by Fiona Lowe
He’d gripped her arms, lifted her up and checked she was okay before hitting her with his devastatingly gorgeous smile—the one that radiated from his full lips, creased his tan cheeks and crinkled the edges of his unusual dark blue eyes. He’d quipped something about things moving fast for a first date, which had disarmed her all-consuming embarrassment and made her crush-filled brain totally misunderstand what he meant. When they landed and had handed over their patients to the Seattle hospital staff, she’d suggested they have a drink.
“Great idea, Mils,” he’d said with his sexy Australian diphthong, sounding as if he truly believed the words. Her heart had soared, flipped and high-fived all at once only to plummet to her feet when he’d continued with, “but I’ll have to take a rain check.”
Of course he would.
A rain check that never came. A rain check that made her puce with embarrassment whenever she thought about it.
With his surfer-dude good looks, he was likely very used to nurses—heck, probably all women with a pulse—throwing themselves at him. Only she wasn’t usually one of those nurses or women, because she knew he was so far out of her league it wasn’t worth playing the game. She still blamed the fog caused by low blood sugar along with the addition of a post-emergency adrenaline rush for her out-of-character invitation, because she’d stopped asking out guys in her league a long time ago.
As a twenty-first-century woman, she knew she had the right to ask a guy out, but since giving up her party lifestyle and casual hookups, things had changed and dating had gotten difficult. After a series of flat-out no’s, a few disastrous dates and two truly awful one-night stands, she’d learned from her mistakes. She didn’t ask guys out, period. As a result, her current dating average was zip.
“It’s too bad Will can’t make it, Josh,” she said, trying to sound more sincere than relieved. “But I’m pumped to be your best man, and I promise to get you to the church on time.”
“You’re a good friend,” he said sincerely.
That’s me. Everyone’s good buddy. “Hey, it’s way too early to be getting all touchy-feely on me,” she said, climbing onto a chair as much to start the party as to run from her thoughts. Sticking her fingers in her mouth, she blew hard and the piercing whistle silenced the bar.
“Aw, Millie,” a voice from down near the pool table called out, “you’re not gonna make a speech, are you?”
“Hey, Doc, I told you not to choose a chick to be your best man,” Trent Dattner said on a long-suffering sigh.
“Millie’s not a girl,” Dane Aitken heckled before turning and giving Trent a high five.
“Ha-ha.” Millie rolled her eyes, surprised by the dull ache that spread through her. “And to think that Comedy Central hasn’t signed you up yet. For that smart-ass comment, Dane, the bull gets set on high for you.”
The cowboys in the room cheered, knowing full well the sanitation worker wouldn’t last three seconds in the saddle.
She raised her glass. “We’ve got food, we’ve got beer and we’ve got a bull. Let’s give Josh a Bear Paw bachelor night to remember.”
DR. Will Bartlett was on a mission. He was used to missions—he’d flown a lot of miles doing emergency medical air retrieval in both Australia and Montana, but this particular mission was very different. It was also proving to be a hell of a lot harder than intubating a critical patient at twenty thousand feet.
“Brandon, mate, we’re talking twenty-four hours.”
The physician tapped a medication order onto the tablet computer in his hand. “You know better than anyone that a lot can happen in twenty-four hours.”
A lot could happen in twenty-four seconds—hell, his life had been irreversibly changed in less time than that. Convincing Brandon to swap shifts was his last hope, as everyone else who could have possibly covered his schedule had ironclad commitments. The key, though, was making it look like he was doing Brandon McBain a favor, not the other way around, because if people sensed weakness, they zeroed in on it.
“Only last week you were whinging”—at Brandon’s blank look, Will immediately translated the Australian—“whining to me that you were sick of treating patients with the flu and prescription drug addicts trying to get meds. You said you wanted more of a challenge and this is it.” He tapped his own chest twice with his fist. “I’m offering you the chance of heart-pumping, adrenaline-racing trauma, the crack cocaine of all emergency physicians.”
“It’s tempting.”
Yes!
“. . . but I just got a date for tonight with that pretty brunette from Orthopedics.”
