noah - is enough to convince her she's found a place she can finally breathe easy. But one angry, damaged man poses a threat not only to Dair and Noah, but to everyone who's built a new home at the Bar C.

Release date: October 31, 2017

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

A bad feeling snaked through Army Sergeant Dair Wilson. The late October Afghan night chilled her to the bone. Wind cut against her face where it was exposed. Zeus, her Belgian Malinois combat dog, strained at the leash she had double wrapped in her gloved fist. Without NVGs on, night vision goggles, she wouldn’t see where the hell she was putting her booted feet as her dog plunged ahead.

Behind her, eleven men of her Army Special Forces A-team, were strung out with plenty of room in between them. It was ass-freezing cold, and she thinned her full lips, sensing Zeus as he sniffed ahead of her. They were on a rocky, icy slope above a valley where the Taliban were trying to take over an Afghan village. The CIA had picked up chatter that a Taliban HVA, high value target, was going to be meeting local soldiers and confer with them on assault strategy to take over the village.

Over my dead body. She and her A-team lived in that village two thousand feet below them. Dair knew the chief and his wife, and the two hundred villagers there. They were simple farmers who had no guns or weapons to defend themselves. This A-team had taken up residence three years earlier and stopped the incursions from the bloodthirsty Taliban, who were now making a late autumn attack on the village before the snows fell hard and deep, stopping all such warfare.

Her boots slipped on the icy rocks. She mentally cursed. Zeus had his head down, his sides moving in and out like a bellows as he inhaled and exhaled the many scents. A path led up the six-thousand-foot slope filled with nothing but rocks and a few scraggly bushes hanging on, barely existing in this harsh environment.

They all knew that the Taliban would bury IEDs along the trail to kill the goats and young goat herders from the village below. Goats meant survival. Their skin and fur was used for warmth, their milk for the children, and their meat for food. The Taliban knew goats were the only survival, other than agricultural endeavors, for the people of this village. And they were trying to decimate the goat herds to force the village into starvation this coming winter. It would, from a strategy standpoint, make it easier for the Taliban to attack next spring and find little resistance among the starved populace.

Not on her watch. Their A-team was beloved by the unarmed Afghan farmers and their grateful families. They had lived for years in that village and become part of the everyday fabric of it. Her captain, Davis Ackerman, had brought a well-digging outfit from a global charity named Delos, and now the village had a clean water supply. Children stopped dying as a result.

The whole team had helped build a huge irrigation pattern in the agricultural fields where many types of vegetables were now being grown. The military team worked alongside the Afghan men every day with shovels, hoes, and pickaxes.

And tonight, they were going after the head of the snake. Dair was their specialist with a WMD dog. Zeus was intrinsic to their team because every morning, Dair went out around the walled village, and her dog sniffed and often found IEDs planted overnight by the Taliban, who had sneaked close beneath the cover of darkness. Zeus had saved countless lives and she fiercely loved her six-year-old Belgian Malinois.

The wind was erratic. A cold front was coming through. Dair worried about such times. If the wind blew away from Zeus’s sensitive IED-trained nose, he would not pick up the scent of the deadly explosive buried just beneath the ground. If the wind blew toward his nose, he would pick up the scent.

She felt her spinal column crawling with danger. Dair thought it was because they were going to try and capture the HVT on the other side of this ridge at a small mud and stone house that Taliban often used as a stopover and meeting place.

She’d like nothing better than to get this bastard who was responsible for the repeated attacks on the Afghan village. No one wanted him more than she and Zeus did. The villagers knew the team was armed, and as they watched them troop out beyond the huge wooden gates, shutting them behind them at dusk, they knew something deadly was up. Dair had seen the worry in many of the men’s eyes. They relied on their A-team for medical services, for extra food, clothing, and shoes for their children given by U.S. charities. They did not want the team being killed by the Taliban. Dair had seen it written silently in their expressions.

She wore a level three Kevlar vest, the weight of the ceramic plates making her breathing harder as they continued the steep climb toward the ridge line. It weighed thirty extra pounds upon her frame. Her M-4 carbine was hanging across her chest. Her drop holster with a .45 pistol was strapped to her right thigh.

