Chapter 9

Zoe stoodin the shower and let the hot water beat down on her head. She wasn't sure how long she'd been in there, but it had given her the chance to replay her conversation with Colt that afternoon and the kiss that had followed.

If she was being honest, she'd replayed the kiss more than once.

She wasn't sure she could handle a handsome doctor cooking for her and making her laugh, and then kissing the daylights out of her. The parallels to Todd were too similar. He didn't cook for her, but he'd taken her to expensive restaurants and the theater, whisked her away to Paris for the weekend. She'd been dazzled by the attention. No one had ever made her the center of their universe before, and she'd been intoxicated by it.

She'd been a fool with Todd. She'd never let herself be one again.

The hot water had done wonders for her headache and the stiffness at the back of the neck, and she felt like she had somewhat of a game plan where Colt was concerned. She needed to focus. She had a book to write, and she didn't need a small-town doctor romancing her with home-cooked dinners and enticing her with the family she'd never had and wasn't sure she wanted.

She got out of the shower and jumped a little at the sight of Chewy, sunning himself on the bathroom rug. He looked up at her lazily and then stretched so his belly was faceup.

"I'm not sure I how I feel about you watching me shower," she said.

He yawned and then lolled his head to the side, making her chuckle. "Not much to look at, huh," she said. "I've always been too skinny for my own good. Used to drive Todd crazy. He wanted me to get implants and one of those butt injections like the Kardashians got so I'd fill out my clothes a little better. I'm glad I came to my senses and told him no. Todd was an ass."

Chewy barked in agreement, and she felt satisfied to have someone in her corner.

She slathered on moisturizer and put all the products in her hair the stylist had showed her, and then she blow-dried it. The convenience and ease of short hair was amazing, but she wasn't entirely sure she loved it. It had been easy to hide behind her long hair. Short hair left her exposed—her expressions and her feelings. Short hair made her feel like the whole world was watching and she had to be on guard.

"He's going to be here soon," she said. "Do I invite him in or tell him to go? I'm not sure what to do."

Zoe looked at the neatly wrapped boxes of clothes that Raven had messengered over. She had clothes for nights out on the town, loungewear for work, casual wear for the days, and enough lingerie to make the nuns at St. Mary's blush. Raven had a way of talking a person into things they wouldn't normally do. She'd have to remember that next time she went shopping.

But this wasn't a date. At least, she didn't think so. Just because he kissed her didn't mean things were moving to the next level. Just the thought of it made her chest get tight with anxiety.

"Colt is not Todd," she said, looking at Chewy and then back at the bags of clothes. "But I've been wrong before. Just because his family is nice and vouches for him doesn't mean he actually is."

She ignored the new clothes on her bed and went into her closet and pulled out a pair of old black leggings. She grabbed an oversized Harvard sweatshirt that had a hole in the hem, and then went back to the boxes on the bed and untied the ribbon on the smallest box.

A compromise was in order. Her fingers traced over the icy-blue lace of the bra and panty set and she removed it from the tissue paper. It would be her secret, and Colt would have no idea what was hidden beneath the old comfortable clothes.

"It's just a normal night at home," she said. "And he's just a friend stopping by for dinner. People do that all the time. No big deal."

Chewy rolled to his feet and gave her a disbelieving look as he listened to her speech.

"I feel a lot of judgment coming from you," she said. "Maybe you should dial that back some considering I caught you drinking from the toilet this morning."

He sneezed and then padded off into the living room with his head held high.

"Oh, great," she said. "Now I've insulted him."

The buzzer rang and she hurried into the living room, wondering why she was feeling as nervous as a teenager on her first date.

"Sorry, Chewy," she told him as she headed toward the door. "There was no need to call your manners into question. I'm just nervous. I'll get over it. I do not have the time or the energy for Colt O'Hara. I do not want another man in my life. I do not want him to kiss me again."

She'd almost convinced herself by the time she opened the door.

"Were you talking to yourself?" Colt asked.

"To Chewy," she said. "He's quite the conversationalist."

Colt's arms were full of bags and he traversed his way around furniture and toward the kitchen with the ease of someone who was comfortable in the space. She guessed he probably was comfortable. There had only been a day when he hadn't stopped by to check on her or hang things on her walls.

