Chapter 4

Colt wasn'tsure why he'd asked her that question. Only that he found it important to get an answer. Not only an answer, but the answer he wanted to hear. He must be more tired than he thought.

She had backbone, he'd give her that. It had been sheer force of will that had allowed her to walk from one side of the room to the other.

"No," she said. "I'm not married. Not anymore."

"Ahh," he said. Colt could infer that her new adventure and independence might have something to do with that. "Do you have any family or friends in the area? Someone who could check on you?"

"No, no one." Her voice was monotone, without any emotion. "It's just me and Chewy."

"That's no trouble," he said, keeping his voice light and cheerful.

He'd always been dubbed the O'Hara who was never in a bad mood. It was his gift. Which he'd learned partnered well with his healing abilities. Because he always managed to deliver bad news to his patients with an encouraging word so they left hopeful for their future.

"I've been known to do house calls from time to time," he said. "I can stop by and check on you before work and between patients."

"That's really not necessary," she said.

"It really is," he said, grinning into her scowling face. "You've got a concussion and a nice-sized lump on your head. Things can turn serious with head trauma. And as resourceful as Chewy seems to be, I don't think nursing duties are on his resume."

"Are you always this cheerful?" she asked, frowning.

"Pretty much."

"It's really annoying."

He stifled a laugh, enjoying the conversation with her more than he had with anyone in a long while. He could only imagine what it would be like when she was at her full strength.

"I'll try to be less happy," he said. "Come on, Chewy. It's the back seat for you. Up."

Colt opened the back door of his restored classic Bronco and Chewy jumped inside.

"How'd you get him to do that?" she asked. "Obey your command?"

She pushed herself up out of the wheelchair and held on to the door to get her balance. "I told him to stop and sit just before he ran me into that pole and I saw stars."

Chewy whined and raised a paw toward her. She would have felt like a heel for not acknowledging the gesture, so she shook the furry foot politely. And then she bit back a comment as Colt practically lifted her into the passenger seat. He was just trying to help, and in all honesty she appreciated it. She would have given everything she had just to lie down where she was and drift off into endless sleep.

"I mean it about the concussion," he said. "You've really got to take it easy for the next few days. And I'm going to make sure you do. If I see you out window-shopping or eating lunch at The Lampstand I'm going to call the sheriff and have you hauled back home."

"Is that how the cops get their kicks around here?" she asked, closing her eyes as he backed out of the parking spot. Her stomach lurched dangerously. "Laurel Valley doesn't look like the kind of place that sees much action. I bet the cops get bored."

"There's more action than you'd think," Colt said. "My cousin Blaze is the sheriff."

"Of course he is," she said. "Chewy and I aren't afraid of the law. Right Chewy?"

Chewy whined and made a strange sound as if he were trying to form words. And then he followed it up with a single bark.

"Chewy knows better than to get on the wrong side of the law."

"This dog has secrets," Zoe said, shaking her head. "He's lived a life. He knows things."

Colt smiled. "Wouldn't surprise me at all. Chewy here was Lawrence Fisher's dog. Lawrence was a Vietnam veteran and a local hunting guide. He was a survivor. So I wouldn't be surprised if Chewy could do everything from gutting a fish to building a bomb."

"And how did Lawrence's dog end up as a ward of the state?"

"Well," Colt said. "Old Lawrence was out on one of his ramblings. That's what the locals called them. It wasn't unusual for him to be gone days at a time. But he dropped dead of a heart attack while he was in the mountains and Chewy came into town and went straight to the police and led them back to Lawrence."

"Oh, how awful," Zoe said. "Poor baby."

Chewy whined again and laid his massive head on her shoulder.

Colt knew he was a goner. All he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears and his heart thudding in his chest. If a neon sign had been hanging over her head flashing, This One, he wouldn't have been surprised at all.

The look of love on Zoe's face was so plain and pure, he wondered if Chewy knew exactly how lucky he was. Gone was the rigid exterior she'd been exuding and in its place was a softness and yearning to love and be loved. He wanted her to look at him like she was looking at Chewy.

