Sam’s hand was huge, tanned and broad, with long, skilled fingers that were capable of killing a man, bringing a baby back from the brink of death—and driving a woman out of her mind with pleasure.

The strength of it should have scared Cassidy, but for some strange reason it just felt … right. He felt right. As though her hand had been fashioned to fit perfectly into his.

But that was a dangerous illusion and one she needed to get out of her head. He wasn’t perfect, she reminded herself firmly. He was fighting demons as hard as he fought for his country. The combination wasn’t healthy. For either of them.

Dear Reader

My parents can attest to the fact that I was always a dreamer. At age eight I wanted to be a prima ballerina, but that didn’t pan out because I also loved Westerns and ran around the garden with my brother shooting everything. Then I discovered Julie Andrews and wanted to be just like her. Well, as you can see, that didn’t work out either, but my love of dreaming and weaving fantastical stories in my head finally did.

A few years ago a friend showed me an article in a magazine about a Mills & Boon® writing competition and urged me to enter. With absolutely nothing to lose, I did. I didn’t win, but imagine my surprise and delight when I received an e-mail from the offices of Mills & Boon® Medical Romance™ saying they loved my writing style and absolutely adored my characters, Cassidy and Sam—especially Sam. It was a dream come true—or rather coming true.

It’s been a hard slog getting Sam and Cassidy’s story perfected, but with the infinitely patient Flo Nicoll and her expert advice it’s done, and I’m finally able to say, ‘I’m a published author.’ What a thrill! Now my colleagues can stop saying, ‘Why is this taking so long? Shouldn’t you try something else?’ And my daughters can stop rolling their eyes at me and admit I am Queen of the Universe—in our house anyway.

I really hope you enjoy reading about Sam and Cassidy’s struggle to overcome their trust issues and admit they’re perfect for each other. I also hope you enjoy your visit to Crescent Lake, with all its quirky characters. I’ve had such fun with them and hope you do too.

Happy reading!

Lucy

Resisting Her

Rebel Hero

Lucy Ryder

www.millsandboon.co.uk

After trying out everything from acting in musicals, singing opera, travelling and writing for a business newspaper, LUCY RYDER finally settled down to have a family and teach at a local community college, where she currently teaches English and Communication. However, she insists that writing is her first love and time spent on it is more pleasure than work.

She currently lives in South Africa, with her crazy dogs and two beautiful teenage daughters. When she’s not driving her daughters around to their afternoon activities, cooking those endless meals or officiating at swim meets, she can be found tapping away at her keyboard, weaving her wild imagination into hot romantic scenes.

RESISTING HER REBEL HERO is Lucy Ryder’s debut title for Mills & Boon®!

DEDICATION

I couldn’t have done this without my wonderful supportive family—especially my beautiful daughters, Caitlin and Ashleigh. I love you to infinity and beyond.

A special thanks to Dr Jenni Irvine, who started it all, and to Flo Nicoll for seeing something in my writing she liked.

And lastly to my colleagues—ladies, it’s amazing how people bond through complaining.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER ONE

THE LAST PLACE Dr. Cassidy Mahoney expected to find herself when she fled the city for a wilderness town deep in the Cascades Mountains was the county jail. She could honestly say it was the first time she’d ever been in one, and with the smell of stale alcohol and something more basically human permeating the air, she hoped it was the last.

And absolutely nothing could have prepared her for him—all six feet four inches of broad shoulders and hard muscles, oozing enough testosterone to choke a roomful of hardened feminists.

Draped languorously over a narrow bunk that clearly couldn’t contain his wide shoulders and long legs, the man lustily sang about a pretty señorita with dark flashing eyes and lips like wine. The old man in the neighboring cell cheerfully sang along, sounding like a rusty engine chugging up a mountain pass while his cellmate snored loudly enough to rattle the small windows set high in the outside wall.

Pausing in the outer doorway, Cassidy felt her eyes widen and wondered if she’d stepped onto a movie set without a script. The entire town of Crescent Lake had turned out to be like something from a movie set and she was still having a hard time believing she wasn’t dreaming.

Quite frankly, even her wildest dreams couldn’t have conjured up being escorted to the sheriff’s office in a police cruiser like a seasoned offender—even to supply medical care to a prisoner.

From somewhere near the back of the holding area a loud voice cursed loudly and yelled at them to “shut the hell up.” Hazel Porter, the tiny woman currently leading Cassidy into the unknown, pushed the door open all the way and gestured for her to follow.

“Full house tonight,” Hazel rasped in her thirty-a-day voice, sounding like she’d been sucking on smokes since the cradle. “Must be full moon.” She nodded to the cell holding the old-timers. “Don’t mind them, honey: longstanding weekend reservations.” Her bunch of keys jangled Cassidy’s already ragged nerves.

“And ignore the guy in the back,” Hazel advised. “Been snarlin’ and snipin’ since he was hauled in a couple hours ago. I was tempted to call in animal control, but the sheriff said to let him sleep it off.”

“I’d be sleeping too, you old crow, if it wasn’t for the caterwauling, stripping paint off the walls.”

Hazel shook her head. “Mean as a cornered badger, that one,” she snorted, closing the outer door behind them. “Even when he ain’t drunk.”

Cassidy sent the woman a wary look, a bit nervous at the thought of being closed in with a bunch of offenders—one of whom was apparently violent—and a pint-sized deputy who could be anything between sixty and a hundred and sixty.

“So...the patient?” she prompted uncertainly, hoping it wasn’t the fun guy in back. Hippocratic oath aside, she drew the line at entering his cell without the sheriff, a couple of burly deputies and a fully charged stun gun as backup.

“That’ll be Crescent Lake’s very own superhero.” Hazel headed for the baritone’s cell and Cassidy couldn’t help the relief that left her knees a bit shaky. “He’s a recent addition and a wild one, so watch yerself,” wasn’t exactly something Cassidy wanted to hear.

The deputy slid a key into the lock and continued as though she’d known Cassidy for years. “Wasn’t a bit surprising when he up ’n left med school to join the Navy.” Her chuckle sounded like a raspy snort. “Heck, ‘Born to be wild’ shoulda been tattooed on that boy’s hide at birth.”

Cassidy blinked, unsure if she was meant to respond and uncertain what she would say if she did. She’d learnt over the past fortnight that mountain folk were for the most part polite and taciturn with strangers, but treated everyone’s business like public property. She’d even overheard bets being placed on how long she’d last before she “hightailed it back to the city.”

The sound of the key turning was unnaturally loud and Cassidy bit her lip nervously when the cell door slid open and clanged against the bars. Drawing in a shaky breath, she smoothed damp palms down her thighs and eyed the “born to be wild” man warily.

One long leg was bent at the knee; the other hung over the side of the bunk, large booted foot planted on the bare concrete floor. Although a bent arm blocked most of his face from view, Cassidy realized she was the object of intense scrutiny. Her first thought was, God, he’s huge, followed almost immediately by, And there’s only a garden gnome’s granny between me and Goliath’s drunk younger brother.

“Is that why he’s in here?”

“Heck, no,” Hazel rasped with a snort. “Was the only way Sheriff could be sure he stayed put till you arrived. Boy thinks he’s too tough for a few stitches and a couple of sticking plasters.”

Cassidy hovered outside the cell, aware that her heart was banging against her ribs like she was the one who’d committed a felony and was facing jail time. Besides, she’d heard all about people going missing in wilderness towns and had the oddest feeling the instant she stepped over the threshold her life would never be the same.

Turning, she caught the older woman watching her and gave a self-conscious shrug. “Is it safe? Shouldn’t we wait for the sheriff? A couple of deputies?” A shock stick?

Small brown eyes twinkled. “Safe?” Hazel cackled as though the idea tickled her funny bone when Cassidy had been as serious as a tax audit. In Boston, violent offenders were always accompanied by several burly cops, even when they were restrained.

“Well, now,” the deputy said, wiping the mirth from her eyes. “I don’t know as the boy’s ever been called ‘safe’ before, but if you’re wondering if he’ll get violent, don’t you worry about a thing, hon. He’s gentle as a lamb.”

