Page 2 of My Ex-Military Mountain Man

I straighten my spine, adding perhaps an inch to my five-foot-five frame.

"The GPS doesn't exactly love it up here," I reply, extending my hand. "Dr. Nicole."

He looks at my hand for a moment before taking it in his much larger one. His grip is firm but controlled, his palm calloused. When he shifts to return my handshake, I notice the way he favors his right side.

"Jack Mercer," he says, releasing my hand. His gaze drops to Max, who sits patiently at my feet. "You brought a dog to a wildlife sanctuary?"

"Max is a certified therapy animal and my assistant," I explain. "He's trained around wildlife and remains under my control at all times."

Jack stares at Max for a long moment, then gives a curt nod. As he steps back to allow us entry, the sleeve of his flannel shirt pulls up slightly, revealing the edge of what appears to be an extensive scarring on his forearm. He catches me looking and tugs the sleeve down.

"The eagle's in the treatment room," he says, turning away. "This way."

As I follow him into the lodge, I'm struck by the contradiction of this man—the gentle artistry of those carvings outside versus the guarded severity of his demeanor. The military background makes sense now, evident in his posture and movement.

I have forty-eight hours to help this eagle. Forty-eight hours in this remote sanctuary with its enigmatic owner. As I watch Jack's broad back leading the way through the timber-framed interior, I wonder what exactly I've gotten myself into.

Chapter 2 - Jack

I don't like surprises. And I especially don't like surprises that arrive in the form of a veterinarian who looks nothing like what I expected.

When Harrison mentioned sending a specialist, I pictured some gray-haired academic type with thick glasses and a clinical demeanor. Not this woman who now follows me through my home, her presence somehow making the familiar space feel different. Smaller.

Her dog pads silently behind her, watching me with unnerving intelligence. At least the animal is well-behaved. That's something.

"The treatment room is through here," I say, leading her past the great room with its stone fireplace.

I'm conscious of her eyes taking in everything—the handcrafted furniture, the bookshelves filled with wildlife reference materials, the absence of personal photos. People always look for those. They always notice when they're missing.

"This is incredible craftsmanship," she comments, gesturing toward a coffee table I carved from a single piece of cedar. "Did you make this?"

I nod once, not breaking stride. I don't need her admiration or her questions. I need her to fix the eagle and leave.

The treatment room is at the back of the lodge, converted from what was once meant to be a sunroom. I've equipped it with the basics—examination table, proper lighting, storage for medical supplies. It's not fancy, but it's functional.

"Here she is," I say, stopping at the large enclosure where the eagle rests. She's perched on a low branch, her injuredwing carefully splinted according to specifications I found in a veterinary manual. Dr. Nicole’s manual, as it turns out.

The veterinarian immediately shifts demeanor, her professional focus zeroing in on the bird. She drops to a crouch several feet from the enclosure, studying the eagle's posture and breathing. Her dog sits calmly beside her, equally attentive.

"She's a beauty," Dr. Nicole murmurs. "Female, three to four years old by the look of her. How long have you had her?"

"Found her yesterday morning during my perimeter check. She was at the base of a cliff about two miles east. Looked like she'd been grounded for at least a day."

Dr. Nicole nods, never taking her eyes off the bird. "Any idea what happened? Gunshot? Collision?"

"No obvious gunshot trauma. My guess is she hit something—possibly one of the power lines that run through the valley." I fold my arms, keeping my distance. "There was some bleeding, but I cleaned and dressed what I could see before splinting."

Now Dr. Nicole turns to look at me, left eyebrow arched. "You've had medical training?"

The question is innocent enough, but it touches too close to things I don't discuss. "I've spent enough time around injured wildlife to pick up the basics."

She nods, accepting this non-answer, and turns back to the eagle. "I'm going to need to examine her fully. Is there somewhere I can set up my equipment?"

I point to the steel examination table in the center of the room. "That's hydraulic. Adjusts to whatever height you need."

Again, that look of surprise. "This is... impressive for a private sanctuary."

I shrug. "I like to be prepared."

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