She followed him into the kitchen and gave a sigh. He was wearing an old pair of sweatpants with the knees torn out and a thin T-shirt that had seen better days but clung to his broad shoulders and the muscles across his chest. It was like he knew what she was going to do even before she did. He was not a man to be underestimated.

"You look comfy," he said, eyeing her up and down like he could see the underwear she wore beneath. "I'm sorry I'm a little late. I had to shower after my last appointment. Don't ask because I promise you really don't want to know this time. And then I went to the market over on Main Street, but it's right next to the Pet Palace."

"Mmm," she said, watching the way his muscles stretched beneath his shirt as he unloaded the bags. She was getting overheated. Or maybe it was hot flashes. Maybe she was in premature menopause. It would certainly explain why she'd felt a little off kilter lately and why her hormones were doing the tango. She hadn't thought of a man, wanted a man, or touched a man since she'd kicked Todd out of her apartment. And now all she could think about was Colt and that ridiculous kiss.

Chewy came up behind her and butted her in the back of the thigh to get her moving. She'd completely missed whatever Colt had been saying because the blood was rushing to her ears.

"I hope you don't mind," he said.

Chewy bumped her again and she gave him an exasperated look.

"Mind what?" she asked.

Chewy blew out a sigh and Colt laughed. "Didn't you hear anything I just said? My mom mentioned that Chewy didn't have a dog bed and that you were using your good bowls for his food and water. So I picked up a few things for him at the store."

She felt her heart roll over in her chest. Colt was trickier than she'd given him credit for, trying to win her affection through her dog.

"Don't be a fool," she whispered under her breath.

"What was that?" Colt asked.

"I said that was nice of you. Say thank you, Chewy."

Chewy woofed and stood up so his paws were on the island and he could see all the goods.

"Chewy, it's not nice to put your paws on the table," Colt said, rubbing the top of the dog's head. "Maybe your mom can get all your stuff set up, and I'll get washed up so I can start dinner."

Chewy woofed again and put his paws back on the ground, and then he looked expectantly at Zoe.

"I wonder if he's really a man trapped in a dog's body," she said, taking the dog bed and setting it between the fireplace and the window.

"I've had that thought myself," Colt said, washing his hands in the kitchen sink and then wiping down the counter where Chewy's paws had been. "It would certainly explain a lot. I brought steaks, veggies, and potatoes. Something simple for you to start with."

"Oh, what a nice collar," she said, looking at the tag that had been engraved with Chewy's name attached to the bright red collar. "Very posh. You're an uptown dog after all."

She attached it around his neck and gave him a rawhide bone, which he took politely and then immediately went to his bed so he could gnaw it in peace.

"Chewy is very grateful," she said, washing her hands. "And so am I. All this stuff must have cost a fortune. Let me pay you back for it."

"Consider it a housewarming gift," he said, seasoning the two thick steaks that were on the cutting board in front of him.

"I'll make you a deal," she said, eyeing the vegetables and potatoes with unease.

He looked up at her curiously and asked, "What's that?"

"If you don't make me cook, I'll share my favorite brand of wine with you. Besides, it looks like you know exactly what you're doing and that you actually enjoy it."

He chuckled and said, "I guess I do. I'll take you up on the wine. And maybe you could start with something simple like slicing vegetables. Technically, that's not cooking."

She went to the wine fridge and took out a bottle of white. "Don't judge me for not drinking red with a steak. It drives sommeliers at every fancy restaurant I've ever been to crazy."

"Hey, you like what you like and you don't apologize for it," he said. "I can respect that. I'm Irish, so we don't particularly care what alcohol is served with what food. But nothing beats a freshly poured Guinness or three fingers of Jameson's."

"I'm fresh out of both of those," she said.

"I'll keep you stocked for next time," he said.

Colt put a cutting board in front of her and a sharp knife, along with a zucchini and squash.

"You gave me vegetables for lunch too," she said suspiciously.

"Do you have a maximum for the day?" he asked, chuckling. "Vegetables are good for you. They'll make you strong and healthy so you can get big. Trust me. I'm a doctor."

"Why do I have a feeling I'm not the only woman you've said that to?"

He barked out a laugh and then took the glass of wine she handed him, taking a sip. "Very nice," he said. "I can see why it's your favorite. It's dangerous for wine to taste like candy. Good thing I walked here. Just slice the veggies evenly and then we'll season them and stick them in the oven when we put the steaks on. They've already been washed."