Cassidy’s gaze slid to the “boy,” who seemed to be all shoulders and legs, and thought, Yeah, right. Nothing about him looked gentle and “boy” wasn’t something he’d been for a good long time. Not with that long, hard body or the toxic cloud of testosterone and pheromones filling the small space and snaking primitive warnings up her spine.

Even sprawled across the narrow bunk, he exuded enough masculine sexuality to have a cautious woman taking a hasty step in retreat.

Hazel Porter must have correctly interpreted the move for she cackled gleefully even as she planted a bony hand in the small of Cassidy’s back and gave her a not-so-gentle shove into the cell.

Her pulse gave an alarmed little blip and Cassidy found herself swallowing a distressed yelp, which was ridiculous, considering he’d done nothing more dangerous than sing in that rich, smooth bedroom baritone.

“Whatcha got for me, sweetheart?” the deep voice drawled, sending a shiver of fear down Cassidy’s spine. At least she thought the belly-clenching, free-falling sensation was fear as goose bumps rushed over her skin beneath the baby-pink scrubs top she hadn’t had time to change out of. The baby-pink top that was covered in little bear doctors and nurses and an assortment of smears and stains from a day spent with babies and toddlers.

Not exactly the kind of outfit that gave a woman much-needed confidence when facing a large alpha male.

“You get the rare steak and fries I ordered?”

Hazel snorted. “We’re not running some five-star establishment here, sonny,” she rebuked mildly, eyeing him over her spectacles. “You wanted steak and fries you shoulda thought about that before you decided to pound on Wes.”

A battered lip curved into a loopy grin. “Aw, c’mon, Hazel.” He chuckled, sounding a little rusty, as though he hadn’t had much to laugh about lately—or had awakened from a deep sleep. “He was drunker than a sailor on shore leave. The coeds he was hassling were terrified. ’Sides, someone had to stop him trashing Hannah’s bar. He threw a stool at her when she tried to intervene, for God’s sake.”

“Your sister can handle herself,” Hazel pointed out reasonably, to which the hunk sleepily replied, “Sure she can. We taught her some great moves.” He yawned until his jaw cracked. “Jus’ doin’ my brotherly duty, ’sall.”

“And look where that got you.”

The man lifted a hand wrapped in a bloodied bar towel and peered down at his side. “Bonehead took me by surprise,” he growled in disgust, wincing as he lowered his arm. “Was on me before I could convince them to leave.” He grunted. “Better my hide than her pretty face, huh?”

“You’re a good brother,” Hazel said dryly.

A wide shoulder hitched. “Didn’t you teach me to stand up to the bullies of this world, ma’am?”

“Ri-ight.” Hazel snorted, beaming at him with affectionate pride. “Blame the helpless old lady.”

The deep chuckle filling the tiny cell did odd things to Cassidy’s insides and spread prickling warmth throughout her body. Her face heated and the backs of her knees tingled.

She uttered a tiny gasp.

Tingled? Really? Alarmed by her body’s response, she backed up a step until she realized what she was doing and froze. Feeling her face heat, Cassidy drew in a shaky breath and took a determined step forward. She dropped her medical bag between his long hard thighs since he took up the rest of the bunk.

So what if she was dressed like a kindergarten teacher? She was a mature, professional woman who’d spent an entire day with babies and toddlers—not some silly naïve schoolgirl dazzled by a pair of wide shoulders, long legs and a deep bedroom voice.

Well...not usually. Besides, she’d already done that and was not going there again. Tingling of any sort. Was out.

“Nothin’ helpless about you, darlin’,” the bedroom voice drawled with another flash of even white teeth as Cassidy pulled out a pair of surgical gloves. She couldn’t see his eyes but knew by the stillness of his body that he was tracking her every move.

“Save the sweet talk, sonny,” Hazel sniffed, amused yet clearly not taken in by the charm. “And play nice. Miz Mahoney doesn’t have time to waste on idiots.”

Cassidy snapped on a latex glove and opened her mouth to correct the deputy’s use of “Miz” but he shifted at that moment and every thought fled, leaving her numb with shock as she realized exactly who she was in a jail cell with.

Ohmigosh. Her eyes widened. He really was a superhero. Or rather Major Samuel J. Kellan, Crescent Lake’s infamous Navy SEAL and all-round bad boy. She stared at him and wondered if she was hallucinating. Wasn’t he supposed to be a local hero or something? Heck, a national hero?

What was he doing in the county jail?

Besides, he’d been injured protecting his sister and saving a couple of young women from harm. And according to local gossip, everyone adored him. Women swooned at the mention of his name and men tended to recount his exploits like he was some kind of legendary superhero. And really. There wasn’t a man alive who could do half the things Major Kellan was rumored to have done and survived. Well...not outside Hollywood.

Yet, even battered and bruised, it was clear the man deserved his reputation as big, bad and dangerous to know. Looking into his battered face, it was just as clear that one thing hadn’t been exaggerated. With his thick dark hair, fierce gold eyes, strong shadowed jaw and surprisingly sensual mouth, the man was as hot as women claimed. She could only be grateful she’d been immunized against fallen angels masquerading as wounded bad boys.

Frankly, the last thing she needed in her life was another man with more sex appeal than conscience. Heck, the last thing she needed, period, was a man—especially one who tended to suck the air right out of a room and make the backs of her knees sweat.

Hazel cleared her throat loudly, jolting Cassidy from her bizarre thoughts. “Anything you need before you sew up his pretty face, hon?”

“He really should be taken to the hospital,” Cassidy said briskly, ignoring the strong smell of hops and thickly lashed eyes watching her every move. “I’ll need a lot more supplies than I have with me. Supplies I can only get at the hospital.” Especially if the hand wound was serious. Nerve damage was notoriously tricky to repair.

“Not to worry,” Hazel rasped cheerfully. “Sheriff keeps all kinds of stuff ready for when the doc’s called in unexpectedly. I’ll pull Larry off front desk and send him in. You’ll have your ER in a jiffy.” And before Cassidy could tell the woman a jail cell was hardly a sterile environment, the desk sergeant disappeared, leaving her standing there gaping at empty space and wondering if she’d taken a left turn somewhere into an alternate universe where pint-sized deputies left unsuspecting young doctors alone in jail cells with a violent offender and...and him.

Her heart jerked hard against her ribs and a prickle of alarm eased up her spine. The closest thing she had to a weapon was a syringe and, frankly, even tanked, her patient looked like he could disarm her with a flick of one long-fingered hand.

Frowning, she slid a cautious look over her shoulder, trying to decide if she should make a break for it, when his voice enfolded her like rich, sinful chocolate. It took her a moment to realize that she had bigger problems.

“Hey, darlin’,” he drawled, “wha’s a nice girl like you doin’ in a place like this?”

You have got to be kidding me.

Ignoring the lazy smile full of lethal charm, Cassidy sent him a sharp assessing look and wondered if his head injury was worse than it appeared. According to gossip, Major Hotstuff—her staff’s name for him, not hers—was smooth as hundred-year-old bourbon and just as potent. That line had been about as smooth as a nerd in a room full of cheerleaders.

Opening her mouth to tell him that she’d heard more original pickup lines from paralytic drunks and whacked-out druggies, Cassidy’s gaze locked with his and she was abruptly sucked into molten eyes filled with humor and sharp intelligence. Whether it was a trick of the light or the leashed power in his big, hard body, she was left with the weirdest impression that he wasn’t nearly as drunk as he seemed, which was darned confusing, since he smelled like a brewery on a hot day.

This close she could clearly make out the dark ring encircling those unusual irises, and with the light striking his eyes from the overhead fixture, the tiny amber flecks scattered in the topaz made them appear almost gold. Like a sleek, silent jaguar.

A frisson of primitive awareness raced over her skin and she tore her gaze from his, thinking, Get a grip, Cassidy. He’s the pied piper of female hormones. He seduces women to pass the time, for heaven’s sake. And we are so done with that, remember? Unfortunately, the appalling truth was that her hormones, frozen for far too long, had chosen the worst possible moment to awaken.

