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“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.
