Soul Deep (5 page)

“Nate faced a similar situation.” He told her
how Nate had been badly burned in an IED explosion in Afghanistan
and then flown to San Antonio, where he’d spent weeks fighting for
his life. “I flew down to be with him. His fiancée came to visit,
too. I thought she was there to show her support. Instead, she
broke it off. He was lying there, suffering ungodly pain and facing
dozens of surgeries, and she broke off their engagement.”

Janet didn’t hold back. “What a bitch!”

It wasn’t a word she used lightly.

Jack nodded. “You’ve got that right. But, in
the end, she did him a favor. He’s got a good woman now, one who
loves him because of the man he is—not despite his scars, but
because
of them.”

“He’s a lucky man.” The sharp edge of
loneliness cut through the warm buzz of the wine.

“What I’m saying is that you’ll find a man
who loves you like that—a man who loves and respects you because of
your courage, not despite your injury and the physical challenges
you face.”

She liked what he’d said, sweet words she
wished she could believe, but she had to be honest. “I’m not as
brave as you think I am. I haven’t been able to pick up a firearm
since the day I was shot.”

“Anyone who tells you you’re not brave
because you won’t pick up a gun hasn’t experienced a fire-fight
first hand.” There was understanding in his eyes.

She’d needed to hear that so very badly, but
his compassion didn’t change the rest of it. “The kind of men I’m
attracted to—athletic, outdoorsy guys—want women who can keep up
with them. Besides, I’m forty-five.”

“You don’t look a day over thirty-eight.” He
gave her a devastatingly sexy smile. “And, hey, if an old codger
like me can’t play the age card, then neither can you.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s different
for men. You know that.”

“You’re a beautiful woman.” The way he said
it made her breath catch.

Warmth rushed into her cheeks. “Is that you
talking—or the Côte de Brouilly?”

“It takes more than a few glasses of wine to
make me say things I don’t mean—scotch if you want poetry.” He
moved closer, took their wine glasses, and set them down on the
coffee table. “Janet…”

His words trailed into silence. Then he
leaned in and kissed her. His lips were soft and warm as they
brushed lightly over hers, their caress an invitation.

Her pulse skipped. “
Jack.
”

Heat that had nothing to do with the wine
slid into her blood
.
She rested her palms
against the hard wall of his chest and kissed him back, brushing
her lips over his, nipping his upper lip, then tracing the fullness
of his lower lip with her tongue, her senses aroused by the taste
of him, by the scent of his skin, by the hardness of his body.

He caught the tip of her tongue between his
teeth, the intensity in his dark eyes making her belly flutter.
Then his eyes drifted shut. One strong arm encircled her waist,
drawing her against him, while his other hand slid into her hair to
angle her head. Then his mouth closed over hers in a deep, slow
kiss.

Oh, yes.

Her eyes closed, too, both of them going by
feel now. She parted her lips, let him take the lead. The man knew
how to kiss, his fingers tracing her spine, sending shivers through
her, his tongue teasing hers, his lips firm and insistent.

This
is how she’d always wanted to be
kissed, and, God, he’d better not stop anytime soon because she
wanted more.

CHAPTER FOUR

Jack drew Janet closer, the physical contact
making his heart pound, his very blood seeming to come alive. It
had been so long since he’d touched a woman, so long since he’d
kissed a woman. At first, he was afraid he might have forgotten
how, but then her arms locked behind his neck, pulling him closer,
and he figured he must be doing something right.

God, she tasted sweet, her body soft and
pliant in his arms. He raised the stakes, let his tongue have its
way with hers. She gave a little whimper, arching so that her
breasts pressed against his chest.

And damned if his jeans didn’t feel
uncomfortably tight.

They ought to stop.

Then again, why the hell should they? They
were both adults. She seemed to know what she wanted, and so did
he.

There came a knock at the mudroom door,
Chuck’s voice calling to him. “Hey, boss, there’s a problem with
Chinook.”

Damn it to hell!

“I’m sorry. That’s Chuck, my foreman. He
wouldn’t bother me at this hour unless it was serious.” Jack ran a
thumb down Janet’s cheek, then called out to Chuck. “I’ll be right
there, damn it!”

