Truly Madly Montana Page 8

  Doris’s cheeks pinked up. “Actually, Herb Jeffries has been driving me.”

  “All Hands Herb?” In her surprise, the nickname for the gropey senior slipped out before she could censor herself.

  “Those hands are quite talented, Millie, dear.” Doris’s eyes twinkled as she patted her on the arm. “What he can do with his thumbs is pure magic, and I hope you find someone with similar skills very soon.” She picked up her purse. “I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

  The rushing sound of blood filled Millie’s ears and her jaw sagged. She managed to pull it closed and then tried to speak, but nothing came out. As she closed it again, she knew she must look like a flapping trout, but for the love of all that was utterly unfair, Doris, at seventy, was getting more action than she was.

  “Thank you,” she finally managed to splutter weakly, “but I’m fine.” She tacked on hastily, “Really, fine,” and instantly regretted it.

  Doris gave her a kind but disbelieving smile and another hand pat before walking down the hallway back to reception. Millie swore she heard her muttering something that sounded like clueless.

  “Millie.” Floyd Coulson, the good-humored hospital administrator, strode toward her, his round and florid face wreathed in a smile. “Just thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing.”

  Why? Last year when she’d worked full-time as an RN at the clinic, Floyd had never taken any notice of her. In fact, he’d taken to walking in the opposite direction whenever he saw her, and he’d completely ignored her repeated requests for a transfer to the ER. Yet, here he was today acting like he cared about her.

  “It’s Friday and I’ve survived my first week back at the Bear Paw clinic, so it’s all good.”

  “Excellent. That’s just what I want to hear from Bear Paw’s future doctor.” His voice deepened with sincerity. “We want to offer you the best experience we can.”

  Huh? She was tempted to hit herself upside the head and clear her hearing, but then everything suddenly lined up. As an RN she’d had little clout, but now, as a medical student and a TRUST—Targeted Rural and Under Served Track—scholar, Floyd was obviously courting her with a view to the future. He was hoping she’d eventually return to Bear Paw as a doctor when she was qualified.

  This was an unexpected turn of events, but before she decided to milk it to her advantage, she’d best check that her understanding of the situation was the same as his. “With Josh on his honeymoon, my TRUST rotation can’t start until July 1 when he gets back. This month, I’m working as a nurse practitioner in the clinic.”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Floyd gave her a fatherly glance. “I know last year you were disappointed not to be working in the ER.”

  Hope took a tentative soar. “You’re giving me nursing shifts in the ER?”

  “I think you’ll find it’s much better than that.”

  Better than working in the ER? She stared at him, trying to think what could possibly be better than that. “I’m intrigued.”

  Floyd’s pale green eyes creased around the edges. “We hope you’ll be more than just intrigued. Josh’s arrival a year ago has had a big impact on the hospital, and we’re busier than we’ve ever been. Over the winter, he set up links with some of the Great Falls specialist physicians, and with the Board’s approval, we’ve started a trial visiting doctor program. So far we have an ob-gyn and a general surgeon, and they stop by once a month for a couple of days for consultations and surgery. We’re hoping to expand the program this fall to include an internist with an interest in endocrinology and, given our mini baby boom, a pediatrician.”

  “Wow, that is exciting.” As a teen, she’d spent hours of her life commuting to Great Falls and sometimes to Billings to see her endocrinologist. “But how does this affect me?”

  He clapped his hands as if heralding great news to a large crowd. “Last year there was an unprecedented number of emergency retrievals, with most of them coming out of Glacier National Park, because tourists seem to get themselves into all sorts of trouble on vacation. Great Falls has a level two trauma center, but it’s farther away, so they want to partner with us this summer and base their helicopter here. It’s got something to do with what the doctors call the golden hour.”

  Millie knew all about it. “The sooner a critical patient receives medical care post-trauma, the greater their chance of survival.”

  “That’s it,” Floyd said, nodding his agreement. “Anyway, it means that Bear Paw Hospital is doing the emergency retrievals and transfers. You’re going to be part of the team starting Monday.”