Her friends, the rest of the A-team, moved like silent ghosts behind her. They trusted that Zeus would find any IEDs buried on the only path up this slope, before one of them stepped on it.

She loved her black-faced, fawn-colored dog. They were a tight team. Zeus slept with her in her small mud-and-rock hut. He kept her warm in the winter with his seventy-five-pound body curled tightly next to hers. He was a guard dog and would send up a warning growl when Taliban were lurking outside the seven-foot, mud-and-rock wall that kept the village safe. Often, she and some of the other sergeants would get up, armed, and with their NVGs on, let Zeus lead them to where he heard the enemy outside the wall.

Over time, the Taliban lost too many soldiers skulking around, looking for a way to infiltrate the village at night. They knew there was a WMD dog within the walls. And, after losing twenty-five soldiers at night to the sharp-eared dog, they stopped coming.

This was her fourth deployment with her team. They were all like big, doting brothers to her. And she was like a little sister to all of them. Dair earned her position on the black ops team because she was very good at what she did. She was five-foot-ten inches tall, and at a distance, most people thought she was a man. Until they got closer and saw her half-Comanche face, the black braids she always wore, and her cinnamon-brown eyes. Then they were surprised, because the villagers hadn’t seen many women soldiers before. She was an anomaly in their world.

The wind slapped at her back, and Dair slowed Zeus. The scent would be gone and he wouldn’t find it. The dog halted, the leash taut between his collar and her gloved hand. Her mic was resting against her lips. “Take five. Wind is the wrong direction.”

“Copy that,” Davis said.

Dair knew the team would be glad for the momentary rest. They were all carrying at least fifty pounds of gear and ammo on them. They knew what it meant when the wind was cooperating, at the right angle for Zeus to properly scent the area. Because of the dog, they’d gone four years as a team without any IED injuries. Dair wanted to keep it that way.

She keyed her hearing, the edges of her ears freezing and numb. The tip of her nose was also numb. It was below freezing on this miserable slope. The sky was thick with clouds, promising snow at some point. She hated the white stuff because IEDs became even more troublesome to locate. Watching Zeus through her NVGs, the dog’s ears were up and he was panting heavily, his ribs bowing in and out.

The wind shifted again, this time coming directly at Dair. She gave Zeus the unspoken order to start sniffing again. Instantly, the dog lunged against the leash, nose just above the surface, moving it from side to side, trying to pick up the scent of a buried IED.

Dair’s whole focus, her whole world, relied on her brave dog. They were the point of the spear. If Zeus found an IED, he’d instantly sit down, a signal that one was nearby. Then, Dair would have to halt the column and the two explosives-trained sergeants from their team would come up and locate it and defuse it. Then, they’d move forward once more. Her mouth was dry and she pulled the tube to her CamelBak, sucking deeply. Staying hydrated was important. Soon, she’d have to stop and give Zeus water as well.

The wind shifted, slapping her on the right side of her face. Dropping the tube that was held in her shoulder epaulet, Dair tugged on the leash to stop Zeus. The wind was taking away the scents he needed to pick up.

Suddenly, there was a flash of red and yellow light. Dair heard Zeus yelp. Burning heat swept across her as she was flung off her feet, tumbling through the night air. A thousand impressions assailed her as she felt her arms windmilling and she cartwheeled end over end. The sound of the explosion broke both her eardrums. Simultaneously, a sharp pain assailed her left foot and ankle. And then, she lost consciousness.

Dair heard herself moaning and it pulled her out of her unconscious state. Burning pain was ripping up her left leg. Even through her shut eyes, the light hurt. Trying to move, she felt weighted, weak and incapable of moving a finger.

“Just be still, Sergeant Wilson. We’re taking you on board a C-5 for Landstuhl Medical Center in Germany in about ten minutes. I’m going to give you a shot that will knock you out for the duration of our flight.”

Dair frowned, not recognizing the male voice. Her mind was spinning. Fragments of memory assailing her. Zeus crying out. And someone had screamed. Had it been her? The scents entering her flared nostrils were of alcohol, bleach, and other nose-wrinkling medical odors. Where was she? What was happening? Where was Zeus? And then, she felt herself spinning down, down, down, and that’s the last thing she remembered.

