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  Praise for Lindsay McKenna

  “Captivating. . . . The ever-present sensuality is a magnetic force that propels the novel forward amid simmering suspense.”—Publishers Weekly on Wind River Wrangler, a Publishers Marketplace Buzz Books 2016 Selection

  “Moving and real . . . impossible to put down. ”—Publishers Weekly on Wind River Rancher (starred review)

  “Cowboy who is also a former Special Forces operator? Check. Woman on the run from her past? Check. This contemporary Western wraps together suspense and romance in a rugged Wyoming package.”—Amazon.com’s Omnivoracious, “9 Romances I Can’t Wait to Read,” on Wind River Wrangler

  “Set against the stunning beauty of Wyoming’s Grand Tetons, Wind River Wrangler is Lindsay McKenna at her finest! A tour de force of heart-stopping drama, gut-wrenching emotion, and the searing joy of two wounded souls learning to love again.”—International bestselling author Merline Lovelace

  “McKenna provides heartbreakingly tender romantic development that will move readers to tears. Her military background lends authenticity to this outstanding tale, and readers will fall in love with the upstanding hero and his fierce determination to save the woman he loves.”

  —Publishers Weekly on Never Surrender (starred review)

  “McKenna’s dazzling eighth Shadow Warriors novel is a rip-roaring contemporary military romance novel with heart and heat. ”—Booklist on Running Fire (starred review)

  “McKenna does a beautiful job of illustrating difficult topics through the development of well-formed, sympathetic characters. ”—Publishers Weekly on Wolf Haven (starred review)

  Books by New York Times bestselling author

  Lindsay McKenna

  WIND RIVER WRANGLER

  WIND RIVER RANCHER

  WIND RIVER COWBOY

  WRANGLER’S CHALLENGE

  and coming in April 2018

  LONE RIDER

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  WRANGLER’S CHALLENGE

  LINDSAY McKENNA

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Praise for Lindsay McKenna

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Teaser chapter

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2017 by Nauman Living Trust

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4201-4534-2

  ISBN-10: 1-4201-4534-7

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-4537-3

  eISBN-10: 1-4201-4537-1

  To John Harrer,

  whoapodcast.com,

  who loves horses like I do!

  Chapter One

  A bad feeling snaked through Army Sergeant Dair Wilson. The late October Afghan night chilled her to the bone. Wind cut against her face where it was exposed. Zeus, her Belgian Malinois combat dog, strained at the leash she had double wrapped in her gloved fist. Without NVGs on, night vision goggles, she wouldn’t see where the hell she was putting her booted feet as her dog plunged ahead.

  Behind her, eleven men of her Army Special Forces A-team, were strung out with plenty of room in between them. It was ass-freezing cold, and she thinned her full lips, sensing Zeus as he sniffed ahead of her. They were on a rocky, icy slope above a valley where the Taliban were trying to take over an Afghan village. The CIA had picked up chatter that a Taliban HVA, high value target, was going to be meeting local soldiers and confer with them on assault strategy to take over the village.

  Over my dead body. She and her A-team lived in that village two thousand feet below them. Dair knew the chief and his wife, and the two hundred villagers there. They were simple farmers who had no guns or weapons to defend themselves. This A-team had taken up residence three years earlier and stopped the incursions from the bloodthirsty Taliban, who were now making a late autumn attack on the village before the snows fell hard and deep, stopping all such warfare.

  Her boots slipped on the icy rocks. She mentally cursed. Zeus had his head down, his sides moving in and out like a bellows as he inhaled and exhaled the many scents. A path led up the six-thousand-foot slope filled with nothing but rocks and a few scraggly bushes hanging on, barely existing in this harsh environment.

  They all knew that the Taliban would bury IEDs along the trail to kill the goats and young goat herders from the village below. Goats meant survival. Their skin and fur was used for warmth, their milk for the children, and their meat for food. The Taliban knew goats were the only survival, other than agricultural endeavors, for the people of this village. And they were trying to decimate the goat herds to force the village into starvation this coming winter. It would, from a strategy standpoint, make it easier for the Taliban to attack next spring and find little resistance among the starved populace.

  Not on her watch. Their A-team was beloved by the unarmed Afghan farmers and their grateful families. They had lived for years in that village and become part of the everyday fabric of it. Her captain, Davis Ackerman, had brought a well-digging outfit from a global charity named Delos, and now the village had a clean water supply. Children stopped dying as a result.

  The whole team had helped build a huge irrigation pattern in the agricultural fields where many types of vegetables were now being grown. The military team worked alongside the Afghan men every day with shovels, hoes, and pickaxes.