Will knew the intern—he’d enjoyed flirting with her at a party, but she had the look in her eyes of a woman seeking commitment. That was his red card, so he hadn’t pursued it any further. “Jenna will understand. That’s the whole point of dating inside the medical community—they get that work interferes. Promise her a rain check.”
Brandon snorted and shot Will a scowl. “That’s your line, not mine. I actually like her and I want to date her. Unlike you, with your weird accent that seems to make every woman in this hospital think you’re Jesse Spencer and Hugh Jackman rolled into one, I had to work damn hard to get her to say yes.” He walked toward the nurses’ station. “Anyway, I thought you didn’t like weddings.”
He easily matched the shorter man’s stride. “I haven’t got anything against them as long as I’m not the groom. Josh Stanton’s a good bloke and I’d like to be there. How about I work your next two weekends? That’s more than fair. Whad’ya say?”
“I dunno.” Brandon stowed the tablet in the charger. “What if Jenna sees changing the date as a chance to cancel?”
He tried not to sigh. Brandon was a good doctor, but he was hopeless with women, and his dating strikeout rate in the hospital was legendary. Maybe Will could get his swap by sweetening the deal and helping the guy out. “You know, if you tell Jenna that you’re delaying your date to help me attend a wedding, you’ll automatically be more attractive to her.”
Brandon finally gave Will his full attention. “How do you figure that?”
“All women love weddings, so by helping me get there you’re doing your bit for love. Plus, I’ll pay for the flowers you’re going to send her as an apology for changing the date and I’ll get you a table at Annie’s. I know the maître d’.”
“Oh, that’s good.” Brandon’s eyes lit up with a calculating light. “If you throw in dating tips so I get a second date with Jenna, I’ll swap.”
“Jeez, McBain. I’ve already given you more than you deserve.”
Brandon casually opened a candy bar. “Exactly how much do you want to be the best man at this wedding?”
The thought of discussing dating’s do’s and don’ts with Brandon was up there with sitting in the dentist’s chair with the sound of the drill buzzing in his ears. Was getting to this wedding really worth it?
You know it is. Josh Stanton was a good mate—one of the few people he’d really connected with this last year in Montana. Even though Josh was a Yank, he totally related to Will’s feelings of discombobulation when he’d arrived from Australia to work in Montana. He’d told Will that for a guy from New York and Chicago, small-town Montana was as strange and different for him as if he’d been the one to move countries. Plus, they shared a passion for emergency medicine, and with Bear Paw’s proximity to Glacier National Park and accident-prone tourists, they’d worked together a lot. Being at the wedding was an act of friendship that he wanted to make.
Knowing he’d probably live to regret it, because McBain would likely continue to seek him out for dating advice long after the favor was done, he clapped his hand on the clueless doctor’s shoulder. “Brandon, the first rule of dating is making it all about her and leaving your neediness at the door.”
“But I can tell her how grateful I am that she came on the date, right?”
“Yeah . . . no.” He shook his head and swallowed a sigh, already tasting regret. “Your job is to ask questions
and listen. Be attentive.”
Brandon pulled out his phone. “What sort of questions?”
Spare me. The MontMedAir pager thankfully chose that moment to beep loudly, and he pressed it into Brandon’s hands. “This is your call, McBain. If I leave now, I’ll just make it to Bear Paw for the wedding.”
“You’re driving on no sleep?”
He knew it wasn’t ideal, but he didn’t have a choice. “I’ll drive with the windows down and the music blasting,” he replied, walking to the door.
“Text me the questions,” Brandon called after him.
“Later.” As much as Will respected Josh as a friend, he hoped one of Katrina’s bridesmaids was going to make his weekend worth the frustrations of being McBain’s date doctor.
MILLIE took the short but familiar walk from what had once been her parents’ guesthouse at the bottom of the yard, up toward the main house and her childhood home. Over the last few years, the guesthouse had become her apartment whenever she was living in Bear Paw. She appreciated her parents’ generosity, especially now that she was studying to become a doctor and was required by her scholarship to spend her summers working in Bear Paw.
