Truly Madly Montana

by Fiona Lowe

  “That’s a bold move,” Will said mockingly, all traces of his distraction gone.

  She resisted giving him the finger. “Game on, Bartlett.” With her left leg forward, knee bent and her right leg positioned behind her for balance, she leaned over the table, her elbows on the felt and her breasts pressed hard against the side rail.

  “You can do it, Millie,” Dane said encouragingly.

  “Shut up, Dane,” Ty said with a hint of exasperation.

  Her concentration interrupted, she glanced up. Everyone’s gaze was fixed on the cue ball in anticipation of her shot. Everyone’s, that is, except Will. He wasn’t looking anywhere near the ball or at her face or arms. His gaze seemed fixed on— Astonishment made her blink. Was he looking at her ass?

  Oh please, as if. Just play the damn shot.

  “Sorry, Millie,” Dane apologized.

  “No need for an apology, Dane,” Will said, squatting down next to her so his eyes were at table level. “A good player shuts out all distractions. Isn’t that right, Millie?”

  He was daring her to choke. “I’m not sure you’d know, Will.”

  “Boo-yah!” a cowboy yelled out. “Hey, Doc, you sure you’ve got the balls for this?”

  “He hasn’t got any balls yet,” Ty quipped with a laugh.

  “Remind me again, Ty, when do you need that prostate exam?” Will shot back.

  The heckling went on around Millie, and she put her head down, trying to block all the extraneous sights and sounds—the clink of glasses, Dane’s lurid T-shirt, the rap of cowboy boots on the wooden floor, but most of all the musky scent of Will that never seemed to leave her.

  Visualizing the shot line, she drew in a long, deep breath. Without a doubt, this was the hardest shot she’d ever played, but then again, she’d never wanted to win so badly. She pushed her arm forward, and the cue moved smoothly against the rest, connecting with the cue ball.

  White hit blue, which bounced off the cushion and sped into orange, propelling it into the pocket. Miraculously, blue immediately followed.

  A roar went up. She’d just potted all seven balls in a row, and all that remained was the black eight ball. It sat alone, hers for the taking.

  “You can hang up your cue now, Doc,” Ty said. “You’re well and truly screwed.”

  “It’s not over ’til it’s over,” Will said, although resignation hung off every word.

  Millie tapped the money. “Want to bet any more of your lunch money against me on this final shot?”

  Will shook his head, a lock of his thick, sun-kissed hair falling into his eyes. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

  “Wise move.” She turned her back on him, trying to keep the flutters of excitement under control. She hadn’t won yet. If she fluffed this shot, then Will could enter the game and do to her exactly what she’d done to him.

  She remembered him suggesting the stroll. Hell, he’d probably bring her a parasol to protect her from the sun. Her determination came back in a steely rush, and she lined everything up, pictured the ghost ball just behind the eight ball and took the shot.

  She’d gone for slow and steady, but as she watched the white ball roll, she instantly knew she’d underestimated the strength required. Clack. Her left hand rose to her mouth, and she bit her knuckles as she watched the agonizingly slow trajectory of the black ball. It crept forward, all the time losing momentum until it teetered very close to the edge of the pocket.

  A collective gasp shot around the table.

  Please. Please. Please.

  The ball vanished into the pocket.

  She squealed and threw her arms up in the air as the sound of clapping and cheering filled the bar. Her back was slapped, her shoulders pummeled, and suddenly she was looking up into Will’s face. She’d expected to see humiliation, a dented ego, some loss of face, hell, even a modicum of anger, but instead he was smiling down at her, his face filled with happiness. It confused the hell out of her.

  “Now that was incredible pool,” he said, slapping her hand with a high five and pulling her in for a bear hug.

  He was wrapped around her, his muscular arms crushing her against him head to toe. His chin pressed down on the top of her head, his heart thumped rhythmically and solidly against her breasts, and her cheek rested on the softness of his shirt with the hard play of taut muscle beneath. All of it felt so damn good it had to be a dream.

