Montana Actually

by Fiona Lowe

  Damn it. He should have made up some bullshit story about the tattoo when she’d asked, but his brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders yet after the most amazing sex he’d ever had in his life. Sex he wanted to have again. If he ducked this answer to her question, she’d continue to press him, so he really had no choice.

  “I did go to medical school but not to Yale. All the Stantons have gone to Yale and graduated summa cum laude.”

  Her fingers continued to follow the intricate diamond-shaped design. “More rebellion?”

  “No such luck. I fooled around in the first year of college, so I didn’t make the cut. I grew up, went to Columbia, worked my ass off and graduated summa cum laude.”

  She smiled. “And that made your dad happy.”

  He grimaced at her optimism. “Not much about me makes Phillip Stanton happy. He may have forgiven me for going to the wrong school—”

  “There is nothing wrong with graduating from Columbia,” she said hotly.

  Her indignation on his behalf surprised him, and he didn’t quite know what to make of it. “Um, thanks, but no one in Connecticut is going to agree with you, especially my family. On top of Columbia I added insult to injury.”

  “Because you didn’t do surgery?”

  She was far too insightful. “That’s the one.”

  “Did you want to do surgery?”

  No one had ever asked him that before, either, and he blew out a breath filled with the complicated emotions—the ones that always raised their heads whenever he thought about his father. “When you have a family history like mine and you’re the only child, you grow up from the cradle knowing you’re going to become a doctor. A surgeon. I resisted it for a while—”

  “The tattoo?”

  “Yeah, and coasting the first year of college until a professor I really admired called me on it. Then I knuckled down, and once I got accepted into medical school I never questioned that surgery was my future. And it was, right up until the end of my first year as a surgical intern.”

  “What happened then?” she asked, dropping her head on his chest.

  He stroked her back, loving the feel of her skin. “I discovered what I loved best about surgery was the emergencies. The adrenaline charge when I greeted the ambulance as it arrived at the ER, the rush of the unknown as I triaged and the beat-the-clock work to keep the patient alive and stabilized enough to get them to the OR. All of it gave me a buzz that general elective surgery couldn’t touch. I started thinking about the years of my working life stretching out before me, and I just couldn’t do it. I transferred out of the program.”

  “That makes sense. Surely your dad understood?”

  He couldn’t stop the harsh, barking laugh that erupted out of him. “That’s like saying there’ll be peace in the Middle East one day. My father’s very much the surgeon. Everything is cut-and-dried. You cut out a problem and stitch it up, end of story. There’s no room for sentiment.”

  She scrunched up her face. “I think it’s important to do what you love.”

  He opened his mouth to say And yet you’re not doing that, but then he remembered Bonnie’s diagnosis and he closed it.

  Katrina continued. “You’ve accomplished a lot.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah. I’m Bear Paw’s finest and going backward fast because I’m doing more primary care here than emergency medicine.”

  She dug her fingers into his ribs. “Don’t do that.”

  He flinched as her nails pinched. “Do what?”

  “Belittle your achievements. You saved Sam Duckett’s life. You should be proud of yourself.”

  Her words punched him as images and voices he thought had faded with time came back loud and clear. His father standing in his library with his palms pressed down on his leather-topped oak desk. I’ve put up with your nonsense for years, son, but if you choose this course of action, you’re on your own.

  I’m not asking you for anything, Dad. I’m just informing you of my decision.

  His mother’s silent pleading for Josh to change his mind.

  His total confidence that the woman he thought loved him would support his choice just as he’d supported her. Don’t worry, Ashley. I have a plan. It’s all going to work out fine.

  Have you lost your mind, Josh? Do you even care about me? About us as a couple? Your student loans will cripple us.

  He felt the past tugging at him, sucking him back toward the emotional black pit he’d spent so long fighting his way out of, and there was no way he was going back there. He was in Bear Paw. He didn’t want to think about the past or the future. He just wanted now.

