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“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.”
