Montana Actually (9 page)

Her restraint finally broke and her musical laughter rained over him, pulling at his core of loneliness and disconnection.

“Prairie oysters are calves’ testicles. They’re also called cowboy’s caviar, Montana tendergroin, swinging beef and calf fries.”

“Very sophisticated humor,” he said, not able to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

“Oh, come on, Josh. Cowboy up. It’s just a bit of fun. I bet you’ve pranked first-year interns.”

He looked back at the guys who’d returned to drinking their beers and wondered if he’d overreacted. “So they pull that joke on every unsuspecting newbie?”

“They do.” Deep smile lines bracketed her oh-so-sexy mouth. “You have to admit, it’s pretty funny.”

“Hilarious,” he said dryly, enjoying the way she needed to tilt her head to look at him. She had a very pretty neck.

She laughed again. “Especially when you said you liked to eat them raw.”

His stomach revolted at the thought. “I’d like to see them eat gonads.”

“You will tonight.”

He scanned her face for more teasing. “You can’t be serious?”

She swallowed and then abruptly stepped back from him as if she’d just remembered something. She started walking. “I’m very serious.”

He easily matched her pace. “So how do you serve these prairie oysters?”

“We bread them and fry them. I’m not a huge fan but it’s something everyone tries once.”

“In that case, I guess I better eat some tonight. I don’t suppose there’s any way you can cook them but serve them so they look raw?”

Surprise lit across her face. “And prank those boys right back? I’ll see if I can think of something.” They’d reached a gate and she opened it.

He walked through and turned to watch her close it, enjoying the fact she had to lean over to do it. She joined him and he noticed she was definitely working on keeping more than an arm’s length distance from him. Every time he moved closer, she adjusted her position so there was definitely no chance of any accidental touching.
Damn it.

She shoved her hands in her pockets as if she were reading his mind. “So how did you find your first branding day?”

First the physical distance and now neutral conversation.
He kinda missed the snarky and distracted Katrina from the bar. “Loud. Who knew cows bellowed louder than the bass at a rock concert.”

She laughed again and then seemed to stop herself as if having a good time wasn’t an option. “Like all good mothers, the cows don’t like it when their babies are taken away from them.”

“It’s not just the cows. There’s the roar of the propane, the squeals of the calves, the neighing of the horses and the general yelling. I always thought country life was quiet, but it’s as noisy as a Bears’ game.”

“I’m glad we’re able to surprise you.”

She walked into a barn and he followed her. The smell of hay hit him the moment he stepped inside, and he realized he was actually inside a stable. Six horses raised their heads and gave him a long, curious look. He recognized four of them—they were the horses Katrina’s father, brothers and sister had ridden today.

Katrina walked over to a horse he didn’t know. It was brown and white with a long white slash down the center of its face, and it immediately nuzzled her neck. He instantly wanted to trade places with the horse.

He crossed his arms to stop himself from reaching out and touching her. “Your horse?”

“Kinda. Like Boy, he belongs to the ranch, but when I’m home, both Boy and Benji are mine again.”

“So, why weren’t you riding today?”

She sighed as she walked toward a stack of baled hay. “Familial responsibilities and expectations.”

He knew all about that. “Why were you avoiding me today?”

“I wasn’t avoiding you.” But the startled look in her now wide green eyes gave her away. “I was busy and so were you.”

“Katrina,” he said, shaking his head. “Every time you got within three feet of me you made a ninety-degree turn.”

“I did not.” She cut the twine on the hay bale.

“Yeah, you did. And we’ve just walked a half mile with you dodging and weaving to keep a good foot and a half between us.”

She snapped the pocketknife closed. “Get over yourself.”

He laughed. “There’s nothing to get over. All I’m saying is you don’t have to turn yourself inside out to avoid me. I don’t have a problem with the fact that you kissed me.”

She pointed an accusing finger at him. “Let’s get this straight, Josh. You kissed me; I was the one who pulled back.”

