Perfect Wyoming Complete Collection: Special Agent's Perfect Cover ; Rancher's Perfect Baby Rescue ; A Daughter's Perfect Secret ; Lawman's Perfect Surrender ; The Perfect Outsider ; Mercenary's Perfect Mission

by Marie Ferrarella

  “Secret infirmary?” Rafe maintained his neutral expression, but inside, his gut twisted in warning. Fargo seemed a fair bit puzzled by his own question and the fact that he’d had to ask it. To be fair, it wasn’t a normal thing to ask. But then Cold Plains wasn’t normal. He crossed his arms and seemed to be thinking about the question. When he’d done a fair search of his memory, he flat-out lied with a rueful chuckle. “Can’t say that I have. But if we do have one, maybe I ought to find out if they’re hiring. Private practice is murder on the insurance,” he said playfully.

  But Fargo wasn’t laughing. Hell, Rafe wasn’t sure the man knew how to laugh. “Of course there’s no secret infirmary,” he returned roughly, glancing away. Rafe bit his tongue to keep from calling him a liar. He’d heard enough whispers, enough hushed talk to know something was out there. “But I want to know why someone would say that you’re asking about one when that’s plain crazy talk.”

  “I agree. I’d like to know who’s been saying that, because I can’t remember ever asking it or even hearing about one.”

  Fargo grunted and adjusted his girth. “Good, because you know Samuel doesn’t like rumors like that getting spread around. It erodes community spirit. Cold Plains is a good place to live. You know that or else you wouldn’t have moved here, right?”

  “Of course,” he said, a trickle of unease sliding down his back like a rivulet of sweat on a hot day. “Cold Plains is unlike any other place I’ve ever lived, and I like it here.”

  Satisfied, at least for the moment, Fargo climbed into his cruiser. His elbow out the window, Fargo said, “If you hear of anyone else spreading those kinds of poisonous rumors about our town, you let me know, you hear?”

  “You got it, Chief,” he agreed, giving the impression he shared the chief’s concern. “If there’s anything else you need, don’t hesitate to stop by my office.” And stop making house calls, you bloated bully. Rafe smiled for emphasis. Fargo grunted and pulled out of the driveway and then out onto the highway.

  It wasn’t until Fargo was gone and out of sight that Rafe breathed a little easier. That was close. He’d been sloppy, asking around about the infirmary to too many people who were apparently loyal to Samuel and his cronies. He’d have to be more careful.

  Or else he might find himself at the business end of Fargo’s gun.

  Because Cold Plains was a nice town.

  And Samuel aimed to make sure no one believed otherwise.

  CHAPTER 6

  Bo Fargo walked into Samuel’s office, his thoughts still on the doc. Rafe Black said all the right things, but Bo’s gut told him the doc was hiding something. He’d have to keep an eye on the man to see if his instincts were spot-on, or if he was just being extra paranoid.

  Samuel Grayson, the man behind the plan, looked up from his desk, an efficient smile on his face. “How was your visit with Dr. Black?” he asked conversationally, steepling his fingers as he awaited Bo’s answer. The thing about Samuel was that he seemed soft and nice, but the man was meaner than a junkyard dog when riled. Bo found the contradiction a little disconcerting. He preferred that people act one way or another, not both in a sneaky way. But no one told Samuel how to act or be, not even Bo. “I trust he was cooperative?” Samuel asked.

  “Yes,” Bo answered, vacillating on whether or not to share his misgivings about the doc. For whatever reasons, Samuel seemed to like Dr. Black, and Bo didn’t like the idea of being the bearer of bad news. However, one thing Samuel didn’t abide and that was being in the dark, and since he counted on Bo to keep him apprised of the goings-on, he decided to spill. “He said all the right things, but I don’t trust that man. What do we know about him? Not much. I think he’s hiding something.”

  “Such as?”

  Bo shrugged. “Dunno. Just something in my gut that says he ain’t being truthful about everything.”