Annoyed and a little spooked, she drew her brows together and reached for his hand, abruptly all business. She was here to do a job, she reminded herself sharply, not get her hormones overhauled.

But the instant their skin touched, a jolt of electricity zinged up her arm to her elbow.

She yanked at her hand and stumbled back a step. Her head went light, her knees wobbled and she felt like she’d just been zapped by a thousand volts of live current. He must have felt it too because he grunted and looked startled, leaving Cassidy struggling with the urge to check if her hair was on fire.

Realizing her mouth was hanging open, she snapped it closed and reminded herself this was just another example of static electricity. Big deal. Absolutely nothing to get excited about. Happens all the time.

However, one look out the corner of her eye made her question whether the thin mountain air was killing off brain cells because Crescent Lake’s hotshot hero could hardly be termed “just another” anything. With his thick, nearly black hair mussed around his head like a dark halo, glowing gold eyes and fallen-angel looks, he was about as ordinary as a tiger shark in a goldfish bowl.

Giving her head a shake, Cassidy realized she was getting a little hysterical and probably looked like an idiot standing there gaping at him like he’d grown horns and a tail.

Exhaling in a rush, she looked around for the missing glove. And spied it on the bunk.

Right between his hard jeans-clad thighs.

Her body went hot and her mouth went dry because, holy Toledo, those jeans fit him like they’d been molded to...well, everything.

Tearing her gaze away from checking out places she had no business checking out, she reached for the latex glove and gasped when their hands collided. He picked up the glove and held it out, tightening his grip when she reached for it. Her automatic “Thank you” froze in her throat when she looked up and caught his sleepy gaze locked on her...mouth. After a long moment his eyes rose.

Cassidy’s pulse took off like a sprinter off the starting blocks and all she could think was... No! Oh, no. Not happening, Cassidy. Get your mind on the job.

Her brow wrinkling with irritation, she tugged and told herself she was probably just light-headed from all the fresh mountain air. Dr. Mahoney did not flutter just because some bad boy looked at her with his sexy eyes or talked in a rough baritone that she felt all the way to her belly.

“Excuse me?” she said in a tone that was cool and barely polite.

“I don’t bite,” he slurred with a loopy grin. “Unless you ask real nice.”

Narrowing her gaze, she yanked the glove free and considered smacking him with it. She was not there to play games with some hotshot Navy SEAL, thank you very much.

Setting her jaw, she wrestled with the glove a moment then reached for his hand when she was suitably protected.

“So...” he drawled after a long silence, during which she removed the blood-soaked bar towels to examine his injury, “where’s the cute white outfit?”

She looked up to catch him frowning at her pink scrubs top and jeans. “White outfit?”

“Yeah. You know...white, short, lots of little buttons?” He leaned sideways to scan the empty cell. “And where’s the box?”

“Box?” What the heck was he talking about?

“The boom box,” he said, as though she was missing a few IQ points. “Can’t dance without music.”

What?

“I am not a stripper, Major Kellan,” she said coolly, barely resisting the urge to grind her teeth. “And nurses don’t wear those any more.” She was accustomed to being mistaken for a nurse and on occasion an angel. But a stripper was a new one and she didn’t know whether to laugh or stab him with her syringe. Instead, she lifted a hand to brush a thick lock of dark hair off his forehead to check his head wound. He had to be hemorrhaging in there somewhere to have mistaken her for a stripper. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and her makeup had worn off hours ago.

So not stripper material.

“You’re not?” He sounded disappointed. She ignored him. The wound only needed a few butterfly strips and he’d probably have a whopping headache on top of a hangover. Hmph. That’s what you get for making a woman flutter without her permission, hotshot.

His left eye was almost swollen shut and a bruise had already turned the skin around it a dark mottled red. She gently probed the area and found no shifting under the skin. No cracked bones, but he’d have a beaut of a shiner and his split lip looked painful enough to put a crimp in his social life.

No kissing in his immediate future.

Wondering where that thought had come from, Cassidy reached into the bag for packaged alcohol swabs. “He did a good job on your face,” she murmured, dabbing at the wound.

Something lethal came and went in his expression, too quickly for Cassidy to interpret. But when he smirked and said, “You should see the other guys,” she decided she must have been mistaken and finally gave in to the mental eye roll that had been threatening. Other guys?

Maybe he’d been listening to too many stories about his own exploits.

“And I guess the knife wasn’t clean either?”

He grunted, but as she wasn’t fluent in manspeak, she was unsure if he was agreeing with her or in pain. “Broken beer bottle. Talk about a cliché,” he snorted roughly. “And forget the tetanus shot. Had one a few months ago...so I’m good.”

Good? It was her turn to snort—silently, of course.

Her obvious skepticism prompted an exasperated grimace. “I’m not drunk.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “You’re not?”

He shook his head and yawned again. “Just tired. An’ it’s Friday,” he reminded her as though she should know what he was talking about.

“Been carousing it up with the boys, have you?”

His look was reproachful. “Fridays are busy and Hannah’s usual bartender has food poisoning.”

“So, you were what?” Cassidy inquired dryly. “Keeping the peace as you served up whiskey and bar nuts?”

His gold eyes gleamed with appreciation and his battered lip curved in a lopsided smile. “If you’re worried, you could always stay the night. Just to be sure I’m not suffering from anything...fatal.”

Flicking on a penlight, Cassidy leaned closer. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Major,” she responded dryly, checking his pupil reaction. The only fatal thing he was suffering from was testosterone overload.

She stepped back to pick up another alcohol swab, before returning to press it to the bloodied cut above his eye. His hissed reaction had her gentling her touch as she cleaned it. “How much did you have to drink?”

“A couple,” he murmured, then responded to her narrow-eyed survey with a cocky smile that looked far too harmless for a man with his reputation. “Of sodas,” he added innocently, and her assessing look turned speculative. For a man who slurred like a drunk and smelled as though he’d bathed in beer, his gaze was surprisingly sharp and clear.

“I don’t drink on the job,” he said, hooking a finger in the hem of her top, and giving a little tug. His knuckles brushed against bare skin and sent goose bumps chasing across her skin. “Beer and stupidity don’t mix well.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, straight-faced, turning away to hide her body’s reaction to that casual touch. “Do you need help removing your shirt?” she asked over her shoulder as she cleared away the soiled swabs. “I want to see your torso.”

He was silent for a few beats and when the air thickened, she lifted her gaze and her breath caught. “Your...um...torso wound, I mean.” It was no wonder he had women swooning all over the county.

As though reading her thoughts, his lips curled, drawing her reluctant gaze. The poet’s mouth and long inky lashes should have looked ridiculously feminine on a man so blatantly male but they only made him appear harder, more masculine somehow.

“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”

Cursing the fair complexion that heated beneath his wicked gaze, Cassidy injected a little more frost into her tone. “Excuse me?”

His grin widened and he let out a rusty chuckle. “I like the way you say that. All cool and snooty and just a little bit superior.”

Leveling him with a look one generally reserved for ill-mannered adolescents, Cassidy queried mildly, “Are you flirting with me, Major Kellan?”

“Me?” Then he chuckled. “If you have to ask,” he drawled, leaning so close that she found herself retreating in an attempt to evade his potent masculine scent, “then I guess I’m out of practice.”

She said, “Uh huh,” and reached for the hem of his torn, bloodied T-shirt, pulling it from his waistband. The soft cotton was warm from his body and reeked of beer and something intrinsically male. She hastily drew it over his head and dropped it onto the bunk, ignoring his finely sculpted warrior’s body. It had been a long time since she’d found herself this close to a man who made her want to bury her nose in his throat and breathe in warm manly skin.

But medical professionals didn’t go around sniffing people’s necks or drooling over every set of spectacular biceps, triceps or awesome abs that ended up in their ER. And they certainly didn’t get the urge to follow that silky-looking happy trail that disappeared into a low-riding waistband with their lips either.

Or they shouldn’t, she lectured herself sternly, considering the last one had left her with a deep sense of betrayal and a determination not to get sucked in again by a set of hard abs and a wicked smile.

