Shadows of You (Lost & Found #4)(5)

A muscle in my jaw twitched. “A cornered animal, especially when they’re in pain, will react badly. Deer’s hooves can be lethal. Especially if they connect with your skull.”

“I can move quickly. I know how to escape an animal lashing out.”

“Civilians trying to interfere,” I grumbled. Just like Marion Simpson, who refused to stop feeding that damn bear she’d practically adopted. “Do you know how much paperwork I’ll have to do if you get dead?”

The redhead gaped at me. “Did you seriously just say that?”

I shrugged and turned back to my snowmobile—the same vehicle she’d been oblivious to as I approached. A fresh wave of annoyance flashed through me. Wandering around after a deer in a whiteout was the height of stupidity. Not being aware of your surroundings was even worse.

Bending, I grabbed my kit from one of the snowmobile’s side compartments and assembled the tranquilizer gun. It had only taken a quick glance to see the deer would need medical attention.

I turned around, eyeing the doe, who was trying to make her way through the deepening snow. Poor girl. I lifted the tranq gun, and the redhead threw herself in front of me.

“Don’t shoot her!”

I let out a string of curses. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Stopping you from committing deer-i-cide. I won’t let you hurt her.”

A fire blazed in those green depths, one I had to admire begrudgingly, even if the woman was risking life and limb.

“It’s a tranq gun,” I growled. “The doe needs medical attention.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Now, move out of my way so I don’t miss my shot.”

The redhead moved back, and I aimed. The dart hit true. The deer jerked, then stumbled into the snow.

The woman didn’t wait. She rushed over to the doe, sinking to her knees, not giving a damn that she wasn’t in proper snow gear. “It’s okay, girl. We’re going to help you.” She positioned the deer’s head on her lap, stroking her cheek.

Something about the gesture tugged at a place deep in my chest. I bit the inside of my cheek to distract myself from the sensation. Grabbing my medical kit, I made my way over to the fallen deer.

“It looks bad,” the woman whispered.

She wasn’t wrong. The old, rusted tomato cage had cut into the doe’s flesh, and the injuries looked infected. “These cages are a recipe for disaster. Deer stick their heads in, trying to get the tomatoes, and they get stuck.”

The redhead worried a spot on the inside of her mouth, making her cheek pucker. “I never thought about that.”

“Most people don’t.” I grabbed a pair of wire cutters from my kit, quickly freeing the doe from the cage. The wounds looked angry. “I need to get her some real medical care.”

I looked at the road. I didn’t want to take her into town. The ride would be too long.

“I’ve got a barn she can stay in.”

I glanced back at the woman, arching a brow in question.

“I take in injured animals sometimes. One more won’t be a problem.”

Of course, she did. A bleeding heart, through and through. “You’d need high walls so she doesn’t try to jump out.”

“I’ve got a stall like that. It’s not a problem.”

I searched out her property. I could just see the barn in the distance. Even from here, I could tell it needed some serious work. I cursed. “Fine. Stay here.”

“You could say thank you,” she muttered.

I moved back to my snowmobile and grabbed the stretcher. It only took a minute, but when I returned, the woman was shaking.

“You need a better coat.”

She sighed. “My coat is fine.”

“You’re shivering.”

“I don’t usually make a habit of sitting in the snow.”

She needed a coat made for this climate, not one with little decorative stars on the sleeves.

“Can you help me roll her so we can get the board under her?”

The woman nodded. “Aspen.”

“Huh?”

“My name is Aspen.”

I simply grunted in response. I didn’t want to know her name. I already knew too much.

She muttered something under her breath that I couldn’t make out.

“On three. One, two, three.”

We shifted the deer and slid the board into place. It didn’t take long to strap her down. I hurriedly backed my snowmobile up to the site and connected the stretcher.

I glanced at Aspen. “Get on.”

Her eyes went wide. “With you?”

“You want to walk all the way back?”

A shiver racked her, and she shook her head. So very carefully, she thrust a leg over the vehicle’s seat.

“Hold on to my waist.”

My words were low, gravelly, but she obeyed.

The contact nearly made me jerk. Even through layers of snow gear, there was a burning heat to the woman’s touch. Danger. The message flashed over and over in my mind as I slowly started down the road.

My back teeth ground together as I made the turn into Aspen’s driveway, and she gripped me tighter. As we slowed in front of her old farmhouse, she let go, and I released the breath I’d been holding since the moment she gripped my waist.