  A squeal of delight left her lips, and she had the overwhelming urge to hug the big man. “Thank you so much, it’s . . . I . . . I can’t believe it. I thought my TRUST rotation was going to be the best part of summer, but this . . .” She still couldn’t wrap her head around it.

  Floyd shook his head indulgently. “Millie, this is your TRUST medical experience.”

  Her gut took a sharp dive toward her toes as disappointment socked her hard. As a nurse practitioner, she could do this job no problem, but not as a medical student. “Floyd, for it to be my TRUST experience, I need a supervising physician.”

  “The board knows this, and you have one.” Again, Floyd grinned at her, his face pink with enthusiasm. “I’ve arranged for that Australian doctor to come work with us. You know, the one who was at the wedding?”

  “Will?” His name shot out on a high-pitched squeak as her lungs froze in shock. Her head spun crazily in the exact same way it did whenever her blood sugar plummeted. “Will Bartlett?”

  Will, who turned her mind to mush with one smile. Will, who thought she was gay.

  “Yes.” Floyd hitched up his trousers, which constantly battled against the downward pressure of his belly. “I spoke with him at length at brunch on Sunday, and he’s enthusiastic about the job. He said he was especially looking forward to working with you and being your TRUST supervisor.” Floyd gave her an expectant look—one that said, Congratulate me because I’ve done something amazing for you. “So, what do you think?”

  She stared at him. “I . . . it’s . . . I . . .”

  Floyd laughed. “It’s not often I see you speechless, Millie, so I’m sure glad you’re so excited about the opportunity. Rest assured, the hospital board wants to do everything to make your TRUST experience with us a positive one.”

  Somehow she managed to engage her brain and stutter out her thanks and appreciation. Floyd, happy with her response, walked away, calling over his shoulder that he’d send her an e-mail with all the details but to be ready to meet Dr. Bartlett at eight on Monday morning.

  Forcing her wobbly legs to carry her to the treatment room, she sank onto the chair the patients used when they were having blood drawn. She dropped her face into her hands and let out a long, dismal groan. What a mess. On paper it was the most incredible opportunity for her, and one she would normally have almost killed to get. It would certainly make some of her fellow medical students in the University of Washington’s WWAMI—Washington, Wyoming, Alaska, Montana and Idaho—regional medical program green with envy. Working in retrieval medicine was one big adrenaline ride—a ticking clock, split-second decision-making and a rush that made the Tower of Terror look like a walk in the park.

  There was just one problem. One big problem. Why did the supervising physician have to be Will?

  Because he’s the best.

  And there was no disputing that. He had a phenomenal body of knowledge with world-class experience working with the Australian flying doctors, and the fact she had access to all of it was an incredible opportunity.

  A slither of logic broke through her shock. Forget Will. Focus on the amazing teaching opportunity.

  There was just one teensy-tiny problem with that. Her mind tended to melt when she was around him, making the learning conditions less than ideal. Still, she’d be foolish to waste this chance, and she needed to make the most of it. All she had to do was focus totally o
n the learning and a lot, lot less on the lusting.

  She could do that. Easy. Right.

  Her only reply was a mocking laugh that echoed wildly in her head and was fast followed by, Now you have to tell him about the gay thing.

  No. A ripple of guilt washed up against her resolute decision not to tell him the truth about her sexuality. She fried it faster than a mosquito landing on a bug zapper. Will’s leap to an incorrect conclusion was his problem not hers, and she planned to take advantage of it. As long as he thought her a lesbian, it would hide from him any of her momentary lust lapses. After all, she needed all the help she could get.

  Seriously? remnants of her Sunday-school-self asked her in a disappointed tone. You cannot keep up that pretense for a month or more.

  Oh yes, I can. She didn’t have a boyfriend, and the town had long given up on her getting one, so no one was likely to suggest Will as a possible candidate. There was also the added advantage that all the other single women in town would be throwing themselves at Will and they wouldn’t even view her as competition. Will was unlikely to ask her if she had a girlfriend, and even if he did, she’d just say no. So nothing had to change—all she had to do was live her life as normal, and neither Will nor the town would be the wiser.