Relieved to focus on something other than silky hair and warm manly skin, she leaned closer to probe the wound, murmuring an apology when he gave a sharp hiss. Over three inches long, it angled upwards towards his pec and the surrounding area was already darkening into what looked like the shape of a fist. Wincing, she ran the tips of her fingers over the bruised area just as the outer door banged opened, slamming against the wall.

The sound was as loud and unexpected as a gunshot. In a blur of eerily silent movement, Major Kellan surged off the bunk, shoving her roughly aside as he dropped into a crouch. Deadly menace slashed the air, sending Cassidy stumbling backwards.

She gave a shocked gasp and gaped at a wide, perfectly proportioned, perfectly tanned, muscular back bare inches from her face.

CHAPTER TWO

INSTANTLY ALERT AND battle-ready, Sam barely felt the burn of his injured palm or the line of fire streaking across his belly. Adrenaline and blood stormed his system and in some distant corner of his brain he realized it was happening. Again. Dammit.

Not now. Please, not now.

But he was helpless to stop it—helpless against the firestorm of images that tended to explode in his brain—instantly warping his sense of reality and triggering an instinct to protect. With deadly force.

From somewhere behind him he heard a gasp, and the young deputy entering the holding area abruptly stopped in his tracks.

One look at Sam and the kid’s eyes widened to dinner plates. He went sheet-white and dropped the fold-up steel table. It teetered a moment then toppled over with loud clatter. The deputy jerked back as though he’d been prodded with a shock stick.

“M-Major K-Kellan?” he squeaked, his wide-eyed look of terrified embarrassment reaching Sam as though from a distance.

“It’s just m-me, M-Major Kellan. L-Larry?”

Pain lanced through Sam’s skull and he staggered, clutching his head. Sweat broke out along his spine so abruptly he felt dizzy. His strength drained, along with the surge of adrenaline that had fired his synapses and instinctively turned him into a lethal weapon. It had also turned him into something he didn’t recognize any more. Something he didn’t like.

Sam forced back the bile that came with particularly bad flashbacks—triggered no doubt by the violence of the evening and the sudden unexpected noise. Dammit. He wanted to smash his fist into the wall and roar with anger and despair.

But he couldn’t...couldn’t lose control now. Not with an audience.

The blood drained abruptly from his head, leaving him clammy and light-headed. “Dammit, Larry,” he growled, and sagged as though someone had cut him off at the knees.

Squeezing his eyes closed to block out the wildly spinning cell, he staggered and hoped he wouldn’t embarrass himself by passing out—or tossing his cookies. He could just imagine what the sexy nurse would think about the hotshot SEAL then.

“I’m s-sorry, M-Major...it’s just that I had b-both hands f-full.”

He felt her an instant before her arms wrapped around him, easing him backwards, soft and silky and smelling like cool mountain air. Mortified, Sam pulled away and collapsed wearily onto the narrow bunk, slinging an arm across his face.

“Don’ sweat it, kid,” he slurred, and prayed for oblivion. Unfortunately, sleep always came with a heavy price and he wasn’t ready to go there. The nightmares were still too real, the memories too raw, the latest flashback still too recent. So vivid he could taste the fear, hear the furious pounding of his pulse in his head.

The Navy shrinks had warned that they’d get worse before they got better. They’d also warned that they’d last for years.

Well, hell. Just what he was looking forward to. A constant reminder of his greatest failure.

“Major Kellan?”

In the meantime he had to face Nurse...what’s-her-name.

Swiping his good hand over his face, he eased open his eyes and focused on the statuesque blonde watching him warily and with more than a hint of concern.

He didn’t want her pity—or anything else she had to offer. He wanted to be left alone. Needed to be left alone. “I’m fine,” he snapped, furious with himself and embarrassed that she’d witnessed an episode. Hoping to distract his brain from the endless loop of horrifying images, Sam focused his attention on her.

Yeah, much better to focus on the nurse.

With her thick silvery blond hair haphazardly pulled off a stunning face dominated by deep green eyes and a lush wide mouth, she looked like a sexy angel and smelled like a wood sprite—all fresh and clean and earthy like the mountains in spring. Raindrops glistened in her hair like diamonds, giving her an ethereal quality that made him wonder if he was drunk or just plain losing it.

“No, you’re not,” she contradicted softly. “But you will be.”

For one confused moment Sam wondered if he’d spoken his thoughts out loud before he remembered he’d said he was fine.

“Sure,” he growled, clenching his teeth on a wave of grief and anger. I will. But my friends are still dead. And the woman patching me up thinks Crescent Lake’s hero is a whacked-out crazy with a drinking problem.

Yeah, right. Hero. What a joke.

Heroes didn’t let their teams down. They didn’t return home with their buddies in body bags no matter what the Navy shrinks said. But his week of detention in a small, dark hole, deep in mountainous enemy territory wasn’t something he talked about. He could barely think about it let alone talk about the hours of interrogation and torture that had left half his team dead.

The only reason he’d survived long enough to escape had been because they’d found out he was a medic and wanted him to treat some sick kid. He’d tried to bargain until they let his team go but they’d dragged in the team rookie and held a gun to his head. Afterwards they’d—

No. Don’t go there. Not when the horror was still so fresh in his mind that every time he closed his eyes, he was back in that hellhole.

“Major Kellan?”

Jolted from his unpleasant thoughts, Sam saw the syringe and shot out his hand to wrap hard fingers around her wrist. Other than a slight widening of her eyes, the nurse held her ground without flinching. After a couple of tense beats she arched her brow, the move managing to convey a boatload of indulgent concern. Like he was a cranky toddler up past his bedtime. He groaned silently. Just great.

His face heated and he narrowed his eyes but she silently held his gaze, like he wasn’t almost a foot taller, a hundred pounds heavier, and a whole hell of a lot meaner.

Clearly the woman was missing a few IQ points, he decided with a mix of admiration and annoyance, or she wasn’t as soft and silky as she looked. He closed his eyes on a surge of self-disgust. All he needed to complete his humiliation was for her to ruffle his hair and kiss his “owie” better.

Way to go, hotshot.

“Do I need to wave a white flag or are you a friendly?” she asked with a hint of amusement, and when his lashes rose, she indicated the hand wrapped around her wrist.

He grimaced and released her. Jeez, could this get any worse? Embarrassment had him muttering, “I don’t hit women.” He jerked his chin at the syringe. “Unless they’re armed.”

She followed his gaze. “Oh, this?” Her mouth curved sweetly into a smile that instantly made him suspicious and want to take a greedy bite of that lush lower lip. “Surely you’re not afraid of a little needle, Major?” Her smile grew as though she’d just learnt his deepest, darkest secret. Not even close, lady. “A big tough SEAL like you?” She made a soothing sound in the back of her throat. “It won’t hurt a bit. Trust me.”

Sam grunted out a laugh and hauled himself into a sitting position, hissing through clenched teeth when the move sent pain radiating through his chest and burning across his belly. “That’s what they all say,” he growled. “Right before they stab you in the heart.”

“Not to worry,” she said, moving closer and wrapping him in clean mountain air. “I have no interest in your heart, Major. I’m aiming a little lower than that.”

And then, as though suddenly realizing what she’d said, her cheeks turned pink and she sucked in a sharp breath while Sam choked out a stunned “Huh?” and dropped his uninjured hand to protect his crotch.

“Not th-that low,” she stuttered with a strangled snicker. “Although I’d probably be doing the rest of the female population a favor.”

He choked for the second time in as many seconds but before he could demand what she meant, the outer door banged open again and she froze, eyes jerking to his, all wide and apprehensive as though she expected him to go all psycho GI Joe on her.

Dammit. He did not go around terrorizing women. Well...not unless they were holding a machine gun on him. Then all bets were off.

Scowling, he opened his mouth to tell her to knock it off, but his brother strode into the holding cells looking all officious and in charge, and Sam turned his irritation on someone more deserving.

Unfortunately, one look at Ruben’s face had Sam’s annoyance abruptly fading. He knew that look. Had seen it a thousand times on his CO’s face. Something was up. Something bad.

“I hope you haven’t used that on him yet.” Ruben tossed an armful of clothing onto the bunk. “Get dressed,” he told Sam. “We’re heading out.”

