Skylar Pascal is a Navy RN returning from Afghanistan
after
a horrifying experience. She survived a Black Hawk
helicopter crash, only to be captured by the Taliban and
tortured by waterboarding. After her recuperation, she is
trying to find a job she can handle. She tried going back
to nursing, but her PTSD is keeping her in a constant
state
of anxiety, and she is still having nightmares almost
every
night. The job at Elk Horn Ranch sounds perfect for Sky, a
little nursing, a little babysitting and helping out at
the
wildlife refuge there.
Sky holds it together through the
interview and gets the job. Her boss is Grayson McCoy, a
former SEAL who has also struggled with PTSD. There's an
instant bond between Gray and Sky; both are military
veterans and both suffer from PTSD. Gray helps Sky to
understand her feelings and learn to live one day at a
time. When crises strike, Gray is there to comfort Sky,
talking her down and back into the present. Gray has
suffered his own demons from Afghanistan and with the loss
of his wife to drug runners. Can he help Sky put the
shattered pieces of her life back together? Can he keep
the
deeper feelings he is having for Sky held at bay until Sky
can handle them?
WOLF HAVEN is a continuation of Lindsay McKenna's
Wyoming
series. Set in Jackson Hole, WY, this story brings to the
forefront the traumatic issue of PTSD in veterans
returning
from war. Sky and Gray are both strong characters who are
working their way back to a new normal. The plot moves
along quickly to keep the reader engaged. It has just the
right amount of crises, suspense, adventure and romance to
keep you turning the pages.
WOLF HAVEN is a story about
love and healing, about keeping hope when things look the
bleakest. I'm a big fan of Ms. McKenna's military themed
books, and this is another great one!
She's caught in her past until he shows her a future.
Some things can never be forgotten. A helicopter crash in
Afghanistan. Capture. Torture. Now U.S. Navy nurse Skylar
Pascal is struggling to regain control of her life after a
trauma that nearly destroyed her. After losing so much, an
ideal job at the Elk Horn Ranch in Wyoming offers Sky
something she thought she'd never find again-hope.
Former SEAL Grayson McCoy has his own demons. But
something
about Elk Horn's lovely-yet-damaged new nurse breaks
something loose. Compassion—and passion. And even as Gray
works with Sky to piece her confidence back together,
something deeper and more tender begins to unfurl between
them. Something that could bring her back to life.
But not even the haven of Elk Horn Ranch is safe from
dangers. And all of Sky's healing could be undone by the
acts of one malicious man.
Excerpt
Sky Pascal moaned, tossing in her sleep on the hotel bed.
Her stomach was in knots, with the pain radiating outward.
She flinched and drew her legs up toward her body. The
vibration of the Black Hawk helicopter surrounded her. She
could smell the sweat from the bodies of the air crewmen on
this flight to Forward Operating Base, or FOB, Charlie. The
odor of the kerosene aviation fuel was always present.
She was asked to fly along with Dr. Aaron Zimmerman to take
a look at an Army soldier who was thought to have
appendicitis. They had been over at FOB Charlie when the
call came in. The FOBs were only forty miles from one
another, and they were the closest medical team that could
respond.
Now the vibration of the Hawk skittered through her. Sky
was on the metal deck of the medevac helicopter as it raced
through the darkness to reach the soldier.
She was an emergency-room trained R.N. and Zimmerman, who
sat near the door, was a surgeon, specializing in internal
medicine. Two other combat medic crewmen, whom she could
not see, were nearby. The two pilots to her left were
wearing night-vision goggles.
The tension was so thick it felt like a wet blanket around
her hunched shoulders. Her mind raced.
She was assigned to the Army hospital at Bagram Air Base
near Kabul, Afghanistan. A first lieutenant, she had three
years under her belt in the U.S. Navy. It wasn’t unusual
for different military services to have personnel assigned
to the huge, busy hospital. She loved her job in the E.R.
Sky was good in a crisis—cool and calm. That’s why
Zimmerman had asked her to go with him as he visited the
outlying FOBs. If he had to perform surgery on the spot at
the FOB, he wanted someone like her with him.
But now her mouth was dry, and her heart was skipping beats
in her chest. She was dressed in Navy fatigues, the
“blueberries” coloring standing out starkly against others
who wore desert-hued uniforms. Glad to have the forty-pound
Kevlar vest on, Sky lived for missions like this. They were
exciting and scary as hell.