  And tonight, they were going after the head of the snake. Dair was their specialist with a WMD dog. Zeus was intrinsic to their team because every morning, Dair went out around the walled village, and her dog sniffed and often found IEDs planted overnight by the Taliban, who had sneaked close beneath the cover of darkness. Zeus had saved countless lives and she fiercely loved her six-year-old Belgian Malinois.

  The wind was erratic. A cold front was coming through. Dair worried about such times. If the wind blew away from Zeus’s sensitive IED-trained nose, he would not pick up the scent of the deadly explosive buried just beneath the ground. If the wind blew toward his nose, he would pick up the scent.

  She felt her spinal column crawling with danger. Dair thought it was because they were going to try and capture the HVT on the other side of this ridge at a small mud and stone house that Taliban often used as a stopo
ver and meeting place.

  She’d like nothing better than to get this bastard who was responsible for the repeated attacks on the Afghan village. No one wanted him more than she and Zeus did. The villagers knew the team was armed, and as they watched them troop out beyond the huge wooden gates, shutting them behind them at dusk, they knew something deadly was up. Dair had seen the worry in many of the men’s eyes. They relied on their A-team for medical services, for extra food, clothing, and shoes for their children given by U.S. charities. They did not want the team being killed by the Taliban. Dair had seen it written silently in their expressions.

  She wore a level three Kevlar vest, the weight of the ceramic plates making her breathing harder as they continued the steep climb toward the ridge line. It weighed thirty extra pounds upon her frame. Her M-4 carbine was hanging across her chest. Her drop holster with a .45 pistol was strapped to her right thigh.

  Her friends, the rest of the A-team, moved like silent ghosts behind her. They trusted that Zeus would find any IEDs buried on the only path up this slope, before one of them stepped on it.

  She loved her black-faced, fawn-colored dog. They were a tight team. Zeus slept with her in her small mud-and-rock hut. He kept her warm in the winter with his seventy-five-pound body curled tightly next to hers. He was a guard dog and would send up a warning growl when Taliban were lurking outside the seven-foot, mud-and-rock wall that kept the village safe. Often, she and some of the other sergeants would get up, armed, and with their NVGs on, let Zeus lead them to where he heard the enemy outside the wall.

  Over time, the Taliban lost too many soldiers skulking around, looking for a way to infiltrate the village at night. They knew there was a WMD dog within the walls. And, after losing twenty-five soldiers at night to the sharp-eared dog, they stopped coming.

  This was her fourth deployment with her team. They were all like big, doting brothers to her. And she was like a little sister to all of them. Dair earned her position on the black ops team because she was very good at what she did. She was five-foot-ten inches tall, and at a distance, most people thought she was a man. Until they got closer and saw her half-Comanche face, the black braids she always wore, and her cinnamon-brown eyes. Then they were surprised, because the villagers hadn’t seen many women soldiers before. She was an anomaly in their world.

  The wind slapped at her back, and Dair slowed Zeus. The scent would be gone and he wouldn’t find it. The dog halted, the leash taut between his collar and her gloved hand. Her mic was resting against her lips. “Take five. Wind is the wrong direction.”

  “Copy that,” Davis said.

  Dair knew the team would be glad for the momentary rest. They were all carrying at least fifty pounds of gear and ammo on them. They knew what it meant when the wind was cooperating, at the right angle for Zeus to properly scent the area. Because of the dog, they’d gone four years as a team without any IED injuries. Dair wanted to keep it that way.

  She keyed her hearing, the edges of her ears freezing and numb. The tip of her nose was also numb. It was below freezing on this miserable slope. The sky was thick with clouds, promising snow at some point. She hated the white stuff because IEDs became even more troublesome to locate. Watching Zeus through her NVGs, the dog’s ears were up and he was panting heavily, his ribs bowing in and out.

  The wind shifted again, this time coming directly at Dair. She gave Zeus the unspoken order to start sniffing again. Instantly, the dog lunged against the leash, nose just above the surface, moving it from side to side, trying to pick up the scent of a buried IED.

  Dair’s whole focus, her whole world, relied on her brave dog. They were the point of the spear. If Zeus found an IED, he’d instantly sit down, a signal that one was nearby. Then, Dair would have to halt the column and the two explosives-trained sergeants from their team would come up and locate it and defuse it. Then, they’d move forward once more. Her mouth was dry and she pulled the tube to her CamelBak, sucking deeply. Staying hydrated was important. Soon, she’d have to stop and give Zeus water as well.

  The wind shifted, slapping her on the right side of her face. Dropping the tube that was held in her shoulder epaulet, Dair tugged on the leash to stop Zeus. The wind was taking away the scents he needed to pick up.

  Suddenly, there was a flash of red and yellow light. Dair heard Zeus yelp. Burning heat swept across her as she was flung off her feet, tumbling through the night air. A thousand impressions assailed her as she felt her arms windmilling and she cartwheeled end over end. The sound of the explosion broke both her eardrums. Simultaneously, a sharp pain assailed her left foot and ankle. And then, she lost consciousness.