  And then he released her, and as her feet hit the ground, his finger burned a trail of wonder across her cheek as he brushed a curl from her eyes. Her body vibrated with sensory overload of the very best kind, and she forgot she was mad at him. Forgot she’d wanted to make him squirm. Forgot just about everything, including the date and the name of the president.

  He dropped his head close to hers, the warmth of his breath tickling her ear. “With all that excitement, you’ve probably burned up a lot of energy. We should eat.”

  Right then she remembered everything and she remembered it fast.

  Chapter 11

  Confused, Will watched Millie stomp out of the bar as if she was the one who’d had to stand by and not just lose a game of pool that he hadn’t been able to participate in, but become tonight’s entertainment for Leroy’s. There was nothing a small town liked more than to see their lawyer, successful businessman or doctor lose face and lose money. Tonight, he’d done both.

  As much as he hated that Millie had dominated the game to the point he hadn’t been able to touch even one ball, he had to admire her skill. Who was he kidding? He’d admired more than that every time she’d leaned over the table. Fortunately, she hadn’t noticed him checking out her ass, and although there’d been plenty of jokes from the blokes about him losing his balls, there thankfully hadn’t been any references to him being a lesbro—a guy who hung out with gay women hoping they’d sleep with him. He was thankful for small mercies—that would be a lot harder to live down than losing a game of pool.

  Given Millie had kicked his ass in more ways than one, he’d expected her to give him a chance to take a game off her after she’d eaten her dinner. Seems he was totally wrong about that.

  Ethan appeared next to him, shoved a beer in his hand and pushed him toward a quiet table. “Man, I haven’t seen Millie play like that since Mason Berkram, the physician’s assistant, tried to pull rank on her.” He rubbed his chin. “What the hell did you do to upset her?”

  “Nothing. Jeez, I’ve only ever been nice to the woman.”

  “Yeah, well word from the wise,” Ethan said, his mouth grimacing, “there’s no benefit in being a nice and decent guy. They just hate you for it.”

  “Tell me about it,” Will said, warming to the theme. “She just whipped me in front of everyone, but did I whinge? No, I was a good sport about it. Hell, I congratulated her, I offered to buy her dinner and then she gets all stroppy and stomps out.” He sipped his beer, feeling better for having vented. “So who bit you in the bum?”

  Ethan looked puzzled. “Excuse me?”

  Will was used to people giving him odd looks, as if he’d just spoken to them in a foreign language, so he translated the Aussie. “Who got upset with you?”

  “Oh, right.” Ethan’s confusion vanished. “Tara Ralston.”

  Will laughed. “I can tell you now, you’re not going to get any joy there. She and Millie are dating.”

  Beer spurted out of Ethan’s nose.

  Will passed him a napkin in sympathy. “Sorry, mate. I didn’t mean to surprise or disappoint you.”

  Ethan’s coughing slowly subsided, and he took off his glasses, cleaning them before sliding them back on his face.

  “Better?” Will inquired as he opened the menu. He was suddenly ravenously hungry.

  “Will.”

  “Hmm.” He was reading the specials and tossing up between ordering the prime rib or the shrimp dinner. Both came with soup and salad.

  “Millie’s not gay.”

  He glanced up at the poor, deluded guy. “Yeah, well that’s what I thought
about Tara, but it seems we’re both wrong.”

  Ethan shook his head slowly. “I’m not wrong.”

  He tried to wrap his head around what Ethan was saying, but it didn’t make any sense. Millie was definitely gay. “Sometimes we think we know someone when really—”

  “I’ve known Millie all my life, and I know for a fact that she’s as straight as you and me.”

  Know. Fact. The words reverberated in his head like a sonic boom, and a chill whooshed through him with breath-freezing cold. Snatches of conversations with Millie poured out of his memory. Totally out and proud. You’re an ally. Tara, would you like to catch up for a coffee sometime?

  He shivered as the chill inside of him intensified. Millie had let him think she was gay. She’d let him try and set her up on a date. She’d lied to him.

  The coldness in his veins exploded into white-hot, scalding fury, and he stood up abruptly, the legs of the chair scraping loudly on the floor. “Thanks for the beer, mate. I’ll see you around.”