  “Millie!” Bethany’s strident voice boomed out of the intercom. “Get your ass into gear. Herb Jeffries is waiting to see you. He’s complaining of pain in his thumb and wrist.”

  What he can do with his thumbs is pure magic.

  Millie choked on her incoming breath, knowing immediately why Herb had that particular injury and wishing she didn’t. At least working with Will would save her from sex-obsessed septuagenarians.

  It won’t save you from sex-obsessed thoughts about Will.

  Word.

  MILLIE had strapped Herb’s wrist and had found herself blushing furiously while she reluctantly answered his questions on which vibrator might replicate his special skills to give the inflammation of his tendon time to subside. It wasn’t a conversation she’d ever expected to have with a patient, let alone a man in his twilight years, and it bit that he knew more about the silicone devices than she did. He’d given her a similar look to the one Doris had used, inferring that despite being in her twenties, she was the old and out-of-touch person in the conversation.

  She’d responded tartly that if he didn’t want a frozen thumb he’d best follow her treatment instructions, which included ice, splinting and ibuprofen. Locking the clinic behind him, she breathed a sigh of relief he was the final patient of the day and the weekend was officially starting. She tested her blood sugar, grabbed her tote bag and walked over to Leroy’s.

  Even before she stepped inside the low, squat building, the aroma of hot fat and fish hit her nostrils, making her smile. Nothing said Friday more than a fish fry, and Leroy’s did it to perfection. Friday nights at the bar were a tradition for her whenever she was in town, and she pushed open the door, ready to kick off her weekend.

  “Millie!” The guys at the pool table raised their beers in her direction. “We’re racking up. Wanna game?”

  “I’ve gotta eat first, but after that, you’re on.” She walked up to the bar. “Hi, Shane. One fish fry and a diet soda, please. Is the kitchen running on time?”

  The bartender tapped the order into the computer. “Sure is, Millie. You go sit and I’ll find you.”

  “Thanks.” Knowing by heart the carbs in the meal, she bolused insulin in preparation, shoved her pump into her bra and wandered over to the small stage where Ty Garver and Ethan Langworthy were fiddling with amplifiers. Ty often performed on a Friday if he wasn’t busy with ranch work, and June was his quieter month, wedged firmly between the frenetic spring calving, branding and trailing of cows and the July haying. “Hi, guys. How’s your week been?”

  Ty gave her a quick nod, and she immediately regretted the question. Less than a week ago, he’d watched the woman he’d loved for years marry someone else and kill any lingering hopes he may have harbored that the marriage wouldn’t come to pass. “Sorry, Ty, I didn’t think.”

  “On a happier note,” Ty said, tuning his guitar, “Eth got even more fame with some incriminating footage on YouTube. He kicked a goal for the opposing team in soccer.”

  She stared at her good friend, the mild-mannered, bespectacled librarian and computer geek. During her years of wild summers, he’d always kept an eye out for her, and he’d been the one to call 911 on the night her life changed. Eth had a lot of great qualities, but ball sports weren’t one of them.

  Laughter bubbled up in her chest. “Soccer, Eth? Seriously? Had you been drinking?”

  “You know me. I live to entertain,” he said quickly. “Are you . . .”

  His voice trailed off, and Millie turned, following his gaze, which was fixed on the door. Tara Ralston, the new policewoman, strode into Leroy’s, her long legs clad in slim-fit jeans and her well-endowed chest covered in a rainforest green sleeveless silk shell. The color was a perfect match for her blond hair, which, although she was out of uniform, was still braided just as tightly.

  Millie wasn’t surprised Ethan had looked—the woman was beautiful in a take-no-prisoners kind of a way. The thought crossed her mind that if Tara Ralston and Will Bartlett ever got together, they’d create beautiful babies who’d grow into traffic-stopping adults.

  She clicked her fingers in front of his face. “Earth to Eth.”

  He gave a sheepish look. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

  She laughed. “You’ve got it bad, buddy.” And I totally understand. “You were the one who was talking.”

