Too Sexy for his Stetson by Mal Olson Page A

into a ball of ice, and when he secured the rope around his waist and plunged into the black water, her heartbeat raced.
    Shivering, she held the lantern while he fought his way toward the object, and Christiansen manipulated the rope. Rambo stood tensely on alert, focused on Blade. Water bubbled around his shoulders as the sky continued to belch lightning and thunder like a giant ogre.
    Within minutes, Blade reached the object and started towing it back. Once he closed in on the bank, Brandy helped with the rope, and she and Christiansen reeled Blade in. When he was close enough, Christiansen clamped hold of Blade’s hand and dragged him ashore.
    In the unrelenting rain, Brandy dropped to her knees next to the bank and helped drag the object Blade had been towing from the water. Her pulse galloped as she retrieved her flashlight. The silver–blue beam focused on a swimsuit–clad man, his body curled in a semi–fetal position.
    He was stiff, she noticed when Blade rolled him over. Rigor mortis stiff. And the glow from her flashlight reflected off wide–open glistening eyes. Her pulse pounded in her ears. From a mottled purplish face, blank eyes seemed to stare into her soul. Blade went through the motion of feeling for a pulse, then shook his head.
    Brandy’s intellect told her the man was dead. She recognized the classic signs she’d memorized from the forensic medical text books. Early stage lividity, as well as early stage rigor mortis. Even so, she said, “Aren’t you going to try mouth to mouth?”
    Blade tipped his face up and studied her. “This your first corpse?”
    “I’ve seen pictures.” She stared at the wrinkling skin on the bare arms and chest of the casualty. A swarm of tiny black insects crawled from his hair and scattered across his forehead.
    Feeling bile rise in her throat, she reached deep inside for strength and averted her attention to the victims hands. The skin had started to separate from the fingers.
    Taking a deep, slow breath, she struggled against her queasy stomach, willing herself not to puke. She turned to watch Rambo a second as he shuddered, trying to shake water from his coat amidst the bleating barrage that still drenched everything in sight. Another futile effort.
    Toughen up, deputy.
    When Brandy forced herself to face the corpse again, she felt the need to cover him, to shelter him from the water washing over his still, lifeless body.
    Her arms and legs quivered.
    Because of the icy rain.
    She swallowed the bile seeping into her throat. Don’t be a wimp. This is part of your job. Rambo nuzzled her hand, and she reached down to touch his soaked fur. Her body trembled, but she stiffened her shoulders.
    “Come on,” Blade said, “let’s get out of here and call the medical examiner. Todd will stay with the body.” He draped his arm around Brandy’s shoulder.
    She couldn’t see through the blur of rain washing her eyes, but she kept putting one foot in front of the other, slowly gaining purchase on the water–glazed trail, making her way toward the parking lot. Blue and red lights peeked through blotches of black aspen leaves, signaling the arrival of additional official vehicles, probably the dive team.
    Back at the parking lot, Blade directed the new arrivals and called the ME.
    “I’ll take you home, Brandy.” Blade led her toward the Tahoe. They climbed in and closed the doors against the storm. The silence was startling after the noise of the wind and rain and the raging Shoshone.
    Blade, who also had to be drenched to the bone, cranked up the heater.
    Even so, shivers chased one another down Brandy’s back. She straightened and fought to clear the image of the distorted face from her mind. When she tried to speak, her throat swelled shut.
    Blade put the car in gear and drove away in silence.
    The silence prevailed until they were all the way down the mountain, and the rattling of Brandy’s teeth apparently got to him. He stopped when they were near her