by Fiona Lowe
And yes, given her track record with men, she probably couldn’t get a gorgeous woman to notice her, but jeez, that wasn’t the point! She lifted her gaze to his, her chin jutting tight and sharp. “Are you saying I’m not good enough for her?”
“No.” His shoulders stiffened and he looked insulted that she’d suggested it. “Of course I’m not, it’s just . . .” He took a healthy gulp of beer.
“What?” She didn’t care that her question was making him uncomfortable.
His long fingers toyed with the coaster, spinning it between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s just . . .” His voice took on a gentle and kindly tone. “She doesn’t look gay.”
But you think I do? The kernel of hurt that he’d sown in her at the wedding cracked open. “Will, you can’t always tell from one glance.”
“I guess.” He looked toward Tara again and back at Millie. “Is she gay?”
No clue. Probably not.
You can’t say that. You have to act like you’re interested in her.
Sweat pooled on her palms. “She might be. You came over before I could talk to her and . . .” And what? She toyed with her salad. What would a lesbian say? “. . . um, gauge the vibe.”
“Look at you, all nervous and rattled,” he said with an indulgent smile.
You have no idea. Drama class had never been a strong subject of hers, and Mrs. Baugh, her long-suffering teacher, had eventually assigned her to set painting.
“Let’s just find out,” he said.
“Find out what?” She pulled her mind back fast from high school memories.
“Find out if she’s the one for you.” He pushed back his chair.
No! She shot out her hand, fear and anxiety making her palm grip his warm, wide forearm like a vice. “What are you doing?” she hissed. “You can’t just go over and ask her if she’s gay.”
His sapphire eyes darkened to navy and he sat down. “Give me a little credit, Millie. I know I’m not experienced with the whole gay dating thing, but I am experienced in dating. If I invite her over, we can shoot the breeze over a variety of topics and you can see if there’s any interest or spark.”
She glanced at Tara and back at Will, wondering why he was so keen to make this happen, and then understanding dawned. “You mean so you could see if she has any interest in you.”
“Nah. She’s not my type.”
Millie snorted. “What’s that expression you sometimes say? Pull the other one, it’s made of rubber?”
He laughed, his face creasing into familiar, faithful and often-used lines. She could watch him smile 24-7. Watch how the scar on his chin danced, how his teeth appeared whiter than other people’s against his dusky skin and how his smile carved into his stubble-strewn cheeks. The rumble of his laughter faded, and the brackets around his mouth suddenly smoothed out. For the first time, she noticed he had some permanent lines etched in deeply around his eyes.
He leaned his forearms on the table and laced his fingers. “I’m serious, Millie. I’m not in competition with you here. I’m happy to be an extra person in the conversation while you see if she bats for your team and if she’s interested.” He raised his glass to her, his handsome face filled with camaraderie. “Consider me your wingman.”
Her wingman? Good grief, he was deadly serious. Why was this happening? Pretending to be a non-dating lesbian was supposed to have been easy—identical, even, to her normal state of being a non-dating heterosexual. She was fast coming around to believing she’d been cursed. It was the only answer she could come up with to explain why the guy she was ridiculously attracted to thought she was gay and now wanted to set her up on a date. Oh yeah. Her life just kept getting better and better.
Her stomach cramped as all the permutations and combinations of his offer hit her. If she didn’t take him up on his suggestion, she’d look bitchy, but it would save her from the risk of the town finding out about her deception. She really didn’t want to join Ethan as Bear Paw’s number one source of amusement. On the other hand, if she did take Will up on his offer, it would help her keep up the necessary protective charade. After all, he knew she’d tried to get Tara’s attention, so she couldn’t hide from that.
The cogs of her mind went into overdrive. Here in the bar, her talking to Tara and Will wouldn’t raise an eyebrow, but it did mean she was accepting his offer of being her wingman. This would unwittingly make Will think she was happy for his help again. Was he going to spend the entire summer pointing out potential dates for her? Oh God. Just the idea of it threatened to send her into therapy for years to come.
Perhaps during the conversation, she could suggest she and Tara get coffee sometime, and hopefully she’d say yes. After all, Tara was new to Bear Paw and didn’t know many people, and if Will knew they were catching up in the future, he wouldn’t be suggesting other dates. It might just work.
She sent up a general apology to all the LGBT people she was probably inadvertently offending by doing this. “Okay, but let me invite her over. I don’t need you dazzling her with your beauty.”
He rolled his eyes and then his gaze fell to her breasts. Her nipples instantly tightened and tingled before launching lust bombs, which detonated with fizzes and booms all around the rest of her body. No, this isn’t happening. But it was, and it took all her control not to cross her arms over her chest.
When Will finally spoke, his words came out raspy. “Is that your phone in your bra?” He cleared his throat. “It’s giving you a lopsided look.”
It’s my pump. “I’ll move it.” She delved into her tote bag, mostly to hide her now burning cheeks, but if she was pretending to pick up Tara, she had to pretend to take as much interest in how she looked as Will was doing. Her fingers passed over the bag of fruit snacks, blood sugar test sticks, thirty discarded tissues with a dot of blood on them, a pen she knew didn’t work, a tape measure, because you never knew when you might need one, a notepad, her Bozeman bus pass, a juice box, her phone, spare batteries for her pump and an insulin pen, until finally she found her lip gloss. She swiped some on and then finger-combed her hair.
