Page 65 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

“It means we stop with the coffees and the heroic rides home,” she said gently. “Anything that looks like you’re courting me.”

He absorbed that, eyes back on the road. “So no cinnamon rolls?”

“Especially no cinnamon rolls,” she said, fighting a smile.

“And what about Lynlee?” he asked, his voice so serious she felt it resonate through her soul. “Does that mean I can’t see her?”

“What?” Her head snapped toward him. “No. I’d never do that. She adores you.”

The tension eased a notch, and the relief came fast and sharp, like she had narrowly missed a cliff she had not seen until her heel scraped air.

The idea of Lynlee losing someone she already trusted made her chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with protection. She could handle her own confusion, her own restraint, even her own disappointment. What she could not handle was her daughter asking why someone who made her feel safe had suddenly disappeared.

She steadied herself and let the truth anchor her. Whatever this was between them, Lynlee’s sense of security came first, always.

“But when we’re not at work, we use her as a buffer,” Sutton explained.

“A buffer?”

“Yes. Kid-friendly. Clear boundaries. Less confusion.”

“Buffer it is,” he said, but the way his fingers tightened on the wheel told her he didn’t like it.

The truck rolled on in silence for a moment, the unspoken humming between them louder than the engine. Then Colter glanced at her, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth.

“You know buffers fail all the time, right?”

“You are not helping your case.”

“I’m just saying,” he added lightly. “Some things are hard to contain.”

"Like what, exactly?"

"Like the ranch. The clinic." He shrugged, easy and unhurried, eyes on the road. "Legacy stuff. Things that matter whether you plan them or not."

"And kids? Family? Do you see that in your future?"

"That's a different kind of legacy." His thumb traced the wheel once. "I wouldn't know the first thing about being someone's dad. I've got the animals, my ranch, the practice and my brothers." He gave her a side-glance. "That's enough for me."

Sutton looked out the window.

"Right," she said. Just that one quiet word. "Focus on the road, Doctor."

“As you wish, Freckles,” he said, but the grin in his voice told her he was already plotting his next move.

CHAPTER 23

Harvey’s place was exactly what Sutton had expected yet somehow worse. The house sagged in on itself like it had given up trying to look decent a decade ago. Rusted fencing leaned at odd angles, and the dirt driveway looked less like a road and more like a suggestion.

Colter slowed the truck. “This is it.”

Sutton felt herself exhale. “Of course it is.”

The moment the engine cut, barking erupted from somewhere behind the shed—high-pitched and frantic—layered over itself in a way that made it impossible to tell where one dog began, and another ended. The sound punched straight through Sutton’s ribs and settled in her chest like a bowling ball. This wasn’t the sharp yip of excitement or the demanding bark of a bored animal. This was panic-laced fear. It was the sound of survival.

Her hand hovered on the door handle, suddenly unsure. She swallowed and tried to steady her breathing, but her pulse skittered anyway.

She’d told herself she was ready for this and that animal rescue was the natural extension of everything she already knew. Stray kittens pulled from storm drains, fainting goats with dramatic tendencies, a puppy hit by a car but still wagging its tail through the shock. She’d seen blood, broken bones, and suffering. Vet tech school hadn’t spared her the ugly parts.