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Double lock the door, then, because that’s the only hotel in town. Sorry, babe.

  I tucked my phone back away and killed the engine but hesitated before opening the door. Knowing it was coming didn’t make it any better when I was blasted in the face with freezing-cold air.

  “Fuck this fucking place,” I grunted as I slammed the door behind me and hurried toward the entrance. The sooner I could get inside, the better, but as I turned the handle, it didn’t budge.

  That’s when I noticed the sign. “Please call 907-555-3598 for service.”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I said, though no one was around to hear, as I dug my phone back out from my pocket. I dialed the number, and a man answered a few seconds later.

  “Can I help ya?”

  “I sure hope so. I’m standing outside your hotel, but there’s no one around. What are the chances I could check in?”

  “Be there in ten.”

  And then there was nothing but dead air. I hauled my ass back into the SUV and started it up, knowing ten minutes out in conditions like this and they’d have to chisel my frozen corpse off the sidewalk.

  True to his word, the guy arrived in exactly ten minutes. He parked next to me, and I waited until he’d unlocked the door before I risked getting out of my vehicle.

  “You’re the one who called?” he asked, slipping in behind the front desk.

  “Yep. Holden Prescott.”

  He stared at me. “Great. I’ll need a credit card and some ID, and I’ll get the keys for you.”

  “You’re not going to look up my reservation?”

  “Don’t need to. You’re the only guest.”

  Of course I was. “Not a lot of tourists flocking to Sawyer’s Ferry, then?”

  “You might be the very first.” I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. I mean, he had to be, right? They did have a hotel, but the place looked like it hadn’t been inhabited since 1956. “All right. You’re all set. You’re in room two. If you need anything, give the same number a ring and I’ll do my best to help you out.”

  I thanked him and took the key, attached to a giant orange plastic rectangle.

  “Enjoy your stay at the Sawyer’s Ferry Inn, and don’t forget to leave us a review on Trip Advisor.”

  He really, really didn’t want me to do that.

  I turned as I reached the door. “There anywhere decent to eat around here?”

  “Whisky J’s is two doors down on the left. You can’t miss it. They’ve got some good food. Or if you’re in the mood for some international cuisine, the Imperial Dragon is probably still open.”

  I thanked him again and headed to my room.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Can I get you another?”

  I looked up at Jane, my favorite bartender and owner of Whisky J’s. She was the most generous pourer of everyone who worked there—her doubles were actually triples, and she mostly just shut up and left me alone. She was possibly the perfect woman, and I’d probably have married her if women were my thing.

  “One more?” Logan looked at me hopefully. It’d been a long week, and I knew he was looking to blow off what little steam he could. It wouldn’t be much, given that all that was in his glass was Diet Coke. I’d blown off about all the steam I could manage, though. I still wasn’t used to pulling thirty-six-hour shifts. What would have been no problem back in med school had become alarmingly more difficult after a few years.

  “I should probably head out.” I tipped the remaining few drops of my last drink into my mouth. “Not sure how much longer I’m going to be vertical.”

  Logan’s focus shifted from me to somewhere behind me. He lowered his voice. “The way that guy over there is looking at you, I think he’s hoping to be the one to get you horizontal.”

  I set my glass back down and turned to see a man, perched casually on the edge of a stool. There was nothing particularly predatory in the way he was looking, but he didn’t hide the fact that he was staring. I stared back at him, suddenly a little less tired.

  Something passed between us, and I wondered briefly if I’d imagined it. I hadn’t met anyone in Sawyer’s Ferry who made my pulse race, not that there were a ton of options in a city whose population would fill up less than half of Madison Square Garden.

  So maybe I was hallucinating the spark, but he was definitely still staring.

  “Who is that?” I asked Logan but never taking my eyes off the guy.

  Logan shrugged. “No idea. Never seen him before.”

  “You sure?”

  There was something familiar about him. I’d been in Sawyer’s Ferry a little over two years, and in that time I’d managed to meet most of the town at one point or another, but I couldn’t be certain that was it.