She knew there was danger with any helo flight. The Black
Hawk Army pilots, who were from the black ops Night Stalker
squadron, were flying high enough so the Taliban couldn’t
send grenade launchers up at them. However, the Stinger
missiles were always a threat. One could blow them out of
the sky regardless of their altitude. Sky was a knot of
excitement and fear, adrenaline leaking through her
bloodstream.
She couldn’t see through the darkness because she wasn’t
wearing night-vision goggles. Only the four crew members
were wearing NVGs. The flight wasn’t long to FOB Charlie,
located three miles from the Pakistan border. There were
only two platoons at the Army base.
Sky was told this particular FOB was an essential stopgap
measure to halt or slow down the Taliban and al Qaeda
soldiers trying to sneak into Afghanistan. FOB Charlie was
an important deterrent.
Zimmerman had warned her beforehand that this would be a
dangerous mission because of the FOB’s location. Sky had
leaped at the chance. Maybe she was bored. But that
couldn’t possibly be. She lived on the same dicey border of
stress and pressure in the E.R. Night and day, men and
women were brought in chewed up by the weapons of war. She
felt no small amount of pride in being part of the E.R.
team who helped save those lives. Now she was going to help
a young soldier with appendicitis.
The sound of the engines changed on the Black Hawk. Sky
felt a sudden lurch, the nose suddenly dropping. She
inhaled sharply, throwing out her hand on one of the
litters against the wall. Wearing a helmet, she heard the
tense, short exchanges between the two pilots.
Something was wrong.
She caught a whiff of what smelled like burning oil enter
the cabin. Her pulse ratcheted up.
A sudden shrieking, screaming noise blasted through the
cabin of the Black Hawk. The bird banked sharply right and
plunged downward. It happened so fast. The thumping of the
blades. Being thrown up against the skin, striking her head
hard on the bulkhead, nearly losing consciousness.
Suddenly, they were upside down. She hadn’t been able to
wear the seat belt. The other crewmen were thrown around,
as well. Yelling and sharp orders from the pilot filled the
ears of her helmet.
They were falling out of the sky. The screeching of metal
upon metal continued to shriek through the cabin.
Her mouth went dry. Sky bit back a scream. Oh, God, they
were going to crash! It was some sort of mechanical
malfunction. Her mind swam with terror. Where were they?
She couldn’t see out the window! Gravity was shoving her
hard against the aluminum skin of the Black Hawk. She was
scared. She was going to die!
Sky reared up in the bed, screaming. The sound echoed about
the small hotel room. Sweat leaked down her temples. Her
ginger, shoulder-length hair swung around her face,
momentarily blinding her as she threw her hands out, as if
to stop herself from falling. Her legs were entangled in
the sheets. She breathed in heaving sobs as she opened her
eyes, trying to get rid of the sensation of the plummeting
helicopter she rode down in the crash.
Still reeling from her nightmare, Sky lurched jerkily out
of the bed and fell onto the carpeted floor. Landing with
an oomph, her head slamming into the floor, she snapped
wide awake. She groaned, drawing up her hands, covering her
face, lying flat on her belly, unable to move.
If she closed her eyes, she saw the crash behind her
eyelids. If she opened her eyes, she could still smell the
burning oil in the cabin, feel the helo vibrating like a
wild, wounded thing around her. She heard the terse
commands and tightness in the pilots’ voices up in the
cockpit as they wrestled to stop the bird from augering
into the Afghanistan mountains.
Her nostrils flared, and she felt the sweat running down
her face. Her breath came out in explosive gasps. Her heart
pounded. Oh, God… Oh, God… I’m here. Not there. I’m here. I
survived… God, I survived.… And she kept up the litany in
her head, unable to erase the coming crash. Or what
happened after that.
Sky pushed her trembling fingers into the tight weave of
the carpet, trying to orient to here and now.
Why wouldn’t the images go away? Why wouldn’t she stop
feeling the Black Hawk shivering and whumping around her?
Get up! Get up!
