LITMIR.BIZ

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Rory asked when his brother finished his phone call.

      The chair squeaked as Eric leaned back. Unlike Rory, who wore his hair collar length, Eric trimmed his in a short, almost military style. It seemed to fit with the neat cut of his khaki uniform.

      “Storm’s coming our way,” Eric said. “A bad one, according to the state Disaster Management Agency. They want me to implement our emergency plan.”

      Rory cocked his brows. “Have we got one of those?”

      “Sure we do. I gather together all the movers and shakers in our fair community and alert them there’s a blizzard coming.”

      “They probably know that already from watching TV,” Rory pointed out.

      “Possibly. Nonetheless, it’s not official till I tell ’em.”

      “If you don’t tell them, does that mean the blizzard won’t show up?”

      Eric’s brows pulled together in mock concentration. “I don’t think that’s how it works. I’ll check with Disaster Management next time they call.”

      Chuckling, Rory sat on the corner of the desk. In a small town like Grass Valley, layers of bureaucracy weren’t much use, and his brother knew that. “So when’s the meeting?”

      “Tonight at seven.” Eric opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a slender telephone directory. “I’ll get the preacher to open up the church—we’ll establish that as a shelter, if we need one. Then I’ll give folks a call, tell ’em we’ll be meeting there.”

      “You need me to come?”

      “You bet. Not only are you going to have to treat any animals that get themselves into trouble, you’re going to have to fill in for Doc Justine since she’s still in Great Falls.”

      “Nope. The doc’s back. And her granddaughter, too.”

      Eric lifted his attention from the telephone directory and shot a questioning look in Rory’s direction. “Kristi?”

      Self-consciously, Rory shoved away from the desk and crossed the room to the stove. The mere mention of Kristi’s name made him sweat, and the heat of the stove was no antidote, so he edged toward the cooler air near the window. “Kristi picked the doc up at the hospital this afternoon and brought her back here.”

      “You saw her? Kristi, I mean.”

      Rory tried for a shrug of indifference but felt as if it came off too stiff. He was still stunned by seeing Kristi again and the wash of memories that had swept over him. “Yeah. I helped her get the doc into the house. She’s got a cast on her leg and using crutches.”

      “So how’d Kristi look? Glad to see you, I bet.”

      Hardly. “We didn’t talk much. She was anxious to get the doc settled in.”

      “So is she married? Got kids or anything? Man, I remember you were so hot for her, I thought you’d burn up—”

      Rory whirled. “We didn’t get to talk much, okay? Now, don’t you have a blizzard to prepare for or something, instead of sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong?”

      Giving Rory a knowing grin, Eric waved off his comment. “I get the picture. You’re still hot for her.”

      “Leave it alone, White Eyes.”

      “Whatever you say, Bird Brain.”

      The exchange of their youthful nicknames recalled the years they’d grown up together at the Double O Ranch. Eric, as the fairest of the three adopted brothers, had been dubbed White Eyes. Rory was tagged with Bird Brain after his Indian naming ceremony; his brothers took the position that Swift Eagle was too classy for him. Walker, the eldest of the three, picked up the name of Sharp Shooter—Sharpy for short—after he’d accidentally shot himself in the leg while showing off with their father’s rifle.

      How any of them had survived adolescence still amazed Rory, and was due entirely to the patience and wisdom of the late Oliver Oakes, their adoptive father.

      “Tell you what,” Eric said. “I’ll get things started here by calling the preacher, and you go talk to the doc. See what kind of supplies she has on hand, what procedures she’ll be able to handle—”

      “You can call the doc yourself. She can talk just fine. Nonstop, if complaining counts.”

      “It’ll be faster if you talk to her. At least you’ll understand her medical jargon better than I can.”

      That might be true, but Rory didn’t have any urge to see Kristi again so soon. Actually he did, but she’d made it pretty clear she wasn’t eager for him to drop by. It’d be better to give her a little time. Let her relax, get used to the idea of him living right across the street. Then maybe he could figure out why she’d been so torque-jawed with him.

      All business now, Eric picked up the phone and started punching in numbers. “Come to think of it, ask Kristi to come to the meeting tonight. She can be the go-between for Doc.”

      Rory considered arguing with his brother but he knew he’d lose. Eric could be darn determined when he chose to be, a trait that had nearly cost him a leg riding a rodeo bull.

      Kristi had been determined, too. Set on having a career. In no hurry to marry and have a family.

      In that regard they’d been in agreement.

      More than once Rory had wondered if that had been a mistake.

      “KRISTI! You’re going to kill yourself!”

      Doc Justine’s scream and a loud thumping noise propelled Rory through the door to the clinic and into the front hallway.

      He came to an abrupt halt and tipped his hat to the back of his head.

      Kristi was sitting on her rump at the bottom of the stairway, a double-bed mattress curved on the stairs behind her. Her face was red, and she looked out of breath.

      “Are you okay?” he asked.

      “I’m fine. I was just showing Grandma the latest rage in Spokane—the wild mattress ride. Tons of fun.”

      Rory’s lips twitched but he didn’t dare let loose with the laugh that threatened. “I’m sure it will sweep the nation in no time.” He reached down to help her up.

      She managed without him. “You could have knocked, you know.”

      “Yeah, but I would have missed the next winner of World’s Funniest Videos.”

      She eyed him with a hostility that wasn’t entirely convincing, given the twinkle of humor he spotted in the depth of her baby blues. “Things got a little out of hand,” she admitted.

      “I can see that. What were you trying to do?”

      “Besides kill herself?” Justine asked from the couch in the living room.

      Kristi ignored her grandmother. “Grandma can’t get up the stairs on her crutches. Her arms aren’t strong enough.”

      “I told her I could manage,” the doc groused. “She wouldn’t believe me.”

      “So I wanted to set up her bed downstairs,” Kristi continued. “Things didn’t go quite as I had expected.”

      “You could have called me. I would have helped.”

      “That’s what I said, too,” Justine said, loud enough to rattle the door on it hinges. “But she’s the most stubborn girl I’ve ever seen. Don’t know where she gets it. Not from my side of the family, you can be sure of that.”

      Both Kristi and Rory shifted their attention to Justine and burst out laughing.

      Rory regained his composure first but he hoped Kristi never would. She had the most wonderful laugh, light and airy like a songbird in flight yet filled with warmth and caring. He could

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