  * * *

  Dair heard herself moaning and it pulled her out of her unconscious state. Burning pain was ripping up her left leg. Even through her shut eyes, the light hurt. Trying to move, she felt weighted, weak and incapable of moving a finger.

  “Just be still, Sergeant Wilson. We’re taking you on board a C-5 for Landstuhl Medical Center in Germany in about ten minutes. I’m going to give you a shot that will knock you out for the duration of our flight.”

  Dair frowned, not recognizing the male voice. Her mind was spinning. Fragments of memory assailing her. Zeus crying out. And someone had screamed. Had it been her? The scents entering her flared nostrils were of alcohol, bleach, and other nose-wrinkling medical odors. Where was she? What was happening? Where was Zeus? And then, she felt herself spinning down, down, down, and that’s the last thing she remembered.

  * * *

  The next time Dair regained consciousness, she was in a bed, her left leg slightly suspended above where she lay. There were voices. Men’s voices, nearby, so low she couldn’t tell what they were saying. Her hearing came and went. She was so thirsty and her mouth felt like it was going to crack because it was so dry. Barely opening her eyes, she tried to take in where she was. There was a gnawing ache from her foot and ankle that were bandaged and in that sling. Staring at it, her vision would blur and then slowly sharpen once more. Her mind was offline as she lay there. Was she alive? She felt heavy, like ten thousand pounds of weight were pressing her down into the bed.

  “Hey,” a man called, “get the nurse. She’s awake.”

  Dair didn’t recognize the man’s voice. It sounded so far away. Was she dreaming? In a nightmare? It took so much effort to lift her eyelids a bit more. A light blue wall stared back at her. She heard a door open and close.

  “Welcome back, Sergeant Wilson.”

  Blinking, Dair was barely able to turn her head. A blond-haired woman, dressed in Army fatigues, her hair up on her head, stood next to her, a frown on her face. She looked to be in her thirties.

  “Where . . .” she croaked.

  “I’m Nurse Mills. You’re presently at Landstuhl Medical Center, Sergeant.” She checked the two IVs, one on each side of the bed. “You were injured when an IED went off in front of you,” she said briskly, returning to her side. “You’ve sustained injury to your left foot and ankle.” Her voice dropped and she reached out, her hand on Dair’s blue-gowned shoulder. “I’m sorry, but your foot and ankle had to be amputated. That’s why it’s in a sling right now. You’re going to live. The orthopedic surgeon created a way for you to wear a prosthesis, Sergeant. You’ll be able to walk again, eventually. We’ll be transferring you to Bethesda Medical Center back in Washington, D.C., for rehabilitation and any further surgery you might need.” She patted her arm. “You’re alive, Sergeant. That’s the best news.”

  Dair stared up at her, shock rolling through her, reeling from the tersely delivered information. Her emotions were muddled to begin with, but now, she felt as if that nurse had taken her fist and slammed it as hard as she could into her jaw, stunning her nearly semiconscious. Her mind barely grasped all of what she’d said. She’d spoken so fast that she missed some of the words. What she didn’t miss was that her left foot and ankle had been amputated.

  “I-I need water,” she croaked.

  “Yes,” the nurse
said, walking over to the rolling table. She poured her some. Coming back, she pushed a button, half the bed coming up into a gentle sitting position for Dair. The nurse pressed the straw between Dair’s cracked lips. “Drink all you want. I’ll get your physician to get you off IVs and onto fluids and light food such as Jell-O.”

  Dair drained the glass, wanting more. The nurse placed the tray in front of her. There was a pitcher of ice water and the glass. She poured her more, holding the glass while she drank. She was so weak she couldn’t have poured it for herself.

  “Are you in pain, Sergeant?”

  Hell, yes! All she could focus on was that her foot and ankle had been amputated. “Just . . . ache in my left leg,” she managed hoarsely.

  The nurse filled the glass and set it on the tray. “I’ll get your pain meds increased in that one IV,” she said. Giving Dair a sympathetic look, her hand on her shoulder once more, she said, “I know this is a huge shock, Sergeant, but you’re alive. There’s hope for you. You’ll be able to walk again someday. They have the best orthopedic people in the world at Bethesda. You’re in good hands.”

  “Wait,” Dair called, her voice rasping. “Where’s Zeus?”

  “What?” she asked, turning toward her. “Who’s Zeus?”

  “M-my dog. I’m a dog handler.”

  “I don’t know,” she said with a shrug, and left.

  Dair sat there in turmoil. She recalled only pieces of the past, of standing on that cold-ass ridge in the dark of the night, Zeus sitting in front of her. That’s all she could recall as she ruthlessly tried to force her brain to work and remember.