Will smiled approvingly. “You look good, although next time, probably best to change out of your scrubs.”
Ouch. “If we’re doing this, I draw the line at fashion advice. I have my mother for that.”
He held up his hands in mock surrender, but his expression was sincere. “Sorry, I was only trying to help.”
And she knew he was, which complicated things even more. Right now he was being well-meaning and considerate, and that made it really hard to dislike him for not ever noticing her as a woman.
He’s allowed to do that.
And on an intellectual level, she understood, but it didn’t make it any easier to accept.
You deserve a man who wants you, she said loudly over the top of the traitorous voice that was muttering, That’s never going to happen. At least this crush makes me feel alive.
The problem was, as much as she wanted to maintain a quiet rage toward him, Will Bartlett was showing he had unexpected depths. Sure, she’d always known he was a great clinician, but his laid-back manner with everyone didn’t necessarily hint at him ever getting involved with anything beyond the superficial. Yet right now he was being kind and thoughtful.
“You ready?” he asked, with an encouraging smile.
“Here goes nothing.” She stood up and walked over to Tara.
Chapter 6
Will watched Millie walk toward the woman. Despite wanting to help her, he had a crazy urge to grab hold of her, pull her back toward him and say, Don’t do this. He’d met women like the one Millie was admiring—women who were beautiful to look at but ice-cold to touch. This one had an aura about her that said, Don’t even think about it, and he’d bet his bottom dollar she was as heterosexual as he was. That was the reason he wanted to pull Millie back. He didn’t want her getting hurt.
Really? That’s bullshit and you know it.
He drained his beer and signaled to t
he waitress for another, trying to forget that a few moments ago he’d stared at Millie’s breasts with all the grace and style of a horny fifteen-year-old. Worse than that, he’d felt a definite stirring. Man, who was he kidding? He’d gone hard.
It had all started out innocently enough. Despite Millie being in baggy, shapeless scrubs, he’d wanted her to look her best if she was going to give it a shot with the ice queen. Only, he’d gone from noticing the bump of her phone pushing the neckline of her scrubs off-center to imagining the soft and creamy flesh hiding behind the utilitarian blue cotton. Imagining ivory orbs crowned with dusky pink, pert nipples that rose to hard nubs under the brush of his thumb. The flick of his tongue . . .
Shit. It was happening again. He poured himself a glass of cold water and downed it in one gulp. What the hell was wrong with him, and why, when he could have almost any woman he wanted, was his body wanting Millie?
His internal therapist sighed. We’ve talked about this, Will. It’s the allure of the unobtainable, the fantasy of making her want you, because normally all you have to do is flash that winning smile of yours and women fall into your arms.
Tough shit, mate—it’s never going to happen. Somewhere along the way, the therapist’s voice had become Charlie’s. At least you can still get laid, bro. The memory of his brother’s voice held a slight edge. Quit your whinging, stop being pathetic and go shag a willing woman.
Guilt ran through him, jagged like the cut of a blunt knife, before settling under his ribs with a dull ache. Charlie was right. Whatever the hell it was that had been dogging him for the last few months, he had to shake it off. He owed it to Charlie. He saw Millie walking back to the table with a bright smile on her face that somehow made her nose look cute. She was giving him the two-thumbs-up sign and the other woman was following her.
“Will, I’d like you to meet Tara. She’s our deputy sheriff and new to town just like you.”
He rose to his feet and extended his hand, wondering why Millie was introducing him in a way that provided a connection and almost indicated that he was the one interested in dating her. “G’day, Tara. What can I get you to drink?”
She shook her head, her face tight. “I can’t stay long.”
Okay. He automatically pulled out a chair for her, as Millie had already sat down. “Beer, wine or are you a soda drinker like Millie?”
“A Coke, I guess,” she said, accepting the seat but glancing around as if looking for the nearest fire exit.
Oh yeah. This had success written all over it.
The waitress arrived with his beer and took Tara’s drink order, and by the time Millie had asked her how she’d found her first week in Bear Paw—quiet but fine—if this was her first job as a deputy—yes—and where had her last job been—Detroit—the Coke had been delivered.
Millie’s usually happy expression had dimmed slightly at the litany of closed answers, and Will felt a jolt of annoyance at the policewoman’s reticence. If she hadn’t wanted to talk, why had she even come over? He caught Tara giving the stage a quick glance, and he tilted his head to Millie as if to say, Try music. Millie, obviously not on his ESP wavelength, continued to sip her drink.
“That guy can totally rock the cello,” Will said, using his social smile.
“I never knew a cello could be played like that,” Tara said with the faintest thaw in her aloof demeanor. She turned away slightly so Will now got a view of the back of her shoulder, and she focused her attention on Millie. “You said you worked at the hospital?”
“I’m an RN during the summer and a medical student the rest of the year. Will’s an emergency medicine physician, so if there are any disasters or road traffic accidents, it’s probably him you’ll be dealing with.”
