Page 11 of Backed By You (Montgomery Brothers of Montana #3)

Beau

We arrived at Whitetail Animal Hospital roughly an hour ago, and Callie still refuses to leave until we hear something.

When we got here, the technicians took Hulk back straight away for X-rays and quickly found a severe ligament tear in his left hind leg.

They whisked him away for emergency surgery and we’ve been sitting here ever since.

“Callie,” I try again, but she isn’t having any of it.

“Stop, please,” she snaps, her eyes red and swollen from crying. “I’m not going until I hear he’s okay. We’ll go, I promise. Just…not yet.”

I lean forward, my hands clasped in front of me with a resigned sigh.

After another fifteen minutes of dreaded silence and her refusing to get herself looked at, I opt for a different angle.

“When I was shot, I had about a dozen men ready to haul me out of the line of fire.” I shake my head at the memory.

“Waylon and Billings were arguing over who was going to escort me back. Fuckin’ idiots. ”

Her focus is momentarily diverted when she glances at my knee, then my face. “What happened?”

I sigh heavily, surprised I’ve opened this particular door.

It’s not a story I’ve shared since coming home to the States.

“I was their team leader. Told them both to shut up and get back into position. We were pinned down, four hostiles still in play. Couldn’t afford to lose two men just to get me to safety. ”

She’s watching me now, her emotional pain temporarily pushed aside by curiosity. “So what did you do?”

“Applied my tourniquet. Kept firing.” I shrug. “I made them leave me there.”

Her eyes widen. “By yourself? With a gunshot wound?”

“For about forty-five minutes. Until the area was secure.”

“That’s…insane.”

“That’s what the medic said, too.” I cock a half grin.

“By the time I let them haul me out of there, I’d lost a dangerous amount of blood.

The bullet had fragmented and traveled, done a real number on my knee.

If they’d evacuated me right away, like protocol dictated, the damage might not have been significant enough to warrant a discharge. ”

Understanding dawns in her eyes. “But you refused.”

“I was a career soldier. I thought I was making the right call,” I grunt. “Turns out, I was just being stubborn and ended up awarded a medical retirement at thirty-three.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“Don’t be. It was a lesson I needed to learn.” I meet her gaze. “Sometimes the bravest thing isn’t pushing through the pain or refusing to leave your post. Sometimes it’s admitting you need help, too.”

She looks away, fresh tears welling in her eyes.

“He is in the best hands possible, Callie,” I say softly, gesturing to her temple where dried blood still cakes her hairline. “You, on the other hand, need stitches. And that ankle needs to be properly examined.”

“But what if…” Her voice breaks. “What if something happens while I’m gone? What if he needs me and I’m not here?”

“Dr. Mason promised to call the second there’s any news,” I remind her gently. “And Hulk’s going to be in recovery for hours. He wouldn’t want you sitting here suffering, would he?”

That gets her. She closes her eyes briefly. “No. He wouldn’t.”

“Let me take you to get patched up. For Hulk.”

“Okay,” she agrees, finally allowing me to help her to her feet.

It’s nearly midnight when we return to the animal hospital. Callie has three neat stitches at her temple, a walking boot on her moderately sprained ankle, and a prescription for mild painkillers that she’ll have to fill in the morning.

“Miss Ryan,” Dr. Mason greets us when we enter, her surgical cap still on. “Perfect timing. We’ve just moved Hulk to recovery.”

“How is he?” Callie asks, breathless.

“The surgery went very well. Complete tear of the cranial cruciate ligament—what we’d call an ACL tear in humans.

We performed a TPLO procedure.” At Callie’s confused expression, she explains, “We changed the angle of the top of his tibia so he doesn’t need the ligament for stability anymore.

It’s the gold standard for large, active dogs like your Hulk. ”

Callie blows out a shaky breath. “Can I see him?” she asks, already moving toward the treatment area.

Dr. Mason nods. “Briefly. He’s still coming out of anesthesia.”

I hang back to give them privacy as the vet leads Callie through the double doors.

When they return fifteen minutes later, Callie’s eyes are red, but her expression is more at ease.

“He recognized me,” she tells me as she sits beside me in the waiting area.

“He wagged his tail a little when he saw me.”

I extend my arm behind her chair and she leans into me, taking the gesture as an open invitation. It wasn’t, but I’ll take it. “He’s a fighter. You have nothing to worry about.”

Dr. Mason returns to review the aftercare instructions with us. Strict rest for eight weeks, physical therapy, pain management. “He can go home tomorrow afternoon if all goes well tonight.”

Callie’s hand finds my thigh, and I fight my body not to react when her nails bite through my jeans. Her rapt gaze is on the good doctor.

“We’ll keep him comfortable tonight and give you a call around noon tomorrow with a pickup time,” she continues. “You should both go home and get some rest.”

Callie is dead silent as the vet gives her a kind smile and retreats to the back room once again.

I stand and offer her my hand. She stares at it for an unblinking moment before gently placing her hand in mine.

I help her into my truck, her steps awkward in the new boot she’s sporting.

I close the passenger door and head to the driver’s side.

The ride to the cabin is silent, aside from Callie’s quiet sniffles. I should say something, reassure her that he’s okay and he’ll be home tomorrow, but I don’t.

When I finally pull in the driveway and park, killing the engine, it’s after one in the morning. I try like hell to find the right words to say and come up with, “Is there…anything I can do?”

Not bad . Could’ve been worse.

