Lindsay McKenna - Wolf Haven

Gray helped carry all her purchases from the Horse Emporium into her bedroom. And then he placed all her groceries into the fridge or the large pantry. As Sky quietly shut the door, she felt weary. It had been a long, stressful day. She didn’t even have the energy to put all her jeans and other clothing items away. All she wanted to do was lie down on that heavenly bed. And she did, promptly falling asleep.

* * *

WHEN GRAY QUIETLY opened Sky’s bedroom door at 6:00 p.m., he saw that she was still sleeping. His heart lurched in his chest as he saw how fragile she appeared on the large bed, her hand near her cheek as she slept on her side. It hurt to see she had drawn her body up into a fetal position of protection.

Mouth thinning, he closed the door and walked down the hall to the kitchen. He would make dinner for them tonight. He’d just returned from talking with Iris and giving her feedback on Sky’s lack of money. Tomorrow Iris was going to advance her two weeks’ pay, and that would help de-stress Sky to a degree.

Gray knew she liked salads. He liked meat. Deciding to bake some chicken breasts, he noodled through all the veggies and chose the ones he recognized. A chef he was not. But he could make Sky a nice salad to go with the baked chicken. He also knew how to make rice, so that would be in the mix, too.

Unable to explain the happiness filtering through him as he focused on the food, Gray realized it was because Sky had unexpectedly walked into his life. As he worked, he kept one ear keyed on the hall for a door opening. How long would Sky sleep? No one understood the tentacles of PTSD unless they’d experienced it themselves.

His mind flew from one terrible atrocity that had been done to her to another. When he’d appeared quietly in front of her at the Horse Emporium, she’d nearly lost her composure. Cobbling together all her actions and reactions, Gray had seen recent pink scars around each of her wrists. Granted, he knew the Taliban often skinned an enemy alive, cutting and pulling an inch of skin off the back or front of their body each day. The victim eventually bled to death or had a massive infection, and sepsis killed them. He’d not seen any scars along Sky’s shoulders. She’d worn a blouse that he could look beneath just enough to see her shoulders were clear of any scarring.

His brows fell, and his mouth compressed as he ran through torture procedures. As a SEAL, he’d gone through SERE—Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape—and had every kind of torture experience.

He poured the brown rice into a long Pyrex dish and added water. As he picked up the chicken breasts, his hand halted with the meat midway to the dish.

No, can’t be! No fucking way!

Gray turned, staring down the hall, his heart picking up in heavy beat. A SEAL could control his physical body unlike any other person on the face of the earth. When he was on a mission, his heart rate was slow, his blood pressure normal even though danger and threat surrounded him and his team. But now, as he stared down the dimly lit hall that led to the bedrooms, he felt nausea. And terror.

It can’t be. It just can’t be...

Hissing a curse, Gray placed the chicken breasts into the rice and then covered it with a piece of foil. Washing his hands with soap and water, Gray slowly dried them off, not wanting to admit that he knew without ever being told what kind of torture Sky had endured.

She’d been waterboarded. The scars on her wrists verified it. A person was laid on their back on a wooden board the length of their body, their wrists and ankles manacled to hold them down. The board was canted slightly, so a person’s head was below their chest. A strap was then placed across their brow so they couldn’t move their head as the water was poured slowly into their nostrils. The terror of drowning made them panic and jerk at the restraints, causing deep scarring. And Sky’s wrists proved it to Gray. He cursed beneath his breath, wanting to vomit.

CHAPTER FOUR

GRAY TRIED TO put a choke chain on his emotions when Sky sleepily appeared down the hall near 7:00 p.m. His anger had simmered nonstop when he put the pieces of her torture together. Waterboarding broke a person psychologically and emotionally. And it didn’t take long to do it.

As he moved the dinner plates and flatware to the oak table in the dining room, he savagely stuffed all his feelings into his kill box. Until he could verify what he thought was true, Gray could only conjecture. And looking at Sky’s drowsy features, her hair mussed around her face, she appeared damned fragile. Too fragile to talk about something he knew was terrifying for her.

“Hey,” he called, laying out the flatware, “did you have a good nap?”

Sky yawned and rubbed her face as she walked toward the open area that housed the kitchen, dining room and living room. The cathedral ceiling made the place feel airy and large.

“I did, thanks. Sorry I slept so long. Something smells good.” She halted at the edge of the kitchen where Gray was working. Her mind was spongy. It had been so long since she’d slept so deeply and without interruption. They’d returned from town at 2:00 p.m. Looking at the clock up on the wall, Sky realized she’d slept a solid five hours.

“I threw together what I know,” Gray warned her with an amused look, pulling out the salad dressing from the fridge. He handed it to her. “I even made you a salad.”

Touched, Sky took the bottle of dressing. Their fingers briefly met. Warmth sheeted up her hand and into her arm. There was just something calm and soothing about being around Gray. He moved with a masculine grace around the galley kitchen. Sky couldn’t take her gaze off him. He was handsome in a rugged kind of way, his face hard and weathered by working outdoors as a SEAL. “This will do fine,” she said, turning and taking it to the table.

“You have good timing,” he said, putting on the oven mitts that were really too small for his large hands. Opening the oven, he drew out the chicken-and-rice dish.

“I guess I do. Can I help you at all? Get some water or something to drink with our meal?”

“Nah, I’ll get it. Why don’t you take a seat? My turn to serve you.” He set the dish on a trivet in the center of the rectangular table. Gray had put one plate at one end of the table and the other plate to the right of it. He wanted Sky close, not far away from him. He watched as she chose the seat on the side of the table. Her movements were slow, and he could see how cloudy her eyes were from the sleep. Good sleep. Badly needed sleep. Gray was always grateful when he could sleep without nightmares. At least Sky hadn’t had one yet.

Sky pulled the white linen napkin and placed it across her lap. If nothing else, Gray was quick and efficient. In no time, he’d put the steaming, delicious-smelling dish in front of her. He got rid of the oven mitts, dropping them on the granite counter, and pulled her salad from the fridge.

Sitting down, Gray placed the bowl near her plate. Her eyes widened a little as she stared at it.

“Is something wrong?”

She smiled a little. “That’s a huge salad, Gray. I’m not sure I can eat all of it.” Moved by his thoughtfulness, Sky saw he’d sprinkled tomatoes, sliced carrots and celery across the top of the greens.

“You’re underweight,” he growled, slipping a chicken breast onto his plate. He gave her one, as well.

“I just don’t have much appetite,” Sky protested, apology in her voice. She eyed the chicken breast and then spooned the fluffy brown rice onto her plate. It all smelled so good, though. She was wildly aware of how close she was to Gray. He wasn’t wearing his game face, either, and that helped her relax. She watched him enthusiastically dig into the meal and wished her appetite would return.