Aimée Thurlo - Restless Wind

The ground shook from a deafening blast and the air was alive with screeching, flying debris. She heard thumps all along the log sides of the hogan. Hearing a thud to her right, she shifted her gaze and saw a jagged, foot-long splinter of wood jammed into the ground inches from Ranger’s head.

He kept her pinned for several more seconds as debris continued to rain down, then finally rolled clear. A cloud of dust was starting to settle around them. “From now on, I go in first. To heck with the Anglo ladies’ first custom.”

She was shaking so hard her teeth were chattering as he helped her to her feet. “Are you hurt?” he asked, looking her over.

She looked down at herself, unable to even mutter a simple yes-or-no answer. Now that it was over, the reality of what had just happened slammed into her with a vengeance. Tears stung her eyes, and she couldn’t stop shaking.

He pulled her into his arms and she didn’t resist. The gentleness of his embrace gave her an anchor and a haven in the midst of the violence that surrounded them. “That wooden spike could have killed you.”

Before he could answer, she drew his mouth down to hers. A verbal thank-you for all he’d done would have never been enough to convey what she was feeling. She needed to show him what was in her heart. She wanted him to feel what she did, that crazy swirl of gentle emotions edged with fire.

Dana pressed herself into the kiss, tasting him tentatively, then more boldly. His welcoming tenderness made everything inside her melt. Flickers of delicious pleasure that started at the pit of her stomach and wound downward ignited a more desperate need, and she felt herself drowning in its intensity.

With a deep groan, Ranger eased his hold. “We can’t, not now. We have to get going, and I’ve got to let others know what happened here.” Ranger turned to look at the heavily damaged medicine hogan. “I’m going to find the lowlife who did this. Count on it.”

When Ranger looked back at her, Dana saw that his earlier gentleness had vanished and been replaced by a ruthlessness she’d never dreamed he possessed.

“A quick death here and now would have been more merciful than what they have planned for me,” she said in a barely audible voice.

He pressed his palm to her cheek, forcing her to look at him. “You may walk away from me freely someday, but I’ll die before I let anyone take you. I will keep you safe.” He held her gaze for a brief eternity.

When he turned away at long last, his gaze traveled to what was left of the hogan. The blast had driven several of the logs inward, dislodging them from their notched joints like sticks. The roof had given way above, and now sagged almost within arm’s reach in places.

“We need to call the tribal police,” she said.

“We will, but give me a moment.”

He crouched and began to study the splinters of wood and chunks of hardened clay now scattered around the partially collapsed entrance.

Dana joined him. “Let me help,” she said. “What are we looking for?”

“The pin and the handle from the grenade. They should still be around here somewhere. But look, don’t touch. The FBI will have to go through all of this with a fine-tooth comb and the less we disturb the scene, the more thorough their job can be. All I’m trying to do is figure out how new their ordinance is.”

As she began searching through the rubble, the reality of how close Ranger had come to death hit her hard. He could have just dove to the ground, yet he’d chosen to grab the explosive, throw it away, then shield her with his own body. That knowledge impacted on every part of her being. At one point she’d wondered if he really cared about her. She had no doubts now. There was no greater proof of love.

When she stepped back to get an overview, she saw the blood on the back of Ranger’s shirt and pants leg. For a second her heart forgot to beat. Then, as pure instinct took over, she ran to his side. “You’re hurt. You need help.”

Seeing the look on her face, Ranger brushed his knuckles against her cheek. “Stop worrying. I can handle it. They’re just minor cuts-shrapnel or flying debris.”

“You need a doctor.”

Ranger shook his head. “It’ll have to wait. I want to identify the ordinance first. Then I’ve got to make sure Hastiin Dííl’s hogan isn’t wired, too.”

“Another grenade?” she said in a thin voice.

“Or a bomb,” he said, then spotting something of interest to him, took a few steps away. Using the tip of his boot, he brushed aside some debris, and found a metal handle. “It’s U.S. Vietnam-era ordinance. Old, but still deadly.”

“How would anyone get something like that?”

“Ignacio’s brother was an army veteran from that conflict,” Ranger said. “It was probably a souvenir he carried or mailed home to himself.”

Favoring his right leg, Ranger walked from the damaged medicine hogan to Hastiin Dííl’s home, which had sustained no visible damage from the blast. Even the small window in the door and the bigger window halfway around the small hexagonal building were still intact.

“What if you find a bomb? You’re not going to try to disable it, are you?” she asked, her voice rising another octave.

“That’ll depend on how it’s set up. Whoever did this meant to kill Hastiin Dííl. He obviously won’t be returning anytime soon, but others could be in danger. A neighbor or one of his patients might come by, decide to leave a note or something, and get killed. If I can disable the triggering device then we can go but, if not, we’ll have to stick around until the police arrive.”

He was right. As dangerous as it was to stay in one place for long, they couldn’t just leave. “Okay, then it’s settled. Tell me how I can help.”

He gave her an approving nod. “Don’t touch anything, but look around the walls, window and ground for trip wires, string, batteries, springs, pieces of pipe, even a clothespin-anything unusual or out of place. Move slow, making sure you’re not stepping on anything but undisturbed ground, and don’t lean against any part of the structure, especially anything that might move together or apart.”

“Got it,” she said.

Dana began her search, walking slowly toward the side window, while he stepped over to the hogan door. As he bent to check around the door handle with a penlight, she heard his gut-wrenching groan. It was the raw sound of pure pain.

She went to his side. “You’ve got several wounds on your back. If you won’t go to a doctor or hospital, at least let me take a look and see how bad they are,” she said. “Teachers are required to take a first-aid course.”

“It’ll wait. I’m in no danger of dying. Just be my extra set of eyes over here around the door,” he said, bringing her focus back to the business at hand. “We’ll take care of the cuts later.”

She peered into the single pane of glass set into the door. “Can I borrow your penlight for a second?” She looked down, aiming the light. “There’s some string attached to the inside handle leading to a clothespin. It’s connected to a sliver of wood by the jaws. I also see what look like wires around the clothespin. And there’s something in aluminum foil on the floor, just behind the door.”

“All right, back away,” he said. “Clothespins are common makeshift triggers. When whatever is holding the jaws apart gets pulled out, the jaws close and connect two strips of foil or wire. That completes a circuit that sets off the device.”

“Leave the disarming job to someone else,” she insisted. “You’re hurt and you won’t be able to concentrate, not totally anyway, and the only way you can get to it is by climbing in through the window. You won’t be able to do that. You’re in pain. I can see it on your face.”