  Ty slapped him on the back. “She’d freeze your balls off with one glance from those glacier green eyes, pal. Come on, we’ve got a set to play.”

  “Millie,” Shane called out, holding her plate of food aloft and pointing to a table.

  “Catch you guys later.” She made her way over to the table and sat down just as the microphone threw Ethan’s well-modulated voice around the room. “Who’s got Friday on their mind?”

  Ty played a riff.

  The gathering crowd whistled and hooted, and Ethan picked up his instrument. “Let’s do this.”

  The electrifying sound of cello and guitar burst into the air—the music of a Pink Floyd cover raining down, and the expectant crowd erupted. As Millie bit into her fish, she was once again amazed at how two of the nicest guys she’d ever met could play such badass music.

  While she ate, she noticed Tara was standing off to the side of the bar slightly apart from the rest of the relaxed Friday patrons. Millie hadn’t actually been introduced to her, but the woman looked so tightly strung and emanated waves of “I’m a cop, don’t step out of line” that she doubted anyone, male or female, would dare approach her. Bear Paw wasn’t used to unfriendly cops, or female ones, for that matter.

  Wanting to be friendly and show some solidarity from one young woman to another, she stood up and waved in Tara’s direction, hoping to catch her attention. At that precise moment, the police officer leaned in toward Shane, who appeared to be asking her a question. A guy a little farther down the bar turned, putting him in her direct line of vision.

  Her hand faulted, turning the wave into a jerky Saint Vitus’ dance as her entire blood supply dropped to her feet. Will Bartlett, who was not even supposed to be in Bear Paw until Monday, had a friendly smile on his face and was waving right back at her.

  Her mouth dried, her tongue thickened and her eyes fused to the image of him walking toward her. Light chinos moved across his thighs, and his white and blue polo shirt clung to the musculature of his chest, the royal blue shade lightening his dark eyes. Casually dressed Will was as jaw-dropping as formally dressed Will. Why was she even surprised? Half naked or fully clothed, he had the same effect on her—an effect she had to get a handle on. Hell, now he was her boss, she had to crush it flat like the compactor did to the cars at the dump.

  “G’day, Millie.” His intriguing accent swirled around her. “How�
��s it going?”

  She gave him a weak smile as she willed her heart to pump some blood back to her head so she could get her brain and tongue to coordinate. “Great.” It came out low and husky instead of the upbeat she’d aimed for.

  His head tilted as he set down his plate and beer. “Have you come down with a summer cold?”

  She shook her head and cleared her throat before taking another shot at sounding normal. “No.”

  If he’d noticed the rising inflection that ended on a cracked squeak, he didn’t comment on it as he sat down. “Good to hear.”

  He flashed her that smile again, and she worked at blocking the blissful sigh that always rolled through her.

  “Thanks for inviting me over, Millie. It’s always nicer to eat with a friend than on your own.”

  We’re friends? “Right.” She plunged her fork into her fish. “Yes. Sure.” Any chance we can string more than one word together?

  He gave her an odd look before glancing at the section of the bar where he’d been sitting. His eyes landed on Tara and instantly widened in the exact same way as every other man’s in the bar had done when they noticed her. He turned back to Millie with a silly grin on his face. “You weren’t waving at me, were you?”

  It took her a second to decode his expression, and then surprise whooshed through her. Duh, he thinks you’re hitting on Tara.

  This is perfect. You have to work with him and the only way to survive that is for him to think you’re gay. Just play along. “Ah, no, I wasn’t waving at you. Sorry.” At least that part was the truth.

  His face took on a hint of concern. “Do you really think you have a shot with her?”

  A spurt of indignation ran up her spine fast and hot. Sure, Tara was the female equivalent of Will—blessed with a genetic cocktail of facial symmetry that cast lesser mortals like herself in the shade. And straight or gay, Tara may not notice her, but the fact that Will thought this was yet another insult on a growing pile. First, he’d never flirted with her like he did with just about every other woman he met, then he’d assumed she was gay without any real evidence and now he was saying she couldn’t pull any tail . . . if that’s even what a gay woman would think. God, this was harder than she thought it would be.