by Fiona Lowe
“Nurse McCade.” He eyed the coffeepot in her hand suspiciously. “I hope you’re more in control of hot coffee than paint.”
The delicious lust-fest her body was rolling in cooled. Good. At least her common sense was finally exerting itself. “Only when you’re not in my way,” she said sweetly, skirting around him and taking her place safely behind the counter. She’d never been so glad to have a wide piece of laminate between her and another person.
She almost asked him how his first night in the house had gone, but the thought of Josh lying sprawled across a bed wearing nothing but boxers had her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth.
“What can I get you?” she finally managed to blurt, her question coming out a lot throatier than she’d intended.
“An espresso.”
“Straight up or American?” Yes! The barista was back in control doing coffee talk.
“Straight up. To go.” He tilted his head, studying her dispassionately like she was a painting on a wall. “You’re an RN but you’re making coffee?”
He wasn’t the first person to have asked that question in the same curious and bemused tone, but she was still smarting from his crack yesterday about her being bitter. She banged the portafilter hard against the disposal unit to dislodge the used grinds. “Making good coffee is an art form, and as I’m the only barista in town, you can either have bitter-free coffee or a bitter nurse. Take your pick.”
“Oh, that’s easy,” he said, his voice a low, teasing rumble. “Coffee every time.” He smiled widely, his face settling into what looked like oft-used lines and his eyes crinkled at the edges, softening his frequently stern look.
A tingle shot through her—one she’d been familiar with since she was fourteen. Damn it, no. Don’t flirt with me!
“Good choice.” She looked away, concentrating on tamping down the freshly ground beans and locking the handle onto the machine. Pressing the button to start the water, she then placed the espresso cup in position ready for the dark and tangy brew. She wished he’d ordered a latte or a cappuccino, because then she could have busied herself with frothing milk, but now she had nothing else to do but wait while the coffee brewed.
She could see him turning his wallet over and over in his hands. The man was never still. When she finally looked up, the flirting charm had gone, replaced with a serious look on his freshly shaved cheeks. In one way, she missed the dark stubble, which had given him a relaxed look, but on the other hand the neat and tidy urban professional thing he had going on made him easier to resist. The stubble had merely been a facade, because nothing about Dr. Josh Stanton was relaxed or laid-back.
“If I upset you yesterday, Katrina, I blame the paint.”
His ham-fisted attempt to say sorry both surprised and irked her. “That’s an interesting apology.”
He sighed. “Do you concede that we both said things we probably shouldn’t have?”
Put it this way: I’ve worked with enough. Her own words echoed accusingly in her head, holding a degree of bite. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, he was right. She’d let her caustic feelings for Brent spill over to unfairly taint him. “I can see there’s a grain of truth in that.”
His eyes darkened, taking on the hue of smoke. “There you go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Hard. An image of his naked chest, all solid muscle and power, took residence in her head, begging the question what else about his body was hard. Her knees wobbled as her blood turned into a river of sweet, hot desire. No. Bad idea. Don’t go there.
She blinked, trying to block all wayward thoughts. “I’m more than capable of admitting when I’m wrong.”
He tilted his head and a curl fell over his forehead, stealing for a moment the formidable doctor look he mostly had going on. “Really?”
He’s got you there. She didn’t want to smile, but her mouth curved up anyway as she popped a traveler lid on his coffee. She met his all-too-knowing gaze. “Well, I’m as capable as you are.”
“So in other words, not that capable at all.” He grinned at her, the dimple in his chin deepening and lighting up his face. He handed her some notes and accepted the change. “Thanks for the discount.”
She shook her head. “I charged you the full price.”
“But that’s so cheap,” he said, sounding astonished.
“This is Bear Paw.”
He rolled his eyes.
“What?”
“That phrase is the default setting for everything around here. At least this time, it’s a good thing.”
