by Fiona Lowe
Katrina threw dish towels at Megan and Dillon and turned on the hot water faucet.
“The doctor looks to be in his thirties,” her father said as if his conversation hadn’t been truncated by squabbling adult children. “I swear they’re getting younger.”
Bonnie laughed. “I think that means we’re getting older, Kirk.”
“Never.” He leaned across the table and kissed her. “We’ve got years ahead of us still.”
Katrina smiled. She remembered at thirteen being acutely embarrassed when her parents showed any public displays of affection. Now she envied them their deep and abiding love for each other built on a foundation of respect. And she envied their honesty with each other. They were a team in every sense of the word. She’d never gotten close to having that sort of a relationship with another person.
An unexpected ache pressed heavy in her chest, and she had to fist her hand to prevent it from rising to rub it. What on earth was the matter with her tonight? She didn’t need a man in her life to be happy, and given her track record, she sure as hell didn’t need another one to make her unhappy.
“It’s a shame they couldn’t hire a female doctor,” Bonnie said, sounding disappointed.
Katrina shut off the water and glanced at her mom. “You’re never sick, so why the worry?”
“Oh, I was thinking more of the young mothers in the county,” she said quickly, waving her hand as if that explained everything. “Sometimes it’s easier to talk to a woman.”
Kirk and Beau exchanged a look of horror that the conversation was about to stray into the terrifying territory of women’s bits and pieces, and Kirk said hurriedly, “And before you ask, I took note. No sign of a wedding ring on his finger and he seems pleasant enough.”
Megan, a literature student, elbowed Katrina in the ribs. “A single man in his thirties with good financial prospects. Maybe you should wear a dress to work in the diner tomorrow instead of your jeans.”
“I’m not looking,” she said more curtly than she’d planned.
Megan looked at her far too intently for comfort. Katrina immediately went into damage control and addressed the room. “Why am I always the one supposedly looking for a man? What about Beau? He’s still single and he’s older, but no one’s hounding him to settle down.”
“I don’t think Beau’s looking for a guy, unless there’s something you’re not telling us, bro?” Dillon said, flicking him with a dishcloth.
Beau laughed easily and put Dillon in a headlock before dragging him toward the door. “For th-that, you’re helping me . . . check fences. While there’s still . . . light.”
“Hey, you’re poaching the help,” Katrina protested, but the screen door was already slamming shut behind them.
Her parents headed out to the double rocker on the porch just as Megan’s phone rang. She checked the caller ID and her eyes lit up. She immediately dropped the dish towel. “I have to take this,” she said with all the drama of a just-post-teen.
As she walked out of the kitchen, Katrina heard her say, “Hi. This is unexpected,” in the throaty voice she always used when she was talking to a guy she liked.
The old kitchen clock ticked loudly on the mantel as Katrina plunged her hands into the white, frothy suds. She stared out the kitchen window, watching the moths flying toward the light, and she fought the melancholy that she was almost thirty, stuck living with her family who had her placed firmly in the role of eldest daughter, and now she was unable to move into her own place.
She gave a wry smile. If the new doctor had been the woman her mother was hoping for—and that hope still confounded her—then perhaps she could have suggested a house-share arrangement. But there was no way on God’s green earth that she was ever suggesting that idea to Dr. Josh Stanton. She could just imagine his reaction.
Thinking about him exploded the memory of his naked chest in her mind. It was hard not to think about it, given it had always been at eye level this afternoon. He was so much taller than she was, so unless she tilted her head all the way back, her gaze had constantly been facing his delineated pectoral muscles with their light dusting of sandy brown hair.
Soaking him in. Wondering what they felt like.
She pulled her suddenly itching hands out of the dishwater, feeling hot and disoriented. Flicking on the faucet, she ran cool water against her wrists and sighed. Thinking about Josh had to stop, because no matter how decadently sexy he was, the antipathy that ran between them was palpable. It had disaster written all over it, and she was not falling back into bad habits. Coming home to Bear Paw was supposed to protect her from that.
