I took a pull of my beer. “Not much. Mac and I, we run the shop together. I’m good with fixing farm equipment, snowmobiles. That has me going out to ranches across the county.”
Her eyes lit up. “You make house calls for sick machinery.”
“You could put it that way.”
“How wonderful,” she added. “Your patients don’t talk back. You are mechanical physicians,” she said, then giggled. She looked to Mac. “And I guess you are a vehicular podiatrist since you are going to fix the tire on my car.”
I stared at her because her words were fucking ridiculous. True, but ridiculous. I smiled because she giggled, which I guessed for her was pretty rare.
“I don’t know anything about combustion engines,” she added. “I guess I shall have to get a book and learn about this topic, although that will do nothing about the fact that my car doesn’t have a spare.”
I thought of the slashed tire, knew someone had it in for the little Einstein across from us. Vandalism was a hands-off way to fuck with her. Had it been a one-time thing, or did someone hate her? I had no idea, but she was safe with us, and we meant to keep her that way.
“You’ve been busy. I’m guessing you didn’t party. I mean… fourteen,” Mac said, thinking the same as me. “Your parents must have watched over you like crazy.”
She shook her head, tucked a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. “At Harvard? They weren’t there. This is good,” she commented, looking down at her glass, tipping it so the ice cubes clinked.
She’d steered clear of talking about her parents, but it didn’t seem like she was trying to avoid talking about them, rather stating a fact and moving on. Mom and Dad didn’t seem to mean much of anything to her, and it was obvious they didn’t think shit of her. My brother and I had no doubt our parents loved us. They were spending the winter in Arizona, but when they were in town, I saw them probably twice a month. My brother was eight years older, but we were tight. We went out for beers and during football season—and when he wasn’t working—spent Sunday afternoons watching the game.
I also had Mac. Other friends. Between family and buds, I knew I wasn’t alone. Sam, though? I had to wonder if she’d been alone her entire life.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Vodka cranberry. Drink up,” Mac replied.
I didn’t want her drunk, but I did like her talking. Mac, too. She took another sip.
“You’re from Texas, went to Harvard and finished medical school, at what? Twenty-two?” I asked.
She nodded. “I’m a surgeon, that’s my specialty, but today I covered a shift for an ER doc. That’s how I ended up meeting you.” She looked at Mac through her pale lashes.
My brother was a doctor and worked at the hospital, too. No fucking way was I mentioning him to Sam. The guy wasn’t short on companionship when it came to women. I swore I heard about a new one every time we talked. Any more notches in his bedpost and it would collapse. He liked his women experienced, worldly, and neither of those adjectives was Sam. No fucking way. He’d take one look at Sam and move on.
I, however, wasn’t going anywhere. She was exactly what I wanted.
“How did you end up here?” I wondered.
It was a long way from Houston and Harvard.
“In Cutthroat? When I was twelve, my parents came here to ski. I had to come with them since the housekeeper went back to Sweden for a funeral. I loved it here. The pretty Main Street, the people, the snow. God, it was a winter wonderland. I identified the perfect length of ski for my height and weight, learned how to ski by the angle of my skis in relation to the slope of the hill. I even invented a polymer to improve drag.”
At fucking twelve.
I’d lifted my beer to my mouth but paused it halfway as she spoke, then set it back down. “Let me guess, you patented it.”
She nodded, not aware of the sarcasm.
Mac laughed and a little V formed in her brow. She glanced at him, then at me, then laughed, too.
“I liked Cutthroat. Wanted to come back. When I was close to finishing my residency, I applied, got the job.”
Fuck, I was a goner. Now I understood what Mac meant, and I hadn’t had her tell me to pull my pants down. No wonder his dick got hard. I had to shift to get more comfortable here in the bar. Her guile was charming. The pert nose with the spray of freckles. The pale eyes, the messy hair. And, as Mac had said, the glasses.
She wasn’t flirting; I doubted she even knew how. Her decision to move to a small town in Montana was something I had to think about. I wasn’t sure if it was youthful exuberance or fucking sad.
“Whoo, is it warm in here?” she asked, fanning herself with her hand. Her nails were short, unpainted.
“Don’t drink much, do you?” Mac asked, amused.