  He pulled Katrina over him until she was straddling his legs and then he cupped one hand on her breast and the other between her thighs. He hooked her clear and hypnotic gaze. “I’m proud of what I can do for you.”

  He stroked her.

  She whimpered.

  The sound made him instantly hard, and he let his hands work their magic. He lost himself in watching her fall apart.

  —

  IF Shannon had thought juggling work and keeping Hunter in school was difficult, she hadn’t factored in the three long months of summer vacation. It was only day three and already she was tearing out her hair.

  “What are you planning on doing today?” she asked him at eleven, after virtually tipping him out of bed. “Skate park? Invite someone over?”

  He shrugged indifferently. “I dunno.”

  She tried not to sigh. For weeks Hunter had whined and moaned about school and had been miserable. Now that it was summer vacation, she’d expected him to be happier. Hoped desperately that he’d be happier. But his air of disinterest in school seemed to have pervaded his out-of-school life.

  Well, she wasn’t having him sit around doing nothing. “I need your help washing dishes in the diner today because Katrina’s gone to Great Falls.”

  Katrina had told her about Bonnie’s diagnosis, and Shannon was still trying to absorb the unwelcome and distressing news. She wondered how Beau was coping, but she hadn’t seen him in the nine days since he’d brought Hunter home and kissed her. The kiss she thought about far too much.

  “Will you pay me?” Hunter asked, half belligerent, half hopeful.

  “If you smile, work hard and do what I ask, I’ll pay you.” She stretched out her hand toward his. “Deal?”

  “I guess.”

  “Good. Get dressed, go eat a bowl of cereal and then come straight over. The early lunch crowd will be drifting in by eleven thirty.”

  As she turned to leave, she heard a loud knocking at the door. “Are you expecting someone?”

  Hunter shook his head but ambled to the door just ahead of her and opened it. “Hey, Beau.”

  Beau. Beau who’d kissed her as if she were dainty and fragile and had then walked away and not contacted her since.

  The cowboy stepped inside and once again filled her small entryway, only this time he didn’t pull off his hat and his mighty fine chest appeared to be wriggling.

  “H-hello, Sh-Shannon.”

  Before she could reply, a small black nose suddenly poked out from inside Beau’s shirt, quickly followed by two huge velvet-soft ears.

  “A puppy. Cool!” Hunter exclaimed with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. It reminded Shannon of the boy he’d been before hormones and school had snuffed it out of him.

  Hunter shot out his hand, which was devotedly licked by a little pink tongue. “Does it have a name?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Stray.” Beau handed the squirming golden puppy to Hunter before turning his rich, chocolate eyes onto Shannon. “I w-wondered if you . . . and Hunter wanted . . . her.”

  What? She needed a puppy like she needed a hole in the head.

  “Hell yes,” Hunter whooped, laughing as the puppy moved her enthusiastic licking to his face.

  “Hunter,” she rebuked, embarrassed at his mild profanity and annoyed with Beau for not talking to her about the dog before
mentioning it to Hunter. He’d gone and put her in a difficult position—she either disappointed Hunter or she took on a dog, which she didn’t want to do.

  “It’s very kind of you to offer her to us, Beau, but there’s a lot to consider. Hunter and I need to discuss it first.”

  “Aww, Mom,” Hunter groaned as he shot Beau a tortured look. “That means no.”

  Again she was going to be cast as the bad parent. “It means, Hunter, that a puppy is a lot of responsibility. It means walks, teaching it to do its business outside and training it not to destroy the house. I’m busy enough with the diner.”

  “I can help,” Beau said very quietly but perfectly clearly.

  His unexpected offer confused her. How could he possibly help? “Hunter, take the puppy and go give her a bowl of water.”

  Hunter recognized her tone of voice and surprisingly complied without complaint. She stifled a sigh. He must really want the dog.

  When he’d left the room, she tried to keep her rising frustration out of her voice. “Beau, I appreciate you thinking of us, but I would also have appreciated you discussing this with me first. How exactly are you going to help with a puppy? You live a long way out of town.”

