she drove through the white gates of Waterford Farm, she let herself sink back to the moment when she’d looked up and seen Declan Mahoney at the bakery. Her first thought?
Good God, did the man simply get better every year?
He’d always had that smoldery, understated appeal that had made him such a cute teenager and attractive young firefighter. But maturity, experience, a few silver threads at his temples, and a body honed to perfection by his physical work had notched him up way past attractive. Now he was…
Declan.
She still didn’t know why he’d iced her out of his life—not exactly, anyway. Maybe it was time she did. Maybe he was ready to let go of some of that pain and grief and blame and ice. Maybe he could do a little explaining.
Then, could she trust him not to disappear emotionally again? His pain, unlike his dog’s, wasn’t something she could slice away with a scalpel or mitigate with medicine.
But, of course, Evie Hewitt would try.
She followed the long, winding drive onto the property, not surprised when the tree line broke and opened up to a gorgeous vista that spread like an emerald blanket to the horizon. Waterford Farm had always been a picturesque homestead outside of town, teeming with family and more than a few dogs.
She’d been here dozens of times with Declan, for dinners and barbecues, four-wheeling with his many siblings and cousins, and she’d come to visit Molly not long after her sweet mother, Annie Kilcannon, had died suddenly.
But Waterford hadn’t been anything like this even as recently as four or five years ago. No longer a “homestead” in the country, this was a professional and welcoming paradise for four- and two-legged creatures. The old handmade outdoor stalls Dr. Kilcannon had built for his wife’s constantly growing pack of foster dogs had been replaced with a cream-colored clapboard kennel building that stretched around a grassy pen she assumed was used for training and exercise.
Several other outbuildings dotting the landscape included grooming facilities, the vet office, and what appeared to be a small dormitory for trainees.
Overlooking it all, the yellow farmhouse, with its sunny wraparound porch and festive green shutters, perched on a rise that afforded breathtaking views of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
The homestead where Declan’s cousins grew up and now worked had aged gracefully and managed to look even better than she remembered. Kind of like…
Declan.
He stepped off the porch toward the driveway, most of his face covered by a ball cap and sunglasses. The warm afternoon called for a T-shirt and worn Levi’s, and from this distance, she could really stare, like she’d wanted to at the bakery.
His chest was broad, his shoulders strong, and his waist narrow.
And Evie Hewitt had no place ogling her former best friend like he was featured in a firefighter calendar. Which he surely had been by now. Mr. August.
Because it was hard to look at him and not remember that hot summer night when they’d fallen into each other’s arms and made the journey from best friends to lovers. Thinking about it kicked up her heart rate, but she tried to will herself not to go there. It would be foolish to think he’d forgotten, but it would be crazy to fantasize that it could ever happen again.
He reached her car as she pulled behind a van she could have sworn his aunt had owned when they were younger, opening her door as she turned off the ignition.
“Thought you might chicken out.” A half smile pulled at his lips, drawing her gaze there and her memory back to that night she was trying not to think about.
“Chicken?” She brushed his body as she got out of the car, then poked his chest to move him out of the way. “Nah, I’m here for a dog.”
He chuckled, stepping aside. “Should have seen that one coming.”
“You handed it to me,” she said, looking around. “Wow, they’ve really transformed this place.”
“It’s the biggest canine training and rescue facility in the state.” There was no small amount of pride in his voice.
“Speaking of canines, what did Molly say about our patient?”
“She’s with him now, along with my uncle. In the vet office.” He gestured toward a small building to the right of the kennels, leading her there. “Come on, I’ll take you.”
“Let me grab my bag from the back.” As she opened the hatchback, she said, “Before I left, I poked around the NC State online library to get the very latest on Wobbler Syndrome,