Free Army Ranger Redemption by Carol Ericson

jumped up from the sofa, one hand clutching his hair. “He was on the fringes of the drug trade here in Timberline.”
    “The drug trade? Is that what Agent Harper was looking into when he was out here investigating the Timberline Trio case?”
    “Harper was the FBI agent assigned to the cold case?” Jim stroked the bristle on his chin.
    “Yeah. He was going to interview Gary but never got the chance.”
    “That’s convenient. I wonder if Rusty or Chewy was in town then.” He took a few steps and then braced one hand against the mantel. “Can I have some water, please?”
    Walking into the kitchen, she glanced over her shoulder at his flushed face. “Are you okay?”
    “I’m...I’m...” His head fell forward and he sucked in a breath.
    “Jim?” Scarlett’s heart pounded as she stuck a glass beneath the tap and filled it with water.
    He let out a groan and then crashed to the floor.

Chapter Seven
    “Jim!” She dropped the water glass in the sink where it shattered and she stumbled into the living room.
    She crouched beside Jim, on his side, his knees drawn to his chest. Pressing her hand against his clammy brow, she asked, “Jim, can you hear me?”
    His eyeballs rolled behind closed lids, and she brushed his hair back from his face. If he didn’t open his eyes in two seconds and talk to her, she’d run outside to call 911. But she didn’t want to leave him.
    She undid the buttons on his shirt, her hand skimming the hot flesh at his neck. The temperature had to be low sixties in here. Why was he burning up?
    His eyelids flickered and she caught the gleam from his dark eyes. “Are you coming around? I’m going to get that water.”
    She grabbed a pillow from the sofa and tucked it beneath his head.
    She took off for the kitchen and filled another glass full of water, ignoring the broken glass in the sink. When she returned to Jim, his breathing was less shallow, his color less pale.
    She punched up the pillow behind his head, and held the glass to his dry lips. “Can you take some water? Should I call 911?”
    He turned his head, and she put the glass down on the fireplace. As he held up one hand, she grabbed it with her own. Immediately a flow of energy coursed through her body and she jerked back without releasing Jim’s hand.
    Dread soaked into her skin and it felt as if something was waiting for her just around the corner. Holding her breath, she braced for the terror. She squeezed Jim’s hand harder. Her heart thudded in her chest.
    Jim ripped his hand from hers and struggled to sit up. “I’m all right.”
    While she blinked her eyes, Jim grabbed the water and downed it. “I’m fine. It’s nothing. Come back.”
    Her hand snaked up the column of her throat. How had he known? What had he seen in her face?
    “I’m here, of course. What just happened?”
    “You tell me.” He sat up fully, his back against the fireplace, his flannel shirt gaping open, exposing the black T-shirt beneath that clung to the muscles of his broad chest.
    “Y-you fell to the floor. You were unresponsive, with shallow breathing and clammy skin. What was that, Jim? You don’t seem exactly panicked about it.”
    “That’s because it’s happened before. The...attacks or seizures stopped for a while but have started up again since I’ve been in Timberline.”
    “Seizures? What causes them? I assume you’ve been to see a doctor.” She crossed her legs beneath her, folding her hands in her lap.
    “It’s post-traumatic stress. It’s been treated. I was on medication for a while—didn’t like it.”
    “Did it help?”
    “It reduced the attacks, but I’d rather feel my feelings, not stuff them away.”
    “You said they stopped?”
    “Until I came here.” He cradled the glass in his hands, running his thumb along the rim.
    “Why? What is it about this place? Is it the stuff you went through with your father?”
    “Some of it.” He hunched forward. “I’d rather hear about what you feel when you