He stepped in close. “Sweetheart, we both know you took my tentative kiss and turned it into every man’s fantasy.”

She shook her head so fast that her hair flicked his chest. “No. I was the one who stopped it.”

“Because we were in the clinic.” He brushed her hair behind her ear. “But we’re not at the clinic now.”

Her eyes shone with so many emotions that they overlapped one another and he couldn’t decipher any of them except desire. It dominated and cast the rest in shadow. He waited for her to say or do something to tell him exactly what she wanted, but she stayed silent, so he lowered his mouth to hers.

He tasted salt, beer and restraint. He lightly nipped her lower lip.

She moaned, rose on her toes and opened her mouth under his, taking him in.

Thank you.

The memory of their other kiss fueled this one, and he explored her mouth, revisiting the places that made her kiss him hard in return. For nights he’d fantasized about touching her, and now he could. His hands spanned her waist and he tugged her in against him. Her breasts rose and fell against his chest, and her arms rose and she linked her hands around his neck.

God, she felt amazing. He wanted to feel more.

His hands tugged her blouse out of her jeans, and then he was touching hot, smooth skin. His fingers burned with her heat, and he explored her one vertebra at a time, pressing, kneading, feeling, until his fingers discovered her bra catch. Once he’d prided himself on being able to undo a bra with one flick of his fingers, but it had been a while. Ashley had used sex as a weapon.

He found the hooks and twisted. Nothing.

He hated looking clumsy. He tried a second time, adding a flick.

Thankfully, the bra opened and his hand sought the prize. He cupped round, hot, heavy flesh, loving the weight of it in his palm. Picturing what her breasts might look like, his thumb scraped across her already hard and raised nipple.

She cried out, the sound reverberating in his mouth.

Every ounce of blood in his body headed south. She was so amazingly responsive, and every part of him wanted her. He wanted to see her naked, touch her and explore every inch of her body. His other hand reached to pop the buttons on her blouse.

She pulled away.

Jesus, not again
. He was so hard he could barely see straight, let alone construct a coherent thought, and everything from her bright pink cheeks, her glazed eyes and her heaving breasts said she wanted him as much as he wanted her. “Katrina, you’re killing me.”

She licked her lips. “Are you married, Josh?”

“No.”

She nailed him with a look that could have seared meat. “You sure about that?”

Indignation slugged him. “Of course I’m damn well sure.”

“Engaged, then?”

He shook his head. “No. What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?”

“Girlfriend back east?”

“Not anymore.” It came out harsher than he’d intended.

Her head tilted and her mussed hair swung sideways. “So you’re single?”

A thread of panic ran through him that she was interviewing him as a potential partner. He wasn’t looking for anything more than the roll in the hay he was hoping to get, but he wasn’t having sex under false pretenses. “Categorically single. More importantly, Katrina, I’m intending to stay that way.”

She smiled a wide and unexpected smile. “Excellent.”

Stepping back in, she pressed her hands against his chest before rising up on her toes. “You passed.” She kissed him hard.

Silver spots danced behind his eyes, and all he wanted to do was kiss her until they both collapsed in the hay.
I passed?
His brain kept snagging on the word and he pulled away.
“Excuse me? What did I pass?”

“Everything.” Her hands tangled in his hair, her fingers playing in the curls as she pulled his head back to hers. “Even the fact you’re not a surgeon.”

The Stantons are surgeons.
His father’s censorious voice crashed into his head, and he set her back from him, his hands gripping the tops of her arms. “I’m not a surgeon? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

W
hat just happened?
Katrina felt as if she’d been sideswiped by a truck as Josh’s usually warm gaze turned the dark blue gray of an ice storm. One minute he was ready to undress her, and now he was firing metaphorical daggers into her. Why had she even said
you’re not a surgeon
? It wasn’t like she wanted memories of her worst mistake right here with them in the barn, especially when they were making out.

You’re almost thirty years old and you’re making out with a guy in a barn. Surgeon or not, this doesn’t come close to being sensible. New start, remember?