“Can I come?” Janet’s cheeks were flushed,
her lips swollen and wet.

God, how he wished Nate were here to handle
the horses. Then again, if his son were here, Jack probably
wouldn’t be making out on the sofa like a teenager.

“I don’t see why not.” He stood, helped her
to her feet. “You’ll need to get bundled up. It will be a snowy
walk to the stables, but it’s not far.”

“I’ll get my coat.”

“I’ll meet you out there.”

He watched her walk away, cane tapping softly
on the wooden floor, then headed to the mudroom, where Chuck was
waiting for him.

“Luke is calling Doc Johnson, but you’re
going to want to see this yourself. Chinook has been shot in the
forearm.”

“What the hell?” Jack’s adrenaline
spiked.

“Burt brought him in at dusk but didn’t
notice anything. Luke went to settle him with hay for the night. He
called me in, and I saw what looks like a graze wound on his left
forearm.”

“How the hell could Burt miss something like
that?” Jack wasn’t pleased.

“I don’t know. We’re guessing that hunting
party didn’t move on the way you asked them to, and someone fired a
shot that ricocheted or got caught in the wind.”

“I thought you told me they’d cleared camp.”
Jack couldn’t abide trespassers.

Every summer and fall, he had to deal with
people who came onto his property without permission to fish and
hunt. He and his men chased them away, the sight of a dozen armed
men usually enough to make them leave.

“Their camp was gone. Could be they just
moved and set up a new one.”

“Could be. Did anyone hear the shot?”

Chuck shook his head. “No.”

Jack put on his boots, slipped into his
parka, and grabbed his gloves. “Shovel a path from the house to the
stables, and make sure Ms. Killeen makes it safely. I don’t want
her slipping.”

“You got it, boss.”

Jack stepped outside. The wind had kicked up,
icy snowflakes biting his face. The stars and mountaintops were
hidden behind dark clouds. More snow was coming.

Inside the heated barn, he found Luke still
on the phone with Doc Johnson, a woolen ski cap covering his red
hair. “He’s right here.”

“Thanks, Luke.” Jack took the phone. “Sorry
to trouble you, Doc. I haven’t had a chance to look at the wound
myself. We’ll call you back in five. If it’s something we can
handle, we will. I don’t want you coming out in this weather unless
it’s a true emergency.”

Doc Johnson had been their vet for close to
twenty years and had become a friend of the family. He’d forgotten
more about horses than most people would ever know.

Jack walked back to Chinook’s stall, found
him stomping nervously, his muscular body shuddering.

“He seems pretty shook up,” Luke said.

Jack called to Chinook and was relieved when
the big animal came to greet him. “Hey, boy, what’s going on?”

He rubbed the stallion’s soft muzzle, spoke
quietly to him, tried to calm him, then entered his stall, sliding
the door closed behind him.

Immediately he saw the wound—a deep graze
across the animal’s upper left forearm. Blood still oozed from the
gash, trails of dried blood running down his leg. How could Burt
have missed this? Had the man been sleepwalking?

“Has anyone checked the corral for evidence?”
If they knew what angle the shot had come from, Jack might be able
to take a few men out on snowmobiles and confront the bastards
who’d done this.

Luke shook his head. “I don’t think so,
boss.”

“I’d like to know where he was standing when
he was hit. There ought to be some sign—blood on the snow or
something.” Jack was about to send Luke out to search, but the kid
was new and might unknowingly step on something. “Trade places with
Chuck. He’s shoveling snow. Send him to me. I want him on
this.”

Luke looked like he wanted to object but
wisely changed his mind. “You got it.”

Jack attached cross ties to the stallion’s
halter and clipped them to the sides of the stall. He needed to
keep the horse still so he could examine the wound. Chinook didn’t
seem to be favoring the leg, so the bone couldn’t be broken.

Thank God for that.

It would break Jack’s heart to have to put
Chinook down.

He heard voices and looked over to see Chuck
walk in with Janet.

“Oh, wow!” Janet stared at the stallion like
a woman who’d just fallen in love.

“How’s he doing, boss?”

