Montana Daddy

He shoved his hands into his pockets and concentrated on the sounds of Mother Earth—the wind moving through the bare branches of the elm tree in his front yard, the crackling of dry grass as a rabbit dashed unseen through the vacant land nearby, the flight of a hawk’s wings through the air.

Jimmy Deer Running, the chief of the Blackfeet tribe on the nearby reservation, had told Rory not to resent the past but to learn from it. That wasn’t always an easy thing to do. Hell, most of the time he wasn’t even sure what lesson he was supposed to be learning.

Like why Kristi had never called or written to him after their summer together.

Why the hell didn’t you call her?

In retrospect, that seemed like a big mistake.

Maybe that explained her standoffish reception today. Maybe she was mad at him. Or maybe she was having the proverbial morning-after regrets some five-plus years later. He supposed he couldn’t blame her in either case.

Women were so darn hard to understand.

Glancing up at the darkening sky, he wondered if the predicted storm front was still moving their way from Canada. Spring weather could be the pits. Just when you were ready to get rid of winter, bam! another wicked storm would come through, and you’d be ready to move to Arizona.

Of course, as soon as the storm passed and the wildflowers bloomed, you’d remember Montana was God’s country.

Until the next winter.

Instead of going into his house to eat supper alone and watch reruns on TV, he decided to check in with his brother Eric. He could see the lights were still on in the sheriff’s office on Main Street.

Maybe he could talk ol’ White Eyes into having a beer with him at the Grass Valley Saloon, which featured “good eats” according to the banner that had hung in the window for as long as Rory could remember.

Tomorrow he’d start getting reacquainted with Kristi. She wouldn’t be around long. He intended to work as quickly as possible.

Smiling to himself, he sauntered toward Main Street.

Not many men get a second chance.

AS SHE WAS TRYING to rearrange too many casserole dishes into too small a refrigerator, Kristi happened to glance out the kitchen window.

Rory.

Her breath caught at the sight of his easy stride as he headed toward the center of town. Long and lanky, strolling along as though he had no cares in the world.

Meanwhile, her thoughts were a jumble.

Soon—very soon—she’d have to tell Rory the truth about what happened after their summer together.

Except, she had tried, more than once. And he hadn’t cared enough about her to return her phone calls when she’d desperately needed to talk to him nearly six years ago. His silence had added an exclamation point to their argument about maintaining a long-distance relationship.

She’d lost that battle—in spades.

But she’d won something more precious.

Bless her grandmother’s heart. Kristi had sworn Justine to secrecy when the doctor had discovered her secret. Good as her word, Justine had kept her confidence all these years.

Now the time had come—had nearly come, Kristi mentally corrected—when she had to face up to reality. But first she had to determine what kind of man Rory had become. There was more at stake than her own heart.

Her eyes fluttered closed momentarily, and she tried to remember another time in her life when her emotions had been so volatile. Or when procrastination had seemed like a perfect solution to whatever dilemma she faced.

Soon—very soon—she would have to tell Rory he had a five-year-old son, Adam, the true love of her life.

Chapter Two

The Grass Valley sheriff’s office boasted two cells, which mostly gathered dust, a potbellied wood stove capable of giving off enough heat for a volcano, and an assortment of chairs used mostly by the locals when they came in to visit with Eric.

A police radio was located on a console to one side of the room, always set to both police and emergency frequencies. The doctor’s office was hooked up to the same system. A useful tool in an area where ranches were far apart, cell phones didn’t always work and emergencies were as unpredictable as spring weather.

At the moment, the sheriff was sitting behind his desk talking on an ordinary phone. From his grim expression, Rory guessed Eric wasn’t having a social conversation.

Giving his brother a nod, Rory shed his jacket and hat and hung them on a peg near the door. While he waited for Eric to get off the phone, he idly thumbed through the latest stack of Wanted flyers on the corner of his brother’s desk. Fortunately he didn’t recognize anyone.

“What’s up?” Rory asked when his brother finished his phone call.

The chair squeaked as Eric leaned back. Unlike Rory, who wore his hair collar length, Eric trimmed his in a short, almost military style. It seemed to fit with the neat cut of his khaki uniform.

