Crazy Imperfect Love: A Dirty Dicks/Big Sky Novella (Kristen Proby Crossover Collection Book 3)

by K. L. Grayson

  “Drake?”

  “Yeah?” I say, snapping out of it.

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  “Not a word. Sorry, I spaced out.”

  Abigail smiles as she twists her silky locks on top of her head. “I was telling you about how weird it was moving into a furnished apartment.”

  “Is it part of your contract with the agency?”

  “Yes. They pay for the housing and travel, and I get a meal stipend. I just wish they would’ve told me I’d have to put all the furniture together. I didn’t exactly have the tools to do it.”

  “I had all the tools I needed back there.”

  “That’s because I made an emergency trip to the hardware store and told the worker I needed all the equipment to put together a bed frame and coffee table. Tools were not among Hannah and Brad’s wedding gifts.”

  “You should’ve called me. I would’ve brought the tools over. You didn’t have to go buy them.”

  “I would’ve, except I don’t have your number.” Abigail looks down and adds, “Plus, I wasn’t sure where we stood after yesterday.”

  I hate that Abigail is here, in my hometown, mere feet away from me, and I can’t be with her. I can’t touch her or hold her; all I can do is look at her. But what I hate even more is that she thought for a second she couldn’t reach out to me.

  I tip my chin and nod toward her phone sitting on the counter. “Toss me your phone.”

  She flips it across the room, and I catch it against my chest. I pull up her contacts, add my number, and toss it back.

  “There. Now you can call me anytime.”

  Abigail’s eyes are wide as she looks down at her cell, and I swear I see them well up with tears.

  “Abigail?” I take a step forward, but when she looks up, I stop. Because if I go to her, I’ll touch her, and that’s something I can’t allow myself to do. “I’m sorry about what I said in the cafeteria…about not being sure if we can be friends.”

  She smiles tremulously and shrugs a shoulder. “It’s okay. I understand.”

  “No, it’s not okay. I was just angry and a little bitter because I really like you. But if you’re up for it, I’d love for us to try to be friends.”

  “I’d like that a lot.”

  There isn’t much more to say, and I’m not really in the mood to talk, so I motion toward the bedroom. “I’m going to go grab the screw gun, and then I’ll put this coffee table together.”

  I feel her eyes on me as I walk down the hall. When I enter the bedroom, I stand for several long seconds, take more than a few deep breaths, and then head back into the living room. Without looking in Abigail’s direction, I park my ass on the floor and go to work putting the legs on her coffee table.

  “Drake?”

  “Yeah?” I ask, pushing the final screw in.

  “I really like you too,” she says softly.

  My head snaps up, but rather than looking at me, Abigail is concentrating hard on organizing her cabinets. I know she can feel me watching her; it’s in the way her chest rises and falls just a little bit faster and the tremor in her hand. But not once does she stop and look my way. She stays focused on the task at hand, meticulously lining up all of the cups by size.

  The tallest glasses in the back taper to the shortest in the front. None of them are stacked on top of each other, and I notice her spice cabinet—which is open—situated much the same way. When she moves to the plates, I can’t help but laugh.

  She would have a heyday if she saw my kitchen.

  Chapter 4

  Abby

  “Hey, thank you again for your help the other night,” I call.

  It’s been three days since I’ve seen Drake, and I’m more than a little surprised when he bustles by me down the hospital hallway without stopping.

  “Anytime.”

  His brows are pulled tight, and the easygoing smile I’m used to seeing is absent.

  “Is everything okay?”

  He shakes his head and keeps walking. I have to take two steps for every one of his just to keep up.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Two surgical techs called in sick. Darlene is in the bathroom throwing up, and I’ve got to be in surgery—” He looks at his watch. “—ten minutes ago, and I don’t have a scrub nurse.”

  “I can help.”

  That makes him stop.

  “I worked as a scrub nurse at my last job. I’d be more than happy to step in if you can find someone to cover my assignment on the floor.”

  “Done.” Drake leaves me in the hall and walks to the nurse’s station with purpose.

  He stops in front of Cindy, the charge nurse. They exchange a few words, which I’m unable to hear, and then I see her nod and stand up.

  When Drake walks back by, he says, “Go give report on your patients and meet me in the OR.”

  Ten minutes later, I’m scrubbed in and standing beside Drake and his team in surgical suite #2.

  Lucy, the other RN in the room, was fine taking over the circulating nurse responsibilities for this operation. We thought it would be best since she knows the layout of the room. I’ve scrubbed in for enough surgeries that I can comfortably assist Drake during this procedure. And then there’s Barbara, who’s acting as RN first assistant and will spend the majority of the surgery monitoring the patient for signs of distress.

  “Abigail, this is Dr. Connor,” Drake says, nodding toward the man sitting at the head of the patient’s bed. “He’s the anesthesiologist with us today. Bruce, this is Abigail. She’ll be working on the med-surg floor for the next several weeks.”

  “Welcome,” he says, offering me a warm smile.

  Drake preps the patient and nods to Lucy. A second later, rock music filters through the speakers, and Drake holds out his hand.

  “Scalpel.”