She tried not to sigh. Sure, Bear Paw was small and at first glance it didn’t look like much, but it was a bit like Montana gold. You had to dig for it. “Never lived in a small town before, Josh?”
He shook his head. “Not unless you count Boston. I’ve been living in Chicago these last two years.”
“So why did you want to come live and work in Bear Paw?”
She hoped he’d say he wanted to improve access to health services for isolated communities or admit to a passion for working with Native Americans or—
“To reduce my student loans to a manageable level.”
And there it was. Disappointment clanged through her. “The Hippocratic oath meets market forces?”
“Something like that.” His mouth flattened as he caught her disapproving gaze. “What do you want me to say? That I’m thrilled to be here? I have to tell you, after this morning at the clinic, I’m thinking the feeling might be mutual.”
She knew the town could be slow to warm, but she had the gut feeling that he probably hadn’t helped things along. “What were you expecting? A ticker tape parade?”
Josh felt the spotlight of Katrina’s far-too-perceptive green eyes on him and saw the moment she read him like a book.
Her hand flew to her mouth and then she laughed. “Oh my gosh. You really were.”
Her laughter made him feel even more isolated from the town, and a surge of self-righteous indignation swelled in him. “Well, hell, why not? I’ve given up a lot to come here.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Timing is everything, Josh.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? I should have come in winter?”
She shook her head, her expression sympathetic. “People have to get to know you.”
He threw his arms up in the air as bewilderment battered him. “What’s to know? I’m the doctor, they’re the patients. End of story.”
“This isn’t an ER in Chicago.”
“You think?”
She shot him a look that inferred he was utterly clueless.
He railed against it. He’d given up so much to come to Bear Paw and he didn’t need to be told how to suck eggs. He took a gulp from his coffee. Unlike yesterday, when she’d been wearing a voluminous shirt that had hidden her curves, today she wore jeans and a watermelon-colored blouse, which was tucked in behind a leather belt. With her short stature, it made her breasts seem more voluptuous, and like muscle memory, his gaze automatically sought a glimpse of the generous cleavage he’d seen yesterday.
All he saw were green buttons the exact same color as her eyes. Taunting buttons that said, “We’re resting on warm, smooth skin that you can’t see.” An irrational tug of disappointment pulled at his gut and instantly wrestled with the fact that he didn’t want to be attracted to her in any way. Hell, he didn’t want to notice anything about her, so he focused on the fact that she annoyed him to the nth degree.
She and her sorry excuse of a house. “Instead of giving me gratuitous advice, you need to make your house habitable starting now.”
Her eyes flashed with annoyance. “I’m your landlord, Josh, not an employee you can order about. The house is more than habitable.”
Disbelief slugged him as his hand slapped the counter. “It’s got no internal doors.”
“You’re living alone so how is that a problem?”
She had the uncanny ability to make him feel like he was the one making an unreasonable
request. Damn it, a house should have internal doors at least on the bathroom. “Of course it’s a problem,” he ground out, struggling to keep his voice calm. “What if someone’s visiting and I want to use the bathroom?”
A soft gasp left her mouth, and her eyes widened to huge pools of rainforest green. It took him straight back to yesterday, straight back to the small and steamy bathroom where she’d leaned in over him. He’d wanted to dive right into their depths and find the source of fire that glowed there.
She shook her head as if trying to shift something and the glow faded. “They’re already on order.”
His wayward mind, lost in the memory of heat and fathomless eyes, scrambled to find purchase. “What?”
Small lines creased across the bridge of her nose. “The doors. They’re on order and will be here in a few days.”
Her reasonable reply released the valve on his head of steam and he was left feeling like the rules had just changed on him. Again. “Right. Good. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I’m going back to work now.”
“Have a good day.”
He couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not.
—
BEAU was in town to collect a spare part for the tractor, and normally he avoided the diner at this time of day, but Bonnie had texted him to pick up a cheesecake she’d ordered. Her request had surprised him because she always baked her own and surely she could have asked Katrina to bring it home, but Beau had learned long ago not to question the vagaries of his aunt, his female cousins or women in general. Life was easier that way.