Sobbing for air, Sky forced her paralyzed body to move. Her
nightgown was soaked with sweat. Shaky and unsteady, she
got to her knees and slowly straightened her long fingers
against her curved thighs. It was nearly dawn, the light
leaking in around the drapes of the Wyoming Inn. Looking
over at the bed stand, she saw the red numbers: 5:20 a.m.
Pushing the damp strands of her hair off her face, Sky hung
her head, trying to steady her breathing. At the Balboa
Naval Hospital in San Diego, this was what they’d taught
her when she’d get anxiety reactions or a full-blown panic
attack. She’d been a broken shell of a human being when
she’d been rescued by a SEAL team two weeks after being
captured. They’d brought her fractured soul and tortured
body to Bagram hospital, where she’d been an E.R. nurse.
Whispering her name, she held on to it. Skylar Pascal.
First Lieutenant. U.S. Navy. She repeated her name again
and again. She had to concentrate on her physical body.
Damp palms moved down the soft cotton of her damp gown. She
forced her attention to the temperature in the room on an
early June morning. Focused on any sounds she might hear,
like the ticking of the clock. Finally…finally….the
sensations of riding the helo down into a crash left her.
The terror of thinking she was going to die in that moment
eased, as did the harsh gasps tearing out of her mouth.
Slowly, Sky lifted her hands, threading her fingers through
her long, straight hair. She reveled in its silkiness.
Feeling how soft and sleek it was compared to the
nightmare’s smells, sounds and sensations. Ground. Ground.
Get back in your body, Sky. Her throat tightened, and tears
jammed into her eyes. No longer did she see the movie-like
frames of the nightmare. Relief shattered through her as
the hot tears fell down her cheeks.
Pulling her thick hair off her shoulders, the bulk of it
falling between her shoulder blades, Sky didn’t even try to
stop the tears. Her therapist, Commander Olivia Hartfield,
a specialist in PTSD at Balboa Naval Hospital, had told her
they were good. It would help to cleanse her, help her
emotionally stabilize. Above all, she’d told Sky, never
fight crying. Let the tears flow. They were healing. Sky
wiped the perspiration off her wrinkled brow. Gulping, her
mouth dry, she wanted water.
Water.
Opening her eyes, Sky let the word filter through her and
bring up the soul-destroying sensations and what it did to
her. Water. Once, she’d loved water, loved swimming, loved
walking in the rain, running outside to feel the fury of a
thunderstorm as a child. Not anymore. Water was her enemy.
Water had nearly killed her. But she was thirsty.
The nightmare was leaving her, and Sky looked around. She
was in a small hotel room in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. She had
a job interview at 9 a.m. Frowning, her heart began a slow
beat, underscoring her trepidation. Sky absently touched
her heart. She desperately needed this job. She’d gone
through so many of them and had been either fired outright
or let go with apologetic sympathy. Either way, she was
unemployed when she had to find a way to survive and work
like everyone else.
Water.
As she forced herself to stand, her knees felt wobbly. Sky
sat down on the bed, understanding she was having an
adrenaline crash. It made her weak. Made her unable to do
much of anything until it passed. Her mouth felt dry and
cracked. Thirsty. She was so thirsty. Sky couldn’t stand to
see a pitcher of water. Shaking her head, she forced
herself to lie down. Usually, once she had a nightmare, she
could go back to sleep. Since Afghanistan, since the Black
Hawk crash, she was lucky to get two or three hours a
night. Sky closed her eyes and didn’t even try to pick up
the sheets off the floor. All she wanted to do was escape
into sleep. There, she didn’t have to feel anything. There,
Sky could go away for just a little while….
The alarm startled Sky out of her badly needed sleep. She
jerked up, the noise sending her into panic. Heart
crashing, she quickly pushed the buzzer on the clock, and
it stopped shrieking at her. Looking up, she saw sunlight
around the curtains. She’d set the clock for 7 a.m.
I have to get up. Get moving…
Glancing at the sheets and blanket strewn across the floor,
she felt guilty. Sky got up and walked slowly toward the
bathroom. She smelled of fear sweat. As she ran her hand
down her cotton nightgown, she felt the dampness from the
nightmare. She would wash her hair, as well. Today she
needed to be presentable. Needed to look normal. Whatever
normal meant.
