by Fiona Lowe
“I’m fine.” He shook off her hand, threw the blanket around his shoulders and sat down in the chair.
Well, there was no ambiguity about any of that.
“Open the main section of the bag,” he instructed firmly.
She slid the multisectioned bag to the floor, and as her fingers gripped the large silver zipper, she saw the words Josh Stanton written in black ink next to the very distinctive logo of a medical supplies company. Surprised, she unzipped the lid all the way and opened it up to see a fully stocked medical bag.
No. Surely not. The universe couldn’t be that cruel. “You’re a physician?”
“Yep.”
The word held resignation in its depths, in stark contrast to her high-pitched astonishment. A multitude of questions immediately fired off in her head, including a warning as loud as an emergency siren. “So why are—”
“Eyes first,” he said in an authoritative voice that was becoming familiar.
The I’m in charge tone now made complete sense. Doctors owned a sense of entitlement that seemed to be bestowed upon them with the arrival of the letters MD after their names.
“Can you see the squishy bag of fluid?”
She sighed. “I can see an intravenous bag, yes. You can relax, Josh. I’m a nurse and I’ve irrigated eyes plenty of times.” She thought about last month when she’d treated fifty firefighter’s eyes during the forest fires.
“I’m not that reassured,” he growled softly.
Great. A doctor and one who had little regard for nurses. “Why not?” She plunged the cannula into the bag with more force than necessary before priming the tubing.
“You threw paint at me.”
She leaned over him, perversely happy that she was the one in a position of power. “I did not throw paint at you. You startled me and I bumped the can. The fact that it landed on you was unintentional.”
Cool, gray eyes met her gaze. Granted they were red rimmed and held a supercilious gleam, but underneath all that was a swirl of emotions that mesmerized her.
His light brown brows rose. “Are you waiting for anything in particular?”
“Just checking you’re ready,” she said quickly, kicking herself for her lapse of concentration.
Get a grip. He’s a grouchy, bossy stranger. Worse than all of that put together, he was a doctor. Doctors were most definitely off her dating list for more reasons than she cared to count.
She’d fix up his eyes and send him on his way. Job done!
Grabbing a disposable towel from the medical kit, she positioned it around his neck to absorb the runoff solution and commenced the irrigation. A moment later, Josh’s shoulder’s fell slightly.
“It’s helping?” she asked hopefully.
“Yeah. They’ve stopped stinging so thankfully there’s no damage.”
“Good. Panic’s over, then.” She let the saline drip at a steady rate until Josh held up his hand, signaling that he wanted her to stop. She shut off the drip and wrapped the tubing around the bag before dumping it in the sink.
He carefully dried his eyes before sitting up. “I guess I should thank you.”
Ouch. “Oh, bless your heart,” she said, borrowing the favorite expression of her aunt Evelyn from Georgia. One she used when someone was seriously ticking her off.
The corner of Josh’s mouth twitched.
“You might want to get that tic looked at.” She crossed her arms, intending to give him her best in-charge stare, only she caught an eyeful of bare skin in the mirror. Her bare skin. Oh God. Her painting shirt wasn’t buttoned up properly and right now her breasts looked set to tumble out of her old bra, which provided no support whatsoever.
She quickly dropped her arms by her side and tugged Nana’s old blouse down to cover herself, struck by the irony of its failure to provide modesty. As she looked up, she met Josh’s gaze and instantly knew he’d seen everything. Heat flooded her. “So, Doctor,” she said, flustered and sounding terser than she intended, “why are you in my house?”
“Your house?” He shook his head and damp curls spattered her with water before his face filled with something that looked like utter relief. “Thank God. For a while there I was thinking I might have to live here.”
She tried hard not to take offense. She knew the cottage needed work and that was the only reason she’d been able to afford to buy it in the first place. “As relieved as you sound, you still haven’t answered my question as to why you just walked right on in.”
“The door was unlocked. Where I come from, an unlocked door is an invitation to enter whether you’re welcome or not.”
She’d lived in the city, where everyone locked their doors and shut their windows down tight, so she understood, but Bear Paw wasn’t a city and no way was he making this her fault. “No one locks their doors here. It’s one of the joys of living in the country, but people usually call out ‘hello’ before they step inside.”
“Hey, I knocked but you didn’t hear me.” His head tilted slightly and his now-focused eyes zeroed in on her. “You’ve read the articles about ear damage from loud music delivered by earbuds, right?”
His words triggered the voice of her father and her defenses rose. “My music was not that loud.”
He shrugged. “Damage done, then.”
His patronizing tone irked her and her temper started to fray. She knew yelling at this guy wouldn’t help, so she concentrated really hard on trying to sound quiet and cool. “My level of audio acuity is not under question. Are you going to tell me why you’re here or do I need to call the sheriff?”
“The sheriff?” The dimple on his chin seemed to deepen with amusement, making him look sexier than ever. “No need for that. I’m Bear Paw’s new physician.” His tone inferred that this fact explained everything.
“And that’s supposed to reassure me?”
He looked slightly taken aback, as if he’d never experienced this reaction before. “Have you had a bad experience with a medical practitioner?”