“Storm’s coming our way,” Eric said. “A bad one, according to the state Disaster Management Agency. They want me to implement our emergency plan.”

Rory cocked his brows. “Have we got one of those?”

“Sure we do. I gather together all the movers and shakers in our fair community and alert them there’s a blizzard coming.”

“They probably know that already from watching TV,” Rory pointed out.

“Possibly. Nonetheless, it’s not official till I tell ’em.”

“If you don’t tell them, does that mean the blizzard won’t show up?”

Eric’s brows pulled together in mock concentration. “I don’t think that’s how it works. I’ll check with Disaster Management next time they call.”

Chuckling, Rory sat on the corner of the desk. In a small town like Grass Valley, layers of bureaucracy weren’t much use, and his brother knew that. “So when’s the meeting?”

“Tonight at seven.” Eric opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a slender telephone directory. “I’ll get the preacher to open up the church—we’ll establish that as a shelter, if we need one. Then I’ll give folks a call, tell ’em we’ll be meeting there.”

“You need me to come?”

“You bet. Not only are you going to have to treat any animals that get themselves into trouble, you’re going to have to fill in for Doc Justine since she’s still in Great Falls.”

“Nope. The doc’s back. And her granddaughter, too.”

Eric lifted his attention from the telephone directory and shot a questioning look in Rory’s direction. “Kristi?”

Self-consciously, Rory shoved away from the desk and crossed the room to the stove. The mere mention of Kristi’s name made him sweat, and the heat of the stove was no antidote, so he edged toward the cooler air near the window. “Kristi picked the doc up at the hospital this afternoon and brought her back here.”

“You saw her? Kristi, I mean.”

Rory tried for a shrug of indifference but felt as if it came off too stiff. He was still stunned by seeing Kristi again and the wash of memories that had swept over him. “Yeah. I helped her get the doc into the house. She’s got a cast on her leg and using crutches.”

“So how’d Kristi look? Glad to see you, I bet.”

Hardly. “We didn’t talk much. She was anxious to get the doc settled in.”

“So is she married? Got kids or anything? Man, I remember you were so hot for her, I thought you’d burn up—”

Rory whirled. “We didn’t get to talk much, okay? Now, don’t you have a blizzard to prepare for or something, instead of sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong?”

Giving Rory a knowing grin, Eric waved off his comment. “I get the picture. You’re still hot for her.”

“Leave it alone, White Eyes.”

“Whatever you say, Bird Brain.”

The exchange of their youthful nicknames recalled the years they’d grown up together at the Double O Ranch. Eric, as the fairest of the three adopted brothers, had been dubbed White Eyes. Rory was tagged with Bird Brain after his Indian naming ceremony; his brothers took the position that Swift Eagle was too classy for him. Walker, the eldest of the three, picked up the name of Sharp Shooter—Sharpy for short—after he’d accidentally shot himself in the leg while showing off with their father’s rifle.

How any of them had survived adolescence still amazed Rory, and was due entirely to the patience and wisdom of the late Oliver Oakes, their adoptive father.

“Tell you what,” Eric said. “I’ll get things started here by calling the preacher, and you go talk to the doc. See what kind of supplies she has on hand, what procedures she’ll be able to handle—”

“You can call the doc yourself. She can talk just fine. Nonstop, if complaining counts.”

“It’ll be faster if you talk to her. At least you’ll understand her medical jargon better than I can.”

That might be true, but Rory didn’t have any urge to see Kristi again so soon. Actually he did, but she’d made it pretty clear she wasn’t eager for him to drop by. It’d be better to give her a little time. Let her relax, get used to the idea of him living right across the street. Then maybe he could figure out why she’d been so torque-jawed with him.

All business now, Eric picked up the phone and started punching in numbers. “Come to think of it, ask Kristi to come to the meeting tonight. She can be the go-between for Doc.”

Rory considered arguing with his brother but he knew he’d lose. Eric could be darn determined when he chose to be, a trait that had nearly cost him a leg riding a rodeo bull.

Kristi had been determined, too. Set on having a career. In no hurry to marry and have a family.

In that regard they’d been in agreement.

More than once Rory had wondered if that had been a mistake.

“KRISTI! You’re going to kill yourself!”

