Montana Actually by Fiona Lowe Page A

word block, “m-may not suit you.” He gave a practiced smile. One that gave the impression of him being at ease when in reality he’d rather be kicked hard by a goosey and snorting horse than be ambushed by members of the Bear Paw book club. Or for that matter, any of the women’s groups in town. But today it looked like he was shit out of luck.
    “Oh, honey,” Ellen cooed, “a cowboy who’s good with his hands has exactly the opinion we’re after.” Her eyes raked his wrangler-clad legs before her gaze settled slightly too long on his groin. “The book we’re reading has a machine in it and we just can’t quite work out how it works. Come sit and explain it to us.”
    It was well known that this particular group of six women in their forties had far too much spare time on their hands, and rumors about their antics kept the Bear Paw gossip mill turning. Beau had no interest in being any woman’s boy toy. Hell, he couldn’t even see himself as someone’s boyfriend. He always refused to be drawn into the speculation by his mates that inevitably took place at the tavern after a few beers.
    He caught sight of the book—an erotic novel that had taken the world by storm. He immediately knew exactly what sort of a machine he’d be expected to discuss and his chest tightened.
Breathe in, blow out the words.
    “I’d like to . . . explain it, but . . .” He hauled in more air, and as he blew it out, he felt his vocal cords relaxing. “I’m expected back at the ranch.”
    He disengaged his arm from Ellen’s manicured nails. “Ladies.” Tipping his hat in acknowledgment of the group, he spun on his heel and strode to the counter, ignoring the sighs of disappointment and the naughty giggles that sounded behind him. As relief slid through him that the encounter was over, he hated that he could feel beads of sweat pooling on the back of his neck. Despite years of having almost total control over his stutter, groups of women always took him back in time to his adolescence and threatened to undo all of his hard work.
    A woman with long blond hair that was pulled up on top of her head and held in place with what looked like a bamboo skewer was wiping down the counter in wide, slow swipes. Everything about her body said bone-tired, from the lines around her pretty blue eyes to the weary set of her shoulders.
    She paused as he approached, stowing the cloth under the counter and wiping her hands on her apron. “What can I get you?”
    “Ah . . .” The stalling sound slipped out as he marshaled his words. “Bonnie McCade ordered . . . a cheesecake.”
    Her lips, which reminded him of a pink bow on a gift box, curved into a soft smile. “Are you Beau? Katrina’s brother?”
    Cousin.
“Yes, ma’am. I am.”
    “I’m Shannon. Shannon Bauer.” She extended her hand in greeting.
    “Shannon.” He repeated her name to store it and the sound in his mind as he gave her a quick nod. Being very aware that in the past he’d unintentionally crushed women’s hands with his firm grip, he held hers gently. Only her hand didn’t feel petite and vulnerable in his at all. In fact he was surprised at the juxtaposition of rough and smooth against his own work-calloused palm.
    She slid her hand out of his as if he’d held on to it for too long and said briskly, “I took over the diner a few weeks ago, and your sister’s been a lifesaver.”
    “That sounds . . .”—he concentrated on speaking slowly—“. . . like Katrina.”
    Shannon frowned. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
    He shrugged. “It is . . . what it is.”
    “All I know is I couldn’t do what I do without her working the breakfast shift,” she said, chatting easily. “I’ve been focusing on making the diner a place for groups to meet so I have customers between the main meal times. Even so”—her lipstick-free lips tilted wryly—“I wasn’t totally prepared for the book club’s first meeting here. I’m impressed you