Colt had heard the stories from his father and grandfather about how it had only taken one look to recognize the one for them. His heart turned over in his chest, and for the first time ever he could see his future in this woman—a complete stranger—and it didn't bother him in the slightest. He rolled his window down to let the cool breeze bring him back to his senses before he said something his tired brain would regret later.

"Chewy is a lucky dog," he told her.

"You don't know how lucky," she said. "If he was a gambling sort he'd have won the jackpot."

"Too bad gambling is illegal for dogs in Idaho," Colt said dryly.

"Are you sure you're a doctor?"

"As opposed to what?"

"A stand-up comedian or a serial killer."

"Is one considered worse than the other?" he asked.

"The jury is still out. You should stop talking. You're making my head hurt."

Her bluntness made him chuckle. Yep, he was a goner all right. She fascinated him. He was attracted to her on a physical level. How could he not be? She was beautiful, just as Mac had said. But she had a sharp wit and a keen mind, and he'd enjoyed their short conversation so far. She was probably a force to be reckoned with when she wasn't half addled.

Colt rubbed his eyes and shook his head. He needed a nap.

"You okay?" she asked, eyeing him warily.

"Yeah, just short on sleep," he said. "What was I saying?"

"You'd originally started telling me about Chewy's owner, but then you got a look in your eyes like you'd been hit with a frying pan. Boy, can I pick 'em," she said, glumly.

"Hey, I'm a great catch," he said. "I promise I'll show you once you're not concussed. Now stop interrupting and let me finish my story."

She made a sound that had Chewy's ears perking up, but Colt just smiled and kept talking.

"Anyway, after Lawrence's funeral, an attorney showed up and read the will. Old Lawrence didn't have too much to leave in the way of possessions. He was a simple man, and all he had was his cabin, an old pickup truck, and Chewy. Lawrence's brother got the cabin and pickup and sold them both right away. But he didn't want to take Chewy back to Boise with him. Said he didn't have time to take care of a dog."

"And now he's mine," Zoe said, rubbing Chewy's fur affectionately. "Now he's an uptown dog. That's my garage space." She pointed to the two-car garage. "You can pull into the driveway. Thank you for the ride."

She opened the door and hopped down before he could come around and help her. Then her knees buckled and she slid down to the ground gracefully.

He rolled his eyes and said, "Lord give me strength to deal with stubborn women."

"I heard that," she said.

"I wasn't trying to keep it a secret," he said, hurrying around to the other side of the car. It was faster to carry her, so that's exactly what he did. And then he opened the back door so Chewy could get out, who proceeded to trot over to the closest patch of grass to do his business.

She rested her head against his chest, and he thought she felt just right in his arms. This was a dangerous woman. He couldn't wait to see how dangerous.

"Are you good at taking advice?" he asked.

"Not particularly," she said, making his lips twitch. "I'm on a deadline."

"What kind of deadline?"

"A book deadline," she said. "I write novels for women. A brave heroine, a little action and adventure, and then toss in a life-shattering event in an unusual location or time period and you have the keys to happily-ever-after."

"Hmm," Colt said. "That makes sense. And you did say you were a storyteller. Though your cynicism would lend itself well to crime novels I think. You seem like the kind of person who could think of creative ways to murder someone."

"Thank you?"

"It's a compliment. I like your brain."

"You're not going to make a crack about the kinds of books I write?"

He looked at her quizzically. "Why would I make a crack about what you write? The best stories are ones about relationships. Every ancient text, book, and movie on the planet is about relationships. I take it you deal with that kind of stuff a lot?"

She let out a breath and he realized she'd been steeling herself for a reaction different than he gave.

"You could say that," she said. "There's not a lot of respect for women writers in the literary world."

"By the looks of you and this condo," he said. "I'm sure you're laughing about that lack of respect all the way to the bank. And I don't think you're going to have to worry too much about your deadline over the next couple of days."