The next time Dair regained consciousness, she was in a bed, her left leg slightly suspended above where she lay. There were voices. Men’s voices, nearby, so low she couldn’t tell what they were saying. Her hearing came and went. She was so thirsty and her mouth felt like it was going to crack because it was so dry. Barely opening her eyes, she tried to take in where she was. There was a gnawing ache from her foot and ankle that were bandaged and in that sling. Staring at it, her vision would blur and then slowly sharpen once more. Her mind was offline as she lay there. Was she alive? She felt heavy, like ten thousand pounds of weight were pressing her down into the bed.

“Hey,” a man called, “get the nurse. She’s awake.”

Dair didn’t recognize the man’s voice. It sounded so far away. Was she dreaming? In a nightmare? It took so much effort to lift her eyelids a bit more. A light blue wall stared back at her. She heard a door open and close.

“Welcome back, Sergeant Wilson.”

Blinking, Dair was barely able to turn her head. A blond-haired woman, dressed in Army fatigues, her hair up on her head, stood next to her, a frown on her face. She looked to be in her thirties.

“Where . . .” she croaked.

“I’m Nurse Mills. You’re presently at Landstuhl Medical Center, Sergeant.” She checked the two IVs, one on each side of the bed. “You were injured when an IED went off in front of you,” she said briskly, returning to her side. “You’ve sustained injury to your left foot and ankle.” Her voice dropped and she reached out, her hand on Dair’s blue-gowned shoulder. “I’m sorry, but your foot and ankle had to be amputated. That’s why it’s in a sling right now. You’re going to live. The orthopedic surgeon created a way for you to wear a prosthesis, Sergeant. You’ll be able to walk again, eventually. We’ll be transferring you to Bethesda Medical Center back in Washington, D.C., for rehabilitation and any further surgery you might need.” She patted her arm. “You’re alive, Sergeant. That’s the best news.”

Dair stared up at her, shock rolling through her, reeling from the tersely delivered information. Her emotions were muddled to begin with, but now, she felt as if that nurse had taken her fist and slammed it as hard as she could into her jaw, stunning her nearly semiconscious. Her mind barely grasped all of what she’d said. She’d spoken so fast that she missed some of the words. What she didn’t miss was that her left foot and ankle had been amputated.

“I-I need water,” she croaked.

“Yes,” the nurse said, walking over to the rolling table. She poured her some. Coming back, she pushed a button, half the bed coming up into a gentle sitting position for Dair. The nurse pressed the straw between Dair’s cracked lips. “Drink all you want. I’ll get your physician to get you off IVs and onto fluids and light food such as Jell-O.”

Dair drained the glass, wanting more. The nurse placed the tray in front of her. There was a pitcher of ice water and the glass. She poured her more, holding the glass while she drank. She was so weak she couldn’t have poured it for herself.

“Are you in pain, Sergeant?”

Hell, yes! All she could focus on was that her foot and ankle had been amputated. “Just . . . ache in my left leg,” she managed hoarsely.

The nurse filled the glass and set it on the tray. “I’ll get your pain meds increased in that one IV,” she said. Giving Dair a sympathetic look, her hand on her shoulder once more, she said, “I know this is a huge shock, Sergeant, but you’re alive. There’s hope for you. You’ll be able to walk again someday. They have the best orthopedic people in the world at Bethesda. You’re in good hands.”

“Wait,” Dair called, her voice rasping. “Where’s Zeus?”

“What?” she asked, turning toward her. “Who’s Zeus?”

“M-my dog. I’m a dog handler.”

“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug, and left.

Dair sat there in turmoil. She recalled only pieces of the past, of standing on that cold-ass ridge in the dark of the night, Zeus sitting in front of her. That’s all she could recall as she ruthlessly tried to force her brain to work and remember.