She took a sip of her own wine and savored it before setting to work on the vegetables. "So as an observer of people," she said. "You're obviously the studious type. Besides the fact you're a doctor I noticed all the books in your apartment. Very eclectic—both fiction and nonfiction—but you lean toward nonfiction. You like to learn."

"We're always students," he said. "And we're never too old to learn something new."

"Agreed," she said.

"What else did you observe?" he asked.

"You cook like a pro, you play the piano and you probably play golf better than you say you do. You water-ski, rarely take vacations, and you love your family, though you try to set healthy boundaries with them so they're not always up in your business. And according to everyone, you date shallow and insipid women because you're afraid if you don't you'll settle down before you're ready."

"Wow," he said. "That went deep fast."

"Too personal?" she asked, quirking a brow.

"Oh, not at all," he said, waving his hand for her to continue.

"So is it true?"

"Which part?" he asked.

"About the shallow and insipid women."

"Oh, that's true," he said, grinning. "I'm an organized soul at heart. I like a solid plan, and I've always had one. College, medical school, residency, and then owning my own practice. Those things all had to be accomplished before I could think of settling down or starting a family."

"And now?" she asked.

"If you don't slice while you talk we'll never get dinner done," he said.

"You don't have to tell me," she said.

"Sure I do," he said. "Now that I've done those things I'm ready for the next part of my plan."

"So have you inserted yourself into my life because you find me shallow and insipid or because you don't?"

He hid his smile behind the wine glass, but he knew she could see it in his eyes. "What do you think?"

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable with either answer," she said. "And maybe we shouldn't have this conversation while I have a sharp knife in my hand."

He laughed and then went about wrapping the potatoes in foil. "I'm not sure how I feel about my family telling you all my secrets."

"I can understand that," she said, solemnly. "I should have stopped them."

"Ha," he said. "I'd have liked to see you try. It doesn't really bother me. I know they love me and want what's best for me. And they all think you're what's best for me."

"I don't understand that."

"That a family would love someone so much that they wouldn't think twice about meddling in their business?"

"Yeah," she said. "I guess so."

"That's what families do," he said, shrugging good-naturedly.

"Maybe so," she admitted. "But I don't really have a point of reference. Don't you get tired of it? You've literally got family around every corner. People who have known you since birth and know everything about you. And because of that, they have opinions about your life. Don't you ever feel…smothered?"

"Not at all," he said. "You're the one who mentioned healthy boundaries. My work keeps me busy. And my life after hours is mine to do with as I please. When I want to see my family I show up for Sunday dinners or make a stop into The Lampstand. But for the most part they let me drive the pace. My parents like to send texts just to touch base, and my mother will bring by a home-cooked meal about twice a month so she has an excuse to spend some one-on-one time with me. But I've learned how to find my peace."

She snorted out her skepticism. "If I wrote that book I'd make a fortune."

"A book on personal peace?" he asked. "Probably so. It's something everyone wants but few know how to achieve. Especially people like us."

"What do you mean by that?" she asked.

"You're an achiever. I am too, so I know where you're coming from. Achievers tend to keep achieving because they don't know what peace looks like. When they achieve one thing they immediately look for the next mountain to conquer. But when you stop to be still and let the world go quiet around you—peace will sometimes feel like a chain around your throat."

She swallowed hard, shaken by what he was saying. It was the truth. She'd set her course for freedom and independence, but maybe what she was really looking for was peace.

"So how do you find it?" she asked.

"Well, I can tell you no amount of achievement can find it," he said. "It's being able to stand in the eye of the storm and watch chaos swirl around you, but stay steady and stable in the center. It's finding that place where your soul is satisfied—where there's no hurt or sorrow or the dregs of a past that you hold resentment over. It's when you can release all of those things that you can find true peace."

She laughed, but the sound was bitter to her ears. "I guess I'm not there yet. It's one of the reasons I moved to Laurel Valley. I needed to be able to shut the world out—shut it off—and find the quiet of peace. I wanted to be able to put deadlines and alimony payments, or my parents not calling me on my birthday, to the side and just be able to float out in the middle of the lake without a care or worry in the world."

"It's a nice sentiment," he said.

"But?"

"But avoiding won't bring you the peace you're looking for. You'll have to confront it head-on at some point."

