Spurs and Lace (Lonely Lace Series Book 1)

by Bonnie R. Paulson

  Spurs and Lace

  Lonely Lace Series

  Book 1

  Bonnie R. Paulson

  Captiva Publishing

  Bonnie R. Paulson

  www.bonnierpaulson.com

  Copyright © 2014 Bonnie R. Paulson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the purchase-point and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover design by Ashley Byland of Redbird Designs.

  For my grandparents

  Mary and Dean Farnham

  Chapter 1

  No one ever seemed to need a doctor in a blizzard.

  Becky couldn’t think of a single soul dumb enough to leave the warmth of the fireplace or the company of a television set to venture into the harsh winter weather. Even for an appointment at the doctor’s office. Hell, even for an emergency. Not in Montana. Most people knew how to splint up and wrap down. Apply pressure to stop bleeding, right?

  Bored, she sighed and tossed her book on the pale gray laminate counter. A Bachelor degree in Biophysiology, a Doctorate of Osteopathy, and a five year surgical residency had prepared her to sit in a silent clinic reading romances while the entire region stayed uninjured and healthy, not to mention warm and cozy in their own places.

  Great. Just great.

  Four hours before, she’d told the nurse and receptionist to head home before the blizzard closed down the roads and isolated them along with her. The head nurse, Shelley, had made a cryptic comment involving “dangerous roads follow snow” or something along those lines. She’d been the last person in the clinic besides Becky.

  Nothing fazed Becky. Snow, rain, wind, floods, whatever. She didn’t care. She’d seen worse than Montana could throw at her that was for dang sure. The western coast of Washington had premenstrual weather cramps complete with moodiness. Montana’s predictability had an almost male-like feel to it.

  A shadow passed the window. The only movement she’d seen since right after three when the sun had given up the fight and conceded to the burgeoning clouds, pregnant with impending snow.

  The round clock above the thick wooden door read five. Becky braced for the wind that would rocket through the office when the person burst through.

  A minute passed.

  Hmm. Maybe a large clump of snow had blown in front of the street light, causing the shadow she’d seen. Lame.

  Thirty more minutes and she could return to her hole-in-the-barn apartment and stare at the clock there, shivering in the chill. Joy.

  Thud. Clank. Clank. The sounds carried dully through the walls of the building.

  Boredom caved to curiosity. Becky rushed to the entryway. Yanking the panel open, she gritted her teeth against the stinging wind as it bit any exposed flesh.

  Who in their right mind was out in – a man slumped against the office building, protected in part by a snorting, stomping black horse whose breath fogged before him.

  “Whoa.” She didn’t have extensive knowledge on how to calm horses, but she’d heard that phrase around town a couple times. She’d lived in Washington not Wyoming.

  Grab the reins. Becky approached the horse and grabbed for the dangling leather straps attached to the sides of his face. “Whoa, girl… or boy.” What was politically correct to call a horse? She refused to look under the tail and find out and quite frankly, the horse wasn’t her concern.

  She wouldn’t even bother with the animal except for two reasons – one, the large beast was built like a tank and if Becky didn’t move him, he very well could squash the man, and two, people in northern Montana valued their horses almost as much as their children, some more so.

  Calmer, the horse stood still. The whites of his eyes flashed in the orange glow from across the road.

  Becky, assured by the horse’s stable stance, checked the patient’s throat for a pulse. The scent of warm man encircled her with fresh husky cologne, leather, and dried grass. Almost immediately the wind swiped a cruel gust between the horse and the building, erasing the smell Becky could’ve curled into.

  She couldn’t see who he was, hidden under the wide brim of his hat, but she’d make a note in his chart for the nurses that he smelled delicious. The joys of a small town. A strong, albeit slow, pulse pressed against her fingertips. At least he’d live. Maybe. She’d never seen a cowboy popsicle before.

  “Sir?” Becky prodded his shoulder. A glance up and down the street revealed nothing. The man was the only idiot outside, besides her, and, jeesh, she was out there because of him. Typical.

  Her hands shook with the cold.

  Who knew how long he’d been on the horse. If he’d fallen from the saddle, chances were he had hypothermia. Her boring afternoon had just taken on an extremely interesting twist.

  “Come on.” She rolled her eyes at having just told an unconscious man to come on. Three feet away, the door might as well have been thirty for all the good it did either of them.

  She sucked in a deep breath. Come on, Bec. I don’t need him in an exam room, just out of the storm. I can do this.

  Gripping the shoulders of his thick leather coat, she eyed the horse. “I’ll be back. Don’t move.” Thank goodness, no one witnessed her talking to an animal that couldn’t possibly understand. The large creature offered another eye roll and looked on.

  Becky closed her eyes and yanked. The large man could have neck damage, brain damage, back damage. She didn’t know what injuries he had, but she couldn’t check in the dangerously frigid temperature. The list of possibilities mounted. Inside, she could assess the overall picture better.

  If she didn’t hurry, she’d be treating her own case of “frozen ass”.

  She pulled.

  He slid.

  She pulled.

  He slid more.

  “Unh.” Not the most ladylike sound, but the man was out and couldn’t hear her grunts.

