male reproductive cells.
By the time Mrs. Sampson is checked out, and Trevor Fulghum is assured we’ll contact his private cell with the results of his urinalysis, it’s five-thirty. Not enough time to run home and change, so I swing by the store for beer and Pringles on my way to the resort.
The winter air is crisp and heavy with the promise of snow. It’s not due until tomorrow, but the pine trees sparkle in the moonlight like they’re dusted with glitter, and the distant peaks of the Cascade Mountains cut the darkened horizon like a snow-capped sawblade. I drive the winding road to the resort with my heater cranked, singing along with cheesy Christmas carols on the stereo.
It’s ten minutes to six when I park in front of Mark Bracelyn’s cabin. The fact that he’s hosting means plenty of cupcakes from his wife’s shop. Lemon blueberry is my favorite, which Chelsea always remembers.
Grabbing my six pack, I swing open the truck door and freeze.
Izzy.
Curled in the porch light beside her cabin’s front door is Lady Isabella Blankenship. Her dark hair is loose around her shoulders, and she’s wrapped burrito-like in a bright red and yellow Pendleton blanket. She’s got a paperback in one gloved hand but looks up and waves when she sees me.
My chest floods with something I can’t identify, but I swallow it back as I grab the chips and carefully close the truck door. The pounding of my heart has nothing to do with how pretty she is and everything to do with a genuine concern for her health.
Right.
But seriously, I’m a doctor. Though she wasn’t my patient, I was there when she fell ill with acute kidney failure. I feel a kinship, that’s all. Empathy for someone who experienced recent medical trauma.
That’s not empathy. It’s increased cortical responsiveness to sensory stimulation.
I hate when my subconscious gets literal.
“Hello, Bradley.”
“Izzy.” It’s taken a year of casual hellos to convince her to call me by my first name. I’m so thrilled that I find myself ambling across the grass to greet her instead of heading into Mark’s place. “Nice setup you’ve got here.”
“Isn’t it?” She smiles at the freestanding propane heater blazing at the edge of the patio. “Mark bought it for me so I wouldn’t have to give up this spot when the weather turned.”
I love how warmly her siblings have welcomed her. Literally, I mean. “Puts out a lot of heat.” The propane thing, not Isabella. I should probably clarify so she doesn’t think I’m hitting on her, but she smiles again, and I forget what I was about to say.
“I just love the fresh air here, don’t you?”
“It’s one of the biggest reasons I came back to Oregon to practice medicine.” Speaking of which, I should probably make sure she’s feeling okay. Her face looks flushed, but that might be the heater. “How are you doing?”
“Wonderful, thank you for asking.” She bites her lip, drawing my eyes to her perfect mouth.
A mouth I’m definitely not thinking about kissing because that would be unprofessional.
“Actually,” she says slowly, “I do sort of have a question.”
“Fire away.” There’s an empty chair beside her, so I take my chances and settle into it. It feels a bit familiar, but we’ve been acquainted long enough, right? “Is this a medical question?”
“Sort of.” Again with the lip biting. “I’ve been reading a lot of Kristan Higgins, and all her books have dogs in them. Sometimes cats or the occasional bird.”
“That seems like a good hook.” I glance at the paperback on her knee, unsurprised to see it’s a romance novel and there’s a golden retriever on the cover. Jon’s fiancée, Blanka, turned her on to the genre, and I love how ravenously Iz has been devouring the books.
Not that I’m cataloging her reading habits.
“Yes, well, I’ve been wondering about having a pet someday.” Her cheeks pinken a bit, and she gives a sheepish smile. “After the transplant, the doctors told me I needed to be cautious around animals. Apparently, I’m more susceptible to diseases, but I was wondering if that had passed.”
“You’re planning to stay in the U.S.?” I try to keep my voice clinical, when I’m secretly aching to do a fist-pump. “That’s great, Izzy. Congratulations.”
“No, actually—” Her smile falters a little. “I can’t stay for good, but maybe a while longer. It’s…complicated.”
I wait for her to elaborate, but instead, she squares her shoulders. “I’m here for now, though. Bree helped me redecorate the cabin last week to make it more