Montana Daddy. Charlotte Maclay
think you could hurry a little?” Doc complained. “I’m tired of being a prisoner in this tin can.”
“I’ll be right there,” came a muted reply from the SUV’s driver.
A couple of days ago, the doctor had slipped on some ice and gone down hard. She’d broken her ankle, which required a trip to Great Falls for surgery. Obviously, someone had brought her back home—a friend from Washington, according to the license plates.
Rory grinned again. He could imagine what a fun two-hour trip from the hospital to Grass Valley that must have been with Doc and her sharp tongue.
“I’ll get her,” he called to the driver of the truck, who was exiting the vehicle on the far side. He opened the passenger door.
“About time,” the doc muttered. Her leg was propped at an awkward angle, a cast on her foot up to her calf.
“Quit your complaining, Doc,” he said. “You’ll give Grass Valley a bad name.”
“I never complain. Patients are the ones who complain.”
He swallowed a grin. “Whatever you say, Doc.” She wasn’t a big woman, probably weighed less than a calf, so he slipped one arm beneath her thighs, the other around her back and hefted her out of the truck.
Turning, he almost collided with a younger woman who was standing there. Her features were so familiar, so unexpected, her appearance drove the breath from his lungs. She had the same clear-blue eyes he vividly remembered. The same vibrant, strawberry-blond hair.
His muscles went weak from the collision of memories, and Doc Justine nearly slipped from his arms.
She grabbed him around the neck. “Young man, you drop me and I’ll have you up on charges of assault and battery on an old lady. What would your brother, our venerable sheriff, think of that?”
Rory adjusted his grip on the doctor but he didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Kristi Kerrigan’s eyes had him ensnared like a jackrabbit in a steel trap. How many years had it been? Could it be more than five? It felt like a hundred. Or maybe it had only been yesterday. She hadn’t changed a bit. If anything she was more beautiful now than she had been when she’d visited her grandma Beauchamp that long-ago summer.
The summer before he’d entered veterinary medicine school.
Kristi was the first to break eye contact, jerking her gaze away from Rory.
“I’ll get the front door, Grandma.”
“You do that, honey, before our resident Indian chief dumps me on my rear end.”
Ignoring the doc’s comment about him being a chief, Rory followed Kristi up the short walkway to the structure that served as both clinic and home for Justine. The sway of Kristi’s hips in snug-fitting jeans mesmerized him, the swing of her hair at the collar of her heavy jacket tantalized.
She held the door open for him, and he brushed past her, catching the scent of apples, fresh and simple. Still her signature scent. And the memories of that all-too-brief summer came rushing back to him again.
“Where to, Doc?” he asked, eyeing the stairway to the second floor. Display cases filled with antique medical equipment that looked more like torture devices than life-saving equipment lined the entry. The entrance to the clinic was on the left, the family living room on the right, and the bedrooms were upstairs.
“First thing, I need to use the facilities at the end of the hallway. And stop ogling my granddaughter. She’s too good for you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He wouldn’t argue with Justine’s assessment of their relative merits, but he was going to have trouble not ogling. Kristi was like the first breath of spring coming on the heels of a long, hard winter.
A winter that had lasted for more than five years.
“If you can get her into the bathroom,” Kristi said, “I can take it from there.”
“Young lady, I’ve been taking care of myself for better than seventy years. I think I can manage one more time, bad ankle or not, thank you very much.”
Setting Justine on her feet—or at least on one foot—Rory backed out of the small bathroom.
“Call if you need me,” Kristi said as the door swung shut.
The hallway was narrow. Barely enough room for them to stand opposite each other, Kristi hugging a pair a crutches in her arms like a favorite pillow to ward off bad dreams.
Taking off his hat, Rory fiddled with the brim, shaping the felt into a smooth, curving line.
“The doc’s getting crustier every year.” His tongue felt as if it was glued to the roof of his mouth, and his voice was husky with the effort to speak past the raw ache of emotion in his throat. She was so darn beautiful. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her.
“It’s part of her charm.”
His lips eased into the suggestion of a smile. “It’s good to see you, Kristi.”
“You, too.” Her gaze focused on the doorknob, not on him.
“You haven’t changed a bit.”
Her head snapped around, a blaze of irritation in her blue eyes. “Yes, I have. I’m almost six years older and ten pounds fatter than when you last saw me.”
In a lazy perusal, he took in her appearance, noting the subtle changes—her breasts a little fuller, her hips more womanly. “On you it looks good.”
Her cheeks blossomed with a rosy blush, and she huffed, looking away again. “Thanks for helping me with Grandma. You can go now.”
“That sounds like you want to get rid of me.”
“I do. I have to get Grandma settled, fix her something to eat. No need for you to hang around.”
Her curt tone was meant to cut, and he felt a youthful stab of rejection. “Are you going to be staying long?”
“A few days. I’m not sure yet.”
He tapped his hat back onto his head and, sliding his hands into his jeans’ pockets, he nodded. “Give me a call if Doc needs anything.”
“I’m sure we’ll get along fine without you.”
What the hell was the matter with her? The summer they’d met she’d been as sweet as a newborn colt, prancing and dancing, filled with excitement about the future. Together they’d experienced the first bloom of young love. At least, he had.
Then they’d moved on with their lives. Within days he’d been so overwhelmed with his medical studies that he’d barely been able to keep his head above water academically. She’d probably been in nearly the same fix with her premed courses. She sure hadn’t found the time to call him.
When they’d both headed off for school, he’d been afraid a long-distance relationship wouldn’t work. He’d even told her so. She’d argued they could manage it.
It hadn’t taken long to discover he’d been right.
He shrugged, pretending indifference. “Maybe we’ll have a chance to get together before you leave, talk about old times.”
She started to speak, but before she got a word out there was a staccato knock on the front door, and it opened.
“Yoo-hoo, it’s only me! Hetty Moore.” The owner of the general store swooped into the house, a heavy winter jacket covering her floral-print dress, a casserole dish in her hands. “I saw the car outside and thought—My sakes, is that little Kristi all grown up?”
Kristi eased past Rory, grateful for the interruption. With his chiseled features, burnished complexion and midnight-black hair, he was simply too potent, too masculine for her comfort. And he brought back far too many memories she’d valiantly tried to suppress. Her emotions were bouncing all