of the room. He’d removed his hat and was smiling at her, his dark eyes filled with amusement at the antics of the well-meaning town busy-bodies. Her heart lunged at the sight of him, skipping a beat, and an unwelcome ache of loneliness filled her chest.
Mentally she redefined the next two weeks from difficult to impossible. That she had agreed to come here at all was clear evidence she’d lost every ounce of good sense she’d ever possessed.
The very last thing she wanted was for Rory to be privy to a conversation about her and her family.
“Ladies, I know my grandmother appreciates your concern and all the food you’ve brought, but she’s had a long, difficult few days since she broke her ankle. Give her some time to catch up on her rest. Then she’ll be happy to visit with you, I’m sure.”
Holding her breath while the neighbor ladies said their goodbyes, Kristi deliberately avoided looking at Rory, which didn’t prevent her from feeling his gaze on her. Boring into her psyche. Probing her secret thoughts.
Her sense of guilt brought a flush to her face, and she knew darn well she looked as guilty as she felt, like a five-year-old who had snitched more than one cookie from the cookie jar. Which in a way, she had.
Finally, after the others had left and the room grew quiet, Rory got the hint.
“Guess I’d better be going, too.” He sauntered across the room toward her.
“Yes, that would be best—for Grandma.”
“Shoot, honey,” Justine said, “those folks brought us enough food for an army. Might as well ask Rory to stay for supper.”
Kristi blanched. “No, I don’t think—”
“Thanks, anyway, Doc. I’ve got an injured elk in my back pen that I’ve got to feed. He fell through some thin river ice a couple of weeks back and got stuck.” He tugged the collar of his coat up around his neck, winked at Kristi and lowered his voice. “I’ve never been too fond of Marlene Huhn’s potato salad, anyway.”
By the time the door closed behind Rory, Kristi knew she wouldn’t be able to draw an easy breath until she was miles from Grass Valley and her secret was safe again.
She’d been a fool to come here at all, no matter how much her grandmother had begged on the phone from her hospital bed. The people of Grass Valley could drive a few extra miles for the next two weeks if they needed doctoring.
She shouldn’t have risked returning to the town—or the man who had broken her heart. Forget her conscience had been bothering her for years for not telling him the truth. He’d been the one who hadn’t returned her phone calls. He was the one who’d found someone else.
Her stomach knotted in despair.
She would be the one to suffer if she didn’t confront Rory and her fears. Until she did that, she’d never be able to get on with her life, because no other man had ever come close to comparing with her memories of Rory.
THE YOUNG ELK SCRAMBLED to the far side of the chain-link enclosure, his injured foreleg making his gait awkward. He turned to glare at Rory with his huge brown eyes and pawed the ground, kicking up dirt and the remnants of the last snow storm.
“It’s all right, youngster.” Rory broke the skin of ice from the watering trough, then forked some hay into the feeding bin. “Another week or so, and you’ll be good to go again.”
It had been lucky some local snowmobilers spotted the elk trapped in river ice or the animal would have died. Rory, as the area’s only veterinarian and a wild-life rehabilitator, got the call to rescue the animal. At the time, the elk hadn’t been too appreciative of Rory’s efforts.
He still wasn’t being exactly friendly.
Which was good. Rory had no intention of making the elk a pet. Just the opposite. He intended to return the elk to the wild as soon as the youngster was able to keep up with the herd. Rory didn’t want the animal to become dependent on humans for either food or comfort. Generally, elk and deer did well in confinement and returned to the wild without a problem.
He stabbed the pitchfork into the pile of hay and let it rest there. April was always a tough month this far north, almost to the Canadian border. Winter had gone on too long; the warmth of spring was weeks off yet. Summer was only a vague promise.
Only the sturdy—or obstinate—survived in this climate. He figured he was a little bit of both.
Tugging the pitchfork free, he ambled back toward the clinic and outbuildings, which were adjacent to the small clapboard house where he lived. Grass Valley wasn’t a big town—a single main street boasting of a general store, a drugstore that sold more ice cream than antibiotics, a busy saloon and a garage surrounded by derelict cars—all of which Rory could see from his couple of acres of land a block away.
Beyond the little town a pine-covered hill rose above a shallow river. The slash of dirt and rock left by a landslide last summer still scarred the hillside, and if it hadn’t been for Rory, his brothers and Joe Moore, the tumble of boulders would have blocked the river, flooding the town of Grass Valley. Instead they’d blown big rocks into little ones, allowing the flow of water to continue downstream. A pretty nerve-racking day, as Rory recalled.
Pausing near the walkway to his house, he glanced across the street to the medical clinic and let his thoughts slip further back in time.
When Kristi visited her grandmother nearly six years ago, Rory hadn’t anything to offer her for the long term. He’d been little more than a kid himself, about to enter veterinary medicine school and not all that confident he would be able to finish the rigorous course of study. His past included years in foster care, a few adolescent brushes with the law and finally adoption by Oliver Oakes, who had owned the Double O Ranch outside of town.
He’d had no guaranteed future at all.
Now he had a veterinary practice and a home that belonged to him and the Bank of Montana—in unequal shares. Plus, he was steadily wearing down the balance due on his student loans.
But from the way Kristi had avoided his gaze and her less-than-eager greeting, he doubted she’d be interested to learn he was making a success of himself.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and concentrated on the sounds of Mother Earth—the wind moving through the bare branches of the elm tree in his front yard, the crackling of dry grass as a rabbit dashed unseen through the vacant land nearby, the flight of a hawk’s wings through the air.
Jimmy Deer Running, the chief of the Blackfeet tribe on the nearby reservation, had told Rory not to resent the past but to learn from it. That wasn’t always an easy thing to do. Hell, most of the time he wasn’t even sure what lesson he was supposed to be learning.
Like why Kristi had never called or written to him after their summer together.
Why the hell didn’t you call her?
In retrospect, that seemed like a big mistake.
Maybe that explained her standoffish reception today. Maybe she was mad at him. Or maybe she was having the proverbial morning-after regrets some five-plus years later. He supposed he couldn’t blame her in either case.
Women were so darn hard to understand.
Glancing
