Page 46 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

CHAPTER 17

Sutton found the coffee before she found her footing for the day, warm and waiting on the counter like it had been expecting her. No note. No explanation. Just her name written along the side in blocky, unmistakable handwriting, the ink slightly smudged like it had been second-guessed.

Sutton took a sip and moaned at the shot of creamy goodness and caffeine pumping through her veins.

“I don’t see my coffee,” Irma said from the front desk.

“Um,” Sutton stumbled over the right words. “It was left for me.”

“Look at you, acting like you don’t know who left it.”

If Irma suspected even a sliver of the truth, it would spread through town faster than wildfire. And Bridlewood did not do subtle. Irma was the queen of gossip, and once she spilled the tea, there would be no stopping the flow, the whispers, or the questions Sutton was not ready to answer.

Assumptions about the coffee, anyway. The other secret was still safely locked in a vault Irma had no idea existed. Small mercies.

“I’m not a hundred percent sure.”

“I’m sure who it was.” Irma’s smile was all mischief and accusation. “I saw Dr. Callahan sneak in here and leave it on your desk.”

Her mind fumbled over what to say. Some people left flowers or texts, apparently Colter left proof that he paid attention because it was the exact order she got from Jo’s that morning she’d run into Colter—down to the specific coffee bean.

“He snuck?” For some reason that made her laugh. “What does Colter, uh, Dr. Callahan look like when sneaking?”

“Just what you’re thinking. Peeking around corners like he’s in some kind of Mission Impossible movie. Thinking he was being stealthy. No one gets anything past me.”

"You should charge for surveillance services," Sutton said. "You'd put the entire Bridlewood Sheriff's Department out of a job."

“I highly doubt that.”

She pictured it instantly—Colter lurking around a corner with all the subtlety of a man built like a linebacker, cowboy hat pulled low like it counted as a disguise. He probably thought he was being stealthy, too.

The mental image was ridiculous and unfairly attractive. Because somehow, he’d still make a pretty decent Ethan Hunt—tall, dark, dangerous, and exactly the kind of adventure she should absolutely not be auditioning for in her head.

“Just like how you two were all cozy at Ms. Kitty’s place yesterday.”

Her laughter stopped. “How did you hear about that?”

“Honey, you were having breakfast with a man who’s known for his nighttime activity. The town’s gonna talk.”

“But it was just breakfast. We both just happened to be in the same place at the same time. It wouldn’t have been neighborly not to invite him to our table. Plus, Lynlee practically shouted to the world her invitation that he join us!”

“Bringing you coffee seems more than neighborly, if you ask me.”

Sutton opened her mouth to argue the point further and then closed it again, because there was no version of that sentence that ended well for her.

Then the front door slammed open hard enough to rattle the bell and a woman rushed in, breathless and pale, clutching a bundled towel to her chest. Something inside it moved then whimpered. The sound cut straight through Sutton’s chest.

“Please,” the woman said, eyes wild. “He’s dying. I didn’t know where else to go.”

Colter was there in seconds, already peeling back the towel, his expression shifting with clinical speed. The warmth Sutton had clocked at the diner, the teasing ease from earlier, vanished. In its place was the man who ran this place and saved lives.

“Okay,” he said calmly, as if the word itself could slow time. “Let’s get him on the table.”

Sutton didn’t wait for further instruction. Hands steady, heart pounding, she jumped into action.

Ten strides and they were in the exam room, the towel being gently lowered to the stainless-steel table, already darkening in spots Sutton refused to catalog too closely. The patient was small—too small for the panic filling the room—but breathing, shallow and uneven. A dog, more like a puppy, with fur matted tight to his ribs, eyes glassy with pain and fear.

“Hit by a car?” Colter asked, already snapping on gloves.