Doc Justine’s scream and a loud thumping noise propelled Rory through the door to the clinic and into the front hallway.

He came to an abrupt halt and tipped his hat to the back of his head.

Kristi was sitting on her rump at the bottom of the stairway, a double-bed mattress curved on the stairs behind her. Her face was red, and she looked out of breath.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine. I was just showing Grandma the latest rage in Spokane—the wild mattress ride. Tons of fun.”

Rory’s lips twitched but he didn’t dare let loose with the laugh that threatened. “I’m sure it will sweep the nation in no time.” He reached down to help her up.

She managed without him. “You could have knocked, you know.”

“Yeah, but I would have missed the next winner of World’s Funniest Videos.”

She eyed him with a hostility that wasn’t entirely convincing, given the twinkle of humor he spotted in the depth of her baby blues. “Things got a little out of hand,” she admitted.

“I can see that. What were you trying to do?”

“Besides kill herself?” Justine asked from the couch in the living room.

Kristi ignored her grandmother. “Grandma can’t get up the stairs on her crutches. Her arms aren’t strong enough.”

“I told her I could manage,” the doc groused. “She wouldn’t believe me.”

“So I wanted to set up her bed downstairs,” Kristi continued. “Things didn’t go quite as I had expected.”

“You could have called me. I would have helped.”

“That’s what I said, too,” Justine said, loud enough to rattle the door on it hinges. “But she’s the most stubborn girl I’ve ever seen. Don’t know where she gets it. Not from my side of the family, you can be sure of that.”

Both Kristi and Rory shifted their attention to Justine and burst out laughing.

Rory regained his composure first but he hoped Kristi never would. She had the most wonderful laugh, light and airy like a songbird in flight yet filled with warmth and caring. He could go on listening forever.

“Tell you what,” he said when Kristi’s laughter subsided. “I’ll help you bring down and set up whatever you need.”

“No need for all the fussing,” Justine insisted. “I can sleep on one of the examining tables until I can get around on my own.”

“You’d probably fall off, Grandma, and break something else. Besides, I’ll be examining patients on those tables.”

Rory started. “You’re going to examine patients?”

She glanced at him, then looked away. “I’m a nurse practitioner. The whole idea of me coming here during Grandma’s recovery is so she can see patients, as needed. I’ll be doing exams under her supervision.”

Surprise and disappointment combined to make Rory blurt out, “You didn’t go to med school?” He’d been so darn sure, so confident she’d go the limit. Nothing would stand in the way of her goal of becoming a pediatrician.

She bristled, her spine straightening until she was her full five feet five inches tall, the top of her head barely coming to his chin. “Some of us have responsibilities, Mr. Oakes. We can’t always do what we want to do.”

Justine snorted. “He’s not ‘mister.’ He’s got a piece of paper that says he’s a doctor, though I sure as hell wouldn’t want him to treat me for a case of rabies.”

Kristi looked up at him, a mixture of sadness and admiration in her eyes. “Grandma mentioned a couple of years ago that you’d graduated,” she whispered.

“By the skin of my teeth and pretty well near the bottom of my class, but yeah, I got my license.”

A sheen of tears suddenly blurred Kristi’s vision, and she had to look away. She was so proud of Rory and so angry that he had achieved what he’d set out to accomplish when she hadn’t quite made the grade.

Her own fault, she reminded herself. A premed student should have been more careful about birth control. A dumb mistake, one that had cost her a medical school education and her dream of becoming a doctor. She’d opted for fewer years of training, switching her goal to nursing so she could be home more with her baby.

In all fairness, that same mistake had been her greatest blessing and biggest joy—her son. She’d give her life to protect Adam from harm. Which is why she’d left him home with her mother while she helped Doc Justine. She had no idea how Rory would react to learning at this late date that he had a son, and she didn’t intend to risk having Adam hurt.

Nor was she eager to race into the uncertain world of a custody battle across state lines. She had a friend in Spokane whose divorce left her flying her two young children to Arizona three times a year to be with their father. Her girlfriend spent the entire time the children were gone worrying about them.

Turning to resume wrestling with the mattress, Kristi ignored a twinge of conscience. Despite the fact Rory hadn’t returned her phone calls, and had apparently found another woman at college almost before Kristi had gotten back home, he did have a right to know about his son.