Through the window, she could see her folks dressed and ready for the wedding and chatting in the kitchen. She’d spent more time than usual getting ready herself, and she thought she looked pretty sharp. As she stepped through the door, she called out, “Hi,” before clicking her fingers and executing a soft-shoe shuffle across the kitchen floor. She finished with a twirl in front of them. “Ta-da.”
Her mother, Susie, dressed in a gray silk shift dress gathered in at the waist with a matching cummerbund and secured with a diamanté broach, stared at her, horrified. “Why are you wearing a tuxedo?”
“Because, Mom . . .” Millie smiled, already prepared for the question. “I’m the best man.”
“You’re the best person,” Susie said in a long-suffering tone, “and in my experience, the women who stand up with their guy friends always wear a dress.”
Stay calm. “I’m sorry you’re upset, Mom, but I did tell you I was wearing a suit.”
“And I assumed you meant something classic like a Chanel.”
She laughed, hearing the tightness in the sound and wishing it wasn’t there. “A Chanel suit is way out of my price range, and besides, it wouldn’t have all these awesome pockets for my stuff.”
“That’s what a purse is for.”
Millie looked at her mother’s tiny clutch purse—the one that perfectly matched her shoes and frock. It was barely big enough to hold a phone, let alone her continuous glucose monitor handset and her test kit. “You know I need more room than that.”
Conflicting emotions warred on her mother’s face, and she let out a sigh. “Yes, honey, but if you’d let me take you shopping, I’m certain we could have found the perfect dress and purse.”
I doubt it. “Mom—”
“You look terrific, Millsy,” her father said, finally stepping into the conversation as he always did just as it was getting uncomfortable. “You’ll put all the other guys in the shade.”
“Thanks, Dad.” She kissed him gratefully on the cheek. “I better get going or Josh will beat me to the church. I’ll see you guys there.”
“At least wear some color,” Susie said, pressing a pretty wine-stained lipstick into her hand. “You look pale. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
As a redhead, she was frequently pale, but that wasn’t what her mother meant. “I’m fine, Mom. My blood sugar is my friend today. I promise you that I’ll put on the lipstick just before I go into the church, I’ll spritz on some perfume and I’ll pinch my cheeks, but seriously, all eyes will rightly be on Katrina and Josh, not me.”
Thank goodness. As her fingers closed around the door handle, her father asked, “You’ve got everything you need, right?”
For the briefest moment, she rested her forehead on the doorjamb. She loved her parents dearly, but their constant concern wore her down. Everyone’s constant concern wore her down. She patted her pockets. Dex, keys, test kit, snack. “Yep. Bye.”
It wasn’t until ten minutes later when she was parking next to Josh’s positively gleaming sports car that she realized she’d left her phone back at the guesthouse resting on the charger. Oh well, she was at the church now, and if Josh needed anything, he could tell her in person. Feeling naked without her heavy tote bag on her shoulder, she hurried over to the steep-pitched, maroon-roofed building. Stepping out of the bright afternoon sunshine and into the dimness of the changing room, her eyes were slow to adjust, and she fuzzily made out the shape of a guy with his back to her.
“Hey, Josh,” she said, moving in for a big hello hug. “Fifteen minutes ’til showtime.” As her arms went firmly around his shoulders, she caught the flash of dark blond hair, the sharp zip of citrus cologne and the glint of amused dark blue eyes.
Josh had brown hair, wore woodsy cologne and his eyes were silvery gray. And as tall as Josh was, her cheek was usually closer to his shoulder than this, and she didn’t remember him feeling quite this broad. Who exactly was she body-hugging?
She was about to step back when she heard, “Hey, Millie.” Josh’s voice filled with gentle amusement. “On my wedding day, you’re supposed to be making a fuss over me, not Will.”
Will?
Her brain melted at the exact same moment as her body. No way! Not possible. Will wasn’t even coming to the wedding. But as she glanced up into familiar dancing eyes—eyes she’d spent way too much time daydreaming about last year—she knew.
Dear Lord, she had her arms wrapped tightly around Will Bartlett.
Shock dried her mouth and embarrassment made her arms drop away fast from his wide shoulders. She stumbled backward, wishing desperately that she could teleport anywhere as long as it was far, far away from here and Will Bartlett.