“It looks like the bone is okay, but I need
to clean the wound and get a closer look. Can you get on the phone
with Doc Johnson and tell him we can handle this ourselves? It
looks like flakes are about to fly, and I don’t want him risking
the drive. When you’re done with that, grab a flashlight and get
out to the corral. I want to know where he was standing when he was
hit.”

“On it.” Chuck turned and walked away.

Janet walked up to the grill, reached through
the bars to rub Chinook’s muzzle. “He’s beautiful. I love
palominos.”

The stallion gave a soft whicker.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Janet answered.
“I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Jack pointed to the wound. “You can see here
on his forearm—a three-inch contusion. It’s pretty deep. I don’t
think it could be anything but a bullet graze. It seems to have
stopped bleeding on its own, but I’d like to clean it and get a
closer look.”

He stepped out of the stall, closed the door.
“Why don’t you two get acquainted while I get the first aid
supplies?”

“That sounds like a good idea, doesn’t it,
buddy?” Janet answered, speaking more to Chinook than to Jack.

Yep. Women and horses.

# # #

Janet held Chinook’s halter, while Jack
irrigated the wound with sterile saline, then washed it with an
antiseptic soap and rinsed it. When the blood was washed away, he
probed the wound gently with gloved fingers. She couldn’t help but
admire his skill or the gentle way he handled the big animal.

Had she really just been kissing him?

Yes, she had, and he’d been skilled at that,
too. She’d enjoyed every second of it, her lips still tingling, her
body still warm from being pressed so closely against his.

“We’re damned lucky. It’s just a flesh wound.
It should heal well, but it’s likely to form proud flesh if we
don’t stay on top of it. I’m going to get some tea tree oil on here
and then bandage him up.”

“Tea tree oil?” She’d never heard of using
that on a horse before.

Jack got to his feet. “It’s got antimicrobial
properties but isn’t cytotoxic the way iodine and hydrogen peroxide
are. Doc Johnson, our vet, is an old hippie. He swears by the
natural shit, and so far he hasn’t steered us wrong. If he
prescribed butterflies and rainbows, I’d go for it.”

Janet couldn’t help but laugh. “He sounds
like a character.”

Jack opened the door to the stall. “Do you
feel safe staying in here with him? He’s very high spirited.”

The question surprised her. It hadn’t
occurred to her to be afraid of the stallion. “Yes. No worries.
We’ll be fine.”

He grinned, nodded, the warmth in his blue
eyes making her pulse skip. “I’ll be back in a few.”

He stepped out, shut the stall door behind
him, and walked away.

Janet patted the stallion’s powerful neck.
“Who did this to you, boy?”

Had it been hunters like Jack and his men
suspected?

The horse whickered, watched her with a dark
eye.

She hadn’t allowed herself to look at the
wound yet, not directly. But now that she was alone with Chinook in
his stall, she glanced down. The wound was nothing like the one
that had torn through her hip and pelvis, but it was clearly a
bullet wound, cutting through the fleshy part of the stallion’s
upper forearm.

Sniper!
Nine
o’clock!

Bullets. Screaming. Pain.

Chinook jerked on the reins, pulling her
back to the moment. The big animal clearly sensed her distress, and
it made him nervous.

She drew a deep breath into her lungs, willed
herself to focus on the stallion and the present moment. “Sorry,
buddy.”

She saw a blue rubber curry comb resting on
the inside ledge of the grill. She released Chinook’s halter and
walked over to retrieve it, the thick layer of straw making for
uneven ground and tricky footing. She began to brush the horse
down, starting at his neck and working her way down toward his
shoulder. She saw some specks of what must be mud near his left
elbow and brushed over them, but they didn’t flake away. She
reached down, touched the biggest speck with her finger, rubbed
it.

It wasn’t mud. It was…

Oh, God.

She bent down, saw what looked like stippling
spread across the left side of the stallion’s chest, his left arm,
and down to his left knee. She wasn’t a forensic expert, but she’d
been to her share of crime scenes. She knew what this meant.

Jack wasn’t going to like it.

A moment later, he reappeared, a plastic med
kit in hand. He stepped inside the stall, rested the box in the
straw against one of the stall walls.