  “Maybe he’s a new transplant. Or a tourist.” The last suggestion was made with laughter in his voice. Sawyer’s Ferry wasn’t the easiest spot to get to, and with other busier cities around, it was mostly overlooked. It was one of the reasons I’d decided to stay. I liked that the town itself was quietly predictable. The hospital offered me that shot of adrenaline every so often—the little scrap of excitement I needed to keep my heart pumping—but most days were smooth sailing.

  “Whoever he is, he certainly looks interested in making your acquaintance,” Logan added.

  It was awfully tempting. My cock was definitely interested, but my head was telling me I needed sleep more than I needed to get off. “Not tonight.”

  “C’mon. You should go over there,” Logan said. “He’s awfully pretty, he seems awfully interested, and it’s been an awfully long time since you had a man in your bed.”

  I glanced back again to see the guy still looking at me. “And I’m awfully fucking exhausted. Maybe tomorrow.” I tossed a couple of bills on the bar to cover my tab and stood. “You heading back to the hospital?”

  “Yeah. Should probably move in to the on-call room.”

  “Would save you the commute,” I agreed. Logan lived as far out of town as I did, just in the opposite direction. We both enjoyed our jobs, but outside of patients, and each other, people weren’t our thing. It was one of the bonds we shared—an aversion to socializing. It helped that most of the patients we saw were either unconscious or under anesthetic.

  “Go home. Sleep. I’ll see you later.”

  I nodded and pulled my jacket on. Less than twelve hours until I was due back at the hospital and I wanted to spend every single one of them in my bed.

  “Dr. Emerson?”

  The voice came from behind me, and I instinctively knew it had come from the guy at the bar.

  He knew my name, which meant he probably wasn’t looking for a hookup. I turned, my movements sluggish from exhaustion. “I’m not on call tonight. If you’ve got something that itches or burns, you’re gonna want to talk to Dr. Baker.” I clapped Logan on the shoulder and turned back toward the door.

  “No, I don't have a medical question—”

  “I’ll give you two some privacy,” Logan said, picking up his glass and sauntering away.

  I took a moment to look the guy over, close up this time. Logan was right. He certainly was pretty, like one of those people who looked photoshopped in real life. Dark hair and enough scruff that he’d definitely leave marks, he stood with that cocky assuredness that turned me on more than anything. He was shorter than me, just enough to fit against me if we’d been close enough to touch, and my eyes traced the lines of the toned muscles of his forearms, exposed by the haphazard cuff roll of his shirt.

  My exhaustion ebbed a little, thinking about what it would feel like to put my hands on him. The way he looked back at me, there was little doubt he was wondering the same thing. The air seemed to crackle between us, and as tired as I was, I was beginning to think that if I left now, if I walked out of Whisky J’s without taking this guy home with me, I was going to regret it.

  I waited, letting the anticipation build. He had to ask for it. It was always so much better with that needy little please.

>   He took a fortifying breath, and my cock twitched.

  “Dr. Emerson, I’m here on behalf of Philip Prescott.”

  The moment the name left his lips, my body went tense, my mood flipping from desire to anger in the span of a single heartbeat. It was in that moment that everything clicked into place. He looked more like his mother, who I’d met only once, but there was something there, too, that reminded me of his father. Something about the sureness of his posture—the way he moved was almost arrogant—that confidence was all Philip.

  “He asked me to—”

  “I'm not interested.” He looked startled that I'd cut him off, but I didn’t give a flying fuck what this guy thought.

  “Night, Logan,” I called, tossing him a wave as I headed for the door. I hadn’t made it more than a couple of feet before I heard the man’s hurried footsteps behind me.

  “I think if you’re willing to hear me out—”

  I turned so fast he almost collided with me, but I held up my hand to stop him, planting it firmly against the center of his chest. “I’m going to stop you right there.”

