Ignite (Firefighters of Montana Book 3)
A Firefighters of Montana Romance
Nicole Helm
Ignite
Copyright © 2016 Nicole Helm
Kindle Edition
The Tule Publishing Group, LLC
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-944925-49-9
L
ina McArthur studied
the screen of her rolling computer station, noting the patient’s information before entering the exam room. It hadn’t been a particularly busy day in the ER—late afternoon rarely was, here. Considering she’d come from the tiny town of Marietta, Montana, Kalispell was something of a change. Sure it wasn’t New York City, but it was still busier than she had been used to during her residency with Marietta Regional.
Possible concussion wasn’t exactly a gunshot wound, but it was nice to be here, to work somewhere outside the sphere of her father’s influence. She’d only been with Kalispell Regional for a month now, but living on her own, being out of the McArthur spotlight in Marietta, it was everything she’d dreamed it could be.
She stepped fully into the exam room to find a large man sprawled out on the exam table. He was wearing pants that had large tear down the side, which revealed a long if not terribly deep scratch. The pants and the loose fitting T-shirt he wore were covered in a streaky black substance that appeared to be smoke or soot of some kind.
He had black smudges on his face as well, though mostly at his hairline and under his stubbled jaw. Someone had cleaned and bandaged the scrapes across his cheek, but the nurse had informed her that he didn’t need any stitches.
“Mr.…” She wasn’t sure why she paused over the last name. It was a very common one and just because it happened to be the last name of her best friend didn’t mean anything. She’d just been thinking about home and Marietta, and Jess was one of the few things she missed.
Besides, the brother Jess was looking for might have the last name Clark, but his first name was not Ace like this gentleman’s. It was a coincidence and silly to think otherwise.
*
If there was
one thing Lina McArthur was
not
, it was silly. “Mr. Clark. I see you took a little bit of a tumble. Can you tell me what happened?”
“You mean the same story I already told the nurses? Each and every one who came in and asked me the same damn question?” His voice was deep and edged with total irritation.
“It’s important we all get our story straight,” Lina replied, doing her best to keep her tone equitable. The hardest part of being a doctor for her was bedside manner. Especially being in the ER where people tended to take out their fear and nervousness on her. But she hadn’t made it through med school and residency in a hospital dominated by her larger-than-life father without learning how to plaster on a fake smile. “If you could just explain to me what happened and where you’re hurt.”
“This is so unbelievable,” he grumbled, sitting up straighter in the bed and glaring at her with a sharp, blue gaze.
Blue eyes, just like Jess.
And half the rest of the population, idiot.
“Mr—”
“Listen, lady, I have better things to do than sit in the ER telling a million people the same story. I was hurt. As I can walk, see, and think, I’ve deduced that I’m fine. No medical degree needed.”
Surly, her absolute
least
favorite type of patient to deal with. Probably because she’d be the same if the situations were reversed. She hated repeating herself, hated
waiting
. Patience was not her virtue.
It didn’t appear to be this man’s either. Though he didn’t fidget, his blue eyes were nearly vibrating with a kind of restless irritation. His jet black hair was unruly, though not too terribly long.
He didn’t even look a thing like Jess, why did she keep wondering over his last name? It would be too crazy of a coincidence.
Besides, he’s hot
.
Neither here nor there, brain.
“I’m sorry you’re frustrated, Mr. Clark,” she said in the most cheerful voice she could muster. “But this is procedure, and the sooner you cooperate the sooner we can release you. Now, please explain to me what happened.”
“I’m a smoke jumper,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.
His arms were also streaked with black—smoke apparently. They were also…
yum
.
Argh. No. No thinking patients were hot.
“Small fire and I got caught up in the wrong wind. My chute got twisted and I landed hard, hitting my head on a tree. I’m a little banged up and apparently I lost consciousness for a second or two, but obviously I’m fine.” He swept a hand down the front of himself.
She didn’t allow herself to peruse.
Oh, yes, he is fine.
