Bishop Ridge Read online

  They found exactly what they weren’t looking for.

  Logan

  I had almost everything I’d ever wanted—career, friends, my own easy life in Sawyer’s Ferry, Alaska. I’d given up on filling in the missing pieces long ago. Now, I was more than satisfied with the perfectly practiced, perfectly predictable routine I’d created for myself. At least until Jackson Daley walked into my clinic.

  Jackson

  Working the rigs is temporary. Everything in my life is. Jobs, cities, and the guys I take home—nothing sticks, and that’s exactly the way I like it. After four years in Alaska, I’m itching to pick up and leave. I’m ready to move on and start over someplace new, until a one-night stand I can’t seem to shake has me breaking all my own rules.

  Now as I get closer to walking away, my reasons for leaving seem blurrier than ever, and for the first time in my life, there could be something worth staying for.

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  Published by Cate Ashwood

  Bishop Ridge: Sawyer’s Ferry Book 2 © 2018 Cate Ashwood

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

  All rights reserved worldwide. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

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  Cover Design © 2018 Cate Ashwood

  http://www.cateashwooddesigns.com

  Edited by One Love Editing

  http://oneloveediting.com/

  Content Warning: This work is classified as a gay romance. It contains graphic language and sexual content between two adult men. Not intended for anyone under the age of 18.

  Title

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Other Books by Cate

  About the Author

  A huge thank you to my lovely beta readers, Julia and Leslie who pointed out the (numerous) plot holes and timeline inconsistencies. Thank you for putting up with my broken deadlines and stressed-out author messages. You ladies rock!

  And as always, a massive thank-you to Sandra, the best editor on the planet. You’re always there for me when I need you, be it for correction of gerund-heavy passages, or to share a bottle (or three) of wine.

  Logan

  “Jesus Christ. Hang your goddamn stethoscope over the door handle or something.” I stepped around Gage and Holden, who I’d just walked in on all but fucking in the middle of the staff room. And it wasn’t the first time that week. “Give a guy a little warning at least.”

  Gage’s eyes shone with that gleam of a man deliriously in love. It wasn’t new, but I was still adjusting to seeing him like that. “Don’t be such a prude, Baker.”

  “Not a prude. Dawn has had to double our order of lube this month because we keep running out. That shit’s supposed to be used on patients, not for your kinky on-call room acrobatics.”

  He laughed because I was joking. Sort of. The two had been engaged for all of half a second and they were fucking insufferable. I’d thought they’d been bad back when Holden had just arrived in town and the two of them were going at it on any flat surface they could find, but then Gage had made his sweeping gesture of love and since then, they’d been downright vomit-inducing.

  Maybe I should ask Dawn to double our order of emesis trays as well if they weren’t gonna cool it on the lovey-dovey crap.

  People were starting to talk. And I was a little tired of it.

  I was happy for them. Really, I was. Elated. Tickled frickin’ pink. I just didn’t want to see the prequel to the honeymoon in the very spot where I normally ate my lunch.

  “You sure you wouldn’t rather one of us to made the trip up to Belcourt?” Holden asked, changing the subject without bothering to put any distance at all between him and his fiancé.

  I pulled open my locker, avoiding looking at the way Gage held Holden against him. “Nah, you two stay here. Bask in the glow of your love for one another. It’s my turn, and anyway, I wouldn’t want to risk either of you withering away from the loss of the other.”

  “It’s three days,” Holden chuckled. “I’m sure we could manage it.”

  “So adorable.” I shook my head as I stepped back from the locker, shooting him a disbelieving look. “And so, so naïve.”

  The monthly trip north for outreach appointments at the remote clinic in Belcourt was something I enjoyed, and getting out of town for a few days was an added perk. I loved Sawyer’s Ferry, but a lot of the time it made me feel cut off from the rest of the world—living in a place inaccessible by roads will do that—and although Belcourt was even smaller, sometimes a change of scenery was a welcome distraction.

  Especially now.

  Now, I was way overdue. It’d been too long since I’d last left, and I was starting to get cagey, impatient to put some distance between me and the community I called home.

  “You need any help packing up supplies?” Gage asked, finally extricating himself from the arms of his husband-to-be.

  “Nope.” I shut my locker. “Finished that while you two were in here sucking face. The truck’s loaded and ready to go. I’m leaving in a few to catch the last ferry out.” I slipped my jacket on before tossing Holden and Gage a grin. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

  “Drive safe.”

  “Will do.”