  At the doorjamb, she readjusted her grip and put her butt into it. Heck, those squats she did at the desk when she was bored better be good for something.

  After a pause that felt like nothing was going to move – ever, the man slid fully into the front office. Becky left him on the floor and pushed his legs to the side.

  The horse. What would she do with him? She couldn’t leave him out in the cold. She might not be a huge animal fan, but she wasn’t cruel.

  Tim’s office. The physician’s assistant never used the spacious room, preferring instead the outlandish accommodations the rich, pretentious Mr. James provided. Becky liked to call her wanna-be-colleague PA Tim. The name irritated the hell out of him and kept his lofty ass in its place. Never around, the prick wouldn’t notice if anything happened to his office. Plus, she wouldn’t have to worry about the horse leaving droppings around the office or bashing up the floors.

  PA Tim was an ass, why not outfit his office like one lived there? Horse, ass, like I know the difference.

  Back outside, Becky captured the reins once more an
d clicked her tongue. “Okay, this way. Come on. Hello. There you go. Yep. Beautiful accommodations for you, sir or madam, whatever.” Large, yet graceful, the – oops, there it was – stallion followed her with a weird rhythmic tune to his step. He carefully picked his way over the man when Becky led him inside.

  The horse followed her into the office off the side of the lobby. Dark and shiny, his coat had a luster of well-maintained care giving a strong indication of how well he was treated and fed.

  Becky left the room’s door open, unsure what a horse would do with an oak desk, shelved books, and plastic plants. One never knew though. His hooves had scratched and scraped across the tiled floor. Good thing it hadn’t been linoleum.

  Wind whirled snow and biting chill inside. Becky slammed the front door.

  By the calendar behind the desk, she spun the dial on the thermostat to eighty-five. Ridiculous, of course, but there was a distinct possibility Hell was freezing over.

  She rubbed her hands together and knelt beside the man bundled in layers of well-made outfitter’s clothing. Each article would have to come off. Double joy.

  His hat had fallen away. Sleek, sable-colored waves fell across his forehead and grazed his ear. Stubble shadowed the well-formed angle of his jaw, framing full, masculine lips. Long lashes rested on his cheeks. Before Becky knew what she was doing, her hand raised to touch the black line of his eyebrow.

  She yanked her fingers away from his chilled skin. Had she met him before? Something familiar about his coloring and the contour of his rugged features teased the edges of her mind…

  His clothes had to come off. Keep that in mind. Nice. Not that way, Becky O’Donald. Not where she needed her thoughts to travel.

  She hadn’t undressed a man in forever and a half, medically or otherwise. Buttons the size of quarters taunted her. The top one slid through the hole. The leather of the oilskin duster had a worn but supple look. Running her hand down the panel to the next button, Becky appreciated the soft feel under her palm.

  Sneaking a look at his face, she froze. Nothing. No movement. Of course there wasn’t anything. Something was wrong with him and Becky didn’t have the time to act like a nervous CNA. She was a doctor with a job to do. She’d seen naked men before. But… never any with his coloring, sculpted features, or sheer size.

  Shaking her head, Becky squeezed her hands tight before releasing the hold and wiggling her fingers out. She could do it.

  Once undone, the buttons freed the coat to reveal a zipper which whirred as she pulled it down. Tan, down underwear peaked from under a blue flannel shirt tucked into denim jeans covered with stiff Carhart pants. Layered like a lasagna and belted with a gun holster complete with bullets and gun. Like the ultimate chastity belt.

  How was a girl supposed to get in those pants?

  Becky yanked off his gloves.

  He groaned, turning his head from side to side. “Mac. I’m coming.”

  Who was Mac? Becky’s fingers fell to grasp his wrists. Startled at how cold he was, she wrapped her fingers around the exposed skin… of his hands. The office would never warm up fast enough.

  She thrust up from her kneeling position and rushed into the back supply room. Heating pads and blankets filled her arms. Beside him once more, she packed pads and blankets around his extremities and placed a rolled up blanket under his head.

  As much as he needed one, Becky couldn’t bring herself to give him a brisk rubdown with all his clothes off. She patted and rubbed at his cold core through the clothing he still had on.

  Heat spread over her face.

  Moments passed filled with the faint puff of her breath as she worked and the occasional scrape and rasp from the office where the horse stood.

  Becky leaned back on her heels. Holy cow, the breadth of his shoulders seemed to take forever to span with her well-intended massage. He really was beautiful in a rugged, powerful way.

  Lashes fluttered, revealing deep blue eyes more dazed than pain filled.

  A hand on his shoulder, Becky leaned close. His smell surrounded her, but she ignored it, focusing on his cues. “Hello? I’m Dr. Becky O’Donald. Can you tell me your name?” She pressed her thumb into the carpal side of his wrist. “Can you feel this?” She could.

  He moaned.

  She rubbed the skin she had been able to bare with fast friction. “Good. That means you didn’t get frost bite.”

  Moving to sit up, the man pulled his hands from her grasp and wiped his eyes and forehead. He inhaled a large breath and blew into his palms. Blankets and pads fell from his shoulders and arms.