  He took in a deep breath—one she now recognized as part of his strategy to reduce his stuttering. “W-what if Hunter . . . and the puppy came . . . out to the ranch?”

  She blinked at him. “But your mom’s sick and the last thing your family needs is the added problem of a grouchy teen.”

  “Mom’s . . .” He breathed in and blew the breath out. “She’s at the . . . hospital. In Great Falls. With Katrina and Dad.”

  “Still . . .”

  His serious gaze was now a warm, burnished brown. “Do you have . . . vacation plans for Hunter?”

  Guilt pierced her. Balancing a new business was hard enough during school time. Right now she couldn’t afford to take any time off and Hunter had refused to go to day camp. “Just helping me out at the diner, but that’s mostly to keep him busy. I don’t want him living at the skate park.”

  “He can do . . . some ranch w-work. I’ll teach him . . . to train the dog.”

  She wasn’t used to being offered any help, so she lacked experience in accepting graciously. “Why do you want him to have the puppy so bad?”

  Beau whipped his hat off his head and fiddled with the brim the way he’d done nine days ago. “Animals are less . . . c-complicated than people.”

  She stared at him, words failing her on so many levels. She had no idea how to respond, so she concentrated on her son. Hunter’s eagerness about the puppy pulled at her heart. Oh, how she wanted him to be happy but, she wished she knew the experience with the puppy was guaranteed, otherwise she’d be stuck with a dog.

  “If the summer ends and the dog doesn’t work out . . .” Her voice trailed off under Beau’s expression of incredulity. “Okay. Hunter can go to Coulee Creek if he wants to go.”

  “I want to go,” Hunter said, appearing in the doorway with a look of one who’d been eavesdropping on the entire conversation.

  Beau turned to him. “You ready to . . . work?”

  Hunter jutted his chin. “Will you pay me?”

  Beau laughed. “You help me . . . fence and I’ll teach . . . you how to . . . train your dog.”

  Hunter got a squirrely look in his eyes. “What about riding?”

  “Hunter!” Shannon was shocked by his cheeky boldness, but Beau just held up his hand.

  “One day . . . at a time. G-grab your stuff. Meet me at . . . the outfit.”

  Hunter ran to his room and Shannon pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. “Do you have a number in case I need to call?”

  A muscle in his cheek twitched and again he dropped his voice to a whisper. “He will be fine.”

  She noticed that when he spoke softly, his stutter seemed to go completely, and she was instantly reminded of the time he’d told her he didn’t use phones. “I know he’ll be fine; it’s just I’m his mom and . . .” She raised her gaze to his. “I’d only text.”

  His work-battered fingers lifted her phone out of her hand, the roughened tips gently scraping her palm. Her nerve endings went wild and she clamped her mouth shut and her thighs tight, trying to curb the sensations that raced through her.

  He plugged some numbers into the cell. “In the coulees . . . it doesn’t work . . . so good.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked, a combination of heady lust and anxiety making her feel unsteady and out of her depth. “I mean, better to change your mind now—”

  “Sh-Shannon . . . it’s all good.”

  Was it? She wasn’t used to other people getting involved in her life, let alone people with troubles of their own. “I’m sorry about your mom,” she blurted out, regretting she hadn’t said it earlier. “It must be so hard and . . .” Shut up now!

  Beau’s relaxed demeanor had vanished, leaving in its place six feet of rigid tension. “Yeah.” He jammed his hat on his head.

  As he reached the door she called out to his retreating back, “I can come by and pick up Hunter after I close for the day if that helps.”

  He spun back, a gentle smile tweaking up his lips and reminding her again of their kiss. The kiss that now seemed a lifetime ago. “Can you bring something sweet?”

  She laughed. “I can do that.”

  “Good.” He disappeared out the door to the sound of ecstatic barking.

  —

  BEAU and Hunter sat in the shade of the outfit, eating a cowboy sandwich—two thick pieces of bread and some leftover steak. They were taking a break from the hot and dusty work of digging fence holes and installing posts. Hunter had done whatever Beau had asked him to do and had been a quick study. He didn’t say much, but neither did Beau, so conversation was limited to general instructions. Even so, the kid looked less miserable than the last time Beau had seen him.

