Page 56 of Take Me Away, Cowboy

“Call me Peter.” He smiled. He was actually an attractive man when he relaxed the scowl. “Here, look. The treatments worked. We’ll just need to see you back here twice a year for follow-ups, make sure you’re still in remission.”

Paige’s hands shook as she gathered the papers and tried to make sense of them. On any other day, it would be as easy as reading the alphabet for her. But today she could barely see through the tears that built up, threatening to fall and ruin the light makeup she’d applied. She blinked and the stinging in her eyes subsided, but a rogue trail of salt water flowed down each cheek.

He was right, she realized as her vision focused. The surgery, more painful in idea than in actuality, and the radiation that followed, was successful. Stage one, her stromal tumor put her in the majority who survived this type of cancer when they caught it early enough.

No evidence of cancer.The words leaped off the page and pelted her in the sore ribs, reminding her that without her injury a few weeks prior on the horse, she might not have been as lucky. The odds went down in 25 percent increments from where she found her cancer, or rather where they found it for her, in each stage after that. A matter of months would have made the difference between life and death for her.

“Now, you know we aren’t completely in the clear until you’ve gone five years in remission, right?”

She lowered her gaze and looked down her nose at him. Of course, she knew that. Did she need to remind him at every turn that she was a goddamn physician, too?

“I think I’m pretty aware of that.”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, um, I know. Of course, you are. Sorry, Paige, I don’t mean to keep offending you. I just don’t get many, you know,colleaguesin here.” He fumbled for words. The cattier part of her soaked this in, but letting him do his job was probably the kinder route.

After all, she was free of cancer because of him and his team.

“So, what happens now?” she asked, finally playing the role of dutiful patient. Dr. Metcalf’s shoulders relaxed and his smile returned.

“Well, we schedule a follow-up in a month to triple check your stats, then book you each six months for scans and blood work and bring you in if there’s any irregularities.”

“You make it sound like a prison sentence,” she teased.

“It’s better than a death sentence,” he told her, deadpan. She wondered if he’d ever have the nerve to tell his other patients that. It was true, though. She’d rather be beholden to Banberry every few months than not be around at all.

“So, that’s it, then?” she asked, standing up. She wanted to run and jump and, well, do other things now that she had the all clear. Dr. Metcalf rose as well, gathering the discharge papers for Paige.

The world was hers again to do with it what she pleased. Strangely, though, she didn’t feel the normal barrage of ideas and passions and plans combatting for her attention. She only thought of Owen, of the promise he’d made her to jump back in the proverbial saddle with her once she healed. Except she hadn’t asked about that part of her healing. She flipped through the discharge papers but didn’t see anything.

It was her turn to clear her throat.

“Um, does this clear me for, uh, sexual activity? You know, and other kinds of activities, too?”

Normally she discussed this with her young teens, eliciting a few giggles until she told them it was a serious topic. This was serious in more than one way for her, but Paige couldn’t help feeling very much like those horny and irresponsible teenagers she used to scold. And would again now that she had a clean bill of health.

He coughed, betraying the professionalism he normally exuded in exasperating waves.

“Yes, it does.” He fumbled with the papers on his desk, shuffling and reshuffling them. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was nervous. “I’d steer clear of anything as jarring as running or riding horses until your ribs are healed completely—another couple weeks—but, uh, the rest should be good to go.” He barely got those last words out under the guise of a cough.

Paige thought of another question she’d been too afraid to ask at her last visit. It was now or never though.

“Will I be able to have children?”

Dr. Metcalf visibly relaxed at this question, for what crazy reason she couldn’t fathom.

“You should be, though I will warn you, missing an ovary makes it twice as hard as other women to get pregnant. Carrying a child to term once you are pregnant, though, will come with the same risks as the rest of the population.”

“Thanks, Doc,” she said. She’d figured as much but it relieved her to hear it from her doctor.

“Of course, Dr. Connors. Now I suspect there’s a man who pretended to be your husband who might be interested in this news.”

Paige smiled warmly and nodded. In her hands she held everything she needed to make her life be whatever she wanted—she just needed to decide what that looked like. She calmly walked out the door, closed it behind her, and when she rounded the corner, she sped up to as close to a run as she could manage with her ribs. She had the rest of her life ahead of her, and she intended to start living it immediately.

When Paige got to the truck, her papers tucked under her arm, Owen jumped down from his truck and ran to her side. He forced a smile, tried to soften his brow to no avail. He was worried.

“Hi, beautiful,” he whispered in her ear as he wrapped her in a tight bear hug.

Her knees trembled as the heat from his breath snaked around her neck, enveloping her. She had absolutely no control over her faculties when she was around him. Not especially when he was pressed up against her. Paige squeezed back as tight as she could manage, never wanting to let him go.

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