Breaking Free: A Colorado High Country Crossover Novel by Pamela Clare (adventure books to read txt) 📕

her hand. “I’m not going to let you die, angel.”

“I’m … so cold.”

He dug in her pack, drew out a couple of hand warmers, got the exothermic reaction going, and tucked them inside her parka close to her heart, wrapping the emergency blanket around her once again. “Is that better?”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

Hurry the fuck up, Henriksen!

“Jason, I want … to tell you … to thank you. I’ve never … felt so close to … or cared about a man more ... than you.” A tear slid from the corner of her eye. “You … You’re the best.”

“I care about you, too, Win.” He kissed her forehead. “You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever known.”

Then the truth hit him with the force of a body blow.

He didn’t just care about her.

He loved her.

A part of him tried to object. He’d known Win for only a week and a day. He couldn’t love her. He was just on the rebound and strung out on great sex.

That’s bullshit, and you know it.

Truth was truth.

He loved her. She was like the missing part of him, the soul mate he’d never known he was lacking and had never expected to find. And he had to leave her.

Not yet.

“We’ll get you to the hospital, and they’ll do all they can to save your leg. I’ll be right there. Henriksen will be back soon. Help is on the way.”

God, he hoped he was right.

But Winona was unconscious again.

Five minutes. Ten minutes. This wait was unbearable.

The wolf whined, came closer, still on its belly.

“I’m watching you.” Jason prepared another syringe of ketamine.

The wolf’s ears went up. It jumped to its feet, growled deep in its throat.

Jason drew his Glock. “Don’t do this, little brother.”

Rather than attacking, the wolf turned to flee.

“Shit.” Jason shoved his Glock back into its holster, grabbed the tranquilizer gun, and raised it, sighting on the wolf, which broke into a run. “Oh, no, you don’t. Winona came here for your sake.”

Jason pulled the trigger, hit the wolf in its hindquarters.

It yelped, dropped to the snow, nipping at the dart.

And then, in the distance, Jason heard it—the whirring of a helicopter.

A cacophony of voices crashed in on Winona, but the snatches of conversation made no sense, the words just beyond her comprehension.

“Let’s get a second IV going… Antibiotics … Tetanus at the hospital.”

“… O positive.”

“How long has that tourniquet been on her?”

“… a fever … ”

“When she’s safely on the helicopter, we’ll deal with the wolf.”

“Watch for traps!”

Was that Eric Hawke? Austin? Had the Team come for her?

“Someone bring that trap. Get it the hell off the mountain.”

Winona fought to open her eyes. “Jason?”

“He’s right here, little sister. So am I.” That was Chaska.

Someone took her hand.

“We’re moving you to the gurney now, okay, Win?” Chaska again.

“One, two, three.”

Gentle hands lifted her, pain making her moan.

“What has she had for pain?”

She tried to speak, but Jason answered. “I’ve given her three injections of ketamine—seventy-five mgs each time. She’s due for another.”

“Let’s give her seventy-five more and one mg of midazolam.”

A prick.

And she was floating.

Jason helped Chaska, Eric Hawke, Austin Taylor, Jesse Moretti, and Conrad Harrison carry an unconscious Winona to where the helicopter sat, rotors running, the words Life Flight painted in white against red. The two paramedics, who were with Life Flight and not the Team, walked alongside them with their gear.

Jason and the other men ducked down and lifted the gurney with its precious cargo into the bird. Then Chaska climbed in and sat beside her, while the others turned back to deal with the tranquilized wolf under Henriksen’s direction. They weren’t flying down in the chopper.

Jason stood there for a moment, uncertain where he belonged. He wasn’t family. No one knew about his relationship with Winona. On paper, he was nothing but an acquaintance.

Fuck that.

He made a split-second decision and followed his heart, jumping into the helicopter, buckling in, and grabbing a set of headphones.

“Are you family?” one paramedic asked.

Chaska answered for him, his gaze locked with Jason’s. “Yes.”

The helicopter lifted off, nosed into the wind, rotor wash blowing snow.

The paramedics worked on Winona, removing the makeshift splint, checking her vitals, giving her blood and oxygen, and injecting other medications into her IV.

He glanced down, saw the Cimarron, and realized they were flying her away from the mountains. “You’re not taking her to Scarlet Springs?”

Chaska shook his head. “We’re going to a level-one trauma center in Denver.”

“Jason?” Winona’s eyes fluttered open, her voice muffled by the oxygen mask.

But Jason was buckled in. “I’m here, Win.”

He wasn’t sure she could hear him.

The flight lasted twenty minutes, giving them a precious ten minutes until they reached the two-hour mark. The helicopter landed on the roof of the facility, medical staff waiting to take Winona inside. They offloaded the gurney with military efficiency, and Jason followed Chaska as they rushed inside.

A nurse met them with a clipboard and a flurry of questions, some of which Chaska answered. The others were left to Jason—mostly details about what had happened, what time he’d applied the tourniquet, how much pain medicine he’d given her, and other measures he’d taken. Then he found himself sitting in a surgery waiting area with Chaska.

Chaska rested a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got Win’s blood on your hands.”

Jason glanced down. Winona’s blood was on his jeans, too, and his parka. “I should wash up.”

When Jason returned, Chaska was holding two cups of coffee.

“I thought you might need this. Thanks for saving Winona’s life.”

Jason took the cup, regret assailing him. If he’d seen the trap just a moment sooner… “I didn’t do anything.”

“If you’d done nothing, she’d be dead. You put on that tourniquet, splinted her leg, gave her pain meds, started an IV, kept her warm, held her hand.”

“I saw the trap just before she stepped on it. I tried to warn her, but it was too late. She was just out of reach.” He squeezed his eyes shut against the image of those steel jaws clamping shut—and