Montana Actually

Can’t Stop Thinking About You

Katrina gave a wry smile. If the new doctor had been the woman her mother was hoping for—and that hope still confounded her—then perhaps she could have suggested a house-share arrangement. But there was no way on God’s green earth that she was ever suggesting that idea to Dr. Josh Stanton. She could just imagine his reaction.

Thinking about him exploded the memory of his naked chest in her mind. It was hard not to think about it, given it had always been at eye level this afternoon. He was so much taller than she was, so unless she tilted her head all the way back, her gaze had constantly been facing his delineated pectoral muscles with their light dusting of sandy brown hair.

Soaking him in. Wondering what they felt like.

She pulled her suddenly itching hands out of the dish-water, feeling hot and disoriented. Flicking on the faucet, she ran cool water against her wrists and sighed. Thinking about Josh had to stop, because no matter how decadently sexy he was, the antipathy that ran between them was palpable. It had disaster written all over it, and she was not falling back into bad habits. Coming home to Bear Paw was supposed to protect her from that.

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

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MONTANA ACTUALLY

A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

Copyright © 2015 by Fiona Lowe.

Excerpt from
Truly Madly Montana
by Fiona Lowe copyright © 2015 by Fiona Lowe.

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eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-17598-3

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / January 2015

Cover art by Aleta Raftan.

Cover design by George Long.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To Doris. For the cherry pies, friendship and support over ten thousand miles.

In one way, the writing of a book is a very solitary endeavor, but in another, it’s a team effort and my team is made up of many people and all are equally important in their support of me. Thank you to my readers; hearing from you and knowing you have taken precious time out of your busy lives to reach out keeps me writing. Many thanks to my wonderful agent, Helen, for always being in my corner, and to my editor, Wendy, for embracing the town of Bear Paw and its many and varied inhabitants. It’s the place to be if you ever need a sexy doctor or hanker to meet a cowboy. Thanks to the team at Berkley; from the art director to the copyeditor, the production people and the distributors, all of whom contributed to
Montana Actually
becoming a reality and in your hands right now.

I owe an enormous debt of gratitude to Kari Lynn Dell, (
Montana For Real
) for all her Montana ranching information, her stories of life on the land, her speedy e-mail responses and for the laughs. I couldn’t have written this book as accurately without her help, and any mistakes I have made are mine. How did authors write books before Twitter? To all the doctors and nurses on Twitter who probably wonder why an author is following them, thank you. Your tweets are both hilarious and heartfelt and strangely educational as well as great book fodder. Go #FOAMed.

On the days when writing is tough, my fellow medical romance writing mates, who totally get my obsession with TV medical drama and all things medical, are always on the other end of an e-mail for support. Their photos of sexy men both in and out of scrubs also help.

Last but by no means least, huge thanks go to my family of men who keep the faith when I lose it, tackle domestic chores with true heroic strength and leave encouraging albeit cheeky notes on my computer such as, ‘Finish the damn book.’ And finally, a special shout-out to Barton, my “Boy Wonder” who designs all my website, Facebook and Twitter banners and cheerfully tackles any artwork suggestions I throw at him. Love ya!

T
he thirty cows blocking the road were a good indication to Dr. Josh Stanton that he was no longer in Chicago. That and the inordinate number of bloated roadkill with their legs in the air that he’d passed in the last few hours along Highway 2 as he traversed the north of Montana. Sure, Chicago had its fair share of flattened cats on its busy inner-city streets, but he’d stake his life no one living between North Halsted and North Wells streets had ever had to step over a deer.

He watched the cows lurch from decisiveness in their chosen direction to utter chaos as two border collies raced at their heels, barking frantically and driving them determinedly toward an open gate on the other side of the road. Josh’s fingers tapped on the top of the steering wheel as they always did when he was stuck in traffic in Chicago’s clogged streets. What was the collective noun for a group of cows? Bunch? Herd? He’d once seen a documentary on ranching in Australia and they’d said “mob” in their flat accent.

He guessed he’d find out the name soon enough, as he was close to finishing his 1,458-mile journey across Wisconsin, Minnesota, North Dakota and three-quarters of Montana.

When he’d left home three very long days ago, he’d thought the north woods of Wisconsin were as isolated as things got, but now, as he gazed around him and felt the howling west wind buffeting the car, he knew Menomonie was positively urban in comparison to the endless grass plains that surrounded him. Where the hell were the trees?

An older man on a horse, whose weather-beaten face told of a life lived outdoors, stopped next to Josh’s low-slung sports car. Josh wound down the window, his gaze meeting jean-clad legs and horse flesh. He craned his neck.

“Taking a trip?” the cowboy asked conversationally, as if they had all the time in the world to chat.

I wish.
“Relocating.”

“Yeah?” His gaze took in Josh’s Henley shirt and the computer bag on the seat next to him. “You’re a bit far north for Seattle. Don’t reckon you should risk the mountain roads driving
that
vehicle.”

