did as Griff ordered. He didn’t want Zeke out wandering around. “Got it,” she said, breathing hard. She took Zeke aside and said, “Sit.” The dog did. “Stay,” she ordered, hoping he knew the command. He did, fortunately.
“Damn, he’s soaking wet,” Griff muttered, getting Talon’s long legs straightened out across the bed.
“He’s in bad shape,” Cat agreed, breathing raggedly. “Listen, can you get my medical bag out of the Cherokee? It’s on the backseat.”
Standing upright, Griff took off his gray Stetson, hitting it against his thigh. “Yeah. Be right back.”
The door closed. Cat gave one look at Zeke, who was sitting, fawn-colored ears with black tips up, alert. He hadn’t moved, which was good. She quickly went to work, shucking the wet clothes off Talon’s body. Her fingers were shaky as she moved Talon around to haul off his jacket. Griff came back with the medical bag.
Zeke thumped his tail. Griff gave the Malinois a narrowed-eyed look as he set the bag on the bed. “Need some help stripping him?”
“I do,” Cat huffed. “He’s heavy.”
“He’s a big man,” Griff muttered. He got out of his sheepskin coat and threw it and his hat on a nearby overstuffed chair.
Together, they stripped Talon of every article of wet clothing. Cat had seen a lot of naked people in her time and tried not to look too closely at Talon. His flesh was cold and nearly gray. She got out of her jacket and dropped it onto the floor, grabbing her medical bag. As Griff layered several blankets over him, she listened to his lungs through the stethoscope.
“Damn,” she muttered. “Griff? Get at least six pillows and pile them under his shoulders and head? He’s got so much fluid in his lungs that he needs to get his upper body lifted up or he’ll drown in this shit.”
“Got it.” Griff left and closed the door.
Cat heard the thunk of his cowboy boots along the wooden floor. She listened closely to both of Talon’s lungs, trying to ignore the powerful breadth of his chest. She ran her fingers gently across his naked shoulder. He was hypothermic. Her heart twinged as she saw his ribs. He was pathetically thin for his height and body build. Why was he starving? When she pulled some skin between her thumb and index finger from his tightly muscled forearm, the skin stood up. It didn’t immediately snap back down, which meant he was severely dehydrated. How long had Talon gone without food and water? She took his temperature and it was a 105°F, an indication his body was fighting hard to survive the infection. His pulse was pounding erratically, his blood pressure too high. All indicators of major war for survival taking place within his body.
Zeke whined.
Cat looked up as she looped the stethoscope around her shoulders. “He’s in bad shape, boy.”
Zeke whined again.
“But we’re going to wage a battle to bring him back,” she promised the dog. Getting up, Cat dug into her pack. In no time, she had an IV going into his right arm, full bore, to start flooding his body with much needed vital liquid.
The door opened.
Zeke growled. And then he recognized Griff with six pillows in his arms and stopped.
“That dog is dangerous,” Griff muttered, keeping one eye on him as he shut the door and brought the pillows over.
“He’s okay,” Cat soothed. She stood and Griff lifted Talon’s upper body forward so she could place the pillows beneath him.
“That’s better,” Cat murmured. With Talon slightly elevated, it would help him breathe easier. “Can you get my large oxygen canister from the truck and bring it in?”
“Yeah,” Griff said, “no problem. Be right back.”
Cat pulled out a bottle of antibiotics and a syringe and sucked up a maximum load. She put it into the IV port so it would quickly go into Talon’s bloodstream, where it would do the most good. She listened to his shallow, raspy breathing. Without thinking, she slid her fingers across his wrinkled brow, feeling the cold, clammy sweat. His hair was matted, filthy, and he so badly needed a shower. Worse, Cat saw a lot of scars on his back and across his shoulders. What the hell had happened to him?
After tucking Talon in with the heavy wool blankets, she moved down and felt his toes. They were chalk-white and cold. She sat down and placed her hands over one foot and then the other, trying to warm them up, bring circulation back into them. Cat liked touching this man. Her heart went out to him. Clearly, he had suffered terribly. No military vet should be found sick along a highway like she’d found Talon. He was due better treatment than that.
Griff came back with a large canister of oxygen. Cat covered up Talon’s feet, tucked the wool in around them and stood.
“Thanks, Griff.”
“How’s he doing?” he asked, watching Cat quickly place a cannula around Talon’s head, the oxygen moving directly into his nostrils.
“Not good,” she murmured.
“There’s no way we can get him to the hospital in this blizzard,” Griff muttered, pushing damp, black strands of hair off his brow as he stood watching Cat work over the man.
“I know.”
“Good thing you came along when you did. I’m no doctor, but he looks in rough shape.”
“He’d have died of hypothermia out there,” Cat said, checking the oxygen tank and twisting the dial a little. Talon needed as much pure oxygen as he could get, but she only had four canisters in her SUV. And that wouldn’t last long.
Griff studied Zeke. “I wonder if he’s hungry?”
“Probably. Can you bring in some food and water for him?” Cat didn’t want to leave Talon’s side. She sat down on the bed, facing him, picking up his limp wrist. His pulse thudded like cannonballs through his arteries, indicating how much harder his heart was laboring without the necessary oxygen to push the blood through his body.
“Yeah.” Griff smiled a little. “How about you? Miss Gus is out there making scrambled eggs, hash and toast for breakfast. Want me to bring you in a plate?”
Cat gave him a warm look. “That would be great. I’m starving to death.”
Smiling a little, Griff said, “Coming up. I’ll be back....”
Silence settled in the large, spacious room. Cat continued to hold Talon’s large, callused hand between hers. She wanted to touch him. He might be unconscious, but she knew the value of a healing touch. Only, there was pleasure connected to touching this man, too. Cat moved her long, spare fingers lightly across his forearm. There were so many new, pink scars, along with older white ones, across his flesh. She knew little about SEALs, but his body was proof he’d gone through major combat many times.
Her gaze moved to Talon’s slack face. He had a beautiful mouth. His nose was strong and had been broken a few times from what she could tell. Talon had a square face, a lean, hard jaw most likely, but the beard covered it up, so she couldn’t really tell. Her lower body clenched. Surprised, Cat had never felt that reaction before. She felt her womb flooding with heat and it made her feel achy. Needy. Talon Holt was ruggedly handsome. She remembered briefly meeting his gray eyes that, despite the fever, contained hard intelligence. Even as sick as he was, Cat had felt the intensity of his eyes upon her. It excited her and scared the hell out of her.
She moved her fingers gently down Talon’s slack forearm, which was lightly dusted with dark hair. For whatever crazy reason, Cat wondered what his hand would feel like exploring her. It was such a ridiculous response that her breath hitched. Get a grip, she ordered herself.
Cat unlooped her stethoscope from around her neck and once more listened to his lungs. She tried to ignore the sexual reaction she had to touching him. His shoulders were broad and his chest massive and well sprung. A dusting of black hair across his chest narrowed downward toward his blanket-covered