"Why's that?" she asked.

He carried her into a plush lobby with a large river rock fireplace, a comfortable seating area in soft greens and gold, and a row of gold-plated mailboxes in the wall that were neatly numbered.

"Because staring at tiny words on the screen is not going to be fun," he told her. "Best thing to do is just close your eyes, embrace the ice pack, and get the sleep your body is going to demand."

"You might be right," she said. "I've never had a concussion before. I wasn't expecting my move here to be so hazardous to my health."

They got into the elevator and Chewy trotted in behind them, sitting politely at Colt's feet as they made their way up to the top floor.

"Civilized dog," she said, reaching an arm down and patting Chewy on the top of the head. "Am I getting too heavy for you?"

"Of course not," he said. "What kind of man would I be if I admitted you were too heavy? That's a recipe for disaster. You either poison my bagel because I called you too heavy or you question my manhood because I'm a weakling."

"I see your point," she said. "It is a pickle. I withdraw the question."

"Very kind of you," he said. "I'm assuming you have a key in that purse of yours? Or am I going to have to pick the locks?"

"A doctor who picks locks?" she asked. Her voice was slurred with exhaustion and she reminded him of a toddler who kept talking just to stay awake. "Interesting hobbies you have."

"I also play the piano and the occasional game of golf, but my golf game leaves a lot to be desired."

"You can't have it all," she said.

"Tell me about it."

The elevator door opened into an opulent private foyer. He knew how expensive these condos were. He'd considered buying this very one for himself when Hank had given the family a tour early on in the build phase. One thing was for sure, Zoe Green had money. A lot of it.

What was a woman with her talents and resources doing in Laurel Valley? She didn't have local family or friends, she wasn't married, and for whatever reason she'd felt the need to reinvent herself and hit the start button on a new life. She'd used the word independence a couple of times in their short time together. What had kept her so chained that she'd yearned for freedom and independence with that kind of focused determination?

He set her gently on her feet and she removed her keys from the clip on her purse and opened the door. He followed her inside and closed the door behind him.

"Gorgeous," he said, enjoying the view that looked out over a lake so clear it looked like glass. It was framed by white-capped mountains and towering pines. "I was almost tempted to buy this exact condo because of that view."

"That would have thrown a wrench in my plan," she said. "The other ones on this side have great views, but not like this. I knew the second I saw the pictures I'd do whatever it took to make it mine."

"I'm sure Hank loved that," Colt said. "Didn't you have a Realtor or someone to keep you from getting taken to the cleaners?"

"Are you saying your brother is a swindler?"

"No, Hank's as honest as they come," Colt said immediately. "But I hope you negotiated a little. Just out of principle."

"I offered full price right off the bat," she said, moving toward the big L-shaped white couch in the middle of the room, but she didn't sit down.

There were boxes stacked against all the walls, some opened, others still sealed shut, and there were no personal items set about. Living out of boxes for a week would have driven him crazy. His family—bless them—were all organized souls. His mother had taught her boys from a young age that mess belonged out in the pasture and never in the house. And heaven help them all if they tracked dirt inside or let muddy dogs run through her kitchen. They hadn't loved those lessons as children, but Colt had to admit it had served him well through medical school and when he'd moved out on his own.

"I didn't want to take the chance that someone might outbid me," she said. "Besides, it's a reasonable price compared to where I'm from. But it's a shame we're not neighbors. It would have made your house calls a little easier. So…why weren't you tempted?

His gaze met hers and his breath caught in his chest. There was something electric sizzling between them, and it took every ounce of control he had not to walk over to her and see if her lips were as soft as they looked. If she'd been holding an apple he would have taken a bite and said to heck with the consequences.

He realized he was taking too long to answer and he ran back the conversation through his mind so he had a clue what she was talking about.

She arched a brow knowingly and smirked. Good. She'd felt it too. That would save some time in the future.