“It doesn’t mean anything, Josh.”

His nostrils flared. “People don’t say things that mean nothing, Katrina.”

The sound of a horn repeatedly beeping made the horses whinny and snort.

“Josh!” Dillon’s voice rang out. “Katrina! You here? We need the doc.”

Josh’s arms fell away from hers and he strode out of the barn. She hastily rehooked her bra and finger-combed her hair as she ran after him. Dillon was in the yard, and the moment he saw them he called out, “It’s okay. No one’s bleeding to death.”

“What’s happened?” Katrina asked at the same time as Josh while they piled into the outfit.

“Some kids were riding the four-wheeler and Sam Duckett fell off the back. Nothing’s broken and he was walking around playing after, but now he’s just puked.”

“That’s not good.” Again, Josh’s words rolled over hers.

“You two have to start saying ‘jinx,’” Dillon said as they bounced across the pasture they’d walked over only half an hour ago. He pointed through the windshield. “He’s over there resting on the Ducketts’ outfit.”

“Do you have your emergency kit in your trunk?” Katrina asked Josh as they hopped out of the pickup.

“Yeah. Meet you there.” He handed her the keys before jogging over to the Ducketts.

Katrina easily located Josh’s sports car in a pasture filled with outfits and grabbed the backpack. She arrived to find Josh kneeling in the back of the pickup shining a flashlight in Sam’s eyes.

The kid was lying on his back, his usually round and smiling face pale. “That makes my head hurt worse,” he said, squinting at the light.

“Lucky I’ve finished, then.” Josh gently palpated Sam’s abdomen. “Does it hurt anywhere else?”

“You better not be playacting, son,” Christopher Duckett said sternly. “You were running around just fine ten minutes ago.”

“I don’t think he’s play-acting, sir,” Josh said firmly. “I think he may have a concussion.”

“Oh, is that all.” Chris sounded relieved. “All my kids have had a concussion at least once. It’s a rite of passage for boys.”

Katrina, who’d wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Sam’s arm, announced the reading. “Blood pressure’s normal.”

“There you go,” Chris said, slapping Josh on the back. “It’s all good. We’re sorry to have troubled you, Doc. We’ll take him home and watch him. We know the drill.”

Josh looked up from examining Sam’s ears and nose. “Actually, I’d like him to come into the ER.”

“Is that really necessary?” Chris asked skeptically. “Like I said, we know to check him every hour. Randall taught us that.”

Josh’s mouth tightened the way it did whenever he was questioned. “I strongly advise that Sam comes to the ER for observation.”

“I feel sick,” Sam moaned as he rolled over. He promptly threw up onto Josh’s knees.

“Can someone go get his mother?” Katrina called out to the small crowd.

“She’s with Bonnie at the ranch house,” Chris added anxiously.

“I’m on it,” Dillon replied, jumping back into the outfit.

Katrina threw a towel at Josh before helping Sam rinse his mouth. “Do you want to put in an IV?”

Josh nodded. “Two.”

“Two?” It seemed like overkill, but when Josh raised his gaze to hers, she read real concern. “Two it is.”

“None of my other boys puked, Doc,” Chris said, looking worried. “Maybe going to the ER is a good idea.”

“That’s a good call, Chris,” Josh said, rubbing anesthetizing gel onto Sam’s arm. “This is so you won’t feel the needles, Sam.”

The twelve-year-old boy swallowed. “I don’t like needles.”

“We’ll be quick,” Josh said. “Katrina and I are going to put a needle in each arm at the same time. Who do you think will win?”

Katrina smiled at his distracting techniques and tightened her tourniquet. “I’d be betting on me, Sam,” she said as she slid the needle into the vein. “I used to do this every day.”

But Sam didn’t answer—his eyes were rolling into the back of his head.

“He’s fitting.” Josh threw his arms over Sam’s spasming and jerking legs to protect him from further injury. “Save the line. We’re going to need it for Dilantin.”