  Ignoring Ethan’s urgent question of “Are you okay?” he strode through the bar in a haze of anger, pushed open the door and stormed into the warm, summer evening. Millie Switkowski had a hell of a lot of explaining to do, and she was going to do it now.

  “Hey, Doctor Bartlett.” Ray Finnemore, the aeronautical mechanic from the airport, walked over. “I was wanting to ask you about—”

  “Is it a medical emergency?” he said curtly, climbing into his Jeep. Only a life-and-death situation would stop him from going directly to see Millie.

  “No, it’s about the maintenance contract for the helicopter.”

  “I’ll talk to you about it on Monday, okay?”

  “Sure, no worries.” Ray slapped the top of the car. “Drive safe.”

  Five minutes later, after breaking the speed limit of the neighborhood, he pulled up outside Millie’s parents’ house and killed the engine. All he needed to do was take a quick walk down the drive, past the pool, and he’d be knocking on her door. As he got out of the car, he heard his name being called and, raising his sunglasses, he saw Millie’s parents sitting on the porch sipping drinks. Crap. He should have used the back entrance. Now that they’d seen him, he could hardly march straight past them without stopping to chat.

  He crossed the soft, spongy lawn, so very different from the dried, brown stalks of the summer grass at home, and tried to dredge their names from the recesses of his mind. “G’day, Susie, Danny. Lovely evening.”

  “Hello, Will.” Susie smiled and extended a well-manicured hand. “What a lovely surprise.”

  Danny didn’t offer up quite the same welcome. “I hear you’ve had an interesting evening.”

  Will fixed his smile in place and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Millie been bragging about her win, has she?”

  “No, we haven’t spoken to her yet. I saw it on the Twitter,” Danny said with a touch of amusement. “Bethany used the hashtag NoBallsBartlett.”

  “Good old Bethany,” Will said, trying not to grind his teeth. He knew he was going to be stuck with that moniker for the rest of the summer.

  “Millie’s got a good eye,” Danny said. “I taught her to play.”

  “The jury’s still out on whether that was a good thing or not,” Susie said with an edge to her voice before turning her attention back to Will. “We’re surprised to see Millie’s home already. We thought she’d have stayed to celebrate. In fact, I was about to pop in and check on her to make sure she was feeling okay.”

  Susie had just gifted him a valid reason for being here. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “So she is sick?” Susie’s social smile faded to worry.

  “No, I’m just bringing some insulin,” he lied, hastening to reassure her and regretting he’d used the excuse.

  Danny frowned. “It’s not like Millie to run low on insulin.”

  “Something to do with an off batch. I should go.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Will.” Susie smiled at him gratefully.

  None of this is about kindness. I’m furious with Millie. He raised his hand in a farewell wave and backed away, guilt kicking him that he’d misled Susie. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  He strode down the side of the house, through the gate and into the yard. Millie’s cat was curled up on a pool lounger, looking angelic. He wasn’t falling for that trick again, and he didn’t pause to pat the beast. The sound of loud music emanated from the guesthouse, and he banged hard on the screen door as much to make himself heard as to find an outlet for his anger.

  Millie didn’t appear, but as he knocked again, the volume of the music diminished.

  “Come in, Mom,” she said, sounding resigned. “It’s open.”

  Will stepped through the doorway. “I’m not your mother.”

  She leaped from the couch to her feet, staring at him. “Will?” His name came out on a surprised squeak, and she cleared her throat, suddenly sounding cross. “What are you doing here?”

  She’d changed out of her scrubs and was wearing those damn short pajamas of hers that, unlike every other outfit he’d ever seen her in, hid barely anything of her curvy and generous body. The body he’d spent hours fantasizing about and even more time fighting those thoughts because he’d believed she was a lesbian and unavailable.

  Frustration and fury tumbled over and over, churning his gut. “You’re. Not. Gay.”

  He heard the accusatory challenge that clung to the three little words, and like a slow-motion sequence, he saw the moment she did, too. She flinched. Her eyes widened, and the unique coppery ring in her irises vanished under the inky spread of her pupils. A pink flush flared on her cheeks, bloomed along her jaw and then raced down to stain her creamy décolletage. She wiped her palms against her shorts. Sweaty palms. Guilty palms.