Tears jammed into her eyes. Frustration flowed like acid through her. She looked to her right. There were six other beds in the ward, occupied by injured men in blue pajamas. Like her, they had a leg or an arm suspended. Did that mean they were amputees like her? Dair didn’t know, spinning internally, feeling lost, abandoned, and in need of someone . . . her team . . . to tell her what had happened to her. She felt movement nearby and opened her eyes.

“Davis!” she cried, her voice barely above a whisper. She looked at her captain, who had just entered the ward and come to her bed.

“Hey, Dair,” he rasped unevenly, reaching out, sliding his hand into hers, giving it a small squeeze. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. Red tape.” He searched her face. “How are you doing?”

Gulping, tears flowed into her eyes as she clung to his large, rough hand. “I-I don’t know. What happened? No one will tell me anything. Where’s Zeus?” She saw him wince, his dark brown eyes narrowing upon her, a wave of sadness around him. Davis was a great officer, treated her and all the rest of her team like friends, not officer over enlisted.

“No one’s told you anything?” he demanded, voice filled with disbelief.

“I-I don’t remember much,” she said. “What happened?”

“God, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Do you remember we were out on that ridge at night? Hunting an HVT?”

“Yes . . . the only thing I remember is being cold on that ridge and Zeus sitting down in front of me because the wind changed again.” She searched his gaze, saw the tiredness and regret in his expression. His hand tightened around hers.

“After you waited for the wind to change direction, you took off with Zeus on the leash. The team was a hundred feet behind you. The winds were erratic, Dair. Zeus stepped on an IED. I’m sorry . . .”

Stunned, she stared at him openmouthed. “NO!” she cried, sitting up. The movement caused immediate pain in her left leg. Gritting her teeth, she fell back against the bed, breathing raggedly, the fiery agony racing up her leg and into her abdomen. She felt Davis’s hand on her shoulder, as if to steady her.

“I’m so sorry, Dair,” he whispered brokenly, his fingers moving in calming strokes across her shoulder. “Zeus died instantly. The blast went sideways because your dog was in front of you. We saw the explosion and saw you being hurled out of it. When you landed on the ground, we raced up to where you were.”

She tried to get ahold of her emotions. Zeus was dead. Her good friend of four years . . . gone. Open and closing her mouth, trying not to cry, she felt hot, warm tears trailing down her cheeks. She saw so much regret in Davis’s eyes. She gulped several times. “W-was anyone else hurt?”

Shaking his head, he said, “No. We were all fine. Beat up by the pressure waves, a few bruises, but that’s all. You were our focus, Dair.” He looked at her bandaged left leg. “Our two medics worked on you immediately. Your left foot and boot were mostly destroyed. You were bleeding out. They placed a tourniquet around your lower leg, just below your knee, to stop you from dying.” He wiped his mouth, his voice lowering. “We knew then that no one could save your foot or part of your lower leg, Dair. Ted and John flew back with you to Bagram, aboard the medevac we called. The rest of the team got back down that ridge and to the village. Later, Ted called me on the radio and you were already in your first surgery there at Bagram’s hospital. He said they were amputating your foot and ankle, that there was no possible way to save it. I ordered Ted to remain with you, and ordered John back to us at the village. I was trying to get to Bagram to be with you myself, but the next morning, the Taliban attacked us. We repulsed it and we had no casualties of villagers or ourselves. Ted remained with you, even though the docs put you into a medical coma. He tried to persuade them to allow him to escort you when they flew you to Landstuhl two days later, but it was a no go. We hated leaving you alone in Germany. I figured these people here wouldn’t know the story surrounding your injury, or what happened to Zeus.” He gave her a sad look. “Before we went down the slope, I had the men look for any remains of Zeus. But the explosion vaporized him.”

“Oh, God . . .” Dair cried softly. She pressed her hand against her eyes, trying not to sob.

“Jason found this.” He pulled something from the pocket of his uniform, handing it toward her.

Opening her eyes, she saw it was the twisted, partly melted piece of metal that had Zeus’s name and his military number as a WMD dog.

“And this.” He dug into his other pocket. It was half of Zeus’s leather collar, burned and twisted. “That’s all that we could find, Dair.” He placed them on the table in front of her and pulled a ziplock bag from his shirt pocket. “We thought you might want to keep these things. You can keep them in this bag, if you want.”