Josh automatically patted the dash as if the car’s feelings needed soothing. Granted, his sports car wasn’t the latest model this side of five years, but it was in great condition and he loved it. The buzz it gave him when he drove it more than made up for the extra money it had added to his outstanding loans.

“I’m not going over the mountains,” he said, his mouth twisting wryly as he checked his TripTik. “I’m going to Medicine River County and a town called Bear Paw.”

A town that was wrenching him from his home and staking a claim on his life that went straight through his heart. A town that Ashley had refused point-blank to even consider visiting, let alone living in.

The cowboy called out an instruction to his dogs, who immediately raced behind a recalcitrant calf, and then he lifted his hat and scratched his head. “Bear Paw. Okay.”

Josh wasn’t certain what to read into the statement. Sure, he’d seen a photo on the Internet of the small hospital, but short of that, he didn’t know much else. “My cell’s out of range, so I’ve lost my location on the map, but I think it’s about twenty miles away. Do you know it?”

“Oh yeah. I know it. What takes you there?”

Debt half the size of Montana.
“Work. I’m the new physician.”

The man nodded slowly. “Ah.”

Unease skittered through Josh’s belly. What did the cowboy know that he didn’t? “What the hell does ‘ah’ mean?”

He laughed. “Relax, son. Your trip’s over.”

As the last cow finally conceded the grass was indeed greener on the pasture side of the fence and had moved through the gate, Josh looked down the now clear road and saw nothing. Nothing if he discounted some sort of a crop and a hell of a lot of sky. He squinted and just made out what looked like a communications tower. “So where’s the town?”

The older man pointed down the dead-straight road. “Three miles gets you to the outskirts and another mile to the traffic signal. Two miles past that, you’re done with the town and heading to the mountains.”

That distance in Chicago wouldn’t even get him from his apartment to his favorite deli. How small was this place? “What if I turn at the traffic signal?”

“Right? Now that will take you straight to Canada, eh.” He grinned at his own joke.

The town couldn’t possibly be so small. “According to Wikipedia,” Josh said, “it’s got a population of three thousand people.”

The cowboy scratched his head again. “I guess if you include the ranches, it does. It’s surely bigger than Bow. Mind, just about everywhere’s bigger’n Bow.”

Disbelief flooded Josh as he remembered passing a rusty town sign. “That place with the tavern and nothing else?”

“Yup, that’d be Bow.” He shoved his hand through the open window. “The name’s Kirk McCade. Welcome to Bear Paw, Doctor.”

Josh gripped his hand. “Josh Stanton.”

Kirk slapped his hand on the roof of the car. “No doubt this baby is a sweet ride, but once you’ve settled in, best buy yourself an outfit.”

“A what?” Surely the cowboy wasn’t talking about clothes.

“A truck, a pickup. Winter here’s tough on vehicles.”

A slither of indignation ran up Josh’s spine. He might not be used to wide-open spaces, but he knew weather. “I’ve just spent two years in Chicago, so I know all about winter.”

Kirk laughed so hard Josh worried he’d fall off the horse.

—

KATRINA
McCade loved her family dearly, but there were some days she wished they didn’t have her cell phone number. Today was one of those days. Every time she got the paint roller primed, raised and in position, ready to paint the living room walls of her cottage, her phone beeped. Over the last hour, almost every member of her family had contacted her.

Her father had been the first—brief and to the point—calling to confirm that she was cooking supper tonight for her mother’s birthday. She’d reassured him, and the moment he’d hung up, her mother, who had no clue about the surprise birthday supper, had called. She’d wanted Katrina to check the menu at both Leroy’s and the Village Lounge and book the one with the best steak special because her father loved his beef. Even on her birthday, she was thinking of others. Ten minutes after that, her phone had vibrated with the sound of a motorcycle, which meant her younger brother, Dillon, was texting her.

Please buy gift for Mom that looks like I chose it. Also wrap it cos I suck at bows.

The moment that missive had pinged onto her phone, her younger sister called wanting dating advice.

Dating advice? Hah!
Katrina gave the roller such a hard push that it skated across the wall spreading paint in a wide arc instead of the even vertical plane she’d intended. When Megan, her twenty-one-year-old baby sister, had asked her opinion on the best way to hook up with her latest crush, it had taken all of her self-control not to blurt out that
all
men required a police check, marital status verification and blood tests before the first date. Only such a caustic comment would have invited questions she didn’t want to answer. Instead, she’d suggested Megan invite a friend to go with her to the Jack-Squat bar.

Her sister had hinted that maybe Katrina might like to come along and meet the guy in question and give her opinion, but the thought of driving an hour and a half south tomorrow night and spending time in a loud and noisy bar with a group of college kids was the last thing Katrina wanted to do. It made her feel old. No way did she need any more reminders that her thirtieth birthday was bearing down on her as fast as the Amtrak that ran through Bear Paw every day at noon. Heck, since coming back to her hometown a few weeks ago after working away for eight years, she’d deflected so many questions about her lack of a boyfriend and her future plans, she could teach a course.