She breaks off into another fit of sobs, and my heart feels like it’s being ripped out of my chest.

All right. Maybe I could’ve done better there.

“Hulk isn’t just a PTSD service dog,” she confesses, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. “He’s a fully trained police attack dog that my father pushed through certification for me a few years ago to keep as a…a guard dog, more or less.”

“A guard dog,” I repeat, brow furrowed.

What the hell would she need a guard dog for?

“Hulk,” she starts again, her voice shaking.

“He watches my back so I’m not overwhelmed by this—this paranoid anxiety I have that somehow, no matter where I am, someone wants to hurt me.

When I started taking Hulk everywhere with me, that feeling didn’t stop right away, but it slowed.

Little things that would send me into a spiral before didn’t have the same effect.

I felt lighter. He’s been my backup for the last five years. ”

I stay silent as she speaks, taking in everything she’s willing to give me.

“He’s all I have. He’s been through everything with me,” she sniffles. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. I don’t even have a phone to call and check on him.”

“What do you mean?”

“My phone,” she gestures vaguely up the road toward the trail, “it was in my backpack. It must have fallen off my back during the fall. I didn’t even think about it when I gave the vet my information. And now they’ll call, and I won’t answer because I can’t.”

“We’ll go in the morning,” I say. “Get you a new phone and swing by the hospital to check on him. I’ll give the state park service a shout in the morning to let them know that trail needs to be closed. They may be able to recover your bag as well.”

Callie’s head falls back against the headrest with a sniffle. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” she says, rolling her head to face me. “I haven’t even thanked you.”

“Don’t apologize,” I grunt, looking away from her sad eyes. Even in her current state, she’s damn near captivating. Her presence alone is drawing me in, wanting to prolong this moment of simply sitting in my truck and talking.

“Where did you stay last night?”

Her question catches me off guard. My face heats ever so slightly. I can tell you where I shouldn’t have slept . “Here,” I admit. “The other rental is open tonight, though. So I’ll be there.” I tip my chin toward the larger of the two cabins just ahead.

“That’s good,” she says, nodding to herself as her gaze drifts to the cabin.

For a moment, we sit in silence, darkness wrapped around us. “Well,” I finally say, clearing my throat. “Let’s get you inside. I assume your keys were in your pack, too?”

She sighs. “Yeah.”

I come around to her side and help her out, offering my arm for support as she hobbles toward her cabin. The walking boot makes a dull thud against the wooden steps as we climb them to the front door.

I unlock the door and step aside as it opens with a creak. “Do you need anything before I go?” I don’t know why I ask, or keep hovering, but I do. I couldn’t force my legs to move away if I tried.

She shakes her head. “No, I…should be fine.”

She doesn’t look fine with the way she stands awkwardly beside the door, her hand on the doorframe as she peers inside. She looks lost. Vulnerable in a way that tugs at something deep in my chest.

“I’ll be right next door,” I say casually, jerking my thumb over my shoulder. “If you need anything. Anything at all.”

She nods, but doesn’t look up.

“Even if it’s just…” I hesitate, searching for the right words. “If you don’t want to be alone tonight. The offer stands.”

Her gaze lifts to mine, searching my face for something. Ulterior motives, probably. “If you need backup, that is,” I continue, feeling a little self-conscious at the offer I’ve made. I step back, giving her space. “Try to get some rest, Callie.”

I turn away and walk to my truck, drawing in a deep breath of crisp, night air. What am I doing? This isn’t like me—offering to stay with a woman as protection, inserting myself into her life. But something about Callie has gotten under my skin. It’s been there since the moment I saw her.

I grab my duffel from the backseat, telling myself I’m being practical, kind. She’s injured, distressed, and without a phone. It would be irresponsible to leave her alone.

“Beau?”

Her voice stops me when I start toward the rental. I turn. She’s standing in her doorway, one hand braced against the frame for support. “Did you mean it?” she asks, her voice small. “About staying?”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

She nods slightly as if confirming something to herself. “Would you—I mean, would you mind? I know it’s asking a lot, but—”

“It’s not.” I’m already walking toward her.

Relief visibly washes over her. “Thank you.”

My jaw tightens at the hopeful expression she sends me as I approach. She opens the door farther. An invitation that has my pulse racing.

Be her backup . Nothing more.

“I really appreciate you doing this,” she says quietly, closing the door behind me. I kick off my boots at the door. “I just… I don’t think I can be alone with my thoughts right now.”

I know all about the thoughts that come when there’s nothing else to drown them out.

“And it’s not like you haven’t made yourself at home here before,” she quips.

I freeze, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye.

“Sorry,” she says, quick to apologize. A blush rises to her cheeks. “I didn’t mean it like you weren’t welcome. Well, I mean, you weren’t , but now you are . I should probably stop talking.”

Embarrassment creeps in. “Mind if I use the shower first?” I ask, needing to change the subject.

She nods, telling me to go ahead.

I close the bathroom door behind me and drop my bag on the floor before turning my gaze to the man in the mirror.

Something shifted the moment I saw Hulk limping toward me, the determination in every painful step he took.

The moment I carried Callie down that mountain, her arms wrapped around my neck, trusting me completely despite barely knowing me aside from being her dick of a landlord who hates flowers and porch swings.

You’ve made one hell of an impression on her .

This is my chance to make things right.

Whatever this night is about to become, it certainly doesn’t feel like there will be nothing more after tonight.