Her heart tore wide open as she picked up Zeus’s partly melted metal identification tag. Tears blurred her vision. She sniffed.

Davis reached over and found a tissue box, setting it on the table before her. Pulling one out, he said roughly, “Here, wipe your eyes.”

Dabbing them, Dair dropped the tissue on the tray, picking up what was left of her dog’s working collar. Wanting to scream, fighting not to, she clutched the two items in her hands as she rested them on the tray. Bowing her head, tears dribbled off her chin.

“Damn, I wish I could do more for you,” Davis said, patting her shoulder gently. “Zeus was a great dog. You two were tight.”

She heard the tears in Davis’s lowered voice, felt his pain as well as her own. Looking up at him, tears awash her eyes, she quavered, “At least you found these. Thank you, Davis . . . These mean so much to me.” Her voice cracked.

“I wish . . . I wish we could do more for you, Dair. I ran down your ortho surgeon earlier and pinned him to the wall on what was going to happen to you now.” He made a weak gesture toward her left leg. “He said you’d probably go through one more surgery after you arrive at Bethesda. And then, as soon as you are healed up to a certain point, they are going to fit you for an orthotic leg and foot.” His voice turned more hopeful. “He said you’d walk again, Dair. That’s important. He said it would take a year or year and a half after surgery and fitting your new leg, learning how to use it and all, and then you will be released from the Army.”

“A medical discharge?”

“An honorable medical discharge,” Davis told her proudly.

“What then?” she asked hollowly, wanting to have made twenty years in the Army to get a pension.

“Well,” he said, more brightness in his tone, “the doc said that you’d need to go home and then register with the nearest VA hospital for ongoing orthotic treatment, learning how to walk again, and then getting on with your life.”

Misery crawled through her as she clung to the pieces of Zeus. “The Army was my career, Davis.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, “I know that. Damn, I’m so sorry, Dair. I know I keep repeating that, and I feel pretty helpless right now. I wish I could help you a helluva lot more than just standing here telling you this.”

She reached out after transferring the metal tag to her left hand, touching his arm. “I’m so grateful you came. No one here knows anything about me, or Zeus, or what happened to us.”

“Yeah, they do the best they can, but they’re really busy.” He looked around, more sadness in his expression as he looked at the other soldiers in beds, all strung and trussed up.

Dair pushed her own suffering aside. She reached for Davis’s hand resting on the side of her bed, covering it. “Thank you so much for coming. It couldn’t have been easy cutting through red tape to get up here.” She saw him grin sourly, his eyes glinting.

“I wasn’t taking no for an answer, Dair. Let’s just leave it at that.”

“Well, we’re black ops. You know how to manipulate the system.”

“Yeah.” He chuckled. “Are you thirsty? Can I pour you some water?”

Touched by his care, she swallowed hard, forcing back the tears. “Y-yes, I’d like that.” She opened her hands. “I’m still feeling pretty weak and worthless,” she joked.

Pouring water for her, he said, “I can stay another hour, and then I have to catch a flight back to Bagram. They’re putting me on a medical C-5 returning there.”

“To pick up another load of wounded like me?”

“’Fraid so, Dair. Are you hungry? Is there anything I can get you before I have to leave?”

Shaking her head, she whispered, “You’re like a Christmas present to me, Davis. Just stay with me. Tell me how the rest of the guys are doing.”

“Well, there wasn’t a dry eye after we got you. Ted and John were on that medevac. At first, we weren’t sure we could save your life at all. You lost five pints of blood, Dair. That’s a helluva lot. But they stabilized you at Bagram. Ted kept calling on the sat phone and giving us updates. When we arrived back at the village, it was 0300, and everyone was asleep. I got the guys together at our makeshift HQ house.” He looked up and away from her for a moment, his Adam’s apple bobbing repeatedly. Finally, he turned, holding her gaze, and said hoarsely, “We all cried. We cried for the loss of Zeus and we cried for you because we knew your foot and ankle would be amputated. We were hurting for both of you.”

She saw the tears threatening to fall from his eyes, saw him struggling to push them away.. . .