She would tell him. But not right now.

Squeezing partway up the stairs, Rory grabbed the opposite side of the mattress. “Where do you want the bed set up?”

“The living room,” Kristi said.

“No way,” Justine insisted, her hearing in far better condition than her ankle. “Everybody who comes in will gawk at me like I’m some sort of a freak. Plant me in the second exam room. We can only handle one patient at a time, not that I ever have more than that, anyway.”

Kristi risked a glance in Rory’s direction and was snared by the intensity of his dark-eyed gaze. She swallowed hard.

“It’s her medical practice,” she said. “Her house.”

“Darn tooting it is,” Justine shouted, “so there’s no sense to argue.”

He hefted the mattress easily. “Lead the way, Nurse Kerrigan.” He took a step, then halted. “Are you still Kerrigan? Or did you get—”

“She’s still available, young man, if that’s what you’re asking. Not that she’d tumble for somebody who pokes needles in cows for a living.”

Heat raced to Kristi’s cheeks. “Grandma, if you don’t behave yourself, I’m getting in my car and going back to Spokane right now.”

“No, you won’t. You’re too much of a pushover to leave your old granny on her own. You wouldn’t be able to sleep nights if you did.”

God help her, Justine was right about that. There was little Kristi could refuse her grandmother. She owed Grandma her life…and her son’s. It had been Justine’s quick work the night of Adam’s birth that had saved him.

Sighing, Kristi pointed to the clinic door. “If you can carry the mattress in there, I’ll bring the box springs.”

“Should I get my video camera to record your encore stair descent?”

She was tempted to stick out her tongue at him, but his boyish grin was far too endearing. She remembered how frugal he’d been with his smiles when they’d first met, making each one precious to her and a major accomplishment. With every smile he’d sent in her direction, she’d floated on a sensual cloud of happiness for hours.

“Why don’t you let me handle moving the bed while you give the doc something to knock her out?” Rory suggested mildly.

“I heard that! You can’t get rid of me that easily. And don’t think I don’t know what you two young people are up to. I watch TV, you know.”

Kristi stifled a laugh. Impossible was quickly becoming an understatement.

“I’ll get the bedding,” she said, and headed up the stairs.

With Rory’s help it didn’t take long to set up the bed in the exam room. Even so Kristi fumbled with the sheets and blankets, intensely aware of a subtle undercurrent of intimacy in their task. Which was ridiculous. They were making a bed but it wasn’t their bed.

As a nurse she’d made up thousands of beds.

But never with a lean-hipped, broad-shouldered, hunky man of Native American descent, a man who had been the subject of her fantasies for more hours than she cared to admit. So much so that she hadn’t been able to develop a relationship with any other man. No one had compared to her memories of Rory.

Maybe hospitals would have more success recruiting nurses if they came equipped with men who looked like Rory. When she got back home, she’d drop a note in the suggestion box. Probably get a bonus for the idea, she thought, fighting off a bout of hysteria.

How in the name of heaven was she going to survive two weeks in Grass Valley with Rory showing up on the doorstep every few hours? She was going to have to start an epidemic of mad cow disease to keep him occupied and out of her hair.

Getting over him—putting the past behind her—was what she needed to do if she was ever going to move on with her life. That meant she had to face him and somehow find the courage to tell him the truth.

Not an easy ambition to achieve.

She watched as he smoothed the blanket over the sheets. He did have the nicest hands, long tapered fingers and a broad palm. Gentle hands, she remembered. Hands capable of arousing her to heights she’d only imagined.

“Eric’s calling an emergency meeting tonight at seven. He’d like you to come.”

…hands that stroked and caressed…

Her head snapped up. “What?”

“Eric. My brother. He’s the sheriff now. There’s a big storm coming, and he’s organizing us to do what we’d do anyway without being told. Which is to help out anybody who gets into trouble because of the weather.”

She blinked, trying to replace the sensual images that had filled her head with something more prosaic like the weather. “Why does he want me there?”

“In Doc Justine’s absence, you’re the designated emergency medical coordinator, or something like that. The disaster-planning people are real good about creating important-sounding titles.” He picked up a pillow, fluffed it and plopped it on the bed. “He could probably make you director of medical services, if you’d like that better.”