  “Interesting.” Samuel pursed his lips in thought. “What was his reaction when you asked him about the infirmary?”

  “Cool as a cucumber. He denied asking about one and even made some jokes.”

  “It would seem a man intent on finding something would be more surprised at being questioned. How reliable was your source of information?”

  Bo thought of the woman, a woman who had reportedly been turned down by the good doc for a date, and he realized the information might be unreliable, and he shared as such. “Seems the doc isn’t so much into dating. The woman who told me, word has it she’d been rejected in the romance department by the doctor.”

  Samuel chuckled softly. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, right?”

  “So they say,” Bo muttered. Women served two purposes in Bo’s life: food and sex. And sometimes he preferred the food. He cleared his throat. “What now?”

  “Rafe Black is, by all accounts, a good man. He’s smart, responsible, yet keeps his head down. I like that in a Devotee. Work harder at bringing him into the flock. We could benefit from a man such as himself being on our side. And who knows? Maybe if he proves worthy, he will find himself working behind the curtain, in the infirmary. But until then, watch him. Carefully.”

  “You got it, boss,” Bo said dutifully, his belly starting to growl, signaling the dinner hour more efficiently than any clock. “Anything else?”

  “Yes, actually, there is.” Samuel’s expression lost its easy benign softness, that air that he was just a good-natured man out to better his slice of the world. Here was that duality that Bo found unsettling. Now Samuel looked hungry and ruthless. “I’ve tired of my present company. I want someone fresh—young, preferably, but not too young, of course—mid-twenties with a trim figure and nice big breasts. That’s important, Bo. The breasts must be natural, none of that fake silicone garbage. When I squeeze a woman’s breast, I want to feel the flesh give in my hand. Am I clear?”

  “Of course,” Bo said, hating these particular assignments. There was something unnatural about handpicking another man’s bed partner. But he did as he was told because he liked his life. It was easy and people respected him. Sure, it was out of fear, but Bo didn’t care. The women spread their legs for him when he wished and didn’t care to stick around longer than they were welcome, and he appreciated that most. One last thought… “Brunette or blonde?”

  Samuel spread his hands in a generous gesture. “No preference. Surprise me.”

  * * *

  Darcy stepped into the bright morning sunlight and headed for her first day of work. She really didn’t have a clue as to what being a receptionist entailed, but how hard could it be answering a few phone calls for a small Podunk, Wyoming, doctor’s office? She took a quick minute to adjust her skirt and blouse and then walked into the cozy cottage with an engaging smile directed toward Dr. Black—Rafe, what a sexy name—she wanted to make friends, didn’t she? But when her smile was met with a subtle flash of a frown, she hid the disappointment by settling behind the desk with the studious intent of learning the ropes. “So, here I am bright and early. What are my job duties exactly?”

  Without so much as a hello, good morning, Rafe started in. “My first patient will arrive at eight-thirty, followed by another every forty-five minutes. Try to space the patients in such a manner, but if there seems to be an emergency, go ahead and book them, and I will make time. Also, anyone who has weight issues will be directed to the town nutritionist, Heidi Kruch. Here are her business cards, in case anyone asks.”

  “That sounds kind of personal,” she murmured, checking the card information. “Why would a doctor’s office recommend any one nutritionist? That seems like a decision best left to the patient.”

  His brief smile was patronizing. “This is Cold Plains. Not your ordinary run-of-the-mill town. But I think you already know that, right?”

  “Yeah, I think I’m getting an idea,” she said, pocketing a card. She wanted to see what
this nutritionist was like. “Anything else?”

  “Yes. We also have pamphlets on the suggested daily workout and the menu planner if anyone needs them.”

  “Damn….” she exclaimed under her breath, almost without thought, at how controlled the people of Cold Plains were, down to what they put in their mouths and how many crunches they did, and immediately knew she should’ve kept her reaction to herself when Rafe frowned in disapproval.

  “Please, no cursing. Samuel isn’t a fan, and it reflects poorly on the practice now that you’re the friendly face behind the desk.”