Blondie gasped and stepped between them. “What—? No!” she hissed. “Are you insane?”

Sam ignored her outburst and rose, pain abruptly receding as his SEAL training took over. “What happened?”

“A group of hikers didn’t check in after closing,” Ruben said, his wary gaze flicking to the syringe, “and the weather’s turned bad. Park rangers just found their vehicle up near Pike’s Pass. Lake route turned up empty and they think the group took the trail leading up into the mountains.”

“Elk Ridge,” Sam guessed, fatigue instantly forgotten as adrenaline surged through his veins. Here was the opportunity he hadn’t even realized he’d been waiting for, to get out there and do something more useful than working the taps at his sister’s bar. Frankly, after months of “recuperation” he was thoroughly sick of his own company and damn tired of sitting around feeling sorry for himself.

Ruben nodded and backed away, keeping a wary eye on Cassidy, as though expecting her to use the syringe on him. “Can’t you just wrap him up or something? My usual tracker had a family emergency and we’re in a hurry.”

Her eyes widened. “Wrap—? He’s not a cheeseburger,” she snapped, sending Ruben’s eyebrows into his hairline. “And in case it escaped your notice, Sheriff, the major is bleeding, and he’s been drinking. It would be suicidal to go climbing mountains in his condition. I’m going to insist you leave him here. Or, better yet, let me take him to the hospital.”

Sam brushed past her to where Larry had set out the medical supplies. “I’m fine,” he said brusquely, reaching for a wound dressing. “I told you I wasn’t drunk.”

Before he could open the packet she snatched it from him and shoved her shoulder into his side as though she’d physically keep him from leaving.

As if.

He would have snickered at the absurdity if he hadn’t been sucking in a painful breath. Turning a scowl on her that usually had people backing off in a hurry, she surprised him with a snapped “Back it up, Major,” clearly not intimidated by his big bad Navy SEAL attitude.

He gave an annoyed grunt and tried to snatch it back.

“I mean it,” she warned, jabbing her finger into his chest. “Or I’ll use the syringe and the sheriff will have no choice but to go without you.” She narrowed her eyes at him when he continued to glare at her while contemplating letting her try.

Heck, he might even enjoy it.

“And FYI, buddy, I nearly got intoxicated on the alcoholic haze surrounding you when I arrived, and not five minutes ago you almost fell on your face. You are not in any condition to go anywhere, least of all into the mountains on S&R. Besides,” she reasoned sweetly, “you’re bleeding all over the sheriff’s nice clean jail cell. You need stitches.” She paused and dropped her eyes meaningfully to his hand and then his abdomen. “Lots of them.”

Staring down at her, Sam felt his lips twitch. She was like an enraged kitten—all fierce green eyes and ruffled silver fur. For just an instant he was tempted to reach out and smooth his hands over all that soft skin and silky silvery blond hair until she purred. One look into her narrowed eyes, however, and Sam knew she would probably bite his hand off at the wrist if he tried.

He made a scoffing sound filled with masculine impatience and amusement, which only served to narrow her eyes even further. “I’ve had mosquito bites worse than this,” he assured her, feeling unaccountably cheered by her concern. “And if you’re worried about blood alcohol levels, I’m sure the sheriff can organize a breathalyzer.”

For long tense moments they engaged in a silent battle of wills until she finally uttered a soft “Aargh” followed by “Fine” in a tone that clearly meant it wasn’t, and Sam had to clench his teeth to keep from grinning. He had a feeling grinning would be bad for his health.

“Oh...and FYI, sweetheart,” he continued, while she sorted through the supplies with barely leashed temper, “I wasn’t drinking. The weasel tried to break a bottle over my head. When I ducked, it shattered against the bar and soaked into my shirt. That was before he tried to gut me with it.”

She turned towards him with a derisive sound and raised a brow that clearly conveyed her opinion of his explanation. “I said fine, didn’t I?”

“You most certainly did,” Ruben said dryly, shoving his face between them. “But I’m still not seeing anything happening here, people.” He waited a couple of beats as his gaze ping-ponged between them. “So if you kids could save the lovers’ spat for another time, I’d like my chief tracker.”

* * *

Feeling her face catch fire, Cassidy broke eye contact with the Navy SEAL to send the sheriff a long, silent, narrow-eyed look that had him backing away with his hands up.

She turned back to snap, “Lift your arm.” When he did she swiped disinfectant across the angry gash, completely ignoring the hissed response to her cavalier treatment.

After a long murmured conversation during which she cleaned and applied a few adhesive cross-strips to keep the edges of the wound together, the sheriff left. Cassidy knew the instant the SEAL’s attention shifted back to her because the tiny hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

With unsteady hands she dressed his wound then cleaned and tightly wrapped his hand in a waterproof dressing, before turning away to gather the debris.

The length of her back heated an instant before a long tanned arm reached over her shoulder to snag a bandage. Cursing the way her skin prickled and her body tightened with some kind of weird anticipation, she sent a dark look over her shoulder and watched in silence as he awkwardly attempted to wrap it around his torso. After a moment she sighed and put out her hand, saying wearily, “I’ll do it.”

Clearly surprised by her offer, Samuel held her gaze for a long tension-filled moment. His laugh was a husky rasp in the tense silence and did annoying things to her breathing. “You’re not going to strangle me with it, are you?”

Cassidy knew the taping would help him move—and breathe—more comfortably as he leapt tall mountains in a single bound. She rolled her eyes and waited while he gingerly raised his arms to link both hands behind his head.

Hard muscles shifted beneath his taut, tanned skin and she had to bite her lip to keep from sighing like a stupid female drunk on manly pheromones. She swallowed the urge to lean forward and swipe her tongue across his strong, tanned throat. As though he’d read her mind, he sucked in a sharp breath and she froze, watching in awed fascination as flesh rippled and goose bumps broke out across his skin an inch from her nose.

Heat snapped in the air between them and her mind went numb. Good grief, she thought with horror, I’m attracted to him? Appalled and more than a little rattled, she lifted her gaze, only to find him watching her, the expression in his gold eyes sending her blood pressure shooting into the stratosphere. She didn’t have to wonder if he was as affected by their proximity as she was.

Tearing her gaze from his, she muttered, “You’re an idiot,” unsure if she was addressing him or herself. In case it was him, she continued with, “And so is the sheriff for expecting you to go out like this.”

“Hikers are missing,” he reminded her impatiently.

She rolled her eyes. She’d treated people suffering from trauma and knew enough about PTSD to be worried about the battle-alert episodes that culminated in dizziness, muscle tremors, sweating and confusion.

“You almost fainted,” she pointed out.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped, as though she’d suggested something indecent. “SEALs don’t faint. I was just a bit dizzy, that’s all. I suffer from low blood pressure.”

Cassidy looked up at the outrageous lie and shut her mouth on a sigh. Clearly he was in denial. Fine. She was just doing her job.

Besides, he was a Navy SEAL. She reminded herself that he did this kind of thing all the time. A shiver slinked up her spine as she pictured him sneaking into hostile territory, wiping everything out before ghosting out again as silently as he’d arrived. She could even picture him—

“What?”

Yeah, Cassidy. What?

Shaking her head, she went back to binding his torso, reminding herself that she didn’t need rescuing. She wasn’t a damsel in distress and those gold eyes couldn’t see into her mind or know what was happening to her.

Except—darn him—he probably did. He was no doubt an expert at making women lose their brain cells just by flexing those awesome biceps—or staring at them with that brooding gold gaze. It was no wonder she felt like she was running a fever. It was no wonder her blood was humming through her veins. Her hormone levels were probably shooting through the stratosphere along with her blood pressure.

Finally she fastened the bandage and took a hasty step back, nearly knocking over the table and its contents in her haste to escape. A large hand on her arm kept her upright and when it tightened as she turned away, she looked up. With his gaze on hers, he gently swiped a line of fire across her bottom lip. She gasped and her heart gave a shocked little blip at the unexpected contact.

“Thank you,” he said, leaning towards her. And just when she thought he meant to kiss her, he snagged a plastic container of pain meds behind her. Grinning at the expression on her face, he popped the top, shook a couple into his palm.