"Why wasn't I tempted to take this place?" he asked. "Too much of a commitment, maybe. A place like this needs great furniture and art. It needs to be filled with music and parties and laughter. I don't have a lot of time for that stuff. I live above the clinic. It's more efficient and easier if I'm needed in an emergency."

"Ahh," she said. "I recognize another workaholic when I see one. What do you do to relax?"

"Oh, I'm great at relaxing," he said, grinning. "Are you going to lie down on the couch, or are you going to stand there until you fall down? Lord, you must have a head as hard as a rock. Maybe I need to be checking the light post for damage."

She blew out a sigh. "Fine, I'm lying down. Happy now?"

"Yes, that's much better," he said. "Keep that ice on your head."

"You were bragging about how great you are at relaxing," she prodded. "Must be nice."

"Oh, it is," he said. "It's another O'Hara family trait. We are all passionate about our work. And it's easy for us to be consumed by it if we let ourselves. My brother Duncan is an artist. Sometimes he'll be in his studio for days at a time. Hank is a developer and owns his own construction business, as you know. My brother Aidan and his wife own their own mechanic shop, but he specializes in working on high-dollar cars like Ferrari and Porsche. And then there's my youngest brother, Wyatt. He works for the DEA. He's gone a lot and doesn't really tell us a whole lot."

"Good grief," she said. "How many brothers do you have?"

"There's five of us total," he said. "And my uncle and aunt have five too. Plus my grandparents and various nieces and nephews. There are a lot of us."

"They don't mention it on the Laurel Valley Wikipedia page."

He chuckled and said, "I'm starting to enjoy that smart mouth of yours."

"I'm sure you'll get tired of it soon enough," she said, closing her eyes.

Colt raised his brows at that. Must be something of a sore spot, but he decided to deflect the conversation and keep telling her about his family. She'd meet them all soon enough. He'd make sure of that.

"What I'm saying," he said, "is that we all tend to be obsessed with our work. But when it's time to play, we play hard."

"Is this where piano and golf come in?"

"Mmmhmm," he said. "I've also got a cabin in the mountains." He found a folded throw on top of one of the boxes and laid it over her. "My family owns a good part of the east side of the mountain and the lake, and we all inherited enough acreage so we could build our own places and leave land for our own children to inherit."

"Someone planned ahead," she said.

"That would be my great-grandfather," Colt said. "He came here from Ireland to find his fortune, and find his fortune he did. Turns out he had a way with thoroughbreds and built himself quite a stable of champions. My grandfather and my dad have continued on that legacy."

"You're lucky," she said. "Not everyone has a legacy."

"No," he agreed. "But everyone can start one. My cabin is nestled right behind that ridge down there on the other side of the lake. There's another lake that's smaller than this one, and it's on O'Hara land. The fishing and water-skiing are great, and I have a hammock that has the ability to make a person fall asleep within seconds. It's my escape when I'm able to get away."

"And what do you need to escape from?" she asked, snuggling down under the covers.

"Beautiful women knocking themselves senseless so they can get me in their apartment," he said teasingly.

"If I had the energy I'd throw something at you," she said.

"Well, I'm disappointed to miss that. I'm sure you have quite the throwing arm. When I first saw you I thought to myself, she must play softball. I know an athlete when I see one."

"Shut up," she said, chuckling. "You are so annoying."

"So you said before. You also told me I was too cheerful."

"I liked it better when I thought I was dead and you were God."

"We can role-play later," he said. "You'll need your full strength for that."

"Maybe I could escape to your cabin," she said. "Just for some peace and quiet. And maybe some Advil."

He chuckled and said, "I'm getting it. And you can use the cabin anytime you'd like. It's been almost a year since I've been able to get away. Laurel Valley isn't as small as it used to be, and I rarely go a week without a call in the middle of the night or the weekend.

"Why don't you hire another doctor?" she asked.

"I'll have to before the year is out," he said. "But there's more money to be made at the hospitals outside of Laurel Valley. Most doctors don't want to move to the middle of nowhere to work terrible hours and make a lot less than they would at the hospital."