“How long were you out?”
“I’m not sure. The guys said a couple seconds. But the medic checked—”
“Obviously, the medic thought you should come to the ER. Have you had vomiting, nausea, change in vision?”
“Why don’t you ask the eight hundred people who came before who’ve already asked me that, lady?”
“Doctor. I am a doctor. Right now I am
your
doctor. So, stop calling me lady.” Once she said the words, she winced. She wasn’t supposed to snap but, oh, how she hated to be called
lady
or
girlie
.
His gaze sharpened, but his mouth, which had been screwed into a scowl since she walked in, curved upward. It was surprisingly potent, his smile. She didn’t trust it all.
“Pack a little bit of a punch for such a tiny package, don’t you, doc?”
“I’m not a package,” she replied, curling her fingers around the edges of her computer cart. “And I don’t pack any punch. I am a doctor.”
He sat up on the exam table, looking her over with a certain kind of…interest. Interest that made her feel very nearly jittery. Nervous. She’d never cared to feel either. Especially in the presence of a man who clearly thought she was something he could play with.
Lina McArthur was not
toyed
with. She scowled as she realized the voice in her head sounded far too much like her own father to make her comfortable.
Of course, that had always been because of who her father was, who her family was—the not being toyed with. While some people at this hospital knew of her father’s stellar medical reputation, his influence didn’t quite reach here. She’d been treated differently since moving here in that she hadn’t been treated differently at all, and it was nice to blend in. To not feel like she had to live up to the McArthur name.
That didn’t make men any easier. They were still as baffling as they always were. She slumped a little behind her cart, typing his explanation into the computer. “I’m going to examine the bump.”
“Are you now?”
She wanted to stutter at the lazy way he drawled that, but she schooled her tongue to behave as she stepped toward him. “Did you come into contact with any fire?” she asked, unable to stop looking at him. Which was…ridiculous. So, he was hot? She’d seen attractive men as patients before. But…there was something different about him. Something affecting. And pretty.
And muscles
.
“No, where I jumped, the fire’d already been put out. This is all old ash.”
“Ah.” Her hands wanted to shake, but she focused on the task at hand. Bump. Concussion symptoms. Deciding if she’d recommend a CAT scan.
“Ever jumped into a fire, doc?”
“No, my job is to heal fools who think they’re immortal.” Oh, that was not bedside manner.
But he laughed and something about that
sexy
rumble while she was gently parting his hair made her brain malfunction. Completely. She didn’t even remember what she was doing.
Focus. You’re a doctor. You’re a McArthur.
The bump wasn’t alarming, and the placement on his skull made it unlikely he had internal bleeding, with no ill-effects this far after the original accident.
“So, what’s the verdict, doc?” he asked, his voice a low, silky murmur. “Do I have a week to live?”
She dropped her hands and took a few steps away from him. Okay, maybe she
scurried
away from him. “You probably suffered from a concussion. Over the next few days you may get a nasty headache. You’ll want to avoid any screen time—TV, phones, computers. No contact sports, or, I assume, jumping out of planes.”
That knocked all the silky ease out of him and he sat up straight. “Fire season starts this week, aside from training I have to be ready to—”
“You’ll have to miss it. For a week.”
He scowled and jumped off the bed. “Like hell.”
She shrugged, making sure to keep the computer cart between them as she typed her recommendation into his chart. “Sorry, buddy. That’s how this works.”
“I don’t think you’re sorry at all, Dr…” His gaze trailed down to her name tag, and she was sure it was her imagination his eyes took a little detour over her breasts because not only were they the opposite of impressive, but her coat covered them up fairly well.
“Dr. McArthur,” he said, as though…stunned. As though he didn’t just know
of
the name, as though he knew the name. Intimately.
Then his gaze returned to hers and she knew… He knew her name. He knew her family. And his last name was Clark.
It couldn’t be, but it
had
to be. “Your name isn’t Ace at all, is it? It’s Dean. Dean Clark.”
*