  She bit her lip and nodded, strangely chastised. Louise had always been trying to get her to curb her tongue but sometimes a well-timed F-bomb was exactly what the situation warranted, such as when you got cut off in traffic or the ATM machine chewed up your card and swallowed it for a late-afternoon snack. But she supposed the doctor had a point; she’d really have to watch her mouth if she wanted to fit in. She couldn’t exactly get information if she was found to be undesirable company. “Sorry,” she said, offering a contrite smile. “No more potty mouth. It’s a bad habit I’ve been trying to kick,” she admitted. Louise was probably crowing up in heaven, happy to know that Darcy had finally found a reason to keep the profanities at bay.

  “Good.” There was a slight pause, then he asked, “Where did you say you were from?”

  Darcy smiled at the curiosity in his voice. “I didn’t.”

  As if realizing he’d somehow poked his nose where it didn’t belong, he apologized. “It’s none of my business,” he said stiffly. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “No, it’s okay,” she rushed to assure him. Was he always going to be this rigid? If so, this job might turn out to be more difficult than she imagined. She needed him to trust her, and it didn’t seem they were off to a good start. She tried again to disarm him with the power of a smile, albeit rueful this time. “I was just kidding around. Sorry. My mom always said I have an odd sense of humor. I’m from Sacramento,” she lied, not wanting to share too much personal information until she knew who—if anyone—she could trust. “Big-city girl. This is a huge change for me, but I like it. Changing things up is good. Sometimes you get in a rut.” She was rambling a bunch of nonsense for Rafe’s benefit, but he seemed to buy it. She drew a deep breath and glanced at the clock. “Oh, almost time to open. Why don’t you show me the phone system and computer setup so I don’t have to bug you too much with patients.”

  Rafe regarded her with those dark eyes, and she immediately felt as if he was trying to determine whether or not she was being truthful. She refused the urge to squirm in her chair, knowing it would only make her look suspect, but she wondered just how close Rafe was to Samuel. For a wild moment, she hoped he wasn’t, because then she could, maybe, let down her guard with him. With that shock of dark hair and equally dark eyes, Rafe was worth a second glance, and in fact, she’d be a liar if she didn’t admit that when she first locked eyes with him from across the room at the community center her heart rate had kicked up a bit, but the last thing she needed was to start messing around with someone in this town. She risked a short glance from under her lashes and couldn’t help it when her gaze dropped to his ring finger. No ring. Well, at least she wouldn’t have to contend with a Mrs. Rafe Black popping in unannounced to check out the new employee. But how could a good-looking man like Rafe remain single in a small town filled with pretty people? Was there something beyond that classically masculine-cut jawline that gave his profile a certain outlaw charm in spite of his completely buttoned-down persona that turned people off? With a face and body like his, whatever lurked beneath the surface would have to be pretty bad indeed to get a woman to steer clear. What difference did it make? He could be Adonis for all she cared. She’d come for answers, not romance. She could count only on herself. She was alone in this world. To her horror, tears pricked her eyes and she turned abruptly so Rafe wouldn’t see. “Great. I think I can handle this,” she said, straightening the pencils and pens just so, giving the impression that she was the kind of person who cared if the pens and pencils were all facing the same direction when, in fact, most times she left them strewn in odd places because she never returned things where they belonged. Yet another of Louise’s little nags that she’d never really listened to or noticed until she was gone.

  If Rafe caught the sudden pitch to her tone, betraying her secret heartache, he didn’t comment, which was a good thing because the first patient had walked through the door.

  Darcy put forth her best congenial smile and focused on winning over Cold Plains, one patient at a time.

  Someone in this town had answers to what had happened to her mother.

  And nothing was going to get in her way of finding out.

  CHAPTER 7

  In hindsight, Rafe probably should’ve given Darcy a better heads-up on what it was like to be his receptionist. By the end of the day, she looked frazzled and a bit dazed. His plan had been to politely follow her out the door and go his separate way, but his conscience pricked him into offering to take her to get a bite.