  Scout sat next to Beau keeping a close eye on the now-sleeping puppy who was curled up against Hunter’s thigh. No way was she going to let the newcomer get away with anything on her turf no matter how cute she looked.

  Hunter stroked the puppy’s sleek, golden body. “Do you think Rastas will be able to learn cool tricks?”

  “Maybe. She looks like . . . she’s got some Labrador . . . and beagle in her. The Lab will worship you. The beagle will . . . try and escape.” He took a slug of water, thinking how little he stuttered with Hunter compared with Shannon. “You’re gonna need to . . . run her hard every day. Wear her out. S-so she doesn’t dig.”

  He remembered Shannon’s reservations about the dog. He remembered everything about Shannon—the feel of her in his arms, the taste of her on his lips and her slight resistance. The resistance that made him end the kiss earlier than he’d intended. Still, years of working on a ranch had taught him patience. Some things couldn’t be rushed, and Shannon was one of those things. Next time he kissed her, he’d know for sure it was exactly what she wanted.

  “Your mom will kill me . . . if Rastas digs holes . . . all over the garden.”

  “We don’t have a garden,” Hunter said dryly. “Mom says it’s safer that way.”

  Beau thought about the joy his mother got from her garden and didn’t quite understand. “How’s it safer?”

  “The two years we lived in Kansas, Mom managed to kill eight house plants.”

  “Lucky you’re not . . . a plant, then.”

  Hunter gave him a sideways glance from under his cap, as if he weren’t sure if Beau was making a joke or not.

  Fighting off the moral dilemma that questioning the boy to get information about his mother wasn’t strictly ethical, he said as casually as he could, “Where did you . . . live before Kansas?”

  “Missouri.”

  “Home of the . . . ice cream cone.”

  “I guess.” He gave a disinterested shrug. “I was born there, same as my mom and dad, and my grandparents, too.”

  He thought how each move had taken them an increasing
distance from their home state. “Do you miss them?”

  He shrugged and his bottom lip seemed to jut just a little. “Nope.”

  Experience made him ask, “Not even a bit?”

  Hunter gathered the puppy into his arms and set her on his lap, the gesture telling. “We never saw them much.”

  He thought about the name on his birth certificate—his biological father’s name, a man he’d never known, and his mother, who’d been lost to him for years. “Your grandparents or your dad?”

  “Both. Dad left when I was two.” Hunter’s hand paused on the puppy’s ears. “I really want to keep this dog.”

  Beau understood. When life confused the hell out of a guy, a dog was his best friend. “You’ve got the summer . . . to train her. Do what I say and . . . when school is back . . . she’ll be good.”

  Hunter grimaced. “I hate school.”

  Beau remembered stuttering out similar words at the same age. “Why?”

  “It sucks.”

  It was typical teen—a broad generalization that told him nothing. “How?”

  Hunter stared toward the mountains. “It’s pointless. Who cares what some dead guy wrote in a book?”

  Beau had always loved learning and he’d enjoyed many books written by dead guys and living ones. In fact, when he was at school, he’d retreated into books to avoid talking. “You read Tom Sawyer?”

  Hunter threw him an incredulous look as if he were as clueless as his English teacher. “I don’t read books.”

  Sad at the thought, Beau got an idea. He was never without a book, because alone at night, out on the range, he often read. He pulled out his phone—the one he rarely used as a phone but frequently used as a weather station, an e-book reader and a camera. Opening up the book app, he found what he was looking for. “You know how . . . sometimes I s-stutter . . . right?”

  Hunter nodded.

  “Well, I have to . . . do exercises. I do them . . . at lunch.” He didn’t, but Hunter wasn’t to know that, and if there was one thing Beau knew, it was that most everyone enjoyed being told a story. “You take a rest . . . while I do them and . . . then we’ll go to work. Okay?”

  Hunter shrugged and pulled out his headphones.