by Fiona Lowe
She ground her teeth. Living at home was going to kill her.
—
BEAU had been roping cattle all morning. As the sweet sound of the lunch bell rang out, he pulled his neckerchief away from his face. A whoop of delight went up from the crews in the portable corral, welcoming the break in the branding, vaccinating and ear tagging of the calves.
He rode out of the corral, following the other cowboys toward the line of horse rigs and outfits that declared it was a branding day. Swinging out of the saddle, he tethered his horse in some sweet grass. “Enjoy that, Scotch,” he said, patting the horse’s neck. “You deserve it.”
Ty Garver slapped him on the back as they started walking toward the food line. “Not a bad morning’s work, Beau.”
“It’s going okay.”
“I hope it goes as sweet next weekend at my place.” He pushed his hat back. “I thought Katrina was roping today.”
“Nope. She’s on food.”
As if on cue, Katrina’s voice sang out toward the growing crowd. “Y’all need to use the hand sanitizer before you eat.”
“Aw, do we have to?” a group of starving teen boys moaned.
“No. Not at all. If you want diarrhea, then you go right ahead and skip it.”
As the teens slouched back down the line, Ty said, “She sounds snaky.”
Beau nodded. “She wanted to . . . ride but Dad put . . . her on food because . . . she hasn’t roped . . . in so long.”
Ty pumped sanitizer into his hand. “Hey, Katrina,” he called out before leaving the line and walking over to her. “Can you rope for me next weekend?”
Beau moved along the line, his stomach rumbling in anticipation of the pulled beef that Bonnie always cooked on branding day.
“Hi, Beau. Do you want some bread to go with your beef?” Shannon Bauer, her blond hair scraped back in a ponytail and a smile on her face, was holding out a roll toward him.
His throat tightened, strangling all sound. Why the hell hadn’t someone, anyone, in his family mentioned Shannon was coming? That way he’d have had some warning.
He sucked in a breath, squeezing it past a fast-closing throat that was intent on blocking all his words. “Sh-annon.” It came out deep and censorious. Just great. He sounded like a disapproving minister.
Her eyes sparkled brightly. “I can’t believe I’m here on a real ranch. I’ve always thought that cowboys wearing chaps and roping cows only happened in the movies or on dude ranches for the tourists. You know, like City Slickers or Rawhide?”
Just like the first time he’d met her, her words rushed out quickly and enthusiastically, in stark contrast to every hard-fought sound he ever made.
Despite phrasing a question, she didn’t pause for a reply; in fact, she started to sing softly in a very lyrical voice. “Don’t try to understand ’em, just rope, throw and brand ’em.” She laughed self-consciously and her cheeks pinked up.
She looked utterly kissable. “Yes, ma’am.” Seriously? That’s all you can come up with?
But anything more and his stutter would take over. Fewer words were safer.
A slight crease marred her forehead and her gaze drifted down from his face, seeming to linger midchest before her chin jerked up. “You boys are mighty fine at what you do, but I guess you’ve all been riding a horse since you could walk.”
He didn’t count the years before he came to Coulee Creek. “Pretty much.” Say something else. “Enjoying . . . the day?” Geez, McCade, she already told you that.
“Very much. I just wish my son was, too.”
You have a son? The only good thing about having a stutter was there was no chance in hell of ever spontaneously saying something out loud that should have stayed unsaid.
“That’s Hunter over there.” She inclined her head toward a boy who looked about thirteen or fourteen.
She has a kid who’s a teen. The kid’s age was even more jaw dropping because Shannon didn’t look much older than Katrina.
For whatever reason, the boy was sitting apart from the other half dozen teens his age. He had his head down over his lunch plate and earbuds stuck in his ears. Everything about him said don’t bother me.
Beau was struck by his suspiciously clean clothes. “Didn’t he want . . .”—breathe in, breathe out—“. . . to be . . . in a crew?”
“I’m certain he did, but I’m his mother and it’s my job to ruin his life.”
He blinked. “Ex-cuse me?”
