Page 3 of My Ex-Military Mountain Man

What I don't tell her is that being prepared is what kept me alive for twenty years. That old habits don't just disappear because you've traded one life for another. That sometimes being prepared is the only thing that lets you sleep at night.

"I'll need to sedate her for a proper examination," she says, already opening her medical bag. "Can you assist?"

It's not really a question. We both know the eagle needs two sets of hands. I nod and move to the cabinet where I keep protective gear.

"You'll want these," I say, handing her a pair of heavy gloves that extend past the elbow.

She takes them with a small smile. "Not my first raptor rodeo, Mr. Mercer."

"Jack," I correct automatically. Mr. Mercer was my father, and I have no interest in being reminded of him.

"Jack," she repeats, and something about the way she says my name makes me look away.

We work in silence as she prepares the sedative. Her movements are efficient and confident, her slender hands moving with precision. The dog watches from a corner where she's directed him to stay, his eyes tracking every movement but never leaving his position.

"Ready?" she asks, drawing the sedative into a syringe.

I open the enclosure just enough to reach in with a large towel. The eagle, already weakened, doesn't put up much fight as I carefully wrap her. Still, I respect her beak and talons, keeping clear of both as I secure her.

Dr. Nicole approaches with the syringe, "Hold her steady now."

Our arms brush as she administers the sedative, and I'm suddenly aware of how long it's been since I've been this close to another person. I step back as soon as she's finished, creating distance.

"It'll take about five minutes to take full effect," she says, disposing of the needle in a sharps container she's brought with her. "You handle her well. Most people are intimidated by raptors."

I shrug again. "They're predictable. They act on instinct, not hidden agendas."

"Unlike people?" she asks, a hint of amusement in her voice.

I don't respond to that. Instead, I check the eagle, who's already showing signs of the sedative taking effect.

"She's ready," I say after a few more minutes. With careful movements, I lift the eagle and place her on the examination table. Dr. Nicole immediately steps forward, her hands gentle as she extends the injured wing.

I watch as she works, her brow furrowed in concentration. She talks softly as she examines the bird, partly to the eagle, partly to herself. It's... distracting. I'm used to silence.

"The good news is there's no fracture to the humerus," she says finally. "You were right about the location—it's a carpal joint injury with some ligament damage. Your splinting work probably prevented further injury."

"But?" I prompt, hearing the hesitation in her voice.

She looks up at me, "But there's infection setting in. And I'm concerned about the tension on these primary flight feathers. The way they've been damaged suggests a violent impact."

"Will she fly again?"

Dr. Nicole doesn't immediately answer, which tells me everything. Instead, she continues her examination, checking the eagle's eyes, beak, and talons. Finally, she straightens.

"With proper treatment, possibly. But she'll need several weeks of care, and even then, her flight may be compromised. I'd estimate a sixty percent chance of full recovery."

Sixty percent. Better odds than many get. Better odds than I had, according to the doctors who pieced me back together.

"What's the treatment?" I ask.

"I'll need to clean the wound thoroughly, administer antibiotics, and re-splint with a better angle to allow the ligaments to heal properly. Then it's a regimen of antibiotics, anti-inflammatories, and eventually physical therapy." She looks at me directly. "It's intensive care, Jack. Daily treatments, monitoring for complications."

"I'm aware of what 'intensive' means, Doctor."

"Nicole," she corrects.

Something tightens in my chest. Names create connections. Connections lead to questions. Questions lead to places I refuse to go.

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