  On the way out, I said goodbye to Nadia and Craig, two of our nurses, then navigated my way toward the ferry dock. Other than taking an airplane, this was the only way in and out of town. Flying was okay, but I liked ferries so much better. Even without being loaded down by supplies, I preferred sea to air. There was something about standing on the deck of the boat, the brine-scented wind blowing in my face, that left me feeling invigorated.

  Soon, it would be too cold, and with the ferry being too small for an interior cabin, I’d be stuck inside my vehicle for the trip. I intended to enjoy it while I could. Pulling into the line of cars waiting to board the ferry, I idled forward until my bumper almost kissed the one in front of me. The ferry would be docking soon, and then I’d be on my way. The drive up to Belcourt was a few hours, but my phone was loaded with music, and I had snacks for the road and a comfortable bed waiting for me.
r />   Time to get the hell outta Dodge and forget about normal life for a while.

  Christ, my ass was dragging.

  Most of my morning had been taken up with biopsies. They’d been routine and mostly unremarkable, but I could feel the midday lag hit. I was already running late, and I could feel the beginnings of a tension headache forming. Thankfully, I was supposed to round out the last appointment before lunch with a simple consultation.

  That, I could do with my eyes closed.

  And I might have to because I was half-asleep on my feet and ready to collapse into my bed at the hotel. These trips were a working vacation for me, but the next two days were booked solid. Sometimes it was a relief to have the predictability of scheduled appointments without the possibility of a crazy emergency walking in at any second. It was a nice change of pace from SFRH, and since the clinic had been recently renovated, some of their equipment was more state-of-the-art than what we had in Sawyer’s Ferry. Though small, everything at the clinic was light and bright and new.

  I grabbed the chart from the slot on the door and only had enough time for a cursory glance at the name and birth date before walking into exam room three. When I looked up, I nearly dropped the clipboard.

  With a quick breath, I managed to compose myself. “Hello, Mr. Daley. I’m Logan Baker. What can I help you with today?”

  The guy leaned against the bed, in torn jeans and work boots, legs crossed at the ankles, and arms folded over his chest. His forearms were corded with muscles, his biceps tight and clearly visible since all he wore was a black skintight T-shirt despite the fact that there was a distinct chill in the air.

  “I got shot, and I thought it might be about time to deal with the bullet.”

  “You… got… shot,” I repeated slowly, my eyes grazing the curves of his body, but I couldn’t seem to find a single spot that didn’t appear perfect. My brain struggled to concentrate on medicine rather than the unprofessional thoughts vying for my focus.

  He wasn’t my usual type. I went for the tall, burly guys with beards and dark features. This guy had some of that but in a completely different way. He was tall, yeah, but his muscles were clearly defined, even through his clothing. There was something rugged about him, something rough. Maybe it was the tattoos or the I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude.

  Maybe it was that he’d just told me he’d been shot.

  Either way, he checked all my boxes, and I needed to get myself under control, or I was going to need a lot more than a lab coat to hide my body’s reaction to him.

  He pushed himself to standing, gripped the collar of his shirt, and pulled it up over his head in one smooth movement. My heart hammering, I had just enough time to register the most well-defined set of abs I’d ever seen before he turned to show me his back. Either this guy spent all his spare time in the gym, or his job was incredibly physically demanding. He was a study in physiological perfection—the only blemish I could see was the scar, clearly defined on his skin where the bullet had entered his body.

  I took a step forward to examine him more closely.

  I’d never felt flustered around a patient before, at least not since I was a terrified little intern on my very first hospital rotation. I grabbed a set of gloves from the wall and tugged them on. Having that extra barrier between him and me before I touched him was completely unnecessary, but it seemed like a good idea.

  “When did this happen?”

  He shrugged. “Few years ago.”

  I inspected the wound. It had been stitched up, properly by the looks of it. “Seems to have healed almost perfectly.”

  “Yeah, seems like it.” He didn’t elaborate, and that made me more curious than anything. I wanted to know how this guy had ended up with a bullet in him, and taking in his physique, his badass attitude, and the casual way he’d mentioned it, the only thing my lust-addled brain could come up with was soldier.

  My brain took the unexpected image of him in uniform and ran with it so fast it almost knocked the wind out of me. What was it about a guy in camo that made my fantasies go wild? Now that I’d conjured that image, it was all I could see. My palms began to sweat, and I was suddenly grateful I’d pulled the gloves on.

  “Any pain?” I asked, finally forcing my brain to switch from instant fantasy to the closest thing I could manage to competence.

  He shook his head. “Nope. But the area keeps going numb. That’s never happened before, so I figured I should probably let someone check me out.”

  I was doing fine fucking job of that.