“No, coordinator is fine. Is the storm really going to be that bad?”

“They could be playing Chicken Little, but the satellite photos on the weather channel look pretty intense. I’d say don’t count on spring for a few weeks yet.”

She understood about planning for a disaster. You hoped it didn’t happen but you needed to be prepared. Leaving Justine alone for an hour or so to attend the meeting wouldn’t be a problem. Grandma could manage on her own for that long.

“Where’s the meeting?” she asked.

“At the church. I can come by and get you.”

Definitely not a taxi service she needed or wanted. Keeping the widest possible distance between herself and Rory was a far better choice, at least until she got her bearings and her courage built up. “I remember where the church is. I’ll be there at seven.”

“Great.” He stood back from the bed as far as the tiny examination room would allow. “Anything else you need from me?”

How about a couple of hours of great sex? “No, I think I’ve got everything under control for the moment.” Everything except her suddenly overactive libido. Damn!

He picked up his jacket from the top of the autoclave where he’d draped it and settled his hat on his head. “Okay, I’ll see you later then.”

She smiled weakly. That’s exactly what she was afraid of.

THE TEMPERATURE had dropped and snow had begun to fall by the time Rory walked the couple of blocks to the church. Already the big flakes had covered the bare spots in his yard and turned Main Street slick with the white stuff. If this kept up, as predicted, they’d have a foot of snow by morning. Maybe more. Add some wind and let it snow for a few days, and the disaster-planning folks would have something to do with their time.

Helluva spring thaw.

When he reached the church, he glanced around to see if he could spot Kristi walking or her SUV in the parking lot. No such luck.

The rec hall adjacent to the church felt hot compared to the outdoors, and Rory shrugged out of his jacket. Eric was up front talking with Reverend McDuffy, a gray-haired preacher who managed to mix practical wisdom with his biblical messages.

Joe Moore, who owned the general store, was chatting with Harold Hudson, the local pharmacist. Pauline Bennett, who’d inherited her husband’s plumbing business stood off to the side. She had access to a backhoe that could be needed in a snow emergency and knew how to fix frozen pipes.

“Hey, Pauline,” Rory said.

“Hey, yourself. Heard Kristi Kerrigan is back in town.”

“Yep.” If the phone lines went down in Grass Valley, the entire town would dry up with no gossip to feed on.

“She was such a sweet girl. I remember that summer when she visited her grandmother and you two were—”

“I’ve gotta talk with Eric. Excuse me.” With little grace, he veered away from Pauline. God, had everyone in town known he and Kristi were involved? He supposed so. Being discreet probably hadn’t been on his mind. Still, you’d think after all these years people would forget. Their whole affair had only lasted six weeks.

Not that he had forgotten a minute of it.

The door to the rec room opened again, bringing with it a rush of cold air and Kristi, all bundled up in a ski jacket, her vibrant hair tucked under a knit cap. Her cheeks were red from the winter air. So was the tip of her nose. Rory couldn’t remember a more beautiful sight. An eye feast for a starving man.

He smiled. “Welcome to spring in Montana.”

“Spokane gets snow, too.”

“In April?”

“Well, not like this, I suppose.”

Eric called the half-dozen people in the room together before Rory could respond. “Let’s gather around, folks. I don’t want any of us to be out in this weather any longer than we need to be.”

They pulled some chairs together in a circle. Rory made sure he was sitting next to Kristi, their chairs nudging each other’s so there could be a chance brush of their thighs, denim to denim. A graze of his forearm across hers, sweater to sweater. She wasn’t married. Available, according to Doc Justine. What was the matter with the guys in Spokane? Why hadn’t one of them snapped her up by now? Not that he wasn’t grateful for a second chance.

Distracted by the sweet fragrance of Kristi’s apple-scented shampoo, Rory had trouble following Eric’s comments. The only emergency he felt was the strain against the fly of his jeans. It’d be damn embarrassing to pop the zipper just sitting here. He’d have to fake it, saying something about how they don’t make zippers like they used to. Nobody would believe him, though. They’d know damn well he still had the hots for Kristi. He always had.