Only Yours. Сьюзен Мэллери

on her coat said Dr. Lawrence. Montana had seen her around the hospital and knew she had a good reputation.

      “Reese is just fine,” the doctor told Kent. “He’s calm—we’ve given him something for the pain. He should be in surgery in the next half hour or so.” She gave them a warm smile. “The best news I have to give you is that the doctor who will be working on your son is extraordinary. I would go so far as to say gifted. If there is one surgeon I would pick to work on my child it would be Dr. Bradley.”

      Montana blinked at her. “Simon is going to do the surgery?”

      “You know Dr. Bradley?” Dr. Lawrence asked.

      She felt everyone looking at her. “Yes. I take one of my therapy dogs to see one of his patients.” She turned to her mother and brother. “Simon, ah, Dr. Bradley, is a renowned plastic surgeon. He mostly works on burn patients.”

      Dr. Lawrence nodded. “That’s true. He’s just finishing up surgery on a boy right now. As soon as he’s ready, we’ll take Reese in to him. The surgery itself shouldn’t take very long.”

      They were given a few more details, told where to wait. When Dr. Lawrence left, Montana took her mother’s arm and leaned against her brother.

      “It’s going to be okay,” she told him. “Dr. Bradley is the best.”

      “I’m relieved,” Kent admitted, leading the way to the waiting room.

      They settled onto surprisingly comfortable chairs, clustered close together. Their conversation was more idle chitchat than anything meaningful. Just something to pass the time while they each privately worried.

      Nevada showed up next. Dakota was there a few minutes later, baby Hannah in her arms. Hugs were exchanged while everyone was brought up to date. Then Ethan and Liz arrived and they went through it all again.

      As everyone talked, Montana realized this was what families did. They comforted each other, they waited in hospitals, they prayed. No matter what happened, she would always have this. People who loved her and would worry, and wait. She was one of six children and didn’t know any other way to live.

      Out of nowhere, a thought occurred to her. What about Simon? Who waited and worried for him?

      SIMON MADE THE LAST, impossibly small, even stitch. The procedure had been straightforward. The cuts looked worse than they were. Not too deep, not too wide. There might be some minor scarring but he doubted it.

      He stood in the operating room while the boy was wheeled to recovery. Most surgeons would have left already. He didn’t linger out of concern. Instead he waited because he knew what was next. He would go tell the family that everything was going to be fine. That the worst the boy would have was the faintest hint of a scar. Nothing frightening. Barely noticeable.

      They would be grateful. The families always were. They would surround him and thank him and want to offer him something. The women would try to hug him and the men would shake his hand. He went through it hundreds of times and he never found it easy. He didn’t want their thanks. All he wanted was to slip away. To take on the next case, to lose himself in the work.

      This time would be especially awkward. According to the nurse, his patient was Montana’s nephew. He would be forced to see her again, to stare into her dark eyes and know that he couldn’t have the one thing he most wanted. Worse, he would have to do it in front of her family.

      He doubted she would say anything. She was too kind for that. But she would be thinking it. That he had kissed her, practically forced himself upon her. It had been so unlike him.

      Knowing he was putting off the inevitable, he walked to the waiting room. He saw them at once, the large family clustered together, talking, comforting one another. He’d been told that waiting was the worst and he believed it. At least he was always busy doing something.

      In the second before they noticed him, he saw Montana had sisters. No, more than that. He saw the identical bone structure, the shape of the eyes that was exactly the same. Minor differences caused more by time than DNA.

      A triplet. She hadn’t mentioned that. And brothers. She came from a large family, something he couldn’t relate to. How did people find quiet with that many family members around?

      Montana glanced up and saw him. “Dr. Bradley.”

      Everyone shifted, allowing one of the brothers and the petite, pretty woman in her fifties to move toward him. Montana’s mother, he realized, taking in more similarities.

      The brother, a tall man, held out his hand. “Kent Hendrix,” he said. “Montana tells us you’re the best. How is he? How is Reese?”

      They were all staring at him. All waiting to hear that their loved one was fine. He never knew what to say, even when the news was good, so he stumbled on as best he could. The boy was doing well, the scarring minimal. No surprises in surgery.

      Montana moved to his side and smiled. “I was so happy when I heard it was you.” She turned her attention to her brother. “I’ve seen his work. It’s very impressive.”

      Simon’s first thought was that she wasn’t angry. He felt as if he’d been given a reprieve, for whatever reason. His second thought was to realize the only work of his she’d seen was with Kalinda. No layperson could look beyond the bandages and raw skin to see the work he’d done.

      Concerns for another time, he told himself.

      Kent Hendrix continued to shake his hand. “I can’t thank you enough. When I saw him lying there, and all that blood …” He paused and glanced at his mother. “I didn’t know what to think.”

      “It’s difficult when a family member is injured,” Simon said stiffly.

      He managed to free his hand from Kent’s, only to be hugged by Denise.

      She straightened and stared into his eyes. “Please tell me he’s going to be all right. I know you said it, but I need you to say it again.”

      Love shone in her eyes. Love and concern and worry. She was everything a mother and grandmother should be. He had seen it time and time again in his practice. The mothers who didn’t love, the mothers who deliberately hurt their children, were rare. He’d always known that, but it still surprised him that so many parents were good.

      “He’s going to be fine.”

      “Very light scars,” Montana said, touching her arm. “It’ll make him a chick magnet.”

      Denise managed a strangled laugh. “Just what every grandmother wants to hear.” She drew in a slow breath, then let it out. “Dr. Bradley, we were supposed to have a family dinner today. I suspect that’s going to be postponed until tomorrow. Please join us.”

      Anything but that, he thought grimly. He didn’t want to have dinner with them. He didn’t want to socialize or spend time with them. He never knew what to do with himself, how to act with strangers. He knew the invitation was more about their need to thank him than anything else.

      Which was why he always refused. He kept things separate. He wasn’t the kind of doctor who got personally involved.

      The rest of the family echoed the invitation. Their words washed over him, easily ignored. Until Montana turned to him.

      “Please say you’ll join us,” she said. Her gaze was steady.

      Despite his reluctance, he found himself nodding. He couldn’t resist spending time in her company.

      Denise said something about the time and rattled off an address. He wasn’t listening. Instead he focused on the two sisters, the ones that were identical to Montana. If it was chemistry, if it was simply some quirk of genetics, shouldn’t he be equally attracted to them?

      He studied them, trying to imagine talking to them, touching them, kissing them. Instead of being interested, he felt uncomfortable and more than a little foolish. No, it was only Montana.

      “Let’s