Millie, what the hell? Why was she turning the conversation back to him? “I’ve only just arrived in town, so Millie’s the one who’s familiar with the county’s disaster and emergency services plan,” he countered, hitting the conversation ball straight back the other way.
“The hospital, the EMS and the police department work together well,” Millie added. “We have a yearly mock-disaster for training. It’s been thirty years since the big flood, but every spring we hold our breath. Mind you, with a disaster like that, MOOSE step in.”
“Excuse me?” Tara asked, a stunned look on her face.
Will laughed. “Do they carry people on their backs through the flood waters?”
“They’d be more likely to charge and drown them,” Millie said with a grin, the coppery ring around her irises burnishing to gold. “MOOSE is the acronym for Montana Operations and Observation Systems Environment.”
The music came to an end, and the guy who’d been playing the cello said, “We’re taking a short break, folks.”
Tara immediately pushed back her chair. “I have to go.”
“Oh, that’s a shame.” Millie jumped to her feet.
Will rose, too, planning to tell Millie the moment Tara was out of earshot that she’d be better off looking for someone else instead of wasting any more of her time on the arctic heiress.
“Tara, would you like to catch up for a coffee sometime?”
The policewoman’s hand paused on her purse, and she stared at Millie for a moment as if she was having trouble interpreting the question.
“I mean . . . that’s if you’d like to,” Millie rushed on.
Tara ducked her head as if she was embarrassed, and Will held his breath, knowing heartache was an arrow heading straight toward Millie. An arrow he very much wanted to stop.
“That sounds great, Millie,” Tara said before marching toward the door. “Call me at the station to set it up.”
As Tara disappeared through the exit, Millie turned and faced him. With her eyes open wide and shining, her cheeks red and rosy, and her plump, soft, kissable lips parted slightly in surprise, she glowed from the tip of her curly hair to the bottom of her sensible work shoes.
It was the oddest combination—erotic and innocent and for some reason as sexy as hell. He wanted to be happy for her, he really did, but all he could think about was that he wished he could have been the one to light her up like that.
“I did it,” she said breathlessly, sounding totally awestruck.
“You did.” He tried to sound enthusiastic. Hell, he even raised his hand for a high five, but as she slapped his palm, he felt the pull and strain in his cheeks as he forced himself to smile.
MILLIE wanted to pinch herself. She couldn’t believe that she’d pulled it off and Tara had accepted her invitation. She buzzed with the same gut-tingling excitement she got whenever she aced a test.
“You all set for Monday morning?” Will asked, sitting down again and kicking out her chair for her with a lazy flick of his foot. The action said, Take a seat.
She sat. At least talking to him about work was safe. “I am. Floyd only told me a couple of hours ago that you’re my new TRUST supervisor.”
“I was the natural choice.”
It was a proud statement, but she guessed he had the right to make it. “Because of your medical experience?”
He gave a wry smile and shook his head. “Because I don’t have family or any real connections in Great Falls.”
He sounded slightly wistful, and not for the first time she wondered if the man who was always surrounded by women was actually lonely. Was that why he’d wanted to spend last Sunday with her? Why he’d insisted on being her wingman?
“Besides,” he continued, “everyone else in the department refused to summer in Bear Paw, and to avoid a ballot, I put up my hand. It’s close to the mountains, and I love to hike and rock climb, so I’m looking forward to it.”
Once again he surprised her. “The town’s pretty quiet.”
He shrugged. “I grew up in a small town on the edge of the outback. We had more flies and grains of red dust than we had people, and Murrinwindi makes Bear Paw look positively cosmopolitan. This band, for instance”—he gestured with his hand—“I doubt the pub at home�
��s ever seen an electric cello.”
“Not many bars in rural Montana have, either. We’re lucky Eth didn’t give it up in middle school.” She was interested in hearing more about Will’s hometown. “So what sort of music did you have at the . . .”—she tried to sound Australian—“. . . pub?”
He laughed. “Good try, but you sound British. The Lascelle brothers played a mean amplified didgeridoo.”
“What’s that?”
“A hollowed-out tube of wood that you play using circular breathing. It’s really hard to master, and I spent more time making grunting noises than music, so in fairness to those around me I gave it up.”
She smiled, enjoying his self-deprecating storytelling. “My parents banned me from the violin, the clarinet, the trumpet and the drums due to the stress the strangled sounds I made caused the pets.”
“Crikey,” he said with mock horror. “That’s an epic fail in all four orchestra instrument groupings.”
“Not to mention the fact the pets came first,” she quipped. “I have no innate musicality.”
“We share that in common.”
His accompanying smile raced across his cheeks and up into his eyes, which sparkled at her like the white light of the moon dancing on dark water. The slow simmer she’d kept a lid on since he’d walked toward her suddenly boiled over. Everything inside her melted until she felt like she was floating on a wide river of molten desire and all she wanted to do was lean back in her chair and let out a long and blissful sigh.
Leave. Now. The key to surviving working with Will this summer is to do just that. Only see him at work.
“I promised the guys a game of pool,” she blurted out as she stood on weak-kneed legs.