She’d never be normal again. After turning on the water for
a bath, she closed the bathroom door. This was the hardest
thing to do: take a bath. Water meant suffocation and
dying. It meant terror beyond anything she’d ever
experienced. Olivia had worked long and hard with her that
six months she was recovering. Worked to get her to take a
bath. Sky would never take a shower again. Not ever. It
would remind her of the torture she’d endured. At first,
she’d wash only with a cloth and water in a steel bowl. In
six months, she’d graduated from a bowl of water to taking
a bath with a small amount of water in the tub. It was
progress, Olivia said, congratulating her for her courage
to challenge the very thing that had nearly killed her.
As Sky turned off the faucets and slowly put one foot into
the tub and then the other, she got herself to focus on her
coming job interview. She was to see Iris Mason, owner of
the Elk Horn Ranch, at 9 a.m. This morning. Somehow, Sky
would find the strength it’d take to gut through that
interview. She needed the job. Would she get it? Or would
Iris Mason see right through her and turn her down as so
many other employers already had?
Grayson McCoy was walking from the main office of the Elk
Horn Ranch after talking with Iris Mason, when he saw a
silver Kia Sorento SUV pull up in front. He’d settled his
black SEAL baseball cap on his short brown hair and slowed
a little. The early June morning was near freezing, not
uncommon at this time of year for this part of Wyoming. To
the east rose the jagged, tooth-shaped Teton Mountains,
their slopes glazed with white snow.
Because he’d been a SEAL for seven years, he was alert and
watchful. Iris, the owner of the Elk Horn Ranch, had been
excited about a woman named Skylar Pascal, who was coming
to interview for a job. It wasn’t just any job, either.
Gray wasn’t sure he wanted to work with a woman at the
wildlife center. He’d been hired a year ago because his
mother, Isabel McCoy, was a noted wolf biologist and
wildlife expert. Iris had wanted to create a one-hundred-
acre wildlife preserve on the Elk Horn for their dude ranch
families who came every year for a vacation.
Further, Iris, who always had an eye on saving the planet,
wanted part of the refuge for timber wolves and to bring
them back to the States. His mother had told him about this
job, and Iris had hired him on the spot.
The green grass beneath his cowboy boots was thick with dew
as he slowed. Across the dirt road stood the log cabin. He
watched with a little more interest as a woman dressed in a
tasteful, coffee-brown pantsuit with a white blouse,
emerged from the SUV. His eyes narrowed speculatively as he
absorbed her.
Being a SEAL, he had the ability to see all the details,
which was always important. She was young, mid-twenties,
with long, beautiful, ginger-brown hair that swung gently
around her shoulders. The way she squared them, the way she
walked, made Gray think she had a military background.
Military people walked a certain way: shoulders back and
proud, a straight spine, the chin slightly tilted upward.
This woman was probably around five foot ten or so. Long,
lean and damned graceful. She had a white leather purse she
pulled over her left shoulder. Another sign of being in the
military. Gray smiled to himself. It left the right arm
free to salute with, and women in the military always
carried their purses on their left shoulder, as a result.
He didn’t want to be swayed, but when she lifted her chin
and looked around—looked at him——his heart unexpectedly
thumped once. It was a crazy reaction and surprising to
Gray. He had been emotionally numbed out for a long time…
ever since Julia’s murder.
Frowning, Gray slammed the door shut on his aching past.
Instead, he zeroed in on the woman’s square face, her high
cheekbones and wide-spaced blue eyes. Damn, she was good-
looking as hell. A ten in his book. Yet his SEAL senses
warned him that something wasn’t right about her. Nothing
appeared out of place, but his finely honed intuition was
never wrong. It had saved his life way too many times to
count over in Afghanistan when he was with SEAL Team 3.
Not close enough to really dig into her eyes to ferret out
what he sensed, Gray saw her mouth was full. Even lush.
Brushed with pink lipstick. Her cheeks were high. He
wondered if she had Native American blood in her. There was
keen intelligence in Skylar’s eyes, and Gray applauded
that. Iris wouldn’t hire someone for the wildlife center
who didn’t have a lot on the ball. His heart stirred for
the first time in two years. What was it about this woman
that was making him feel once again?