He gave a mocking little salute and tossed the container back in the box. “Gotta go,” he said, scooping up his clothing in his good hand. With one last heated look in her direction he sauntered from the cell, all long loose-limbed masculine grace, leaving Cassidy staring at the wide expanse of his muscular back and the very interesting way he filled out his faded jeans.

Fortunately, before the outer door could close behind him, Cassidy pulled herself together enough to croak, “You need stitches, Major. I suggest coming to the hospital before you get septicemia and die a horrible death.”

Grinning at her over one broad shoulder, he drawled, “It’s a date, darlin’,” and disappeared, leaving Cassidy with the impression that he had absolutely no intention of following through with his promise.

At least, not for sutures.

CHAPTER THREE

THE SMALL TOWN of Crescent Lake had been established when traders heading north had come over the mountains and found a large crescent-shaped lake nestled in a thickly wooded area. According to Mrs. Krenson at the Lakeside Inn, it had started out as a rough fur-trading town that had gradually grown into the popular tourist town it was today.

The inn, once the local house of pleasure, had been remodeled and modernized over the years. Rising out of a picturesque forest, with mountains at its back and the lake at its feet like a small sparkling sea, it now resembled a gracious, well-preserved old lady, appearing both elegant and mysterious. At least, that’s what it said in the brochure and what Cassidy had thought when she’d arrived a few weeks before.

Now, with dark clouds hanging over the valley, the lake was nothing like the crystal-clear mirror it resembled in the pictures and Cassidy had to wish for “sturdy” rather than mysterious.

The day had dawned gray and wet and, standing at her bedroom window, Cassidy couldn’t help shivering as she looked up at the mountains shrouded in swirling fog, eerily beautiful and threatening. She wondered if the hikers had been found.

And if she was thinking of a certain someone, it was only because he had no business being out there in the first place. He might be an all-weather hero, but he’d been exhausted, injured and on an edge only he could see. All it would take was one wrong move, one misstep and... And then nothing, she told herself irritably as she spun away from the window. Samuel Kellan was a big boy, a highly trained Navy SEAL. If he wanted to scour the mountains for the next week, it was what he’d been trained for. Heck, he could probably live off the land and heal himself using plants and tree bark.

Whatever effect he’d had on her, Cassidy mused as she closed her bedroom door and headed for the bathroom at the end of the hall, it was over. She’d had the entire night to think about her reaction to him and in the early hours had come to the conclusion that she’d been suffering from low blood sugar...and maybe been a little freaked at finding herself in a jail cell. Maybe even a little awed at meeting a national hero. All perfectly logical explanations for her behavior.

Fortunately she’d recovered, and if she saw him again she’d be the cool, level-headed professional she had a reputation for being. Besides, Samuel J. Kellan was just a man. Like any other.

After a quick shower, she brushed her teeth and headed back to her room to dress. It was her day off and she intended playing tourist. She might have come to the Cascades to escape the mess she’d made of things in Boston, but that didn’t mean she had to bury herself in work. Crescent Lake was a beautiful town filled with friendly, curious people who’d brought her baked goodies just to welcome her to town.

She’d read that the Lakefront Boardwalk housed a host of stores that included a few antiques shops, an art gallery selling local artwork, a quaint bookshop and, among others, a cozy coffee shop with a spectacular view of the lake and mountains.

She hadn’t had a decent latte since leaving Boston, and according to the nurses, Just Java served a delicious Caribbean mocha latte, and the triple chocolate muffins were better than sex.

Just what she needed, a double dose of sin.

A soft knock on her door startled her out of her chocolate fantasy and sent her pulse skittering.

“Dr. Mahoney?” a muffled voice called from the hallway. “Cassidy, dear? Are you awake?”

Shrugging into her wrap, Cassidy fastened the tie and shoved damp hair off her forehead. She pulled open the door as a ball of dread settled in her belly. Her landlady wouldn’t disturb her unless there was an emergency.

Val Krenson’s brows were pinched together over her faded blue eyes and one hand was poised to knock again. “I’m sorry to wake you, dear,” she apologized quickly. “That was the hospital. They found the hikers. How soon can you get there?”

“Ten minutes,” Cassidy said, already morphing into emergency mode. “Fifteen at the most.” She stepped back into the room and would have shut the door but Val held out a hand to detain her.

“John Randal is downstairs, dear. Shall I ask him to wait?”

“That’s okay, Val,” Cassidy said with a quick shake of her head. “I’ll need my car later and I don’t want to inconvenience anyone.” The last time the deputy had driven her anywhere she’d landed up at the jail. So not going there.

“Planning a little down time?” Val asked with a warm smile.

“It’ll have to wait.” Cassidy sighed. “They didn’t say how serious, did they?”

“I’m afraid not, dear. Just that you get there as soon as possible.” She leaned forward. “I’m glad you’re here to help Monty out, dear. He tires easily these days.” She shook her head. “That man should have retired years ago but not many people want to bury themselves in the mountains.”

In some ways Cassidy could understand why. They were a couple of hours from the nearest large town and there wasn’t much in the way of nightlife that didn’t include a few bars, steakhouses and the local bar and grill, Fahrenheit’s.

She might feel like a fish out of water, but she’d been surprised to discover she liked the close-knit community where people knew each other and exchanged gossip with their favorite recipes.

At least here people stopped to chat when they saw you, she thought with a smile, instead of staring right through you as though you didn’t exist, or scuttling away like you were an escaped crazy. Surprisingly she was enjoying the slower pace. It was a nice change to be able to connect with the people she was treating. But long term? She didn’t know.

“It’s a beautiful town, Val, but I’ve only got a short-term contract.”

Val laughed and patted Cassidy’s arm. “Don’t worry, dear,” she said over her shoulder, a twinkle lighting her blue eyes. “I have a feeling you’re going to be around a long time.”

Cassidy uttered a noncommittal “Hmm” and shut the door behind her landlady. She hunted in the closet for a clean pair of jeans, underwear, socks and a soft green long-sleeved T-shirt. Dressing quickly, she shoved her feet into the nearest pair of boots and grabbed a brush that she hurriedly pulled through her wet hair before piling it on top of her head in a loose style that would dry quickly. Foregoing makeup, she grabbed her medical bag and jacket and headed for the door.

Fifteen minutes after closing the door behind the innkeeper, Cassidy pulled up beside the hospital’s staff entrance. Locking her car—which everyone said was unnecessary—she hurried into the waiting room, which was already bustling with chaos and reminded her of a busy city ER.

Her eyes widened. There were people everywhere—sprawled in chairs with their heads tilted back in exhaustion, while even more hovered near the entrance, propping up the walls, slugging back steaming coffee and wolfing down fat sandwiches handed out by a group of women.

Sandwiches? Coffee? And where had all these people come from? It looked like a temporary ops center—or a tea party for big hulking men.

“Good, you’re here.” A voice at her elbow distracted her from the chaos and Cassidy turned to see the head nurse holding out a clipboard.

She accepted the board, feeling a little shell-shocked. “What on earth’s going on?”

Fran Gilbert followed her gaze. “The town’s disaster committee in action,” she explained with a shrug, as though it happened every day.

Disaster—? Oh, no. Cassidy gulped down a sudden sick feeling. Please don’t tell me...! Shaking off her pessimistic thoughts, she frowned at the older woman. “Disaster? How bad?”

Fran frowned in confusion. “Bad?” Then realizing what Cassidy was thinking, she said, “No! God, no. Cassidy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” She gave Cassidy a quick hug. “I just meant that the disaster committee responds whenever the rescue teams go out. The junior league ladies take turns providing hot food and drinks. To practice they set up basic first-aid stations for minor injuries. When news came through that the hikers were being brought down, they moved operations here.”

“Oh.” Cassidy let out a whoosh of relief, a little awed at the way the community mobilized when the need arose. Any disaster in a big city was met with looting and rioting.

“They say it’s to practice for a real disaster but I think it’s just an excuse to get out and socialize.”