  “But you don’t even know—”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m not interested,” I repeated, dropping my hand to my side. The guy opened his mouth, then closed it again, and Logan laughed from across the room. I don’t know that I’d ever cut someone off quite as many times in two minutes. It wasn’t the first time I’d dealt with persistence, but at this point, he could be offering me a lifetime of blowjobs and it wouldn’t make a difference.

  I turned once again for the door and stalked toward it, shrugging my coat on tighter and hunching my shoulders in the best fuck-off stance I could manage. No sooner had I stepped out into the snow than the guy came clamoring out behind me.

  “Dr. Emerson.”

  I turned in slow motion, and to his credit, the guy seemed to cower a little under my glare.

  “Please.”

  And there it was, the word I’d wanted so badly to hear coming from his mouth minutes before, but now, it pissed me off even more. “I've ignored phone calls, emails, goddamn letters. How much clearer can I be? I’m no longer a part of that company, and Philip can shove whatever he’d like to say directly up his ass.”

  He met my eyes. “I came all this way. If you could—”

  “No.”

  “You’re not hearing me.”

  I could tell he was getting frustrated, but that wasn’t my problem. “No, you’re right. I’m not. The last thing I'm interested in hearing is anything that came from Philip. So go back to the airport, get on the next flight home. You wasted your time coming here, but Philip should have known better than to send you.”

  This time when I walked away, he stayed put. I exhaled as I yanked open the door of my truck and climbed inside. I felt a little guilty for yelling at him, but Philip was way outta line sending him up.

  Maybe I’d shot the messenger, just a little, but goddamn. What more did I need to do to get through to them?

  I started the engine and steered my truck out onto the road. I was twenty minutes from home, and that was more than enough time to stew over what had happened. By the time I pulled into my driveway, wishing for the hundredth time I’d opted to live somewhere closer to town, I had worked myself up until I could have sworn there was actual smoke coming out of my ears.

  Fucking Philip Prescott.

  I’d thought that chapter of my life was done. I’d walked away from the company we’d built, and I’d mistakenly assumed we were done with the bullshit back-and-forth. And then the first email had come. I’d deleted it without opening it. But then another and another. Calls showed up on my cell phone, and letters came to my home.

  And now he’d sent his errand boy after me.

  It took me nearly an hour and half a bottle of scotch to wind back down, but eventually, I climbed the stairs to my bed and crashed hard.

  CHAPTER THREE

  What the fuck was I going to do now?

  Running into Gage at Whisky J’s had been a crazy stroke of luck. The moment I’d entered the place, my gaze had been drawn right to him. He commanded attention, even sitting at a bar. He was taller than I’d imagined, broader too, and Christ, better-looking. He’d aged a bit since the photo in the file. As I’d gotten closer, I could see the barely there dusting of gray scattered through his dark hair.

  If I’d believed in fate, I would have thought this was it. Then again, limited dinner options was a more likely possibility.

  I hadn’t figured this would be a piece of cake. I wasn’t a fucking idiot. It’s not like a guy who’d been ignoring my father’s requests for months was going to change his mind after talking to me for two minutes. I knew that. But I didn’t think he would shut me down as fast—or as obstinately—as he had.

  Hell, I didn’t even get to the part where I told him what my father wanted. I don’t think I finished a single sentence the entire time I was talking to him. And then he’d run out of there so fast, it almost made me dizzy. I’d contemplated going after him but figured that wouldn’t accomplish much. In the end, I’d trudged back inside and ordered a burger. After scarfing it down, I’d headed back to the hotel, amazed that somehow the temperature had managed to defy physics by dropping below absolute zero.

  So now what?

  Well, now nothing because it was approaching 11:00 p.m., which made it nearly 2:00 back in New York. I’d been up before four to catch the first flight, and now my eyelids were starting to feel like they were weighted down. The bed wasn’t all that inviting—it certainly wasn’t the down-covered haven I had at home—but right about now I was prepared to sleep pretty much anywhere. I shucked my clothes and tossed them onto the non-barricading chair and got ready for bed.