She plunged the greasy baking dish into the suds, thankful that the day was almost over and that tomorrow was a new day. A perfectly normal day that had absolutely no reason to involve a doctor.
—
JOSH bounced his leg up and down and stared at the pile of hospital forms in front of him, certain his already tender eyes would bleed. Day two in Bear Paw was proving to be similar to day one, but instead of paint and the difficult Katrina with the very kissable lips to frustrate him—lips he was so not thinking about—he had jovial Floyd Coulson, the hospital administrator.
“So complete those forms and then you’ll be good to go,” Floyd said, handing him a pen. “How’s the house?”
Where to start? “It’s not in town.”
Floyd beamed. “Isn’t that great? We thought you’d prefer it out there away from the hustle. You know, get some peace to recharge at the end of each day. We don’t want you to burn out on us.”
Somehow, Josh managed to cut off a snort of incredulity, but it caught at his throat and turned into a cough. From the little he’d seen of Bear Paw, there was nothing close to hustle, and the only bustle he’d seen was one car stopped at the traffic signal when he crossed. Last night, out at the house, it had been the eerie, howling noise of the coyotes that had kept him awake until all hours. Give him the soothing rumble of the EL anytime.
“The thing is, Floyd,” he said, leaning forward, “so I can best meet the needs of the town, it’s probably important that I live close by the hospital.”
“That’s a caring thought, son, but the fact is, Katrina McCade’s house is the only rental available at the moment.”
He tried not to grind his teeth. “It needs work.”
Floyd shrugged. “Looks like a sound house to me, but make a list of what needs doing and give it to Walt or directly to Katrina. She’s an obliging young woman and I’m sure she’ll organize the repairs.”
Obliging? Were they talking about the same person?
The memory of her standing, glaring at him with her arms crossed over her breasts and more than a hint of rounded, smooth flesh peeking out from the top of her blouse slugged him hard. His body instantly reacted with joyful anticipation. God. Damn. It.
“If something becomes available in town,” he said rather too loudly as he tried to get his body back under control, “I’m moving.”
Floyd’s friendly smile dimmed slightly at his curt tone. “Noted.”
Josh pushed on with his grievances and tapped the paper in front of him. “The job description said board-certified ER physician for the hospital, and that’s what I am. Nowhere did it mention a primary care physician.”
“Well, son, this is Bear Paw.”
Josh was really starting to dislike this expression. Floyd had used it more than once. “And that means exactly . . . ?”
“That Bear Paw needs both types of doctor but can only afford one.”
Hell, the whole point of specializing in ER was so that he didn’t have to do primary care and deal with a patient or their family for longer than one shift. Not that he wasn’t sympathetic—he was. He just did it better in short, sharp bursts. Triage, treat to stabilize and refer on, was his motto. “And if I refuse to work at the clinic?”
Floyd leaned back, pressing his fingers into steeples, looking for the first time like a real administrator. “You’ll be breaking your contract
, which, as I outlined, comes with some hefty financial penalties.”
And coming to Bear Paw wasn’t hefty penalty enough? “So basically, I’m screwed.”
Floyd shook his head, a fatherly expression on his face. “No, son, you’re our new physician and you’ll be dividing your time between the clinic and the ER.”
“How the hell is that going to work?” he asked, thinking about a waiting room full of patients when he had to dash to the ER.
“It’s real close,” Floyd said proudly, rising to his feet. “Come on, I’ll show you. You just have to walk across the grass, and in winter we keep the path salted and shoveled for you.”
Incredulity whipped him so hard his head spun. “I meant the patients. What do the patients do if I’m caught up in the ER?”
“They’re used to waiting,” Floyd said matter-of-factly, walking out of the office.