  “You’ve never experienced numbness there before?” He’d literally just said that. I sounded like an idiot. This guy probably wondered how the hell I’d managed to make it through high school, let alone medical school.

  “Nope. Only the last few months.”

  “Let’s have a look, then.”

  I took a silent breath before I touched him, the warmth of his skin permeating the thin nitrile of my glove. Sliding my fingers over the slightly raised tissue, I felt for any deformities under his flesh but felt none. I didn’t want to stop touching him, though. The solidness of his shoulder beneath my fingertips was enticing, and I couldn’t believe how quickly any semblance of professionalism had vanished.

  I wanted him.

  I wanted my patient, and that was so out of the realm of possibility it didn’t even bear thinking about.

  With more reluctance than was reasonable, I dropped my hand and took a step back, consulting his file for the first time since I’d entered.

  There wasn’t much there. If he’d been seen about this before, if there’d been any imaging done, we didn’t have record of it. I made a mental note to ask the girls at the front to request his files from whoever had been following him until now.

  When I looked up, he’d put his shirt back on and had turned to face me, leaning his weight on the table once more. I wasn’t sure what was more distracting—Jackson shirtless and facing away, or fully clothed, standing with a relaxed posture but with his eyes trained on me.

  I swallowed and hoped to God my voice didn’t shake when I spoke.

  “I’ll order some images, but my guess from what you’ve told me is that the scar tissue around the bullet is impinging on a nerve, which is likely what’s causing your numbness.”

  He nodded. “Okay, so what, then? It comes out?”

  “Ideally, yes. And unfortunately, it’s too delicate a surgery to perform here in the clinic. You’ll need to come to SFRH or book a surgical appointment in Anchorage or Juneau to get that taken care of.”

  “I figured.” He pushed off the table and bunched his jacket in his hand. “Thanks for taking a look anyway.”

  He had no idea how thoroughly the pleasure had been mine…

  I pulled my train of thought back onto the medical track. “Let the girls up front know you need an appointment either to see me at SFRH or a referral to another surgeon—your choice—and they’ll take care of it for you.”

  “Thanks, doc.” The lopsided grin he gave me made my stomach flip.

  “You’re welcome.” I gave him a tight smile and hoped it hadn’t come out as a grimace. Keeping that man as a patient was a dangerous venture. Even in the last few minutes, I’d skirted some gray area when it came to professional conduct.

  I retreated from exam room three and hid out in the temporary office in the back. I needed a minute to collect my thoughts and work through what the hell had just happened. Sure, I’d found patients attractive before, though patients like Mr. Edwards with his varicose veins and rampant halitosis were more common than the chiseled specimen I’d just examined.

  Jackson Daley had done a number on my blood pressure, I was sure of it, and I couldn’t afford to let someone affect me like that.

  It was unprofessional and so wrong.

  At least as long as he was my patient…

  There was always the possibility that I could transfer his case to another surgeon.

  Then again, I’d probably sounded like the
most incompetent surgeon on the planet. My brain had been muddled, my mouth tongue-tied. I’d struggled to form a coherent sentence around him. If I were him, I’d choose anyone else to perform that surgery.

  I dismissed the thought of pursuing anything with him. I was being ridiculous. Chances were I’d never see the guy again.

  The rest of the day dragged on, time feeling like it stretched the closer I got to the final appointment.

  Jackson kept popping into my head, and the more I tried to push the thought away, the more resilient it seemed to become. There was something about him that hit me right in the gut—something that made me feel like my skin was too tight and at the same time like I could have run a marathon. I needed to shake it off because I still had two full days of procedures to get through, and allowing myself to be distracted wasn’t going to do anyone any favors.

  I’m terribly sorry I botched your husband’s vasectomy, Mrs. Schumacher…

  I managed to get through the final appointment without mangling Mr. Schumacher’s testicles, and after the patient had left, I hung my lab coat on the hook behind the door and shut the lights off, telling myself all I needed was a good night’s sleep and the following day I’d have my head back on straight.

  I said good night to the staff as I passed through the lobby of the clinic and out to my car, ready to head back to the hotel and relax. But before I climbed in, I stopped, my key in hand, my eyes falling on the neon sign blinking in the window of the general store across the street. I tucked my keys back into my pocket and walked over.

  I’d been there a hundred times before, picking up random shit I’d forgotten to bring from home or snacks for my hotel room. There weren’t many places to go in Belcourt—as in almost none.

  The majority of the population lived at the camp for the rig workers, and presumably most of them ate in the galley on-site. Restaurants in town consisted of a single bar—the Spruce Tavern—and a tiny pizza place that I’d never actually seen open.