  By the time I rolled out of bed the next morning, I’d gained three things: a stiff neck from sleeping on the world’s lumpiest mattress, a renewed sense of confidence, and a plan. As I stepped out of the shower, my phone began to vibrate against the mustard-yellow counter. Checking the caller ID, I saw the number for Westbridge.

  I wrapped the towel tightly around my waist and answered. “Miss me already, Frankie?”

  “You know I do.” I smiled, his voice a welcome distraction from Emerson’s instant rejection, but just as quickly, the uptick in my mood tanked. “But that’s not why I’m calling. Your father wants to talk to you.”

  “I haven’t even been here twelve hours and he already wants to check in on me.”

  “Have you seen Emerson yet?”

  I sighed, the confidence I’d had moments earlier turning to a sense of defeat. “Yeah.”

  “I take it things did not go well.”

  “Uh… that’s putting it lightly. He shot me down before I could get two fucking words out.”

  “That’s not good. What are you going to tell your dad?”

  “That I’m working on it. I’ve been at this for eight minutes. I’m not giving up yet.”

  “Maybe you should lie… say you haven’t found Emerson yet.”

  I thought about it, but my father had a knack for sniffing shit like that out, and I couldn’t risk pissing him off, not when I was thousands of miles away from home and he essentially held my future in his hands.

  “Just put me through.”

  “It was nice knowing you.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “Excuse me?” My father’s baritone voice boomed over the line, practically reverberating off the floral wallpaper.

  For a brief moment, my heart stopped. “Not you. I was talking to Frankie.”

  He sighed, the sound replete with disappointment. My heart sank. I wondered if he thought I could do this, and if not, what the point had been in sending me up here. I’d spent my entire life, from the first time I’d proven I could tie my shoes, to my first day at Westbridge, trying to make him see me.

  “I’m calling for an update on your progress with Gage.”

  For a half second, I thought about lying. I didn’t want to tell him th
e truth. I didn’t want to hear the dissatisfaction when he laid out the consequences of my failure, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t lie to him. “I met him last night. He wasn’t very friendly.”

  “I’d imagine not, but I didn’t send you there to make friends.”

  “I understand. I’m going to see him again today. I’ll make him listen. I’m not leaving here until he agrees.”

  My father grunted. “Good. Be sure that you do. I don’t need to remind you of what’s at stake should you fail.”

  “No, sir. I remember.”

  And without saying anything else, my father hung up on me, leaving me with nothing but a dead phone line, dripping wet hair, and a heavy sense of dread.

  I tried to tuck the feeling away. There was no place for hesitancy.

  Once I was dressed, I began walking in the direction of the downtown area, if it could even be called that. How anyone lived in this town without a Starbucks was beyond me. As I walked, I honed my strategy.

  It wasn’t a very good strategy, but it was all I had, and I was determined to make it work.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The morning wore on, with mostly routine patients in the ER—nothing requiring surgery. Back in New York, before I’d made the switch from trauma surgeon to businessman, I’d only been called in for the worst and bloodiest the city had to throw at me.

  Being a surgeon had never been a predictable business, but being the only surgeon on call in a hundred-and-fifty-mile radius meant my patients ran the gamut of medical needs, and it was impossible to guess what would come through my doors. Here, there were very few hands to go around, so I was bandaging up scraped knees on little kids more than I was repairing major lacerations and pushing units of blood to keep a patient alive.

  It wasn’t as exciting as the trauma department back at Grace Memorial, but it had been such a breath of fresh air after leaving Westbridge, I couldn’t find it in myself to mind.

  There was a midmorning lull, and I took the opportunity to grab a cup of lukewarm coffee from the lounge before checking in with Dawn, one of the nurses on the floor. She was still wet behind the ears but held a lot of promise. I saw that spark in her, the passion for medicine that was becoming more and more rare with the new grads.