Free Montana Actually by Fiona Lowe Page B

familiar or as he’d expected it to be. In a desperate attempt to make sense of this unwanted attraction, he was putting it down to dislocation madness. Added to that, he thought she’d just said she wanted to teach him to fish.
    He rubbed his jaw. “Yeah, look, Katrina, is that some kind of a Montana thing, because really, I’m not interested.”
    She shook her head. “I mean, I’ll teach you how to do the stuff like finding a stud and hanging a painting.”
    An image of her standing next to him with her scent swirling around him and him in a constant state of being hard and telling his body to heel had him dropping his leg back down onto the floor. He stood up. “That’s really not necessary.”
    Her stance widened. “Oh, it really is. If word gets out you can’t unclog a drain, you’re not going to get any respect in town.”
    “I’m not a fricking plumber. I’m a doctor!”
    She stood her ground at his raised voice and gave him her
you’re clueless
look. “You’re a man first, Josh, and in Bear Paw that counts for everything. No self-respecting cowboy is going to come see you if they find out you can’t do some basic home maintenance chores.”
    He ran his hand through his hair. “That’s ridiculous.”
    A slight frown marred her forehead. “Exactly how many men between twenty and fifty came to see you at the clinic this week?”
    “I don’t keep a mental record.”
    “Ballpark.”
    He thought back. He’d seen a lot of seniors who’d told him how Randall had always done things and had then questioned every piece of medical advice he’d given them. He’d seen a couple of reluctant teens who’d been brought in by their mothers. They’d sat silently through his explanations and had avoided all eye contact. The rest had been women and children.
    She must have seen the realization on his face. “None, right? It’s so hard to get men to see a physician, and out here, guys are toughing it out. Montana has one of the highest suicide rates in the country, so it’s your duty as a doctor to be able to relate to these men. If you learn some basic skills, then you can hold your own in a conversation at the big boy’s shed.”
    Talking with Katrina was like being on a slippery slope and not being able to get a foothold. “What the hell is the big boy’s shed?”
    “The hardware store.”
    “The hardware store? I don’t think so. If patients want to see me, they come to the clinic.”
    “Yes, but if they don’t see you around town and get to know you, they’re going to hold off coming to see you.”
    He hated that her logic made a certain crazy sense, given his less-than-enthusiastic welcome from the townsfolk. “I swear to God, I’ve come to the twilight zone.”
    “Just small-town America, which is the heart and soul of this great country of ours.” She unclipped her tool belt, revealing her firm, toned thighs that matched her compact body.
    Glorious legs.
    He hauled his gaze upward and he’d just finished telling himself they were short legs and he much preferred long ones when he caught sight of her narrow waist and generous breasts. The memory of them pressed up against him had heat burning through him, and he moved his gaze again, quickly seeking her face. Aiming for a nonsexual part of her. A safety zone.
    Green eyes watched him intently from behind those square glasses—glasses that gave her a sexy gravitas. Hot damn, but there was nowhere safe to look.
    “Come on,” she said. “There’s no time like the present.”
    He cleared his throat, buying time so when he spoke he wouldn’t sound like a horny teen. “For what?”
    “To go to Addison’s and buy, among other things, a plunger, pliers and a pocket knife. You can drive.” She flicked some keys out of her pocket and threw them at him.
    He shot his arm out sideways, catching them, and he immediately tossed them back to her. “I have a car.”
    She threw them straight at him again. “We’re aiming for street-cred, Josh.