  Becky held out her hand to offer help, but he shook his head. “I’m fine, thanks.” Hot chocolate with mint couldn’t warm her faster than the rough timber of his voice. He clenched his jaw and his eyes pierced her, like he saw into her thoughts – knew what she’d been thinking while he’d been out. “Did you say you’re a doctor?”

  Taken aback by his abrupt “recovery”, Becky tilted her head and jerked her chin forward. “Yes. Why? Are you okay? Does anything hurt? I couldn’t find any injuries, but I’d just started my exam.”

  “Where’s my horse?” He patted his waist, reassuring himself the gun was still in place. The man shook his head and glanced out the window on level with his eyes. “How long was I out?”

  “I can’t be certain on the time, but my guess is not long. You fell outside the door.” Becky poked her finger toward the office where the coarse tail twitched just in view. “The horse is in there, but I’m a human doctor. I don’t do animals.” Had to draw the line somewhere or these hicks would have her performing vasectomies on chickens.

  “I’m a veterinarian. I wouldn’t wander through this weather on an animal that needed attention.” Condescension riddled his words and the curl of his lip mocked her. “Do you have a coat?”

  Put in her place and not sure she should have been, Becky recoiled. “What? Yes, of course I have a coat.” Maybe the cold had done more damage than he let on. Damn, but she still wanted to undress him and check his vitals.

  “Grab it and let’s go. Pig can hold us both. It’ll help with the wind, too.” He stumbled as he climbed to his feet. Looking down at his jacket, he stared at the open layers, arms akimbo. “What’d you undress me for?”

  “I didn’t. I just opened your coat. Ahem… you were cold… I…” Embarrassed as if caught in the act of licking his eyebrows, Becky thrust her hand on her hip and narrowed her eyes. “Now, wait a minute. You fell outside off your – Pig did you call it?” She raised her jaw, refusing to be cowed by his towering height. “I dragged your butt in here out of the cold, which I’d like to add you’re not light. Then I put your horse in the office. And you’re looking for a doctor? Maybe you want to cool the attitude.” Satisfied he’d received his own “place”, she pursed her lips to further her point.

  “’Cool my attitude’? Are you serious?” He rolled his eyes like his horse but the only similarities between the two imposing creatures were the inky coloring of their hair and their ungodly height. He might have passed out from the beginning stages of hypothermia, but he wasn’t letting that hold him back. “How old are you? Did you just graduate? What kind of a doctor are you? Where’s Dr. Roylance?”

  Which insult did she start with? Hippocratic Oath. Do no harm. Do no harm. She breathed in deep. “I’m old enough. Dr. Roylance is on sabbatical. You need a doctor? Here I am. What can I do for you, Mr…?”

  “Slate MacAllister. It’s not me. The patient is at my ranch. At this point, I think it’s reached life or death. Pig will take us.” Slate refastened his clothing and stomped to the door. A low whistle whipped through the air. Pig moved a full circle in the small office and returned beside Slate in seconds, nuzzling his shoulders.

  Dumbfounded and sure she appeared stupid, Becky just stared. She had no words. Had a very hot man just woken up during an examination and asked her to climb onto his horse for a “ride” to his ranch in Antarctic-like weather? She glanced at the book lying on the coun
ter. No more romance novels for her.

  On top of all that, she’d been dying to meet the famous Slate MacAllister. Everyone around town spoke his name with reverence. And the ladies visibly drooled. Becky could see – and smell – why. Yum. Too bad he wasn’t very polite or she’d entertain all kinds of ideas… alright, who was she kidding? She entertained them anyway.

  Ignoring her unprofessional train of thought, Becky tried to return to a level of politeness that suggested he hadn’t ruffled her in nine very distinct areas. “Which ranch?” Behind the desk, Becky opened a drawer and pulled out her keys. She couldn’t remember which one he owned, but chances were his land crept up the side of the mountain range.

  “Lonely River.” He eyed the jangling metal as they hung from her fingers. “Your car isn’t going to get us there. The roads are almost impassable. Pig will be faster.”

  “Sir, I don’t do horses and I don’t do cold. Your ‘impassable’ and my ‘impassable’ are probably two different things. My vehicle will do just fine.” She picked up the handset and punched in a series of numbers. While the phone rang, she watched him.

  He reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t quite place who.

  Becky smiled at the older woman’s sweet voice and replied. “Mrs. Roylance? This is Becky at the clinic. Slate MacAllister needs assistance at his residence. We have to leave his horse here at the office, can you send Junior over to put him in the stable and watch out for him until Mr. MacAllister can return? Oh, you do? Yes, it is Pig. Okay, thank you so much. I’ll tell him.” She hung up the phone, irritated that the situation hadn’t warranted more concern for Becky’s welfare but more for Pig’s. She bit out. “Mrs. Roylance said hello.”

  Slate glared at her, the heat uncomfortable in the warming office. “We need my horse and you didn’t need to bother Junior. He’s probably busy with his new wife, anyway.”

  Becky tapped her finger on the counter. Keep it professional. “We don’t need your horse. Junior’s wife is out of town right now and his mother offered his help.” She grabbed her coat and purse from the back table. “I’m parked in back.”