Be cool. Be calm. Be disinterestedly detached. “H-Hi-ello, Will.”
Oh yeah, so smooth.
“G’day, Millie.” A cheeky grin lit up his perfectly symmetrical face, and she saw the precise moment he recalled exactly their last meeting—the time she’d fallen into his lap. “We have to stop meeting like this.”
Chapter 2
The wedding reception was in full swing, and Will took advantage of the band’s break to disengage himself from a group of well-dressed women in their forties who’d cornered him on the dance floor. According to Katrina’s brother, Beau, they were Bear Paw’s notorious book club, and all men under thirty-five were fair game. It wasn’t like Will to be caught unawares by any woman, but lack of sleep must be catching up on him, because his bum had been pinched by more than one manicured hand, his chest stroked, and during one dance, he’d detected definite rubbing.
Charlie would love it.
He blew out a breath as the accurate thought took hold of him. His twin would have been in his element tonight, and despite the fact they were in their early thirties, he would have dragged Will into a fun plan that would confuse the hell out of these bold women. Back in the day at a function like this, they’d used their mirror-image likeness of each other to fool girls. For years in their dusty, country childhood town where no one could tell them apart, they’d caused chaos. Their mother was the only person who could recognize their minute physical differences, while their father relied on personality when assigning blame for a prank discovered. Sadly, his father didn’t need to do that anymore.
Hey, bro, lighten up! Charlie’s voice floated across his mind. It’s a wedding.
He really should e-mail the grief counselor the hospital had made him see and tell him that his advice about time lessening loss and his comment that Charlie’s voice would fade was total BS. Taking his twin’s advice, he grabbed a glass of champagne left over from the toasts and wandered out of the tent to find some entertainment.
The evening was warm and balmy—even the wind had dropped, and that miracle had to be in honor of the newlyweds, because usually it took a great deal of effort to
stand upright in Bear Paw. Will blinked as the horizon seemed to tilt. He shook his head, realizing he was far wearier than he thought. The fatigue was worth it, though—he was very glad he hadn’t missed the wedding.
Josh had worn a goofy grin on his face from the moment he’d turned to see Katrina walking down the aisle toward him on her father’s arm. Will was no expert on wedding dresses, and if he’d been pressed on what the bride wore, he’d have replied, A dress with a lace thing over it, but he also would have added that she glowed with happiness. Josh had told him that Katrina’s mother had died just under a year ago, and her death had hit the family really hard. Knowing that, it was great to see the McCades coming together for a happy occasion and having fun.
Sadly for Will, his plans for a night of fun with one of the bridesmaids had taken a solid beating. As it happened, there was only one bridesmaid, and as delectable as Megan McCade was—and she truly was in that red, figure-hugging dress—she was also Katrina’s baby sister. At twenty-two, she was the classic male fantasy of a nubile college girl, and maybe, if he’d been on vacation, he could have justified a mindless fling, but an annoying voice in his head kept reminding him she was way too young. Adding that to the fact that her father, brother and newly minted brother-in-law would likely frog-march him from the ranch if he dared try anything, and that it would damage his friendship with Josh, he’d been well behaved.
Not that Megan hadn’t been game. She’d openly flirted with him during the bridal waltz, and he’d been momentarily tempted to disregard the decade that lay between them, but then her father had cut in and sanity had prevailed. For some reason, sanity had been prevailing a lot lately, and it was getting in the way of him getting much or any action. He’d been hoping to rectify that sorry state this weekend, but here he was, hiding out from cougars and Lolitas, and he wasn’t certain there were any other possible candidates.
None that he’d noticed, anyway, but he consoled himself that there was still some evening left. He’d been having regular sex since he was sixteen, and this current dry spell was as atypical as it was confusing. It wasn’t like he was short on offers—that never changed—it was just lately, none of the offers tempted him. With the last couple of women he’d been with, he’d felt like he was going through the motions. Given he had no plans to see them again, it didn’t seem fair to only give them average sex, so he’d stopped. He’d thought a few weeks off would fix things, only the weeks had bled into months and not a lot had changed.