Cassidy nodded. “Okay, no disaster. What do we have?” she asked, as Fran led her towards the ER cubicles.

“Mostly minor but too many for poor Monty to cope with,” the older woman said, before launching into a rapid-fire report worthy of a busy city ER nurse.

Rebecca Thornton, she told Cassidy, had slipped and fallen off the trail. She’d broken her leg and her husband had climbed down the steep embankment to get to her. He’d slipped near the bottom in the treacherous conditions and knocked himself out. Several others had then climbed down to carry the injured couple out but had found their way blocked by huge boulders. With the gully rapidly filling with water, the group still on the trail had elected to return and alert the authorities. They hadn’t made it back yet and a team was still out, looking for them.

Dr. Montgomery looked up briefly from checking a young man’s bruised and lacerated arm. “Glad they found you,” he said with an absent smile, before turning to give the attending nurse instructions.

Soon Cassidy was swamped, treating a broken leg and collarbone, a fractured wrist and a concussion. There was a bruised and swollen knee that she suspected might be cartilage damage, a host of cuts and scrapes, and hypothermia along with exhaustion and dehydration.

And that was just the hiking party.

Once they’d been examined, treated and transferred to the wards for fluids and observation, Cassidy turned her attention to the rescue crew. Among the expected lacerations and contusions, she diagnosed torn ankle ligaments, a dislocated shoulder and a broken finger. Pretty mild considering the awful night they’d endured, she mused, sending one nurse to the suture room and another to X-rays.

She’d just left Hank Henderson propped up with an ice pack on his foot when the elderly doctor called to ask her opinion about the shoulder injury.

After examining Andy Littleton, Cassidy decided there didn’t seem to be any serious ligament damage that would require surgery. She told Andy to take a deep breath and quickly pulled his shoulder back into place. He went white and swayed alarmingly before throwing up in the kidney dish she shoved at him.

Listing drunkenly while she strapped his shoulder and arm, he made Cassidy swear a blood oath that she wouldn’t tell anyone he’d cried like a girl. Biting back a grin of sympathy, she squeezed his hand, and turned to find Harry Montgomery beaming at her like a proud teacher whose pupil had surpassed his expectations.

“Looks like old Howie’s loss is our gain, eh?” The big man chuckled, his age-spotted hand patting her shoulder awkwardly. “He said you were a bright young thing. What he didn’t say was that you have an easy way with people along with that sharp diagnostic mind.” He studied her shrewdly. “I guess the old buzzard didn’t want to lose you, eh?”

With heat rising to her cheeks, Cassidy looped her stethoscope around her neck. She felt like a new resident under scrutiny. Besides, one didn’t have to be Einstein to pick up the question behind the compliment. The question of why she was treating runny noses and middle-ear infections in a small mountain hospital instead of running her own ER—which was what she’d originally intended.

“He’s a wonderful man,” she replied with a warm smile. “And I loved the daily challenges in ER.” Thrusting her hands into her lab-coat pockets, she chose her words carefully. “But big city ERs are like operating in a war zone, and when you lose count of the number of ODs, stabbings and rapes you treat...” She sighed. “I realized I needed a change—to get back to basics. Howie mentioned Crescent Lake and I thought it might be the perfect place to try out something more community-oriented.”

She didn’t say that hearing it was deep in the Cascades and a continent away from Boston had sounded appealing. She’d been desperate to get away and work on forgetting the career-damaging fallout of treating a real-life hero injured in the line of duty. A “hero” who’d turned out to be anything but.

She shuddered at the memory. God, she’d been stupidly naïve and had paid a very high price. Then again, how could anyone have known the handsome vice cop wasn’t one of the good guys?

The charming wounded-hero act had been just that—an act. He’d used it to lull people—her—into a false sense of security. He’d pursued her with flowers, gifts and romantic dinners then stolen her hospital security card, giving him access to the ER dispensary as well as a stack of prescription pads, which he’d used by forging her signature. In the end there’d been a full-scale police investigation—with her as the prime suspect.

In truth, all she’d really been guilty of had been bad judgment. She’d trusted someone who’d proved to be anything but trustworthy. In hindsight he’d been too good to be true: too romantic and too sensitive for it not to have been a very clever performance from a man who knew exactly what women wanted.

By the time she’d realized something was wrong, the media frenzy had crucified her, calling her professional competence into question. It had been a nightmare.

Fortunately for her, Lance Turnbull had been under internal investigation. One that had involved a dozen other women doctors around the city. Cassidy had eventually been cleared of all charges but the damage had been done. She’d suffered through snide comments and cruel jokes from her colleagues until she’d finally buckled under the stress.

“GP work is pretty boring compared to the excitement of ER,” the old doctor warned, wrenching her from her disturbing thoughts. “Especially here in the boondocks.”

Relieved to focus on something other than her past failures, Cassidy looked around at the controlled chaos and sent him a small smile. “I wouldn’t exactly call it boring,” she said, her smile turning into a grin when his deep chuckle filled the hallway.

“No, it isn’t,” he agreed, “especially during tourist season. But off season gets pretty quiet.”

“I can do quiet. And I’m impressed with the way everyone bands together. It’s wonderful knowing that there are still places where people are willing to step in and help their neighbors without expecting something in return.”

“That’s what’s kept me here for sixty years,” he said, moving to the door. “The warm community spirit. You don’t find that in the city.” He turned and studied her intently. “I’ve watched you over the past two weeks, Cassidy, and you’re a very perceptive diagnostician. We could use someone like you heading up the hospital.” And when Cassidy opened her mouth to remind him that she was only there for three months, he beat her to it with his parting shot, “Think about it,” before disappearing down the hallway.

Cassidy watched him leave. Admittedly she was enjoying the opportunity to practice family medicine in a town where people cared about each other, but Boston was her home. And that kind of decision couldn’t be made lightly.

* * *

It wasn’t until late afternoon that she finally realized she’d been hanging around waiting for something to happen. It didn’t take a genius to realize that something was a certain Navy SEAL and that she’d been waiting for him to come in to have his injuries treated.

Irritated with herself, she’d collected her purse and jacket and was on her way out when the door banged open and there he was, looking like he’d just blown in from a big, bad superheroes convention with his big, bad SEAL attitude.

When her knees wobbled and her head went light, Cassidy assured herself it was simply because she hadn’t eaten anything all day. It certainly didn’t have anything to do with the way his gold eyes latched onto her like a tractor beam.

Gesturing to an empty suture room, Cassidy wordlessly handed her jacket and purse to the receptionist and ignored the jitters in her belly as the sheriff half-dragged, half-carried him down the corridor and through the doorway to heave him onto the narrow bed. And just like that, every delusional thought she’d had in the early hours blew up right in her face.

“You may now stick him with as many needles as you like,” the sheriff announced, shoving his hands on his hips and glaring at his brother. “In fact, that’s an official order. Maybe it will improve his attitude and I won’t have to toss him in jail again for disobeying a direct order.”

“I said I was fine,” the SEAL snarled as Greg, the young deputy who’d helped drag him into the examination room, ducked his head and made a beeline for the door.

Wise move, she thought when a string of muttered threats turned the air blue. She might be relieved he’d made it back in one piece but it had been a long day and an even longer night, obsessing about whether or not she had been imagining things. The good news was that she was sane and not hallucinating. The bad news was, Cassidy thought with a sinking sensation, he was even more dangerously attractive in the cold light of day.

And that was bad. Very bad. Because Cassidy Mahoney was done with dangerous bad boys who made women swoon. She really was too busy getting her life back to deal with two hundred and forty pounds of belligerent male.

It seemed the sheriff was too since he folded his arms across his chest and glared at his brother, clearly not intimidated by the show of aggression. “And if he gives you any trouble, make him wear a pretty pink hospital gown,” he barked, ignoring the way Sam’s lip drew back over his teeth in a silent snarl. “He deserves to have everyone laugh at his ugly butt after the stunt he pulled.”

Cassidy watched the silent clash of wills and her first thought was that nothing about Major Kellan was ugly. She was pretty sure her staff wouldn’t be laughing either. More like swooning from the thick cloud of testosterone and bad attitude that surrounded him.