Waiting? He leaped out of his chair to follow the man who in essence was his boss. He hated being accountable to a number cruncher who had no clue about the needs of patients. “But that could be hours,” he said, catching up as they exited the building.
If Floyd had heard him, he chose not to respond. Instead, he pointed out the ER entrance before crossing a grassed square that had been created by the hospital and two other buildings.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Floyd raised an arm to encompass the scene. “The town raised the money for the picnic tables and bench seats. Makes a nice place for the patients to get some fresh air.”
Josh, who was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he was expected to split himself in half to do the job of two doctors, barely noticed the cheery flower beds. He did, however, see a man in a wheelchair smoking a cigarette. Fresh air, my ass.
Just as they reached the door of a squat, flat-roofed building, Floyd’s phone started ringing. He checked the screen and with an apologetic smile said, “I’m sorry. I have to take this but you go right on ahead. They’re expecting you.”
Josh took that to mean his staff, and he pushed open the door, stepping into a waiting room. Two framed and faded prints of the Rocky Mountains hung crookedly facing each other, and the rest of the wall space was taken up with health posters that urged people to quit smoking, lose weight and have their eyes checked. The reception desk had the usual raised counter, and he caught sight of a computer screen but there was no sign of a receptionist. He could, however, see a black hoodie slung over a chair. Kitty-corner to the reception desk was a large basket overflowing with toys, and in the center of the room a small stack of dog-eared magazines sat on a low table.
Matching green upright chairs—all evenly spaced—bordered three sides of the room, making it like most every other waiting room he’d ever seen. The chatter in the room faded as twenty sets of eyes swung straight to him, their expressions a mixture of interest and caution.
With no one available to formally introduce him, Josh took the situation into his own hands. After all, he was the physician they’d been waiting for, and he had experience addressing the media from his time in the ER having treated some of the more infamous gang members for gunshot wounds. Clapping his hands together as a sign that an announcement was about to be made, he said with appropriate gravitas, “Hello. I’m Doctor Stanton from Chicago’s Mercy Hospital and I’m in Bear Paw for—”
“Has Randall finally quit to fish?” an elderly lady asked in surprise.
Josh wasn’t used to being interrupted. He opened his mouth to reply but another woman got in first. “Lynn didn’t mention it when I met her at the grocery store the other day.”
The man next to her adjusted his glasses and gave Josh a long, hard stare. “Are you a real doctor or just one of those pretend ones they usually send us?”
“Physician’s assistant,” someone added in clarification. “He doesn’t look old enough to be a doctor.”
“Of course I’m a doctor,” Josh said incredulously, still trying to come to grips with the way the conversation was flying off on tangents. It was like being on a stage with a cast who’d gone off script. “I’m a qualified ER physician.”
“Oh, I used to like that George Clooney,” a woman who looked to be in her sixties said with a dreamy smile.
Now he was seriously in the twilight zone. “He’s an actor,” Josh said firmly, his voice sounding overly loud. “I’m board-certified. A real doctor.”
The room went silent and the geriatric inquisition stared at him unhappily. This wasn’t going quite like the ticker tape parade he’d imagined.
“I’m quite aware that Mr. Clooney’s an actor,” the woman said with a sniff. “He made a fine doctor.”
The inference was clear—Josh was coming a distant second to a Hollywood actor who’d starred in the role fifteen years ago. What the hell sort of a town had he come to?
“No one can live up to George, Doris,” said a new voice behind him.
He turned to see a young woman wearing baggy scrubs, smiling at him.
“That’s very true, Millie,” Doris replied. “I guess for now we’ll have to give Doctor Stanton the benefit of the doubt. Mind you, he’s got a look of a younger George with his height and curly hair.” Doris sounded slightly mollified.
“I’ll do my best,” Josh said, uncertain exactly how to proceed. Right now he’d take a patient with a gunshot wound or an off-his-face meth addict rather than face this group of critical seniors. He was used to being judged on his clinical skills, not his ability to look like an actor.
