Page 63 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

Yet here it was, apparently obvious to everyone else, threatening to pull her into a story she wasn’t ready to claim. Because admitting something was going on meant admitting it mattered, and Sutton had learned the hard way that the things that mattered most were the ones that could unravel everything.

“My car broke down.”

“And buying you a drink at Lottie’s?”

“Oh, that? That was just a same place at the same time coincidence.”

“Those seem to happen a lot with the two of you,” Harriett said.

"It's a small town," Sutton offered weakly. "Coincidences happen constantly."

"Honey, I've lived here sixty-one years. I know exactly how often coincidences happen. This ain't one of them."

Sutton smiled politely, imagining how fast the coincidental run-in would twist a “Let me buy you a drink” into a full-blown romance headline. She also imagined how Lynlee would feel if she heard such things.

The last thing Sutton wanted was her daughter getting confused, mistaking Colter for anything more than her mom’s friend. The truth—whatever shape it was going to take—deserved to come from Sutton, on her terms.

“Let me get Dr. Callahan for you.”

“You have a good day now, honey,” Harriett said on a wink.

Sutton made her way down the hall to Colter’s office. She gave her hair a quick pat down, then did a breath check then scolded herself for being ridiculous and knocked.

“Come in,” the low voice said.

She opened the door and her tongue went dry as the Mojave.

There was Colter, scrubs neat, clean-shaven face, reading glasses sliding down his nose as he stared straight ahead with his phone pressed to his ear, jaw flexing in quiet frustration like he was holding himself back from saying exactly what he thought.

He held up a silencing finger.

“I’ve got a waiting room full of people,” he said into the phone, voice clipped. “Every exam room is taken. If you don’t want to make the deal, it’s no sweat off my back. I’ll give you a hundred each.”

Sutton caught only the garbled edge of the response, enough to know whoever was on the other end was pushing his luck.

“That’s six hundred dollars,” Colter snapped. “Who else is going to give you that kind of money for mutts?” His jaw went impossibly harder. “Are you fucking kidding me? You know exactly the kind of man he is. And you are not the kind of man to do business with him.”

Her stomach dipped. She’d never heard him like this—raw and angry, right on the edge. It unsettled her, this glimpse of a side of him that felt sharper, less contained. Not because she thought he’d lose control, but because she could imagine how devastating it would be to be on the receiving end of that kind of anger—and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what it would feel like.

“Fine,” he growled. “Two hundred. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

He tossed the phone onto the desk and his head tipped back, eyes closing briefly, like he was bargaining with the ceiling for patience—or divine intervention. She could see the pulse in his neck slow down to a regular pace. But the silence that followed was still thick.

Finally, he looked at Sutton. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be.” She stepped closer until her thighs brushed the edge of the desk. “Are you okay?”

“No,” he said honestly. “But I will be.”

“Who was that?” She lifted a ‘never mind’ hand. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“It was Harvey,” he said. “Lives about twenty minutes out of town. Refuses to fix his dogs, so they keep having litters. He’s got another litter and wants to sell the puppies.”

“And you want to buy them?” she asked, confused.

“Yes,” he said flatly. “Because Burt, real piece of work, runs a dogfighting ring just past the county line is also interested.”

She gasped. “That’s horrible. Why isn’t he in jail?”