  Her bra-free breasts rose and fell as she breathed in deeply. “Ah no.”

  She’d never looked sexier, but for the first time, he didn’t want to see it. “Ah no?” Incredulity spun around him like a web, choking him. “That’s all you have to say?”

  She swallowed. “Who told you?”

  “Ethan.” The red haze of fury behind his eyes suddenly changed to green. “He said he knew for a fact you’re straight, which I’m taking as code for he’s had sex with you.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business,” she said quietly, the words edged in steel, “but I’ve never had sex with Ethan. We’re just good friends.”

  It was ludicrous that amidst all his anger and perplexity, that one fact made him feel somewhat relieved, but it didn’t dent his outrage at her. “Millie, what the hell?”

  He slapped the back of his right hand into the palm of his left. “First of all you don’t tell me that you’re diabetic and then you let me think that you’re gay. What sort of a sick joke is this?”

  “It’s not a joke.”

  “So sue me if I don’t believe you.” The bitter taste of betrayal filled his mouth. “Jesus, Millie, I thought we were friends and then you go and do this?” And that was the crux of the issue. He thought she was his friend. Outrage dueled with embarrassment, and he could just imagine the talk in the town. “For fuck’s sake, you let me try and set you up on a date. I bet you and Tara enjoyed a lot of laughs about that.”

  She sucked in her lips and shook her head. “I never mentioned anything to Tara. I didn’t tell anyone.”

  None of this made sense. “I don’t get it. If this isn’t a joke and you didn’t tell anyone that I thought you were gay, why didn’t you have the common courtesy to tell me?”

  “Hey.” Her hands suddenly slapped her hips with a loud clap, and the quietness that had circled her disappeared. “I wasn’t the one who sat down at a wedding and told me to my face that I was gay.”

  “What?” Her accusation burned him. “So now this is my fault?”

  She nodded violently. “Uh-huh.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He threw his arms out wide in disbelief. “What sort of a wo
man wears a man’s suit to a wedding, anyway?”

  “A woman who’s the best man.” Her voice rose. “A woman with a diabetic pump and a CGM that means she can’t wear a tight-fitting dress.” Her voice got even higher. “A woman who needs a purse that holds more than a lipstick and a phone.” Now she was yelling. “None of it means I’m gay.”

  “Back then I didn’t know you were a diabetic.”

  “You didn’t need to know.”

  He was trying really hard to follow her argument, but like so many other women before her, he didn’t understand her. “I’m the one who’s been made to look a fool here, Millie. I’m the one who’s owed an explanation.” He ran his hand across the back of his neck. “Seriously, how hard is it to say, ‘Will, I’m not gay.’”

  Her chin jerked up and her eyes narrowed, but not before he’d seen a flash of hurt light them up. “About as hard as it is to hear you say you thought I was.”

  Aww, shit. This whole mess really was his fault.

  DAMN it. Millie hated that her voice had just wobbled, but she hated even more the look of pity on Will’s face. Poor Millie. All she wanted was for him to leave so she could mainline a tub of cookies-and-cream ice cream. Ice cream she shouldn’t eat in those quantities, but some situations overrode all her healthy eating and good behavior. Some situations made her crave to be a normal woman who could eat comfort food with few consequences. This was definitely one of those times.

  “Millie—”

  She raised her hand. You don’t get to say anything. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “—I’ve been a dickhead.”

  She blinked, not quite believing her ears or her brain’s interpretation, and then she heard a hysterical laugh. It was hers. “Yeah, you have been.”

  He shrugged, his expression both contrite and perplexed. “Sorry.”

  She shrugged back. “I’d like to say it’s okay, only—”

  “Only it isn’t close to being okay. I get it.” He blew out a long breath. “Is it okay if I sit down?”

  He looked so woebegone that she didn’t have the heart to say no, and, truth be told, she didn’t really want to. It was a unique experience to have a guy admitting to her that he was wrong, especially a doctor, and she planned to suck every bit of blood out of his apology. “Sure. Take a load off. Do you want something to eat or drink?”