Gray rubbed his recently shaven chin. Skylar Pascal dressed
conservatively. Even her footwear showed that. She wore no
heels, just common-sense white leather shoes. Sunlight
glinted off her plain gold earrings and a practical watch
wrapped around her slender right wrist. He liked the way
her hair glinted with red, brown and blond highlights as
the early-morning sunlight slanted across the narrow
valley. His fingers positively itched to tunnel through
that shining, thick mass.
Gray turned away, snorting to himself. He headed down the
path toward the one-story red brick building not far away.
The sign above the two main double glass doors read: Elk
Horn Wildlife Center. He’d helped lay those bricks to
create the building as well as the sidewalk he traversed.
Glad to have his black nylon goose-down jacket on, he saw
his breath turn white in the freezing air. The sky was a
light blue, cloudless, and he loved this quiet time of the
day.
His heart turned back to Skylar Pascal. Who was she? Iris
had her résumé on her desk, but hadn’t offered it to him.
She’d interviewed ten people so far, and none had met her
criteria. Iris was in her seventies and knew what she
wanted.
She’d single-handedly built the Elk Horn into one of the
most economically successful ranches in the valley. Iris
was like a sweet, silver-haired grandmother to him. That
nurturing exuded from her. Iris and her second husband,
Timothy, along with her son, Rudd, and the rest of her
family, ran the ranch.
Halting, Gray partly turned to see Skylar Pascal
disappearing inside the office door. He wondered obliquely
how her interview would fare with Iris Mason.
Iris had the skill of a SEAL when it came to ferreting out
a person and looking behind their game face. That was one
of the many things Gray liked about the woman. She saw far
and deep into a person. She’d seen him, and he hadn’t tried
to hide who and what he was. He’d been a wounded military
contractor who had lost his wife to Russian mafia drug
runners in Peru two years ago. He’d been flown home
physically wounded and emotionally devastated by the
experience. And when he’d interviewed with Iris, she’d seen
him, warts and all. Every question she’d asked, Gray
answered truthfully and without hesitation. Iris liked his
honesty. And she’d hired him on the spot.
Gray wondered what Iris would think of Skylar Pascal. She
appeared elegant, beautiful and confident to him. But he
knew from his twenty-nine years of living, that looks were
deceiving. Iris had a hunting-dog nose for people, for
their foibles, their weaknesses and their strengths. She’d
certainly dismantled him in a hurry during his interview.
But Gray hadn’t been threatened by Iris or her questions.
And he had been a SEAL where one’s honor, never telling a
lie, worked in his favor during that two-hour interview
with Iris.
As he wandered toward the center, Gray found himself
wishing that Skylar Pascal would pass the test. He didn’t
know why. He really had wanted a male assistant, not a
woman. But his desire was based upon a very brutal
experience that would live with him until the day he died.
Iris had been rather upbeat about this woman coming in for
the interview. She was an R.N., and Iris wanted someone
with that degree here at the ranch. He found it
synchronistic Julia had been an R.N., too. Shrugging, he
put it all out of his mind. He had no say in who Iris hired
or fired. He was just grateful she’d hired him because in
doing so, Iris had given him his life back whether she knew
it or not.
“Thanks for coming,” Iris said, gesturing for Skylar to sit
down in front of her desk after shaking her hand. “Can I
get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”
Sky sat down, placing the purse in her lap. Her heart was
beating so hard she wondered if the older woman could hear
it. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”
“Just ate?” Iris asked, smiling briefly as she sat down.
“Yes, ma’am, I did.” Well, it wasn’t a lie. Sky had coffee
and some toast. It was all her tense, tight stomach would
hold. When she got nervous like this, if she ate too much,
she’d get sick. Not what she wanted to happen this morning.
Iris tilted her head and studied the woman. “Ma’am?” She
tapped the résumé beneath her hand. “Must be your Navy
training coming out?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sky murmured. She liked the maternal energy
she felt around Iris Mason. The elder was about five foot
five inches tall, with merry-looking blue eyes that missed
nothing. Her silver hair was up in an askew knot on the top
of her head. On the corner of the desk was a beat-up straw
hat that she probably wore when outside.
“You don’t need to call me ma’am. Do you like to be called
Skylar?”
“Actually, if you don’t mind, most people call me Sky.”
Iris nodded. “Pretty name, either way.” She frowned and
went over her résumé. At certain points, Iris had a red
circle next to the item. “You were in the Navy after you
graduated from college. What pushed you that direction,
Sky?”