The woman who looked to be in her twenties stuck out her hand. “I’m Millie Switkowski, nurse practitioner, and I’m your go-to person here at the clinic. Welcome to Bear Paw, Doctor Stanton. I’m looking forward to working with you.”
He gripped her hand like it was a life preserver in a choppy sea. Finally, he’d met someone who seemed professional and competent. Hell, she was the first person he’d met in Bear Paw who seemed normal.
The memory of dancing green eyes, a sassy mouth and a sweet behind flooded him, and he immediately tried to shut it out. Katrina McCade wasn’t normal—she was difficult, bitter, bossy and annoying. And as sexy as hell.
Someone coughed—a wet and hacking noise that was the insidious sound of heart failure. It immediately focused him. The town and its population might be as foreign to him as Kazakhstan, and he may not have gotten the welcome he’d anticipated, but this he knew. He swung round briskly. “Whoever owns that cough, I’ll see you first.”
Chapter 4
Katrina usually worked the breakfast shift at the Big Foot diner and then had the middle of the day to herself before pulling beers at Leroy’s for a couple of hours in the early evening. Today was different. She was working until midafternoon because Shannon Bauer, the owner of the diner and her boss, had a meeting at the middle school and she’d asked Katrina to cover.
At times, the diner unofficially doubled as the community center, and today a Mommy-and-Me group had taken over the couches Shannon had in the corner for casual coffee. Between the babies who were practicing walking around the coffee table and the ones asleep in their strollers, it was a bit of an obstacle course as Katrina delivered coffee and freshly baked muffins.
She’d always loved babies and had been more than happy to cuddle them and breathe in their sweet smell of milk. To her, that distinctive scent had always represented hope and joy, but just lately holding a baby filled her with regret. Truth be told, everything about her life at the moment filled her with varying levels of regret.
The bell over the door tinkled and a woman walked in pushing a stroller. She stopped and stared. “Oh my God. Katrina McCade? I thought you’d left town and were never coming back?”
Katrina’s stomach sank. Eight years ago when she’d left town in a blaze of I’ve outgrown Bear Paw, she’d said things to Chrissie Stapleton that she wasn’t proud of. She and Chrissie had been friends in high school but they’d shared different ambitions. Neither of them had understood the other’s position, and hurtful things had been aired.
Plastering a smile on her face with the intention of starting over, she said, “Hi, Chrissie. Mom told me the good news. Congratulations.”
Chrissie took a pointed look at Katrina’s left hand. “Back in Bear Paw and not even engaged?”
She hated the traitorous and totally irrational feelings of failure that threaded their way through her. Not that she’d ever made it a total life goal to get married and have babies, but then again, she hadn’t ruled it out, either.
She thought of Brent and forced the rising bile back down her throat. “Not everyone wants to get married, Chrissie.”
The beautician raised her perfectly waxed brows. “That’s true. I just didn’t think you were one of those people.”
“Coffee, Chrissie?” she said, straining to sound composed. “You take a seat with the other moms and I’ll bring it right over.”
As she made the coffee she reminded herself that she was not defined by a lack of a husband, partner or boyfriend. She was a modern, independent woman and she was in charge of her own destiny.
How’s that working for you living back at home with your folks?
Shut. Up.
She picked up the coffeepot and did a round of the diner for those patrons who’d bought the bottomless cup. The bell over the door rang again and she turned to greet the patron. “H—”
Her voice failed as a flash of heat raced through her, taunting her and reminding her exactly how much she missed having sex.
Josh strode quickly through the door, filling the diner with his height, his breadth and his restless energy.
Light gray eyes—eyes that no longer looked like a red trail map—met hers. A flare of surprise burned in them along with something that made her shiver in a very good way. As fast as it had glowed brightly, it faded away, leaving her wondering. In its place was the more familiar and slightly detached gaze.
She swallowed hard, determined to sound cool, calm and collected. “Doctor Stanton.”