Her shoulders rose and fell. “I baked some of the desserts and I needed Hunter’s help unloading the pickup. By the time we’d done that, it seemed everyone had a job to do. I suggested he just go join a group, but he said he doesn’t know any of the boys. I guess they’re ranch kids, so they don’t hang out at the skate park after school.”
The kid looked both miserable and shitty, and it stirred memories. “I’ll find . . . him a crew.”
“You’d do that?” Surprise and skepticism collided on her pretty face before a smile broke through. As she served him up a huge plate of meat and potato salad, she said, “Thank you so much.”
“No worries.” He found himself grinning back at her, feeling as exhilarated as if he’d just torn down the pasture on the back of Scotch and roped a runaway cow. He decided he definitely liked it when she smiled. It made her amazing blue-on-blue eyes glisten like sunshine on water and it lifted the weariness that clung to her.
“Stop hogging the line, Beau,” Kirk said suddenly from behind him. “Move along, son. Some of us are starving.”
“Hi, Kirk,” Shannon said, turning her high-wattage beam onto his uncle. “Do you want some bread to go with your beef?”
That smile wasn’t special for you. She smiles at everyone that way.
His rush of elation deflated as fast as it had come, leaving him feeling foolish. The way he always felt around women. He spun abruptly on his heel and headed over to the boy to honor a promise.
—
“DOC, you’re way too good at that,” Dillon McCade said with admiration as Josh quickly castrated yet another calf. “It makes a guy nervous.”
Josh laughed. He’d spent the day vaccinating and castrating calves and he’d lost count how many scrotal sacs he’d sliced open. “Best keep on my good side, then.”
“Hell, yeah.” Dillon released the final calf of the day and slapped Josh on the shoulder. “Job done and now it’s beer o’clock.”
Josh glanced around to see all the other crews had packed up and drifted toward a couple of pickups with coolers in the back. Not normally a beer drinker, he was hot, he was sweaty and the idea of a cold beer made total sense. He pulled off his work gloves and started walking. “Sounds good to me.”
“You made a pretty good ranch hand today, Doc,” said Lyle, one of the cowboys, as he passed him a beer. “You’ve earned yourself some prairie oysters.”
A couple of the guys slapped him on the back and a cheer went up around the group. They raised their long necks in his direction.
For the first time since arriving in Bear Paw, Josh got a sense of camaraderie, and the idea of oysters made his mouth water. “That’s great. I didn’t know you cultivated freshwater oysters in the lakes around here.”
“You might want to try cowboy caviar, too.” Lyle turned and yelled, “Hey, Katrina, the doc loves oysters and wants to taste some of Montana’s finest.”
The crowd parted and suddenly Katrina was standing in front of him holding a platter of dip and chips. It was the first time he’d been this close to her all day.
Unlike all the other days when he’d seen her, today she looked like a cowgirl. From midcalf, her jeans were inside the most colorful and decoratively stitched cowgirl boots he’d ever seen, and her checked western shirt was tucked in behind a large silver belt buckle at her waist. All of it was neat and tidy and showed off her hourglass figure. The only part of her that wasn’t controlled was her hair, the pink flush to her cheeks and her very kissable mouth. The jolt of lust slugged him hard, only t
his time he didn’t fight it.
Her mouth twitched. “You want to try prairie oysters?”
“Sure, why not? Do you broil them or serve them raw?”
A few of the men laughed.
“How do you like them best, Doc?” another cowboy called out.
“I prefer them raw with some lemon juice and salt.”
“Doc, we’re sure gonna love watching you eat ’em like that,” Lyle spluttered as laughter made beer squirt out his nose.
The rest of the men collapsed into gales of laughter. He kept hearing the words lemon juice and raw, and then the laughter would increase in volume again. He glanced at Katina, who was sucking her lips in as if that would stop her from laughing out loud, too, and her entire body was vibrating.