Katrina did her best, wrapping her hand around Sam’s jerking arm.

“Oh my God. Sam!” Amy Duckett’s frantic voice split the early-evening air. “What’s happening?”

“He’s got a concussion,” Chris said, his voice wobbling over the words.

As the boy’s limbs relaxed and Katrina taped the IV firmly in place, Josh turned to face the parents. “This is a lot more than a concussion. I’m almost certain that when he fell off the bike, he hit his head and this has caused bleeding between the brain and his skull. Now the blood is pressing on his brain.”

“His brain?” Amy gripped Chris’s arm. “So he needs to go to the hospital in Billings and see a brain doctor?”

Josh shook his head. “I’m sorry, but there’s no time for that. We need to get him to the hospital in Bear Paw and drill a hole in his skull to drain the blood.” He turned back to Katrina. “Do you know if the hospital’s got a burr hole kit?”

She didn’t know, but she’d seen Josh’s new drill in his trunk. “Dillon,” she yelled out to her brother. “Get Josh’s hand drill and a half-inch drill bit from his trunk. Lyle, find a hand brace. Now.”

“You can’t drill into my son’s head,” Amy screeched.

“I have to, Mrs. Duckett,” Josh said quietly but firmly. “If I don’t, he’ll die.”

“Amy,” Katrina said, trying to soften Josh’s very true but bald words. “I know it’s scary but we don’t have time to try to convince you. You’re going to have to trust us on this.”

“But he’s my baby,” Amy sobbed.

“Do it,” Chris said. “Save our son.”

“I’ll do my very best,” Josh said, administering drugs through the IV. “Katrina, you drive and I’ll stay in the back with Sam. Let’s go.”

Katrina jumped down just as Dillon ran up clutching a yellow drill and a container of bits. “Why do you need this stuff?”

“No time to explain,” she said, hauling open the driver’s side door. “Call the hospital and tell them we’re coming and we’ll be doing burr holes. Then go get Mom and Dad and drive the Ducketts to the hospital, okay?”

“Burr holes.” Dillon repeated the unfamiliar words carefully as he closed the door and leaned in. “Sam’s going to be okay, isn’t he?”

Josh banged on the roof of the cabin. “Drive, Katrina. Now.”

For the first time, she heard real fear in his voice, and she pressed down gently on the accelerator. The moment she’d maneuvered the vehicle out of the pasture and onto the road, she called the sheriff and asked for an escort into town. Mitch Hagen met them halfway into Bear Paw, and even with his support, it was the longest drive of her life.

When she pulled up outside the hospital, Millie was waiting with another nurse and a gurney between them. The moment she got out of the car, Josh yelled, “Go sterilize the drill bit and meet us in the OR.”

Breaking every rule of an emergency, she ran.

—

JOSH
had intubated Sam and marked his temple with a Sharpie. Now he was gowned and gloved and staring at the CT scan, memorizing the exact position of the blood clot. The exact spot where he had to drill.

“He’s stable,” Millie said as she rhythmically squeezed the airbag, keeping Sam oxygenated. “And both the saline and mannitol IVs are running well.”

“I’ve shaved his temple,” the scout nurse said before stepping back out of the way.

Josh wasn’t particularly religious, but he sent up a prayer to whichever deity was listening. He lacked an anesthesiologist and he’d wanted a neurosurgeon on the other end of the telephone guiding him, but despite many phone calls, no one had been able to locate one, and now they’d run out of time. So here he was. About to operate.

The last time he’d stood in an OR was the day he’d walked away from surgery. Now he had to drill a hole in a kid’s head. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

Katrina, fully scrubbed, watched him from behind her surgical mask, her green eyes fixed on him. Unlike the many other times when he’d found it almost impossible to read her, right now he clearly saw worry and faith. Faith in him. It had been a long time since he’d seen that sort of confidence in him in the eyes of a woman. If Ashley had ever had it, it had started to fade the moment he’d given up surgery. It had vanished completely by the time he’d left Chicago.