Not the way you mean. “Put it this way: I’ve worked with enough.”
All the concern on his face vanished and he nodded slowly. “So you’re one of those nurses?”
She felt herself frown. “One of what nurses?”
His shoulders rose and fell, the movement catching her gaze as it wove across his chest and around abdominal muscles that were indecently ripped.
“Bitter.”
“I’m not bitter,” she said hotly, but at the same time mentally checking whether she was or not. The fact that she felt the necessity worried her. “I’m pragmatic.”
He snorted. “Call it whatever you need to make yourself feel better.” His reddened eyes suddenly narrowed. “Do I have to work with you?”
“God, no.” It came out far more emphatically than she’d intended.
He stiffened as if she’d slapped him, and a spot of heat burned on each of his bladed cheeks. “Just as long as we’re on the same page.”
His arctic tone cooled the hot and steamy room, for which she was thankful. This version of the man she could resist. This version trampled over the unwanted heat her body had so quickly and familiarly given in to. She wrenched the conversation back to where they’d started. “I’m still not clear how you being Bear Paw’s new physician is connected to you coming into my house.”
He sighed as if she were clearly less intelligent than him. “I get a house as part of the job, and the hospital gave me this address. Obviously there’s been some sort of major screwup on their part.”
“You get a house . . .” Her voice trailed off as a slow slither of dread crawled across her skin. There was a severe shortage of rental properties in Bear Paw. Surely Walt hadn’t rented out the house again without telling her? She tried to recall their last conversation. She was positive she’d told him she was moving in.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket. It had been switched off since she’d cut Brent’s call, and she held down the on button. It beeped and vibrated wild
ly and she stared at the screen. There were six missed calls including two from Walt and a text. Nooooo. With a sense of foreboding, she opened it.
Good news, Katrina. Call me. Walt.
A strangled sound came from her throat.
Josh leaned forward. “Everything okay?”
God, I hope so. “I . . . um . . . I . . . I need to make a call.”
—
JOSH watched Katrina rush distractedly from the bathroom, pause and then return.
“Feel free to make yourself some coffee. There’s a jar of instant on the bench.” She spun on her heel and disappeared from view, her jet-black hair swinging wildly.
Josh shuddered at the thought of instant coffee. He had yet to taste any that didn’t make gasoline seem palatable. A coffee connoisseur, he had an Italian coffeemaker sitting in his car waiting to be unpacked in his new house. His colleagues at Mercy Hospital had given it to him as a going-away present, saying he might be going west to the middle of nowhere but at least he’d have decent coffee. The state-of-the-art machine would look ludicrous here. He was sure the kitchen hadn’t seen a new device since the invention of the microwave forty years ago.
He heard the echo of footsteps beating a tattoo against the old linoleum floor and the murmur of Katrina’s voice. The woman could go from conciliatory to abrasive in a heartbeat, and she definitely lacked the sympathy gene. Still, no matter how much she annoyed the hell out of him, he hoped she hadn’t just received bad news. No one deserved that.
He’d been the bearer of bad news too many times, watching people slump as his unwelcome words struck them. Seeing their heads rise and their eyes fill before they pleaded with him that surely there had to be another outcome. It was the one part of his job that he found the toughest, because he’d gone into medicine to help, not to cause pain. He preferred to deliver good news and have his hand pumped furiously, which he enjoyed more than being enveloped in a bear hug by the emotionally demonstrative patients.
And he’d just received good news. He wasn’t going to be living in this half-built, half-tumbling-down house. The blanket around his shoulders rubbed against his skin, and a subtle scent of vanilla, freshly cut grass and sunshine tickled his nostrils. It was unfamiliar but he liked it. Ashley had always worn a bold perfume that frequently scented his clothes. More than one patient had given him an odd look from time to time when they’d caught the heady mix of jasmine and lily of the valley.
He breathed in again and realized he’d smelled the scent once before—when Katrina had taken him by the hand and led him down the stairs. It was her perfume. The fact that it was redolent of warm, lazy summer afternoons was an oxymoron.
Nothing about Katrina was warm. The physical package of tight, toned and curvy that was utterly enticing on first glance was still gorgeous, and had that compact body come with a fun and flirty personality, he might have been tempted to enjoy some no-strings good times. As it was, he didn’t need the bother of a cold and bitter woman. Given what had gone down with Ashley over the past few months, he wasn’t certain he wanted the bother of a woman, period.
He closed his eyes to rest them. The image of sparkling, emerald green eyes that reminded him of moss, shady glades and crystal clear swimming holes scudded across his vision. Eyes he’d stared into for far too long when she was leaning over him.
Nothing cold there.
He wrenched his eyes open against the definite rush of blood to his groin. Shit. Why was this happening? He didn’t even like her.
Back in college that never stopped you.
College was a long time ago and he’d wised up a lot since then. He’d learned the hard way that nothing about women was straightforward. Everything was complicated and came with an emotional overlay he never saw coming.
Used to making quick decisions and acting fast, he stood up. It was time to put on dry clothes, drive back to town and check into a motel for the night. Thankfully, this crazy, paint-filled interlude with Katrina Whoever was over. Tomorrow was another day. Hopefully, it would be one where he wasn’t at risk of being injured or insulted.