So much for camaraderie and a sense of belonging—he’d just been made the butt of an in-joke. He hated the feeling of isolation that came with it, and it rammed home how much he missed his old life, the rush and buzz of a big city hospital and living with people who understood him.
People like Ashley and your father?
Yeah, right. Even his subconscious was punking him today.
Feeling foolish merged with strands of betrayal that Katrina had willingly entered into the joke and effectively put him on the outside. He took the platter out of her hands, put it on the top of a cooler and then placed his hand gently under her elbow. Propelling her away from the group, who were now laughing so hard they were holding on to one another for support, he ground out, “Want to fill me in on the joke? It’s obviously very entertaining.”
Her restraint finally broke and her musical laughter rained over him, pulling at his core of loneliness and disconnection.
“Prairie oysters are calves’ testicles. They’re also called cowboy’s caviar, Montana tendergroin, swinging beef and calf fries.”
“Very sophisticated humor,” he said, not able to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
“Oh, come on, Josh. Cowboy up. It’s just a bit of fun. I bet you’ve pranked first-year interns.”
He looked back at the guys who’d returned to drinking their beers and wondered if he’d overreacted. “So they pull that joke on every unsuspecting newbie?”
“They do.” Deep smile lines bracketed her oh-so-sexy mouth. “You have to admit, it’s pretty funny.”
“Hilarious,” he said dryly, enjoying the way she needed to tilt her head to look at him. She had a very pretty neck.
She laughed again. “Especially when you said you liked to eat them raw.”
His stomach revolted at the thought. “I’d like to see them eat gonads.”
“You will tonight.”
He scanned her face for more teasing. “You can’t be serious?”
She swallowed and then abruptly stepped back from him as if she’d just remembered something. She started walking. “I’m very serious.”
He easily matched her pace. “So how do you serve these prairie oysters?”
“We bread them and fry them. I’m not a huge fan but it’s something everyone tries once.”
“In that case, I guess I better eat some tonight. I don’t suppose there’s any way you can cook them but serve them so they look raw?”
Surprise lit across her face. “And prank those boys right back? I’ll see if I can think of something.” They’d reached a gate and she opened it.
He walked through and turned to watch her close it, enjoying the fact she had to lean over to do it. She joined him and he noticed she was definitely working on keeping more than an arm’s length distance from him. Every time he moved closer, she adjusted her position so there was definitely no chance of any accidental touching. Damn it.
She shoved her hands in her pockets as if she were reading his mind. “So how did you find your first branding day?”
First the physical distance and now neutral conversation. He kinda missed the snarky and distracted Katrina from the bar. “Loud. Who knew cows bellowed louder than the bass at a rock concert.”
She laughed again and then seemed to stop herself as if having a good time wasn’t an option. “Like all good mothers, the cows don’t like it when their babies are taken away from them.”
“It’s not just the cows. There’s the roar of the propane, the squeals of the calves, the neighing of the horses and the general yelling. I always thought country life was quiet, but it’s as noisy as a Bears’ game.”
“I’m glad we’re able to surprise you.”
She walked into a barn and he followed her. The smell of hay hit him the moment he stepped inside, and he realized he was actually inside a stable. Six horses raised their heads and gave him a long, curious look. He recognized four of them—they were the horses Katrina’s father, brothers and sister had ridden today.
Katrina walked over to a horse he didn’t know. It was brown and white with a long white slash down the center of its face, and it immediately nuzzled her neck. He instantly wanted to trade places with the horse.
He crossed his arms to stop himself from reaching out and touching her. “Your horse?”
“Kinda. Like Boy, he belongs to the ranch, but when I’m home, both Boy and Benji are mine again.”
“So, why weren’t you riding today?”
She sighed as she walked toward a stack of baled hay. “Familial responsibilities and expectations.”
He knew all about that. “Why were you avoiding me today?”
“I wasn’t avoiding you.” But the startled look in her now wide green eyes gave her away. “I was busy and so were you.”
“Katrina,” he said, shaking his head. “Every time you got within three feet of me you made a ninety-degree turn.”