"I'm getting there," she said. "Therapy helped a lot after my divorce."

"Hey, one thing I've learned in a family as big as mine is that forgiveness is a process. Sometimes you can do it in an instant. And sometimes you have to do it over and over again. You'll eventually get to the point where you can talk about it without getting that look on your face."

"What look?" she asked.

"Like you're thinking about using that knife in your hand." He took the tray of vegetables from her and slid them in the fridge. "It'll take a bit for the potatoes to cook. Why don't we take our wine and Chewy and sit out by the lake? You might as well take advantage of that private entrance since you're paying the HOA fees."

She looked down at her ratty sweatshirt and leggings and knew her mother would be horrified at the thought of her daughter going out in public dressed like she was.

"You're fine," he said, filling up her wine and taking her hand. "Come on, Chewy. Let's check out the lake."

"What about his leash?" she asked as they went out the door.

"He's fine," Colt assured her. "He's a Laurel Valley dog. He knows where he can and can't go. Isn't that right, Chewy."

Chewy looked back at them and then used his paw to hit the elevator button.

"I don't know if I'm comfortable with a dog who has that level of intelligence," she said. "You remember Planet of the Apes?"

"I don't think we have to worry about Chewy creating an army of intelligent animals and enslaving humans. He's a lover, not a fighter."

Chewy woofed and trotted onto the elevator.

"He is very sweet," she said. "Sometimes I just wonder if I need to be buying him books to read or turning on educational television programs."

"It probably wouldn't hurt."

He opened the door for her and she breathed in the late afternoon air. The sun was setting behind the mountains and there was a cool breeze dancing across the water.

"Have you been out here yet?" he asked, opening the black iron gate that only the condo residents had access to.

"Not yet," she said. "My doctor told me I have a concussion and to rest and take it easy."

"You should always listen to your doctor," he said. "You're going to want to take your shoes off and roll up your pant legs. The sand around the lakes is natural around here, but it's more mineralized than sand on saltwater beaches. That sand has more seashells in it so it's a different texture. This sand is a little denser and stickier."

"So it's mud?" she asked, gasping as Chewy made a flying leap toward the water and splashed along the shoreline. "Oh, Chewy. Now you'll need a bath."

"I don't think he cares," Colt said laughing. "He's having a good time. He used to do stuff like that with Lawrence. I'm sure he misses it."

They put their shoes by the gate and she rolled up her leggings while he did the same with his sweats.

"And no," he said, "It's not mud. You'll see when you put your feet in it. It's soft and warm and you can make incredible sand castles with it. Better than the beach in my opinion. Come on. I'll start a fire."

"Wait—what?" she asked as he pulled her onto the warm sand and toward the Adirondack chairs near the edge of the lake.

"Did you grow up in New York?" Colt asked, finding a stick and throwing it for Chewy to fetch.

"Connecticut," she said. "But my father worked—works—on Wall Street so we went into the city a lot when I was a kid. And then when I was eleven I was sent to boarding school in Manhattan so I became a city girl pretty quickly."

"So you never went out on the lake and made terrible decisions?"

Her lips twitched and she sat back in the Adirondack chair while he grabbed a few logs from the firewood rack and tossed them in the fire pit.

"I'm afraid not," she said. "That would have been against the rules at St. Mary's, and the nuns were never ones to tolerate rule breaking. Though I did sneak out my junior year and go sailing with William Bratten on his father's new catamaran. His father liked to race and had it custom made. Apparently it was very expensive. But alas, William was not the sailor his father was and he made a nice gash in the hull against some rocks."

Colt winced. "See, you have made terrible choices on the water. Were you in sports at your fancy boarding school?"

"Of course," Zoe said. "The point of boarding school is to become a completely well-rounded young lady of impeccable breeding and reputation. I played lacrosse, tennis—" She looked at him and arched a brow challengingly. "And golf."

"Ahh," he said. "I sense a day on the green coming up soon."

"Perhaps," she said. Then she looked at Chewy and sighed. "He's filthy. And I have a white couch."

"Didn't you pay attention to your walkthrough and all the amenities the condo has to offer?"

"Not at all," she said, watching the orange flames of the fire dance in the pit. "My Realtor sent me pictures and a video. And I bought it sight unseen based solely off the view."