  “I didn’t peg you for a Led Zeppelin fan,” I say, handing him the instrument.

  Every surgeon is different. Some blare the music—songs and artists you’d never expect—while others like silence. I prefer it like this, just enough music to drown out the sounds of surgery, but not so loud that you can’t carry on a conversation.

  Dr. Connor chuckles behind his mask as Drake concentrates on the patient. “None of us did. I swear this kid grew up in the wrong generation.”

  “Wait until you hear him belt out the lyrics to Black Sabbath,” Barbara says.

  If Drake’s face weren’t covered by the mask, I’m sure I’d see him smile—his eyes crinkle above it.

  “Only during surgery and when I hike.”

  “You hike?” I don’t know why I’m surprised. This is Montana, after all.

  He nods, and Dr. Connor continues to carry the conversation. “He does it all. Snow skiing, hiking, snowboarding, mountain biking—”

  “Snowshoeing,” Drake adds.

  “If it’s an outdoor activity, he’s doing it. What about you, Abigail? Are you the outdoorsy type?”

  “Please, call me Abby. And I’d like to say yes, but honestly, I’ve spent the last five years consumed with college and starting my career. So I haven’t gotten to do much more than study and sleep.”

  “Where are you from?” Barbara asks, monitoring one of the many machines in the room.

  “Kansas, but I’ve lived in Heaven, Texas, most of my life.”

  “I’ve been there once. It’s beautiful and hot. How are you handling the temperatures here?”

  “Not too bad. I had to stock up on winter clothes, but it’s honestly not as cold as I expected.”

  “You came in at the tail end of winter, and it’s been mild for us this year.”

  “I know, I was hoping there would still be snow on the ground. I’ve only seen snow once in my life, and it was only half an inch.”

  Everyone laughs.

  “That isn’t snow,” Lucy says. “We’re supposed to have a cold front come through next week. If you’re lucky, you might get to see what real snow looks like.”

  “I’ll ke
ep my fingers crossed.”

  Our conversation dies off, and we work silently side by side as Drake repairs the inguinal hernia. I follow along with him, anticipating his needs and handing him various instruments before he has a chance to ask for them.

  As Drake finishes up with the actual surgery, he glances at me. “You’re pretty good at this.”

  “Thanks.”

  “We’re always looking for good nurses in the OR, if you ever consider making your stay here permanent.”

  Our eyes connect over the rims of our masks, and I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking. But Drake doesn’t give me much time to analyze.

  “Let’s get things cleaned up, and I’ll close the patient.”

  There’s a flurry of activity as everyone assumes their roles, and I begin counting the instruments, sponges, and other tools Drake has used.

  When the instruments are set aside and I’ve informed Drake of the count, I turn back to count the sponges again. You can never be too careful when it comes to the sponges. Although it’s never happened on my watch, I’ve heard about patients being stitched shut with sponges still inside of them. That obviously leads to complications.

  One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.

  One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.

  One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.

  I stack them up and then separate each one, laying them out on the tray as I count them again.

  One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.

  “Abigail?”

  I glance up at Drake. “Yeah?”

  “Are there eleven? That’s how many I used.”

  “Um, yeah…I was just making sure.”

  He looks at me for a long moment and then nods. “It’s better to be sure. Go ahead; count them again.”

  I almost breathe a sigh of relief. I’ve had doctors scold me after surgery for taking too long to count the sponges and instruments. In reality, they should be thanking me for possibly saving them from a horrible lawsuit that could cost them their license and hundreds of thousands of dollars—and maybe even a patient’s life.

  One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.

  This time when I count them, I touch each sponge individually, cataloging it in my head.

  Drake sits patiently while I go through my ritual, seemingly unfazed by my odd behavior. Generally, when someone happens to see me during a bout of counting, I get more anxious. But it’s not like that with Drake.

  And it wasn’t like that the other night when he caught me checking the refrigerator.

  He has a soothing presence. With him, I feel calm.

  Accepted.

  When I’m confident that all of the sponges are accounted for, and there’s not a lick of unease in my veins, I report the number to Drake again.

  His smile once again reaches his eyes. “Thank you, Abigail. Great job, everyone. Let’s get this patient into recovery.”

  Lucy and Barbara wheel the patient out. Dr. Connor is not far behind them, and when the room is empty, Drake peels his gloves off, lowers the mask from his face, and looks at his watch.

  “My shift is over in twenty minutes. Want to grab a bite to eat?”

  My stomach flutters. The angels sing from above. And then the annoying voice in my head reminds me—you can’t be together.

  Stupid voice.

  But since when does having dinner mean we’re together? Men and women have dinner all the time without bedding each other at the end of the night. Drake and I are perfectly capable of sharing a nice meal without allowing it to lead into dangerous territory.

  “I’d love to.”

  His smile is positively brilliant. “I know a great place. If it’s okay with you, I’ll follow you home and you can jump in with me.”

  “Perfect.”

  I’m not dating him. I’m not sleeping with him. This is completely innocent. Drake might be my supervisor, but he’s also best friends with my cousin Hannah, who happens to be my best friend, so basically that makes Drake and me best friends. And best friends hang out all the time. Plus, we’re professionals.

