Page 120 of The SEAL and the Sheriff

Hudson’s hand stilled against the thick fur of his neck. “Yeah,” he murmured. “You too.”

Gunner pressed harder into Hudson’s hand, ears pricked, weight forward. Retired didn’t mean finished.

Owen limped toward him from behind the logging truck, split lip, bloody knuckles, his jacket torn at one shoulder. No one followed him. “Cord?”

“Gone.” Hudson caught the ambulance bumper before his knees gave way. He wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and pointed toward the logging road. “They took him that way.”

Owen surveyed the wrecked ambulance, the bodies scattered around it. The SUV that had rammed the rear quarter. “Hang on.”

He disappeared around the vehicle. Thirty seconds later he reappeared, keys spinning around one finger and the corner of his mouth lifting. “They left us a courtesy vehicle.”

Hudson snorted, which proved to be a mistake.

Owen flicked an eyebrow but said nothing. He jerked his head. “Come on.”

Hudson pushed away from the ambulance and followed. Every step jarred through him. His injured arm had stiffened in the cold, each movement sending a hot pull through his shoulder.

The SUV hadn’t escaped much better than the ambulance. The front bumper was folded in on itself, one headlight gone, a spiderweb crack running across the windshield.

Owen slid behind the wheel and turned the key.

The engine gave several reluctant coughs and then caught. Black smoke blasted from the exhaust before the engine settled into an unhappy idle.

Owen grinned. “She’ll do.”

He waited while Hudson lowered himself into the passenger seat with deliberate care. Gunner launched into the back seat. Owen dropped the SUV into reverse, and metal shrieked as they tore free of the ambulance.

Owen swung them out of the ditch, straightened onto the highway, then turned onto the logging road.

It was barely a road. Ruts frozen into the earth, snow over mud and gravel, the trees pressing so close on either side that branches scraped along both doors. The SUV lurched and pitched through potholes. Every jolt found something new to hurt. Hudson braced his good hand against the dashboard.

Owen glanced sideways. “You want me to slow down?”

Hudson met the side-eye. “No.”

“You sure?”

“No.”

Owen hit another rut. “Fair enough.” He wiped a sleeve across the fogged glass while the wipers juddered outside. “How’s the arm?”

“Functional.”

“Uh-huh.” Owen glanced at him. “And the ribs?”

“Also functional.”

“And the part where you can barely breathe?”

Hudson watched the trees slide past. “I’m breathing.”

“You’re rationing.” Owen kept his eyes on the road. “I’ve seen you do it before.”

“Then you know I can manage.”

“Until you don’t.” Owen steered around a fallen branch. “And when that happens, I’m the bastard carrying you. Again.”

Hudson eyed him. “You complained the whole way last time.”