He strode quickly across the kitchen and outside to his car where he hauled some clothes out of his travel bag. Glancing around and seeing nothing but miles and miles of flat plains and not one single person to offend, he dropped the towel and pulled on jeans and a polo shirt. When he straightened up, he saw what he thought must be a female deer staring at him from across the yard.
After all the dead ones he’d passed on the road, it was great to see one alive. He was surprised at the reddish brown color of its coat, but then again, he’d never given any thought to deer, period, let alone their color. The deer held his gaze for a moment before prancing elegantly away behind the scraggly trees.
The bucolic moment over, Josh picked up the towel and headed back inside to collect his shoes and medical kit. When he had his gear together, he went looking for Katrina to say good-bye. As much as he wanted to avoid another conversation with her, he couldn’t in good conscience just leave without telling her.
She was standing in the living room staring out at the mountains in the distance, and her hair stuck up in jagged spikes as if she’d been pulling at it. This time he didn’t worry about not startling her. “I’m leaving.”
She spun around, her teeth grazing her bottom lip. A very soft and kissable lip. His blood pumped just that bit faster, and he hauled his gaze upward fast, away from the delectable view.
I don’t like her. He met her emerald eyes. They sparkled like sunshine on moss like before, but now they held a hint of vulnerability that he didn’t want to acknowledge.
Her ebony brows pulled down, giving her a worried look. “Actually, I’m the one who’s leaving.”
“Excuse me?”
She sighed—a weary, heartfelt sound. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”
He knew he should take the bad, but after the paint episode, he figured he deserved the good first. “Good.”
Her wan smile barely turned her mouth upward. “This is the house the hospital’s rented for you.”
His gut rolled over. “If that’s the good news, then what the hell is the bad?”
Her face scrunched up in a grimace that under any other circumstance he may have conceded was cute. “Sadly, I’m your landlord.”
Right then, he didn’t know which one of them was more sorry.
Chapter 3
The long wooden table in the ranch house kitchen was strewn with the remnants of the birthday supper Katrina had cooked for her mother. All that was left of the prime rib, mashed potatoes, green beans and dessert were a few crumbs that had once been part of a vanilla-frosted layer cake.
“Ty Garver’s bought the adjoining ranch across the west coulee,” her father said when there was finally a break in the conversation.
She gave a silent sigh. Her dad had a large soft spot for Ty, who was the only cowboy she’d ever dated. They’d broken up when she was twenty-two because she’d wanted to leave Montana and experience the East Coast frenzy and have some exciting adventures—live somewhere bigger than Great Falls where she’d gone to college. Ty would have shriveled up and died if he’d left the land, so their parting was inevitable and without rancor. That had been years ago, but the fact that they were both still single seemed to give her father hope.
“I think we should all go visit and welcome him. Katrina, you can take some of those cinnamon cookies you like to bake.”
She opened her mouth to tell her father that he made a better cowboy than a matchmaker but she closed it. Perhaps she should consider her dad’s suggestion. After all, choosing her own partners had hardly been a success.
Are you listening to yourself? You’re an adult and you make your own life choices.
“Dad, I’m sure Ty’s capable of baking his own cookies or he can buy them from the diner. Shannon’s baking them fresh every day.”
Her father’s sky blue eyes met hers, backlit with disapproval. “Have you been in the city
so long you’ve forgotten how to be neighborly?”
Crap. So much for being an adult. “Of course not but—”
“Good. While you’re baking cookies for Ty you can also make some for the new doctor who I met today when I was moving cows.”
No way in hell. Only this time Katrina wisely kept her thoughts to herself to avoid five sets of eyes zeroing in on her. Eyes filled with what and why; two questions she didn’t want to answer.
“Female?” her mother asked as she stood up to clear the table.
“Sit down, Mom, we’ve got this.” Katrina put her hand on her mother’s shoulder and gently pressed her back into her chair, wondering why her mother seemed hopeful that the doctor was a woman. To her knowledge, Bear Paw had never had a female doctor.
All evening, her mom had been quiet and she looked tired, which was unusual because Bonnie McCade was always brimming with energy. “Are you okay?”
Her mother looked up at her with a smile. “How could I be anything else with everyone home for my birthday this year? You cooked a beautiful meal, honey. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Reassured all was well, she kissed her mom on the cheek before turning to face her younger siblings. She gave both of them her “big sister” death stare. “We’re cleaning up as part of Mom’s birthday treat, right, Dillon, Megan?”
An hour ago, the two of them had rushed into the kitchen asking, “What can we do to help?” Their arrival was perfectly timed to coincide with every task being completed, and the only thing left for them to do was call their parents and sit down to eat the meal. She didn’t know how they managed to do this every single time, but they had domestic avoidance down to an art form.
“You forgot Beau,” Megan said, sounding fourteen instead of twenty-one. “He never helps with the dishes.”
Beau leaned back in his chair and gave his quiet trademark smile. “I butchered the meat,” he said slowly and carefully as was his style. “I carved it”—he took in a breath—“and I set the table, so . . . by my reckoning . . . that gets me out of dish detail.”
