Anna Keaton - Falke’s Renegade

“Damn it.” She dropped her supplies and entered the cage, touching his shoulder.

“Get out,” he snapped, curling into a fetal position, except for his wounded leg.

Tetchy. “I’m a doctor.”

“You’re a vet.”

“Same difference to the likes of you.” She grabbed the muscle shirt Beth had bought and covered the man’s privates, but not without noticing he had a nice package.

Shame she didn’t have more time to admire his physique, but she chastised herself for such wayward thinking. He was in pain, irritable, needed her help, and they were still in danger of discovery. She had to get his leg treated, recast, and get him removed from her clinic before anything else could go wrong. The last thing she needed was authorities showing up to ask why she was now treating a man with a gunshot wound in her garage, or worse, why the man’s wound was similar in location and type to the one Ritchie claimed to have caused in a black panther.

“Hold still. I’ll do this as quickly and painlessly as possible.” She retrieved her supplies, checked the stitches to see both wounds had already begun to heal with no sign of infection. That was the good news. The bad was his leg was still obviously fractured, and the shift hadn’t helped in that regard.

She rewrapped the thigh, slipped on a stockinette and Webril to protect his skin, and then formed a new cast that covered a majority of his leg, from upper thigh to midcalf. “You’ll feel some heat. I’m using warmer water so the cast will set quicker.”

He grunted but didn’t open his eyes.

Although she allowed for a partial bend at the knee, she didn’t want him moving it too far or putting pressure on the femur. Once the cast set, he should be able to walk with crutches or sit easily enough with his leg at a stationary angle.

While she worked, he held the shirt in place over his crotch and kept his eyes closed, his breaths steady.

“All done,” she announced, cleaning up what was left unused. “Can you...”

She forgot the question when he opened his eyes to look at her. In human form, they were the same amber color, their brilliance trimmed by thick black lashes.

He had a full head of short hair, dark as a moonless night, and a handsome angular jaw line shadowed with a two days’ growth of whiskers. Chiseled features captured her imagination and sent her fantasies on a new course.

“What’s the matter, chata ? Cat got your tongue?” His lips curled into a smirk that made her heart stutter.

She blinked, shook her head and lied. “Not at all. Can you get dressed? Or do you need help?”

He glanced at his clothes and then himself, his shirt still strategically held over his groin. “Perhaps with the one leg.”

Swiftly, she grabbed the underwear out of the pants and threaded his right foot through one leg hole, leaving the garment below the bottom edge of his cast but well within his reach.

“You’ll need to wait about ten or fifteen minutes for the plaster to harden before you can pull up your clothes. It’ll take at least a day for it to fully cure.” She repeated the procedure with the sweatpants without looking any higher than his knee.

“ Gracias , chata .”

Damn, if the man’s voice wasn’t as sexy audibly as it was telepathically. “My name’s Heidi, and you’re welcome.” She climbed to her feet and turned before she could give in to a desire to watch him dress. She desperately wanted another peek at what lay beneath that shirt. “I...uh...I’ll go check on whether the coast is clear and get your crutches.”

When she returned several minutes later, he was dressed and had even gotten to his feet with the help of the cage fencing. He stood, breathing a bit heavily and leaning against the fence near the unsecured doorway. Even wilted with pain and exhaustion, he was an imposing figure, well over six feet tall, all muscle.

“Going somewhere?” she asked, a mild attempt at keeping her tone light.

His dark lashes lifted, and again his heated gaze penetrated her to the bone. “Not without you, doctor.”

“Or these.” She held out the crutches, ignoring his acidic response. “If you haven’t worn yourself out with impatience, hobble this way. My Land Rover’s outside, and our audience has left...for the time being.”

As they made their way through the clinic, however, the front door opened, and Ritchie walked in.

Beth was on the phone with a customer, leaving Heidi to deal with her untimely visitor.

“Hey, Heidi. I stopped by to check on our panther.”

She sensed more than saw Javier tense beside her, so she slid a palm over the small of his back.

“Black panthers don’t exist—”

“You said it wasn’t a cougar.”

“Right.” Before he could speak again, she asked, “Ritchie, why did you have to contact the media?”

He frowned, casting a quick, wary glance at the scowling man beside her. “I didn’t. Shirley contacted me. She saw a picture I posted to Facebook. Why?”

“I don’t need her harassing my customers or trespassing on my property trying to get a picture of a thing that doesn’t exist.”

“But the cat’s real. I shot it.”

Her palm balled into a fist, grasping some of Javier’s shirt. “Yes, you shot a jaguar, an animal, I might add, that is on the endangered species list, which could land you in a lot of hot water if it dies.”

“But I thought it was a bear.”

“You honestly think that’ll matter if the authorities realize what you really shot? You’ve heard the uproar the environmentalists make over fur coats and lab rats. What do you think they’ll do if they learn a hunter shot an endangered jaguar in a state where there are so few already.”

None really, but she didn’t elaborate.

“Shit, I didn’t think of that.”

She sighed. “I know. Look, I denied having any big cat here, and I told Shirley you were just playing a prank. So long as the animal survives, you should be off the hook.”

“Okay.”

“But I’d appreciate it if—I’d suggest you try to spin this on your Facebook page or wherever else you posted it as a hoax, a doctored photographic prank. A joke that got out of hand.”

He frowned but nodded. “I can do that, and I’ll talk to Dave too.”

“Good. You do that.” Relief coursed through her, and she let go of Javier’s shirt.

“Can I see it? It’s going to live, right?”

She smiled. “Yes, he is. But he’s not here anymore. I’ve transferred him elsewhere with better security and proper facilities to help with his recovery and reintroduction back into the wild.”

“Oh. Okay.” Ritchie glanced at Javier again. “I, uh, guess I’ll see you later then.” He tossed a thumb over his shoulder. “Gotta get back to work anyway.”

“Ritchie.” When he paused, she gave him a quick a hug. “Thanks again for calling me. You might’ve made a mistake, but you did the right thing and helped save the cat’s life. That’s something to be proud of.”

His expression brightened. “Sure, sure. Thanks. See ya later.”

“Bye.” She watched him walk out then said to the silent giant beside her, “Let’s go.”

Javier waited until he was seated in the passenger’s seat, his crutches in back, and she was behind the wheel before he spoke. “Your boyfriend?”

“No. An old friend.” She cast a sideways glance his way. “Don’t even think about getting revenge.”

He huffed and stared out the window.

“I mean it. Ritchie is a nice guy, and if he hadn’t called me when he realized you weren’t the black bear he was hunting, then you wouldn’t be here, and we wouldn’t be having this discussion.”

“Is that what this is?” He didn’t look her way.