“My father had been in the Marine Corps for four years. He
always talked enthusiastically about the military and how
it made him a man.” She shrugged, her hands damp on her
purse. “I loved all his stories about the Marine Corps. I
thought it would be a good fit.” Sky tried to keep her
voice low and even. Inwardly, she was taut with anxiety.
Luckily, there were lots of windows and light around her.
Sky couldn’t stand closed-in places. It would send her into
a full-blown panic attack. Or a dreaded flashback.
“So you did this out of duty to your country?”
“I wanted to be of service. My specialty is emergency-room
medicine. I thought I could be of more help at the front
lines.” She shrugged a little shyly. “Maybe save some
lives…”
Nodding, Iris said, “I like people who like to serve. Here
on our ranch, we get six dude ranch families in every week
from June first to September first. I like people who want
to help others.” She squinted her eyes and studied Sky.
“Did you get that service gene from your mother or your
father?”
Sky tried to smile. “My mother.”
“Tell me about her.”
Sky felt suddenly exposed. Normally, interviews were
straightforward and only about her job. Iris, however,
seemed to have another agenda. Why? “My mother, Balin, is a
full-blood Cheyenne. From the time I could remember, she
taught me about generosity, being accountable and helping
others. She has always been my role model.”
Iris nodded. “Native Americans have a high ethical code,
and you are lucky you have a mother like that to raise you
in those traditions.”
“Yes, Ms. Mason, I think so.”
“Call me Iris,” she said. “I don’t stand much on ceremony
around here. Okay?”
Sky relaxed slightly. “Of course, Iris.”
Tapping the résumé with her pen, Iris said, “The job I’m
looking to fill requires someone who is a multitasker of
sorts, Sky. I need an R.N. here who can take care of bumps,
bruises and scrapes our ranch guests get. I need a
babysitter from time to time because some families bring in
very young children. Even babies. And they need to be
watched and cared for. Then there is my wildlife center. I
need to hire an assistant to help Grayson McCoy, who runs
it. That means cleaning up poop from the wild animals and
doing any other dirty, grimy job that needs to be done. We
have two timber wolves, for starters. Gray’s mother, Isabel
McCoy, is a world expert on wolf behavior. How are you
around kids, babies and animals?”
Sky felt some of her tension bleed off. “I love children,
Iris. Babies especially. And animals always lift my
spirit.”
“Good. What about playing nursemaid to the kids if they get
a cut or bruise?”
“My E.R. background can take care of just about anything
that comes up without any problem.”
“Are you afraid to work around wild animals?”
No. Just human animals. Sky compressed her lips and shook
her head. “I’m not afraid of animals, Iris.”
“With your Native American blood, I’m guessing that nature
and anything livin’ in it would appeal to you?”
“I love being outdoors,” Sky whispered, suddenly emotional.
She felt the sting of tears in her eyes and forced them
back. “I live to breathe fresh air, feel the wind on my
face, the warmth of sun on my skin. I love all animals. I
respect them.” And in the two weeks she’d endured torture,
it had been in a cold, damp, airless room without any
windows.
“Thought you might,” Iris said with a grin. “It’s in your
blood. In your bones.”
“Yes,” Sky said with a slight smile.
“How are you at getting along with men?”
The question startled Sky. She saw the bulldog set of
Iris’s expression. “Why…er…fine. I was in the military and
although I was a nurse, I worked around far more men than
women without any problem.”
“I see.” Iris tapped the résumé. “If you were doing so well
in the Navy, why’d you leave it, Sky?”
Her throat tightened. Her fingers clenched the leather
purse in her lap. Sky was about to give her a standard, pat
answer, but something warned her to be honest with Iris.
Was it because the woman was so nurturing and warm? “Well,”
she choked out, “I actually received an honorable medical
discharge. I-I didn’t want to leave the Navy, but I had
to.”
Iris sat up, studying her in the thickening silence. “Can
you tell me why you received that kind of a discharge? Did
you have some kind of health condition that wouldn’t allow
you to continue being a Navy nurse?”
Sky knew in her heart that the job was hers if she just
came clean. There was something magical about Iris Mason.
The feeling that she wouldn’t hold the truth against her
gave Sky the courage to answer her.