“We’re ready,” Katrina said. “You’re ready.”

He was never going to be ready, but he appreciated the support, given he was embarking on unknown territory and he had no choice about it. “Let’s do this.”

He sucked in a breath and held out his hand. “Scalpel.” Making a quick, clean incision was the easy part, and Katrina controlled the bleeding while he used retractors to locate the white bone of Sam’s skull.

Katrina handed him the drill. “It’s got a clutch mechanism, Josh, so don’t stop halfway or it will reset.”

Shit
. “Good to know.” Plunging a drill bit into Sam’s brain wasn’t something he wanted to do. “Millie, hold his head perfectly still.”

“Doing that now,” Millie said calmly, although her eyes held grave concern.

“Here we go.” His gloved hand closed around the drill. “One, two, three.”

The whirr of the drill screamed loudly, seeming to go on forever. Every part of him yelled at him to stop. Surely, he’d gone in far enough? Panic sang loudly and he desperately wanted to overrule the clutch mechanism. His finger twitched, ready to do it, but the drill suddenly stopped on its own.

He huffed out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding and exchanged a look of relief with Katrina. “How do I reverse this sucker?”

She pointed her gloved finger. “That button there.”

A moment later he’d removed the drill and was using a blunt hook to carefully remove bone fragments. There was no sign of a clot or blood. Dread gripped him. What if he’d gone in at the wrong place?

Acid burned his gut as he raised his gaze to the scan seeking reassurance before dropping it back to Sam’s head.
Come on. Bleed.

After three excruciating seconds, a tiny trickle of blood finally dripped onto the surgical drape. It quickly increased to a steady flow.

Sheer relief threatened to buckle his knees. “Thank God.”

“You did it,” Katrina said softly, her eyes filled with empathy.

“I did it.” A crazy-sounding laugh burst out of him. “I don’t want to ever have to do it again.”

“Hopefully, you never will.” She passed him the drain tube. “I had no idea there would be so much blood.”

“You and me both,” he said, meeting her eyes and reading admiration in their depths. “How’s he doing, Millie?”

“Vitals are stable, Josh. You did great.”

“Excellent.”

As he stitched the drain tube in place, the scout nurse said, “The MontMedAir helicopter just touched down with Will.”

“Who?”

“Doctor Will Bartlett,” Millie qualified overly fast in contrast to her usual laid-back drawl.

“He’s part of the MontMedAir team,” the scout nurse continued. “Usually they send a nurse and a paramedic, but when it’s serious like this, he’s on board. Every nurse in the hospital gives thanks when that happens.”

“Why’s that?” Katrina asked.

The nurse fanned herself. “Because the man looks like he just stepped off a surfboard and onto a Hawaiian beach.” She laughed. “I guess that should be an Australian beach. He has the sexiest accent.”

“In that case,” Katrina said, her eyes dancing, “I’m definitely looking forward to meeting him.”

“Can we focus on the job at hand, please,” Josh reminded his distracted nursing staff.

The OR phone rang and all conversation stopped while the scrub nurse answered it. “It’s the neurosurgeon from Billings.”

“Now he calls,” Josh said, rolling his eyes as the paradox of the situation hit him. But nothing was going to dent his euphoria that he’d located the clot. Sam wasn’t out of the woods yet, but at least he’d soon be in the neurological unit at Billings. Josh knew he wouldn’t be able to stop worrying for a few more hours. “Put the good doctor on speakerphone so he can speak with Bear Paw’s scratch neurological team.”

—

AN
hour later, Katrina drove a quiet Josh back to his house. His mouth may have been still but his body sure wasn’t. He was wound so tight that he vibrated with constant motion. If he wasn’t drumming his fingers on the dash, he was tapping his foot. She wondered if it was the effects of the emergency or if it had something to do with his reaction in the barn when she’d said he wasn’t a surgeon. Or both. Either way, she sure as heck wasn’t about to ask him about it.