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 โ 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 โ she was now the revered town doctor
and Flynn a true American hero โ 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 โ"
BJ checked her watch " โ 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 โ even her
latent Flynn desires โ 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?"
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