A fierce golden gaze caught and held hers as though he knew what she was thinking, and Cassidy felt a flush creep up her neck into her cheeks. Besides being grossly unprofessional, picturing him naked wouldn’t do a thing to convince her she’d imagined her earlier reaction to him.

The sheriff raked his hand through his wet hair, looking tired and exasperated. “Listen up, man,” he growled, “I know you’re a big, mean SEAL and everything, but just let the doc check you out, okay? I don’t have time to babysit you or keep you from bleeding to death. You wouldn’t believe the paperwork. It’s a nightmare. Elections are coming up and I can’t afford to have you die and make me look bad.”

“I keep telling you I’m fine,” Sam snarled. “Quit hovering like a girl. There’s nothing Old Monty can do that I can’t do for myself, so get the hell out of my face before I break your ugly mug.”

“Oh, please.” Ruben snickered rudely. “You can’t even break a sweat without help. Now suck it up and let the doc check you out. You look like hell.”

Samuel said something that Cassidy was pretty sure was anatomically impossible but before her eyes could do more than widen, Ruben turned to her with a grim smile. “Doc, he’s all yours, just as I promised. He’s a bit more battered and bloodied but I refuse to take credit for that. He’s a hard-headed pain in the ass so you might consider sedating him.” He sent his brother a meaningful glare. “In fact, unconscious would be a real improvement.”

Ignoring the derisive suggestion, Sam turned narrowed eyes her way. “Doc?” he demanded. “You’re the doctor?” His tone suggested she’d deliberately misled him. “I thought you were the nurse.”

“No,” she corrected smoothly. “You thought I was a stripper.”

“And with that,” Ruben drawled mockingly, “I rest my case.” He slapped his hat on his head and adjusted the brim. “Cassidy, ignore the inscrutable death stares. Underneath all that macho SEAL hoo-yah attitude he’s really quite sweet.”

The SEAL snarled something impolite and with a deep laugh the sheriff sketched a salute and disappeared down the hallway, leaving Cassidy with two hundred pounds of seething testosterone. Sweet wasn’t a word she’d associate with Major Hotstuff, she mused, moving to the supply cabinet for a towel. Just the idea of it made her want to smile. So she frowned instead.

“So,” he said, taking the towel and fixing her with his mesmerizing stare, “you’re a doctor.”

She sent him a cool look then turned to remove disinfectant and a package of swabs from the overhead cabinet. “Is that a problem, Major, or an apology?”

His amused gaze drifted over her face and breasts to the neat row of supplies she’d begun setting out and he drawled, “Only if you’re plotting revenge.”

“Fortunately for you I’m not the vengeful type, Major.”

His mouth curled at one corner and he said, “Uh-huh” into the towel. Cassidy ignored the impulse to bang her head against the wall. She had a feeling it would be a lot less painful than getting caught up in the man’s web.

Fortunately, her little chat with the elderly doctor had reminded her of why she was off men in anything but the professional sense. Flicking him an assessing glance, she decided the sheriff was right. He did look like hell.

“There’s no one to save you from the needle this time, Major.” She opened another cabinet and removed a suture kit and syringes. “In fact—” her voice was brisk as she moved closer “—I can foresee more than one in your immediate future.”

Ignoring the dark eyebrow hiking up his forehead, she stepped close and pushed the soaked parka over his wide shoulders and down his arms. He shrugged and sucked in a sharp breath, before drawling, “Not just beautiful and smart, but psychic too?”

Cassidy bit back a snort and tossed the garment onto the floor, before turning to wash her hands at the small basin. “It doesn’t take a clairvoyant to see that you’re an action junkie looking for trouble,” she replied smoothly, pulling a strip off the paper towel dispenser.

He shrugged. “Goes with the job.”

“For which the free world is eternally grateful.” She dried her hands and dropped the paper into the bin as she turned. She caught his eyes crinkling at the corners as though he didn’t take himself half as seriously as other people did, which...surprised her. She was accustomed to being surrounded by alpha males who thought they sat at God’s right hand. Discovering he could poke fun at himself had something warm and light sliding into her belly. Something that felt very much like admiration.

Telling herself that certainly didn’t mean she liked him, Cassidy focused on his once white T-shirt, now covered in mud and blood. Shaking her head, she pulled it out of his damp waistband and grabbed a pair of scissors off the counter.

With a few snips, his shirt fell away and she quickly unwound the soiled bandage. When the move exposed fresh blood oozing from the loosened dressing, she bit back a curse.

“You’re an idiot,” she muttered, knowing exactly who she was addressing this time. Lifting a loose edge, she pressed her hand gently against his hard belly and ripped it off in one smooth move.

Sam hissed audibly in surprise and pain. “Holy...! Hell and damnation, woman, what the hell was that?” His fingers whitened around the edge of the bed and he looked like he wanted to wrap them around her throat.

“Sorry,” she said, and meaning it. It would have been worse if she’d taken her time removing it. “It’s better coming off fast.”

“For you maybe... Jeez...does the CIA know about you?”

“The CIA?” she asked, sending him a narrow-eyed look out the corner of her eye, fairly certain he wasn’t being complimentary.

“Yeah. Hear they’re looking for interrogators.” Definitely not complimentary. “My CO would recruit you on the spot to torture the tadpoles in BUD/S.”

“Tadpoles? Buds?” she asked, pouring disinfectant into a stainless-steel bowl and filling it with warm water.

“Wannabe SEALs in Basic Underwater Demolition SEALs,” he told her. “Have to knock the cra...I mean stuffing out of them during hell week to sort out the men from the boys. You’d be perfect for the job.”

Apparently he’d managed to survive without having the stuffing knocked out of him. She wondered how he’d managed it. Sheer stubbornness most likely.

She pulled on a pair of latex gloves then ripped off a large section of cotton wool. “I’m good, but thanks anyway.” She pressed a hand to the smooth ball of his shoulder. “Lie flat and lift your arm over your head.”

His scowl turned into a grimace when he realized he was too big and had to scoot down the bed, ending up with half his long legs draped over the end. Growling irritably about “damn midget beds”, he raised his arm and bent it behind his head. With lids lowered over his unusual eyes, he sent her a sleepy look.

“Although if you continue ripping off my clothes and making me lie down,” he drawled softly, “I’ll start thinking you have ulterior motives, Miz Honey.”

“That’s Dr. Mahoney to you,” she said absently, carefully cleaning the area around the wound before selecting another wad of gauze to clean the wound itself. It would take about a dozen stitches to close.

“Yes, ma’am.” His voice was polite and subdued but a quick look caught the irreverent smirk curling his mouth. Cassidy swallowed the impulse to return that impudent grin. Or worse—kiss his battered mouth better. From all accounts he was the kind of man who wouldn’t stop at kissing. From all accounts he was only interested in quick tumbles with the nearest available woman. Probably because being a SEAL precluded any kind of stable or long-term relationship.

She shivered. If she knew what was good for her, she’d shove her libido back into hibernation and stop getting all excited every time he invaded her space.

Dr. Mahoney was back in charge, she reminded herself, and there would be no mixing her chemistry with his. On any level. She was going to patch him up, send him on his way, and hope like hell she never saw him again.

CHAPTER FOUR

SAM WATCHED DOC BOSTON work on his torso and wondered why he was so drawn to a woman who made it abundantly clear she wasn’t interested. He tried reminding himself that he’d be heading back to Coronado soon and anything more than harmless flirting was impossible. It didn’t help. Not even when he observed the competent way she wielded sharp objects.

Sure, she was beautiful but then, so were a million other women, and he’d had little problem leaving them behind. Except there was something compelling about her that told Sam she wouldn’t be easy to forget or walk away from. She was smart and mouthy and didn’t take his reputation as a badass seriously or treat him differently from other patients. And that more than anything made him like her.

Okay, he really liked the look of her—he was a guy, so sue him—but lately all the feminine adulation had begun to irritate him. All a lot of women saw was a SEAL with hard muscles and weird eyes. A guy they could brag about being with to their friends. He’d enjoyed that in his twenties, but in the decade since he’d seen and done things no one should see or do.

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