“Beau, you’re just in time. We need a man’s opinion.” Ellen Hanson, the bottle-blond wife of the owner of the town’s only car dealership, put her hand on his arm in a predatory fashion as he passed by the booth.
“My opinion,” he said carefully, using his breathing to try to avoid a word block, “m-may not suit you.” He gave a practiced smile. One that gave the impression of him being at ease when in reality he’d rather be kicked hard by a goosey and snorting horse than be ambushed by members of the Bear Paw book club. Or for that matter, any of the women’s groups in town. But today it looked like he was shit out of luck.
“Oh, honey,” Ellen cooed, “a cowboy who’s good with his hands has exactly the opinion we’re after.” Her eyes raked his wrangler-clad legs before her gaze settled slightly too long on his groin. “The book we’re reading has a machine in it and we just can’t quite work out how it works. Come sit and explain it to us.”
It was well known that this particular group of six women in their forties had far too much spare time on their hands, and rumors about their antics kept the Bear Paw gossip mill turning. Beau had no interest in being any woman’s boy toy. Hell, he couldn’t even see himself as someone’s boyfriend. He always refused to be drawn into the speculation by his mates that inevitably took place at the tavern after a few beers.
He caught sight of the book—an erotic novel that had taken the world by storm. He immediately knew exactly what sort of a machine he’d be expected to discuss and his chest tightened. Breathe in, blow out the words.
“I’d like to . . . explain it, but . . .” He hauled in more air, and as he blew it out, he felt his vocal cords relaxing. “I’m expected back at the ranch.”
He disengaged his arm from Ellen’s manicured nails. “Ladies.” Tipping his hat in acknowledgment of the group, he spun on his heel and strode to the counter, ignoring the sighs of disappointment and the naughty giggles that sounded behind him. As relief slid through him that the encounter was over, he hated that he could feel beads of sweat pooling on the back of his neck. Despite years of having almost total control over his stutter, groups of women always took him back in time to his adolescence and threatened to undo all of his hard work.
A woman with long blond hair that was pulled up on top of her head and held in place with what looked like a bamboo skewer was wiping down the counter in wide, slow swipes. Everything about her body said bone-tired, from the lines around her pretty blue eyes to the weary set of her shoulders.
She paused as he approached, stowing the cloth under the counter and wiping her hands on her apron. “What can I get you?”
“Ah . . .” The stalling sound slipped out as he marshaled his words. “Bonnie McCade ordered . . . a cheesecake.”
Her lips, which reminded him of a pink bow on a gift box, curved into a soft smile. “Are you Beau? Katrina’s brother?”
Cousin. “Yes, ma’am. I am.”
“I’m Shannon. Shannon Bauer.” She extended her hand in greeting.
“Shannon.” He repeated her name to store it and the sound in his mind as he gave her a quick nod. Being very aware that in the past he’d unintentionally crushed women’s hands with his firm grip, he held hers gently. Only her hand didn’t feel petite and vulnerable in his at all. In fact he was surprised at the juxtaposition of rough and smooth against his own work-calloused palm.
She slid her hand out of his as if he’d held on to it for too long and said briskly, “I took over the diner a few weeks ago, and your sister’s been a lifesaver.”
“That sounds . . .”—he concentrated on speaking slowly—“. . . like Katrina.”
Shannon frowned. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He shrugged. “It is . . . what it is.”
“All I know is I couldn’t do what I do without her working the breakfast shift,” she said, chatting easily. “I’ve been focusing on making the diner a place for groups to meet so I have customers between the main meal times. Even so”—her lipstick-free lips tilted wryly—“I wasn’t totally prepared for the book club’s first meeting here. I’m impressed you got away without even a scratch.”
