Excerpt of A Fabulous Husband by Dianne Castell

Dr. Barbara Jean Fairmont stood in the doorway of the Cut Loose Saloon and peered through the thick haze of smoke at Colonel Flynn MacIntire, the guy she'd dated for one whole month in high school until she'd told him that dressing in weird clothes and running up and down a field after an elliptical ball every Friday night was just plain stupid, and he'd told her that debating questions that had no answers was a whole lot worse.

BJ and Flynn — the Brain and the Brawn, then and always. And even after all those years, the one guy she'd never really gotten over. Was that pathetic or what!

Oh, they'd changed — she was now the revered town doctor and Flynn a true American hero — but they still had nothing in common. Why would he make the army his life's work? Never staying in one place, never having the same friends, never knowing where you'd be shipped off to next. The life from hell!

Currently, Flynn was in a different kind of hell. He was home on leave with an injured leg, and his grandmother had asked BJ to help him. And she would. Not just because Grandma Mac had made the request or because BJ was a doctor and that was what doctors did, but because she had to get rid of him.

Usually, her lingering and irrational attraction to him wasn't a problem because he wasn't around for her to obsess over. But now he was here, and likely to stay unless he got better and went back to the army, where he belonged, leaving her in peace in Whistlers Bend, Montana, where she belonged.

Some country-western singer warbled from the jukebox as BJ snaked her way among the well-occupied chairs. Flynn sat alone, cigarette in hand, table littered with longnecks, not doing himself one bit of good. How could he abuse his body like this? And such a fine body it was. All army, all muscle, all man. But ogling him was not why she was here. "If you quit swilling beer and puffing cancer sticks, agree to get off your butt and do therapy, maybe I can help you."

He glanced up and she gave his two-day-odd beard, wrinkled clothes and ruggedly handsome face a quick once-over and shuddered. Gads, she was more pathetic than she'd thought.

"If this is one of those tests for the inebriated, I'll flunk. So you can save your breath and go away, Fairmont."

She let out a sigh and sat down across from him. "Oh, if only I could," she said, as much to herself as Flynn.

He turned the beer bottle in circles on the scarred wood tabletop. "How'd I get to be your latest project? Doesn't anyone else in town need your expert medical care and counseling?"

"Probably, but none of their grandmothers pounded on my door at 6:00 a.m. clenching rosary beads in one hand and a fistful of medical records in the other."

Flynn's jaw dropped a fraction and his gaze met BJ's. "My medical records? They were in my duffel."

"She's a grandmother. Grandmothers interfere. It's their duty. She loves you and she's worried about you." BJ slid a folder across the table. "You never came to me with any ailments even when you were on leave, so I'm sure you didn't intend for me to be your primary-care physician now."

She tapped the folder. "Look, I considered going into orthopedics. Spent time observing treatments and therapy, and I have doctors I can confer with, if you cooperate." Oh, please cooperate! He was still so appealing, so not the kind of man she could ever have a relationship with. What would they talk about? What would they do? Kissing would be a good start. No kissing!

"Sounds like Grandma Mac's been tuning in to Dr. Phil and hearing about that intervention stuff again."

"Or she's concerned. Either way, she did ask me for advice and she's having me over for corned beef and cabbage in —" BJ checked her watch " — one hour and thirteen minutes."

Flynn nudged the top of the cane hanging from the table, the hooked part rocking as he studied it. His eyes clouded for a second, as his thoughts went someplace other than the saloon. "Help someone else. The good folks at Walter Reed say this thing could be a permanent fixture in my life." His eyes met hers for a moment. "And why doesn't she fix corned beef and cabbage for me?"

"She doesn't think you're trying hard enough to get better and you shouldn't have left the hospital before they discharged you, and no one wants to upset the town hero by suggesting he's screwing up his life."

"Except you? The Brain and the Brawn just like old times." He took another swig of beer and a drag off his cigarette, watching the smoke fade into the air. "So, you're here because of a bribe of corned beef and cabbage."

He leaned back and folded his arms across his solid, broad chest. The index finger on his left hand was slightly crooked, as if it had been broken and not set properly; he had a thin scar on his neck, a wider, newer one at his chin and he was graying at the temples. A soldier. A fighting soldier, who'd seen more than his share of combat. She could only imagine what he'd been through and she hated it. But he'd returned alive, and that was something to be hugely thankful for.

"You haven't changed since high school, BJ Fairmont. You think you know all the answers."

"No, that would be you," she said, her doctor attitude rising to the occasion, shoving everything else — even her latent Flynn desires — out of the way, because getting him better was what really mattered. "Right now I'm your last hope, MacIntire." She stood and leaned over the table, meeting his gaze. "I'm all that stands between Flynn MacIntire, army man, and Flynn MacIntire, civilian. If your leg doesn't improve, the Colonel part of your name is history, or you get to shuffle papers in some local recruiting office till you retire. I have an obligation as a doctor to help you, and I will if you let me. Until then, I'll save you leftovers. See you around, Colonel."

"Anyone ever tell you you're a pain in the ass?"

"All the time. I've got it on the little plaque right below my medical degree," she told him, and headed out.

She pushed the door open and stepped onto the sidewalk, blinking to acclimate from dark interior to bright July sunlight as she mumbled, "Well, gee, that went well."

"Talking to yourself isn't so bad." Dixie's voice, coming from behind, put BJ in a much better mood.

"It's when you start answering that you got to worry."

BJ turned and smiled at the second member of the Fearsome Threesome, as everyone in town had called her, Dixie and Maggie for the past twenty-five years. "Nice blouse. Any chance you bought one for me in blue?"