“I did not.” She cut the twine on the hay bale.
“Yeah, you did. And we’ve just walked a half mile with you dodging and weaving to keep a good foot and a half between us.”
She snapped the pocketknife closed. “Get over yourself.”
He laughed. “There’s nothing to get over. All I’m saying is you don’t have to turn yourself inside out to avoid me. I don’t have a problem with the fact that you kissed me.”
She pointed an accusing finger at him. “Let’s get this straight, Josh. You kissed me; I was the one who pulled back.”
He stepped in close. “Sweetheart, we both know you took my tentative kiss and turned it into every man’s fantasy.”
She shook her head so fast that her hair flicked his chest. “No. I was the one who stopped it.”
“Because we were in the clinic.” He brushed her hair behind her ear. “But we’re not at the clinic now.”
Her eyes shone with so many emotions that they overlapped one another and he couldn’t decipher any of them except desire. It dominated and cast the rest in shadow. He waited for her to say or do something to tell him exactly what she wanted, but she stayed silent, so he lowered his mouth to hers.
He tasted salt, beer and restraint. He lightly nipped her lower lip.
She moaned, rose on her toes and opened her mouth under his, taking him in.
Thank you.
The memory of their other kiss fueled this one, and he explored her mouth, revisiting the places that made her kiss him hard in return. For nights he’d fantasized about touching her, and now he could. His hands spanned her waist and he tugged her in against him. Her breasts rose and fell against his chest, and her arms rose and she linked her hands around his neck.
God, she felt amazing. He wanted to feel more.
His hands tugged her blouse out of her jeans, and then he was touching hot, smooth skin. His fingers burned with her heat, and he explored her one vertebra at a time, pressing, kneading, feeling, until his fingers discovered her bra catch. Once he’d prided himself on being able to undo a bra with one flick of his fingers, but it had been a while. Ashley had used sex as a weapon.
He found the hooks and twisted. Nothing.
He hated looking clumsy. He tried a second time, adding a flick.
Thankfully, the bra opened and his
hand sought the prize. He cupped round, hot, heavy flesh, loving the weight of it in his palm. Picturing what her breasts might look like, his thumb scraped across her already hard and raised nipple.
She cried out, the sound reverberating in his mouth.
Every ounce of blood in his body headed south. She was so amazingly responsive, and every part of him wanted her. He wanted to see her naked, touch her and explore every inch of her body. His other hand reached to pop the buttons on her blouse.
She pulled away.
Jesus, not again. He was so hard he could barely see straight, let alone construct a coherent thought, and everything from her bright pink cheeks, her glazed eyes and her heaving breasts said she wanted him as much as he wanted her. “Katrina, you’re killing me.”
She licked her lips. “Are you married, Josh?”
“No.”
She nailed him with a look that could have seared meat. “You sure about that?”
Indignation slugged him. “Of course I’m damn well sure.”
“Engaged, then?”
He shook his head. “No. What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?”
“Girlfriend back east?”
“Not anymore.” It came out harsher than he’d intended.
Her head tilted and her mussed hair swung sideways. “So you’re single?”
A thread of panic ran through him that she was interviewing him as a potential partner. He wasn’t looking for anything more than the roll in the hay he was hoping to get, but he wasn’t having sex under false pretenses. “Categorically single. More importantly, Katrina, I’m intending to stay that way.”
She smiled a wide and unexpected smile. “Excellent.”
Stepping back in, she pressed her hands against his chest before rising up on her toes. “You passed.” She kissed him hard.
Silver spots danced behind his eyes, and all he wanted to do was kiss her until they both collapsed in the hay. I passed? His brain kept snagging on the word and he pulled away. “Excuse me? What did I pass?”
“Everything.” Her hands tangled in his hair, her fingers playing in the curls as she pulled his head back to hers. “Even the fact you’re not a surgeon.”
The Stantons are surgeons. His father’s censorious voice crashed into his head, and he set her back from him, his hands gripping the tops of her arms. “I’m not a surgeon? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”