"Well, if you'd paid attention to the video you'd know you not only have private lake access, but also access to the kayaks, canoes, and four-wheelers. And because my brother doesn't want anyone traipsing in water and sand across his very expensive floors, he installed the outdoor showers and drying tubes."

"Then it seems I made a sound financial investment," she said smugly. "Tell me about the O'Haras."

"I thought we were talking about you and the bad decisions of your youth," he said. "You wouldn't be trying to redirect the conversation would you?"

"Are you kidding?" she asked. "I've told you more in the last week than I've told just about anyone. I've told you about my parents and my childhood, that I can't cook and have no desire to, and that I'm going to kick your tail at golf."

"And yet you don't go too deep," he said. "And that's fine. For now. You're like an onion. We'll just peel it back a layer at a time."

"Why would you want to?" she asked.

"Because I'm a planner," he said, taking her hand in his.

"Listen, Colt?—"

"It's okay," he said. "I know you're not there yet. I'm a patient man."

"You're also maddeningly insufferable. You cannot possibly be this levelheaded and even tempered all the time."

"I'm afraid so," he said, smiling. "I've been this way since I was sixteen."

"What happened when you were sixteen?" she asked.

"I was out at the lake with Wyatt and Hank, and a group of guys started hassling Wyatt. He was only fourteen at the time and still scrawny with it. But Hank and I had filled out. I guess they thought we were outnumbered because out of nowhere this kid throws a punch at Wyatt and knocks him out cold. And that's all it took to lose control. Things went from zero to sixty in the blink of an eye and fists started flying. Working on a ranch makes you strong, especially against a bunch of punk kids on vacation from California.

"By the time the cops showed up none of them were left standing. Hank and I were fortunate that Sheriff Cole listened to our side of the story, and he saw Wyatt still passed out cold on the ground. But they still brought us home in a squad car, and there wasn't anything the cops could have done to us than was worse than the blistering we got from our parents.

"That whole incident is the reason Wyatt decided to be a cop," he said. "He hated being a victim, and I think it's why he's so passionate about his job. He knows what it feels like, and he'll go to the ends of the earth to hunt down those who prey on the weak."

"So you've never been in a fight again?" she asked. "Or lost your temper? Why? How?"

He chuckled and said, "That's a lot of questions. But I'll tell you, I got scared that day. I've got brothers, so I knew what it was to fight. Up to a certain point. But that was different. The anger that took over me changed me and it scared me. I didn't want to be the kind of man who could lose control like that. Because there was a part of me that liked it. I had plans for a future in medicine even then, and getting arrested for being stupid and having a temper wasn't part of that plan. Does that answer your question?"

"Hmm," she said and narrowed her eyes. "So now you're cool and calculated. A planner, like you said. But let me tell you something, mister. If you've got me penciled in somewhere on that plan of yours it's going to be a big mistake. Because I can promise I'm not always levelheaded and even tempered."

"Oh, I think I've figured that out for myself," he said. "I figure I need that kind of excitement added to my life. Otherwise I'll turn into a potted plant. That's what Mac likes to tell me, but I'm pretty sure she heard it first from Aunt Simone."

She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering how she'd lost the upper hand. Hadn't she just told herself in the shower that she wasn't interested in Colt O'Hara? She couldn't let another man take over her life again.

"And what are you going to do when I tell you I'm not part of your plan?" she asked. "That I don't want or need a man to control my life or take the best parts of myself and crush them to dust."

"I'd tell you again that I'm a patient man," he said. "But I'm also a friend. I'd never try to control you. Or hurt you. And I'd hope one day, if I'm patient enough and steady enough, that you'd trust me."

"I don't have a lot of luck with trust," she said. "I've learned the only person I can trust is myself."

"You remember what I told you about peace?" he asked. "How to find it? Once you forgive those people whose faces keep popping up in your mind whenever you remember the hurt you've lived through, I think you'll find that trust and peace and love will be right there waiting for you."

Zoe felt the tears prick her eyes. Who was this man next to her? He couldn't possibly be real. No one was like he was. And his words were scraping at wounds inside of her she didn't know if she should let bleed. She'd been putting Band-Aids on them for so long she didn't know any other way.

She cleared her throat and looked at him, tamping down the tears and other emotions that had risen to the surface. "So are you going to tell me about the O'Haras or not?"