"The right person will come along exactly when you need them," she said. "There's a lot to be said for getting to live in a place like this. Terrible hours and less pay are sometimes worth it for peace of mind."

"Hmm," he said. "Sounds like you're speaking from experience."

She yawned and closed her eyes. "Thanks for seeing me home. You've gone above and beyond the call of doctorly duties. Can you turn the light out when you leave? My eyes hurt."

Colt snorted. Her conversation diversion wasn't subtle at all.

"Here's your hat, what's your hurry?" he asked. "Don't worry. I'll be out of your hair soon enough."

He did as she asked and turned the overhead lights off, but sunlight was streaming through the expanse of windows. There was nothing he could do about that.

"I'm going to get you a fresh ice pack and ibuprofen before I leave," he said. "If you have any."

"Of course I do," she said. "I'm a writer. Look in the kitchen. It's right next to the coffee maker."

It was a large condo, two floors, and as much square footage as his cabin. Downstairs consisted of an open floor plan, a large commercial kitchen in white with gold hardware and fixtures, and a dining area with a modern glass table and eight chairs. He thought it ironic she'd have a space built for entertaining when she knew absolutely no one and didn't seem like the type to invite them in.

He maneuvered his way through to the kitchen, and he noticed there was one area of the house she had set up—her office. He didn't feel bad about peeking inside. The French doors were wide open.

Priorities. He understood them. His clinic had been the first thing he'd started renovations on when he'd bought Doc Willis's practice. She had a sleek desk made of the same glass as the dining room table and there was a desktop computer with two monitors on its surface. There was a treadmill in the corner and shelves filled with everything from research books to ornately carved knives, awards, and a whimsical glass dragon.

But in front of the large picture window was an old comfortable chair, a single floor lamp, and a leopard-print throw that had seen better days but looked very soft. He knew instinctively this was her real workspace.

He moved into the kitchen and almost laughed. Again, priorities. The countertops were completely bare except for a very fancy coffee machine and a giant mug. Next to the mug was a Costco-sized bottle of ibuprofen.

"How long have you lived here?" Colt asked.

"Exactly one week," she said. "Why?"

"You have no food."

"I have cereal in that box over there. And milk and a bottle of wine in the fridge. I order in for everything else. At least for now until I get the kitchen set up. I don't spend a lot of time cooking."

"I'd never have guessed," he said under his breath. "Keep that ice on your head. It'll help the swelling go down. But you're going to be an interesting shade of green and purple for the next few days."

"Good thing I don't know anyone," she said. "It might raise questions."

"I'm pretty sure everyone in town already knows who you are, what happened to you, and where you live. The locals don't miss much."

He grabbed a bottle of water and four ibuprofen and went back into the living area. Chewy had made himself at home on the chair next to his new mistress.

"You didn't know who I was," she said irritably.

"That's because I've delivered four babies, given a hundred physicals for the upcoming athletic season at the high school, and treated twenty-two summer colds over the last week. And I haven't seen any of my family. They're my normal gossip dealers."

She took the ibuprofen and water from him. "You were too busy to see them or you chose not to see them?"

"Strategic avoidance," he said, grinning. "I've become quite adept. Do you have plastic bags? I'll make you another ice pack before I go and refreeze this one."

"They're in a box," she said, waving her hand toward an open box. "I only know that because I was looking for the cereal and I came across them."

Her voice was trailing off, and he could see the dark circles of exhaustion beneath her eyes. He found the plastic bags and filled one with ice, and then he found a dish towel and wrapped it around the bag, switching it out for the one she was holding on her forehead.

"Get some sleep," he said. "Chewy will watch over you. And I'll be back to check on you and bring you something to eat. It can be our first date."

She mumbled something unintelligible and he took it as a sign of acknowledgement before telling Chewy goodbye and letting himself out the door.

It had been quite the day. And if he didn't get some sleep he wouldn't have the energy to pry all the secrets out of the woman who he knew would be the wife of his heart.