Her hands were deftly assembling a white box, and he found himself watching the sure and confident movements as her fingers snapped the tabs into the slots. He suddenly realized that she’d stopped talking and he was staring. He rapidly lifted his gaze only to meet questioning eyes as big and as blue as the skies he rode under out on the range.
The zap of sensation that hit his body jolted him so hard it made him feel like he’d been asleep for years. “Excuse me?”
Her head tilted almost imperceptibly toward the booth of women. “Cougars usually eat their prey. In fact, they pretty much devoured poor Todd Lexington. He’s going to have a tough time tonight explaining to his wife how the fire-engine red lipstick got on his collar.”
His brain snagged on the image of red lipstick on her lips and promptly emptied. He swallowed against a throat tight with unfamiliar need, and only years of keeping his emotions and speech under strict control kept him from licking his lips.
Her expression said she expected a quip from him to extend her joke.
Sweat rolled down his spine. “Right. Todd. Yeah.”
She looked at him blankly like so many people did—as if he were missing any semblance of an IQ because he spoke slowly and deliberately. It got to him and he blurted out, “Kn-knowing T-Todd, he’ll s-survive.” Fuck. Twelve years of hard work vanquished in a heartbeat. He wanted to smash something. Throw something. He wanted out of here five minutes ago.
—
SHANNON was having trouble seeing and breathing at the same time. Beau McCade stood at her counter, the perfect specimen of Montana Man—the one every woman east of the Mississippi expected to see when they vacationed in this fine state. From the dusty tips of his work boots and up along his denim-clad legs, he exuded a no-nonsense strength. His black-and-white rock ’n’ roll western shirt stretched across wide shoulders, and he’d rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, exposing forearms with bulging veins. She gripped the pie box hard to prevent her fingers from reaching out and touching him.
He’s out of your league and out of bounds. Her track record with men was short but not sweet, and definitely not something she was ready to repeat. For five years, she’d chosen not to involve a man in her and Hunter’s life. Right now, her priority was gett
ing Hunter to stay in school so he could have a shot at graduating rather than repeating his mother’s mistakes. Right now, that plan was looking decidedly shaky.
Beau’s black cowboy hat hid most of his hair, but she glimpsed jet-black strands like Katrina’s. Strands that matched the afternoon stubble on his cheeks. His eyes were dark, too—a deep, rich brown like the roasted Puerto Rican coffee beans she used in the store—and their brown depths were hypnotic. She was acutely aware she’d been talking way too much, but between his delectable darkness and his overly short responses to her questions, she’d gotten flustered. Whenever that happened, she gabbed on far too much.
Why had she even mentioned Todd Lexington? When he’d replied, he sounded like he’d been politely holding back from saying, “It’s none of your goddamn business,” and as a result he’d tripped over his words. Now his previous bland expression was stony, as if she’d crossed an invisible social line only known to the folk born and raised in this town.
“So. The. Cake?”
His slow yet staccato delivery hit her like shotgun pellets—each word stinging like crazy.
“Of course. Sorry.” She slid the golden cheesecake she’d made early this morning into the box, closed the lid and slid it across the counter. “That’s eleven dollars.”
He silently slapped some bills down on the counter, tipped his hat, picked up the box and left the diner.
The book club members sighed as the door closed behind him, and Ellen said, “What do you think, Shannon?”
She picked up her cloth and played dumb. “Of what?”
“Cowboy McCade.”
Dream-worthy. “It’s hard to know. Our conversation was limited to the price of cheesecake.”
Ellen shot her a pitying look. “Honey, it’s not his conversational skills or lack of that interests us.”
Shannon thought about the dark and fascinating bad boys she’d dated in her twenties. Men who’d been big on sex and small on conversation. “Oh, I don’t know. I like a man who can hold up his end of a discussion.”
The other women laughed as if she were missing something fundamental.
“Wait until rodeo season,” Ellen said. “Once you see Beau McCade in chaps, you’ll want to ride him as much as every other woman in town.”
