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everyone is so busy.”

Sage wouldn’t mind that herself. This time of year they all barely had time to breathe—not that anyone was complaining. On the contrary. The citizens of Eternity Springs were delighted. This summer was shaping up to be an economic home run. Thank you, Celeste Blessing.

She stepped into her office and found a note taped to the jar of dog treats on her desk. It read, Better check the studio. To Snowdrop, she said, “What in the world has he done now?”

Sage couldn’t deny the little spark of excitement. She and Colt were presently involved in a tug-of-war. She was trying to slow things down, while he was applying a full-court press. Unfortunately, he was winning.

She took the stairs two at a time. A white box tied with a fat pink bow sat in the middle of her studio floor. “The man and his gifts,” she murmured.

She tugged off the ribbon and bow, tore apart the paper, opened the box, and … frowned. Exercise clothes? New sneakers? “What’s the deal? Does he think I’m getting fat?”

She picked up the box and carried it over to her window. He sat at his desk, his back to her. He was talking on the phone.

Sage had never availed herself of the window route he took between his office and her studio—knowing her luck, she’d slip and fall. Tucking the box beneath her arm, she made her way downstairs, asked Dorian to keep an eye on Snowdrop, and made her way to the office building next door. By the time she’d climbed the stairs and entered Colt’s office, he’d ended his phone call and he was making notes on a yellow legal pad. Looking up, he saw her and smiled. “You’re back. Good.”

Rising, he came around from his desk and kissed her hello. “How was Gunnison?”

“Fine. Thanks for the gift. I think. Are the exercise clothes a hint?”

“Nah, they’re a convenience. I didn’t know how late you’d be getting back and didn’t want you to have to dash out to the lake to get your things before our class.”

“Our class? What class.”

“Our yoga class.”

“Yoga.”

He smiled that particular grin that made his dimples wink at her. “I signed us both up for yoga class at Angel’s Rest. It starts tonight.”

While she stood there in muted shock, he added, “I have your yoga mat over here. It didn’t fit in the box.”

She frowned in confusion. “Why in the world would you do that?”

“You’re working too hard. Yoga is a wonderful way to relax.”

“I don’t need to relax. I can’t afford to relax. This is the summer season. Of course I’m working hard.” She scowled at Colt and added, “You’ve taken yoga classes?”

“No, but I’m always up for something new.”

Speed skiing or skydiving or parasailing, yeah. But yoga? “What’s up with you, Rafferty? What is this about?”

“I thought it would be nice if we did this together. I’m working hard, too. Exercise is a good way to unwind.”

Sage didn’t believe him for a minute. “Then take your dog for a run. Shadow is always ready for that.”

“Shadow can’t do yoga. I want to do yoga.”

“Why?”

He hesitated a long moment then said, “You’re not buying any of this, are you?”

“I believe you signed us up for yoga classes, but beyond that, no.”

Colt drummed his fingers on the desk, then blew out a breath. “Okay,” he murmured. “I’m going to do this.”

Standing, he came around from behind his desk, took her hands in his, and stared solemnly into her eyes. “I love you and I’m worried about you. Sage, I’ve been doing some reading and I’ve talked to a few people. I think you are suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder.”

She opened her mouth in an exaggerated O and slapped her face theatrically. “Really? Wow. I guess you’re a better doctor than I am, Dr. Rafferty. I never thought of that.”

“Do I really deserve the sarcasm?” he asked, an annoyed frown on his face. “You’ve never shared your diagnosis with me. You don’t appear to be taking any steps to treat it.”

“That’s not true. I’m working on it.”

“Are you in therapy? Are you on medication to help the symptoms?”

“I’m using different methods.”

He folded his arms and nodded. “Painting. That’s pretty obvious. Are you still painting your nightmares, Sage? On the nights we’re not together? Or, for that matter, on the nights we are together? I admit I sleep like a log; you could be getting up to paint and I’d never know it. Is painting the only way

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