SIMON FOUND REFUGE in his work at the hospital. As always, dealing with his patients, planning surgery, examining healing burns kept him occupied, both physically and mentally. But every now and then, and more often than he wanted, he remembered how he’d acted with Montana.
Now, sitting in the small office he’d been given for his three-month stay, he found himself thinking about the scent of her and the feel of her in his arms. He was distracted by the remembrance of her silky hair in his hands, the sound of her laughter and the way she looked when she smiled.
Heat and need threatened to overwhelm him. Dammit all to hell, he thought grimly. Why now? Why her?
There wouldn’t be an answer. Fate was nothing if not mysterious. He simply had to accept that when he was around Montana he was going to act like an idiot. If he didn’t watch himself, he would slide past idiot status and into something more dangerous.
Now, as he stared at the chart but saw her face instead, he knew he had to find a solution. Bad enough to be stupid, but worse to be pathetic. He’d made the mistake of telling her why he’d kissed her. No doubt she felt sorry for him and was eager to stay away from him.
Normally he didn’t care what people thought of him, but for some reason, Montana’s opinion mattered. He wanted to impress her. Between his reaction to Fluffy exploding onto the ward and the kiss, he couldn’t be further off the mark.
His cell phone rang.
Simon glanced at the screen before answering, then pushed the button. “What trouble are you in now?” he asked, smiling.
“The usual,” the caller said. “Be impressed. I have cell service in Nepal.”
“I am. How’s it going, Alistair?”
“Good, and you?”
“The same.”
“Where are you?” Alistair asked. “America somewhere?”
“Fool’s Gold.” Simon explained the location and a little about his cases.
“Sounds like work,” his friend commented. “The same here. Burns. More primitive conditions in the outlying areas.”
Simon had known Alistair since the year he’d spent studying in London. A Brit to his bones, Alistair had been his roommate and shown him much of his country. They’d become friends and, given that they did the same kind of work, stayed close.
“You’re keeping busy,” Simon said.
“Always.” There was a pause and the sound of voices. “I’m sorry, Simon. I phoned to catch up but they’re calling me down to emergency surgery. We’ll talk soon.”
With that, Alistair hung up. Simon sighed and tucked his phone back into his coat. He, of all people, knew how hard it was to maintain friendships in their field.
“Dr. Bradley?”
He glanced up and saw one of the nurses standing in the doorway. She was young and cheerful—something he was sure the patients appreciated but he personally found annoying. His gaze drifted to her name tag.
“Yes, Nora?”
She smiled. “Kalinda’s resting. She keeps talking about that poodle who came to see her. What a great idea—bringing in a therapy dog. Especially one that small. I guess that’s why you’re the expert.”
“I’ve never used a therapy dog before. It was an experiment. Sometimes I get lucky.”
Her hair was blond. Her mouth widened slightly at his words. Humor and interest sparkled in her blue eyes. She was pretty and appealing.
“Which makes it a good day,” she told him. “How are you enjoying Fool’s Gold?”
“The town seems nice enough.”
“We like to think we’re a friendly sort. Can I prove that by asking if you’d like to come over for dinner? I’m sure you’re getting tired of restaurant food. I have my grandmother’s recipe for fried chicken, and I make a mean berry pie.”
Long-term relationships were out of the question. Not only was he always moving from place to place, but he didn’t see the point. He wasn’t the sort of man who did forever. Still, when a woman indicated she was intrigued, he paid attention.
A companion for dinner and someone in his bed every now and then was all he wanted. All he required. Under other circumstances, he would accept Nora’s invitation to dinner. But he couldn’t.
Despite her easy smile and the hint there was more on the menu than dinner, he couldn’t say yes. When he looked at her all he saw was a woman who wasn’t Montana. Short hair instead of long. Blue eyes instead of brown. Until today he had considered women interchangeable. He might like one more than the other, but the difference wasn’t measurable or important.
“Thank you,” he said. “But I’m going to have to decline.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Really?” She hesitated for a second. “Are you sure?”
Simon stood. “Very.”
Perhaps he should have said more. Offered some kind of explanation. But what was there to say? That he was obsessed with another woman? One he barely knew?
He stepped into the hallway and was relieved to see Kalinda’s mother walking toward him.
“She’s sleeping,” Fay said. “She’s resting more comfortably. That’s good, right?”
“She’s healing.” Simon hoped Fay wouldn’t notice he hadn’t answered the question. At this point in Kalinda’s recovery, staying alive was good. Everything else was negotiable. Kalinda could turn with no notice, no warning. That was the hell of what he did—there was never a sure thing. Alistair always said they did their best and that was enough. Simon didn’t agree.
“That little dog helped,” Fay continued. “Cece. Montana said she would bring her back whenever we wanted. Is it all right if I call her?”
Simon rarely had to choose between what he wanted and what a patient needed. Not that there was a choice. Kalinda would come first. “Of course,” he said with an ease he didn’t feel. “As long as your daughter is holding her own, the dog can visit. Whatever we can do to help her.”
Fay squeezed his arm. “Thank you,” she breathed. “I’ll call Montana right now.”
He watched her hurry away, already pulling her cell phone from her jeans pocket. In a few seconds she would hear Montana’s voice. Simon knew things were bad when he felt jealous of that.
He had to get a grip. He barely knew the woman. Maybe he needed vitamins.
Before he got any further in his self-diagnosis, one of the nurses came running toward him.
“We just got a call about an accident,” she said urgently. “A boy. He’s twelve. Fireworks. That’s all I know.”
Simon ran to the stairs and started down. The other woman was still talking but he wasn’t listening and soon he was out of earshot. His mind cleared.
He’d seen the damage fireworks could do to the human body. A familiar, cold rage returned. Other people might enjoy the Fourth of July, but he loathed the holiday. Parents who let children play with fireworks should all be shot. Or set on fire themselves.
He let himself experience the anger until he stepped out of the stairwell and onto the ground floor. As he ran toward the emergency room, he let all the feelings go. He allowed himself only concern and the knowledge he would do everything in his power to fix what had been broken.
“I KNOW WE’RE SUPPOSED to eat outside,” Montana’s mother said. “It’s tradition and all. But I feel like I’ve paid my dues. We ate in the backyard all the time when you were little. I dealt with the bugs and ants enough to last a lifetime. Besides, we’re all grown-ups.”
Montana