Under Montana Skies. Darlene Graham

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      Laura averted her own gaze, feeling a little breathless. Not because she was climbing a steep grade, but because that look in his eyes had been so intense that it had left her feeling stunned.

      As she climbed the porch steps, it occurred to her that the man before her might not even be her patient. He could be the hired help or a relative, perhaps.

      But when he said, “Are you my new physical therapist?” in a low baritone, that small hope burst like a punctured balloon.

      “Yes. I’m Laura Duncan—” Laura smiled and put out her hand as she took the last stair “—from Mountain Home Health Care.”

      “And who is that?” He nodded toward the Toyota.

      Laura dropped her hand and swiveled her head. Ned! She was so used to her ever present “safety man” riding in the passenger seat that she’d forgotten he was supposed to look real from a distance.

      “That’s a safety dummy.” She looked up at her patient and smiled. “You know, to make it look like I have a passenger—I drive on a lot of isolated roads.” She stuck out her hand again. “It’s nice to meet you.”

      He stared at her hand, then gave her a critical frown. “My right arm is injured, remember?” With that he turned his back and disappeared into the cabin.

      Laura’s eyes went wide and she dropped her hand. Her throat got tighter as she felt herself blushing at her mistake.

      She hesitated at the doorway, then peered in, wondering if he meant for her to follow. She couldn’t see him; her eyes were still adjusting from the bright mountain sunshine to the gloomy interior of the cabin.

      “Well, come in, dammit.” His rich baritone came from somewhere in the darkness. “Don’t just stand there.”

      Laura’s back stiffened, and she stood firmly rooted in the doorway. No amount of money was worth being cursed at. She’d had enough of that kind of treatment from Stuart.

      She heard heavy footsteps, and in the next instant his face materialized in the shaft of sunlight pouring through the cabin door. She quailed at his fierce expression, but she stood her ground.

      “What?” he said.

      “Let’s get something straight, Mr. Scott. I heard about the way you treat the nurses. I’d appreciate it if you’d watch your language and your temper.”

      He gave her another dark squint. “For the exorbitant amount I’m paying you, I can say and do just about anything I please.”

      “Not to me.” Laura turned on her heel, stomped across the porch and clattered down the steps, marching to her car as fast as possible.

      “Wait!” he hollered as he sprinted down the steps behind her.

      “Okay, okay,” he said, coming up short beside her car as she tossed in her satchel and climbed behind the wheel. She saw him throw up his hands as she slammed the door.

      He bent down beside the closed window as she started the engine. “Okay! No cursing!” he yelled through the glass.

      Laura lowered the window a couple of inches but didn’t kill the engine.

      “Look, Ms.—What’d you say your name was?”

      “Duncan. Laura Duncan.” After four years she’d grown comfortable with her maiden name again.

      “Ms. Duncan. Stay.” He backed up from the window, jammed his left hand into the pocket of his jeans and shrugged uncomfortably. “Please.”

      Stuart used to shrug like that. An innocent-looking gesture that in Laura’s mind was as phony as a three-dollar bill.

      “Please,” he repeated. “I’ve got to get this shoulder working again. And I can’t do it without a therapist.”

      Laura held her foot on the brake while she stared out the windshield and considered.

      He needed her skills, and she needed his money.

      Four years of physical-therapy training had depleted every cent she’d filched from Stuart. All she had now was a simple little frame house back in Kalispell, this eight-year-old Toyota and her self-respect.

      She gave Adam Scott a sidelong glance. “I suppose you know I’m the only physical therapist who’s prepared to work with you.”

      He didn’t flinch, didn’t look angry, didn’t even laugh derisively. He merely gave her another squinting assessment, then blinked as if coming out a dream.

      “That doesn’t surprise me at all, Ms. Duncan,” he said. “I can’t say that I blame them. I can be difficult. But I promise, if you stay, I’ll treat you professionally. Now, won’t you please come inside?”

      CHAPTER TWO

      AS SHE STEPPED into the cabin, Laura’s misgivings about taking on this case only increased.

      Thick-hewn beams, darkened with age, spanned the low ceiling, making the long rectangular room feel oppressive and gloomy. Her first impulse was to dart around to the windows set squarely into three of the walls and throw back the heavy wooden shutters.

      Instead, she set her satchel at her feet and let her eyes adjust to the dim light while she waited for her patient to come back in.

      He’d gone through a door toward the back to get another chair, she supposed. The fact that there was only a table and one lone chair in this barren room was spooky, not to mention the darkness and the general lack of…life about this place.

      Laura rubbed her hands up and down her sweatshirt-covered arms. Even though it was early September and the last scraps of snow on the high peaks were long gone, the mountain air had a definite chill. She hoped she could complete Mr. Scott’s treatment program according to her six-week plan. Sixteen Mile Creek road would be impassable once the first heavy snows fell.

      She eyed the massive stone fireplace. It was swept clean and cold-looking, like the mouth of a cave.

      The walls of the room, rough knotty-pine planks, had absolutely no decoration, the wooden floor, no rugs. The place looked the same as Laura guessed it had for—what?—the past century or so.

      On the round oak table was a solitary paper plate holding the remains of a plain bologna sandwich. What kind of man chose to live such an existence?

      She turned and looked back out the front door, which stood open. Should she close it? No. If she did, this room would be as dark as night.

      Beyond the shadows of the porch she spotted the corner of a well-tended garden, which she hadn’t noticed when she’d driven up. That was odd. She craned her neck to see more. It sloped down the sunny side of the mountain in neat rows. What did he do with all those vegetables? she wondered. As she watched, a big shaggy yellow dog sauntered into the picture and flopped down in a shady spot at the edge of the garden. Well, if the man had a dog, maybe he wasn’t all bad.

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