Page 76 of Take Me Away, Cowboy

“Thank you,” she said, emphatically pressing her hand to her heart. “You have no idea how much this means to me, to my family.”

“I still need Dr. Webber to sign off and the hospital to grant me temporary privileges, but I’m happy to help. I’ll be in touch by tomorrow morning either way, okay? But promise me this—if Lizzy coughs up any more blood, take her to the ER immediately. Okay?”

“I promise. Thank you again.”

Paige said goodbye from the doorway and watched as Owen lugged more bags of seed over his shoulder. He glanced up, caught her watching him, and frowned. Her pulse raced, partly because of what he did to her—physically, emotionally, and mentally—but also because that was a lost cause at this point.

It did feel good to know she might be practicing again, even if it was just temporary.

Walking with purpose to the small metal filing cabinet she kept at the back of the apartment since she started her career, Paige dug around until she found what she was looking for—her license to practice in the state of Montana and medical board paperwork. She would need both to convince the hospital between Banberry and Butte she was worth taking a risk on. She’d done her residency in London, at the Royal London Hospital, so hopefully that—not to mention the rest of her CV afterwards, including her time with DWB—would act as enough of a credential to get her in.

She stowed the files in a leather satchel she slung over her good shoulder, taking care not to aggravate the still-healing ribs on her right side. Picking up her phone, she googled the hospital and found the head of HR, as well as the chief of pediatrics. She decided to start with the chief, figuring she’d do better with someone she could relate to on a professional level.

Dr. Miranda Roberts. Why did that name sound familiar? Paige wracked her brain but couldn’t come up with how she recognized it. She chalked it up to the small world of pediatrics and pediatric research. Dr. Roberts had probably written something forThe New England Journal of Medicine, orThe Journal of Pediatricsthat Paige had read recently. She was about to dial the number of Dr. Roberts’s office at the hospital when an incoming call chimed in.

It was a local number, but not one she recognized. She swiped right and answered. “Dr. Connors.”

“Is there a reason you made me find this tiny little gem all by myself? I mean, it’s pretty and all, but I was hoping to have you show me around.”

“Aury?”

“Yes, who else did you have coming all the way from the islands?”

“Oh my God,Aury!”

“Yes, yes, yes. I am glad to hear you didn’t completely forget about me.”

“I’m so sorry, my dad got hurt, he’s in the hospital, and… You weren’t supposed to be in until next Friday!” Paige drifted, scrambling to get on shoes, trying to find a hat.

“Yes, Friday. And it’s Friday, no? It’s okay, I’ll see you soon. I needed to be sure you would be home, and you are home, yes?”

Next Friday to Aury apparently meant the next Friday to arrive.Crap.

“I’m home. Do you want me to come get you? Where are you?”

“At the cutest café. Something about Jules and Verne. I’m absolutely starved, so I will eat, let you shower, and then I will come to you.”

Paige exhaled for the first time since she picked up the phone, letting out a long sigh.

“Aury, I’m so sorry.” She found shoes, threw them on, dug a little deeper in her suitcase for a hat. Why hadn’t she unpacked? It was a little obnoxious, even for her.

“You can have a drink ready for me when I get there.Ciao.”

“Ciao.” She stifled a small laugh. Leave it to Aury to let one small English language slip up make a difference of a week.

Paige hung up the phone, rushing around to clean up the place. As she did, she snuck a last look out the window towards Owen’s property.

Her gaze landed on the path they’d made in the tall grasses between their homes in such a short time. At the end of it he bent over, shirtless now in the fall sun. She let her eyes wander down his body since he’d already caught her staring, and when she got to his tool belt and saw the strand of wires dangling from it, her breath hitched.

It was suddenly clear who’d fixed her doorbell, and also why it was as loud as a horn announcing the start of a drag race.

Owen.

He couldn’t not help her, but he’d done it with a “screw you” attached. Ha.

Well, she’d tell him a thing or two, that was for certain.

Not caring that her outfit was mismatched, that she hadn’t brushed her teeth yet, that her hair was wild, she stormed out the door, determined to give Owen a piece of her mind.

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