A fine spray of paint dusted her as she found a rhythm, and a sense of satisfaction built on seeing her progress. Her phone buzzed again and she sighed. The only person in her immediate family whom she hadn’t spoken to so far this morning was her older brother, Beau. Technically, he was her cousin, but for as long as she could remember, Beau had lived with them and she considered him a brother as much as her parents considered him their son. He preferred to text rather than to talk, but he’d probably just realized the date and wanted her to buy a present for their mother as well. Men!

Wiping her hands on her paint-stained shorts so that she didn’t swipe paint onto the phone’s touch screen, she hit accept, not recognizing the number. “Hello?”

“Trina.” A familiar voice—one that had made her heart flutter for months and now made it cramp in anger and betrayal—came down the line. She could hear the sound of a code being called over a PA in the background.

“Brent.” She sighed, closing her eyes and automatically calculating the time zone change. She hated that her mind immediately pictured him coming out of surgery wearing his monogrammed scrubs and distinctive red clogs. She quickly opened her eyes and stared out across the plains toward the Rocky Mountains in the distance, desperately seeking calm. “I thought we’d agreed to no calls.”

This time he sighed. “I agreed you needed time and I’ve given it to you. You’ve made your point, Trina, I get it, but it doesn’t change the fact we still love each other. With some compromise and understanding on your part, we can still make this work.”

Still.
His arrogance astounded her, although it shouldn’t be a surprise. She still whipped herself for having been oblivious to that particular character flaw. His tone said everything was her fault but she was being forgiven.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, welcoming the pain because she had no clue how to even go about explaining that no amount of trying was going to make them work.
Ever.
“Nothing’s changed, Brent.”

“I miss you.”

Her throat tightened as the quietly spoken words caressed her, reminding her of the wonderful times they’d shared. Her resolve wavered.

“Trina, I just want to reassure you that you can get me on this number anytime.”

This number.
Her brain jolted her back to reality so fast she got whiplash. He’d gotten another phone. Another number just for her. Again. Her knees wobbled and she gripped the doorjamb to hold herself up. Wet paint squelched around her fingers.
Shit
. She pulled her hand away and found her voice. “Good-bye, Brent.”

She cut the call, hurled the phone onto the sofa as if it were radioactive and then ran fast and hard on the spot, letting out a scream that came from the center of her being. A deer grazing at the edge of the now weed-choked garden took off at a run. All the feelings she’d spent weeks letting go of surged back, buffeting her like the frigid and biting arctic winds that swooped in from Canada. Anger at Brent. Even more anger at herself and at her own stupidity. Anger period. She hated how it dug in, making her feel so powerless, desperately foolish and immensely sad all at the same time. She bit the inside of her cheek to try and stall the shakes that threatened to send her into the fetal position on the couch.

She never, ever wanted to feel like this again, which was why she’d come home in the first place, effectively putting two thousand miles between her and Brent. Closing the door to temptation and poor judgment.

Her old border collie, Boy, heaved himself off his rug and came over to her, licking her hand. He was deaf and half blind but he always knew when she was upset. She rubbed his ears and buried her face in his coat, thinking about how her life had changed so much. A few weeks ago she’d had a great job and a clear vision of her future firmly set in Philly. When it all came tumbling down, she’d bolted back to Bear Paw, telling herself it was only temporary. A breathing space. She’d even made some calls about doing some health care volunteering in Ecuador, because at least that was a plan of sorts and it reassured her that her time in Bear Paw would be short.

She hadn’t told her parents the real reason for her return, because she didn’t need to see or hear their disappointment that she’d failed, especially as she’d been heard to say more than once that she preferred living in the city. Instead, she’d skirted the truth and told them she was burned-out from her high-pressure unit manager job and she was taking a break to visit with them and work on the cottage. They’d immediately suggested she work at the Bear Paw hospital like she’d done when she’d graduated, but she was determined to avoid anything to do with doctors and hospitals. Instead, she’d gotten a part-time job at the diner and at Leroy’s. Although her parents had never been thrilled she’d left Bear Paw and they’d been the ones to urge her two years ago to buy the cottage, they’d silently accepted her decision, but she caught their troubled gazes on her from time to time. She hated that. Hated that her inability to make the right choices in her life had landed her back at home.

Giving Boy a
thank you but I’m fine
rub around the ears, she grabbed the roller with a jerk and quickly made short work of the rest of the walls. By the time she’d finished and was surveying her handiwork, she’d found a modicum of hard-earned calm. The new paint had gotten rid of the nicotine stains left by the stressed-out accountant who’d run from town the moment tax season was over. He’d been a lousy tenant despite Walt, her Realtor, promising her six months ago that he came with great references. After the mess he’d left behind, Katrina was convinced the previous landlord wrote the glowing report just to get rid of him.