  “You don’t have to do that,” she said, eyeing him warily, trying to ascertain his motivation.

  He didn’t blame her. He was her boss, and how was she to know that he wasn’t the sleazy type who chased skirts from the office? He tried a smile—nothing flirty or suggestive, simply kind—and said, “You’re new in town and you probably met just about everyone from Cold Plains in the space of an eight-hour day, but you look a bit worn around the edges. I should’ve warned you that my office gets a fair amount of traffic. Dinner is the least I can do for throwing you to the wolves like that. For what it’s worth, you did a good job for your first day.”

  A smile threatened and he ignored the tickle of attraction that fluttered to life. The smile that had flirted with her mouth appeared as she said, “Well, don’t go crazy with the praise just yet. I think I may have accidentally hung up on at least three patients.”

  He waved away her admission. “If it was important, they’d have called back or just marched into the office. I’m sure it’s fine. So, how about that bite?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “It doesn’t seem right, you know? Small towns are notorious for gossip, and I don’t mean to start rumors myself, but I got the distinct impression a few of your patients were trying to play matchmaker.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, they asked if I was single and when I said I was, they quickly mentioned that you were single, as well.”

  Rafe smothered a sigh. Samuel fancied himself a matchmaker and openly encouraged marriage and family ties. Samuel said it was because strong families were the backbone to any successful community. Rafe was a bit more cynical. He believed Samuel pushed the family angle because a single person had less to lose. If needed, loved ones provided excellent leverage.

  “Let me just say this now. I’m not looking for a date or a good time. My life is my work. I don’t have time for casual or serious romantic encounters. You can rest easy. I’m not trying to butter you up for anything other than friendship.”

  “I appreciate your candor,” she said, adding with a slight frown, “I think. But since I am new here and I certainly don’t want to color anyone’s opinion of me right from the start, I’m just going to go back to the hotel and order a pizza or something.”

  He made a sound, and she looked at him in question. “No take-out pizza places here. I think you can get a variation of a pizza at Cold Plains Italian, but I think it’s a bit pricey for what you’re looking for. If you’re looking for a quick bite, there’s the Cold Plains Eatery with deli sandwiches and whatnot.”

  “No pizza?” she murmured, frowning. “They ought to put that on the brochure for this place. So, why no pizza places? Not wholesome enough?”

  He caught the subtle sarcasm. Most eager transplants to Cold
Plains were delighted when they discovered how health conscious the town was and how dedicated to clean living everyone seemed. Darcy didn’t appear the average Cold Plains transplant in search of the utopia. But if she wasn’t looking for that, why would she move here? There was definitely more to the dark-haired beauty than met the eye, and in this place, that was dangerous.

  As if realizing she may have revealed more about herself than she intended, she shrugged and said, “Well, that’s probably a good thing. Pizza is my secret weakness. I’m better off without the temptation.” She drew a deep breath and smiled. “Well, tomorrow morning comes bright and early. Good night, Dr. Black.”

  “Good night, Darcy,” he returned, watching as she headed toward the hotel where she was staying. He didn’t care what she said, there wasn’t an ounce of extra fat on her body from too-much-pizza indulgence. Her tight waist flared to sweet hips, reminding him that he was a man with needs, even if he tried like hell to bury them. The last time he’d had sex was with Abby. It wasn’t like he was naturally celibate, but he hadn’t lied when he’d said his life was his work. Before Abby he’d concentrated on building his career. He’d been eyeing the chief of medicine position at the hospital he’d been with. After Abby had dropped her bombshell about the baby and then ended up dead, he’d been consumed with finding Devin. That left little time for personal interactions of the intimate sort. But damn, suppressing those urges would be difficult with Darcy around. There was something about her that twisted his head. Growling to himself for even thinking such thoughts, he went to his car, determined to push Darcy from his mind. She was his receptionist, nothing more.

  * * *