  Professionals and friends. Nothing more, nothing less. That’s what I keep telling myself as he follows me home, and again as I jump out of my car and climb into his.

  Friends.

  We’re just friends.

  Chapter 5

  Drake

  “I could’ve followed you,” Abigail says, reaching over her shoulder to buckle up.

  “You could’ve, but then I wouldn’t have gotten to spend the extra time with you.”

  Her head whips around in surprise. Her jet black hair makes her icy blue eyes pop. I could get lost in them, drown in them without once thinking to come up for air. They’re hypnotizing, and if she’d let me, I’d stare at them forever.

  “You look beautiful, Miss Darwin,” I whisper, glancing at her.

  She looks good sitting in my truck, like she’s meant to be here with me.

  “This ole thing?” she quips, running a hand down the front of her navy blue scrubs. She bites her lip and nods toward me. “You don’t look too bad yourself, Dr. Merritt.”

  Something about the way she says my name doesn’t sit right with me. Tonight, I don’t want to be her supervisor—or even her coworker.

  “Tonight I’m just Drake. Is that okay?” I turn my attention back to the road.

  “You got it, Just Drake.”

  Fuck me, she’s adorable. “Smartass.”

  Abigail grins. “Where are you taking us?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “I hope it’s not fancy,” she says, looking at my scrubs. “We look hot and all, but I’m not sure scrubs qualify as proper attire for most restaurants.”

  “It’s not fancy.”

  “Ah, so you’re taking me to a hole in the wall?”

  I laugh. “Would you stop asking questions and just relax? It’s a surprise, and I promise you’re going to love it.”

  “That’s a big promise, Just Drake. I don’t fall in love easily.”

  You loved my lips on the base of your neck and the feel of my body between your legs. And if you gave us a chance, you could probably fall in love with me.

  Whoa. Where the hell did that come from?

  Love?

  No fucking way.

  Swallowing hard, I glance at Abigail. “I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

  “I think I can do that.” With a sweet smile, she relaxes against the leather seat. “Let the relaxing and trusting commence.”

  We don’t have far to go. I make the three-mile drive to the outskirts of town and then another mile past the on-ramp to the interstate. When I pull into a desolate parking lot and the pink neon lights come into view, Abigail perks up.

  “Welcome to Abby’s,” I announce, putting my car into park. “Home of the best burger in Montana.”

  “Shut the front door!” Abigail laughs. She hops from my truck and walks toward the front of the diner with a look of awe on her face.

  I climb out and follow behind. She spins around and pins me with her signature smile, the one that reaches the deepest parts of my heart.

  The one I’m falling for.

  “This is crazy!”

  “Wait until you taste the food. It’s delicious.” I grab her hand and lead her toward the front door.

  “I don’t believe this. I’ve been to Cunningham Falls twice to visit Hannah, and she never mentioned this place.”

  “She probably doesn’t know about it. Abby’s is sort of a hometown gem. Unless you were born and raised here, or know someone who was, you’ve likely never heard of it. Most people don’t drive out this way.”

  “It is sort of an odd spot for a diner,” she says, looking around. “It’s the middle of nowhere.”

  A bell chimes when I open the front door. “There’s a sweet story about the location.”

&nbs
p; “Tell me everything,” she says, walking in ahead of me.

  I nod to the only waitress in the joint and follow Abigail to a booth in the corner.

  “This place is wonderful,” she says.

  My eyes follow hers around the room, seeing everything for the first time. The floor is black and white checkered. The booths are metallic and red. Old Coca Cola décor lines the walls, and then there’s the very best piece, the jukebox, which is currently playing Dion & The Belmonts’ “A Teenager in Love,” which is fitting for the story of how this diner came to life.

  “The story goes a little somethin’ like this…” I begin. “John Truman married his childhood sweetheart, Abby Tallman. The first house they lived in as a married couple sat right here—”

  “Like, right here, right here?”

  “Right here, right here,” I confirm. “In this exact spot. They spent fifteen years in the house, where they had four children. John was a carpenter, and Abby was a teacher.”

  “I love her already. I bet she was wonderful.”

  “Abby loved to cook and bake, and it was her dream to open her own restaurant. She never fulfilled that dream because one evening the house caught fire. John was at work when it happened, and everyone made it out except Abby. She died saving her children’s lives.”

  Abigail sucks in a breath and covers her mouth with her hands.

  “John was devastated. Abby was the love of his life. He never remarried, and he finished raising their children down the road in an old farmhouse. When his kids grew up and moved away, he spent his life’s savings to build this diner.”

  A tear rolls down Abigail’s cheek. “He fulfilled her dream for her. That’s the worst and best story I’ve ever heard.”

  I nod. “It’s a tragic story, but also very beautiful. There’s a picture of Abby on the wall in the hallway.”

  “What about John? Is he still alive?”

  “Oh yeah, he’s still kickin’. He’s got a bad hip, so he isn’t here as much as he’d like to be, but her memory lives on, and that’s all he really wanted.”

  “If I die tomorrow, will you open a turtle sanctuary in my name?”