His eyes narrowed as a low rumble escaped his chest.“Bold words for someone who just walked into my territory.”
“And you’re stubborn for someone clearly hurting.So, are we going to argue, or will you let me do my job?”
His glare should have sent me scrambling.Instead, it made me more determined.Men like him, all growls and pride, were exactly why I’d sworn off alpha types.But the way his fingers gripped the doorframe?That wasn’t dominance.That was a man clinging to control by his fingernails.A predator afraid of showing weakness.
His scoff rumbled low and gravelly as he crossed his arms over his broad chest.The movement built a deliberate wall.His biceps flexed under his sleeves, corded muscle straining against fabric.“I don’t need a doctor.You’re here for the town, not me.”
I tilted my head, a small smile playing on my lips.“Well, I’m here now.Might as well make the best of it.”
Logan’s eyes narrowed.He didn’t speak, just gave a curt nod and gestured for me to follow with a flick of his hand.“Fine.But you better pull your weight.I’m not going to pick up your slack.”
I matched his stride, the air between us filled with unspoken words and his resistance.
“Good,” I shot back.“I’ve never backed down from a challenge.”
He glanced at me, his jaw tightening, but I caught the faintest flicker in his gaze.Curiosity, maybe.
We passed by a study.I paused near the open doors and glanced at the bookshelves lined with expensive leather-bound and hardcover books.Pretentious or obsessive?Hard to tell.
Then I saw it.A massive map of the valley covered half the wall, dotted with green and red pins and scribbled notes.Some clustered near the creek, others by old mining roads.The pins radiated out like a spreading infection.And at the center?The mountain where the Roberts Mine stood.
Logan’s shadow fell across it before I could look closer.“Later,” he growled, steering me away.
I memorized the pattern anyway.He wasn’t the only one who knew how to hunt.
Logan pushed open the guest suite door, his broad shoulders blocking most of the doorway.I stepped inside, my boots sinking into plush carpet that smelled like lavender.Floor-to-ceiling windows framed snow-capped pines, while a fire crackled inside a stone fireplace.
“This is amazing,” I gasped, taking in the room.
“Not much,” he grumbled, shoving hands into his pockets.
I dropped my medical bag onto a loveseat next to the four-poster bed and ran a hand over the hand-stitched quilt.“You call this not much?My Huntington Harbor apartment could fit in here.”
A muscle jumped in his cheek.“You’ll want for nothing here.”
Logan’s shoulders stiffened as I stepped toward him.He smelled of leather and smoke, but most of all, flesh and blood from the unhealed wound he was hiding.His jaw worked, the silver streaks in his hair catching the dim light.“I don’t need a babysitter.”
I kept my voice steady, though my fingers itched for my stethoscope.“Good.Because I’m not here to babysit.”The words hung sharp as mountain air.“This town needs a doctor.And from how you favor your left side, I’d say you do too.”
His jaw ticked, but his sharp inhale told me this wasn’t just an injury.It was something his body couldn’t heal on its own.A wolf shifter’s metabolism should have healed anything other than a fatal wound in days.Whatever festered beneath his shirt wasn’t following nature’s rules.
My mind raced through the possibilities, wolfsbane poisoning, maybe a rogue witch’s curse.The medical professional in me cataloged symptoms and treatments, but something deeper responded to his suffering with unexpected protectiveness.I wanted to help him, not just as his doctor, but as something I wasn’t ready to name.I pushed that feeling down, burying it beneath years of clinical detachment.This was a job, nothing more.The last thing I needed was emotional entanglement with a broken wolf.
His glare could have iced over hell, but something flickered behind it.“You don’t know what you’re getting into.”He tossed something at me and I caught it with one hand.It was a pair of keys.“For the house and the green truck.You can call Stuart to drive you, but I figure you’ll need a way to get around on your own.”
Then he turned, boots heavy on hardwood.He closed the door behind him and left me with the echo of his warning.
I exhaled, rolling my shoulders as I unlatched my medical bag.The suite felt too quiet, too pristine, like a stage set for a life Logan didn’t actually live.Outside the window, Angel Spring sprawled below, streets dotted with flickering porch lights.A town forgotten by everyone but the man who’d built a fortress above it.
I pulled out my notebook and immediately filled the pages with observations, everything from the tremor in Logan’s right hand, to the way his breath hitched when he thought I wasn’t looking.And that map.Red pins clustered like bloodstains near the creek.
A muffled curse came from the next room.I snapped my head up.Logan’s voice carried through the door.“Not your concern.”
I was halfway to the door before stopping myself.Boundaries, Sabrina.But when I peeked into the hallway, he was gone.Sitting here was doing me no good.It was time to see the clinic that I was hired to run.
The clinic’s door groaned as I shoved it open, the rusty hinges protested like they hadn’t moved in decades, which was probably accurate.Dust particles swirled in slanted sunlight.I coughed, waving a hand, and stepped inside.The air hung thick with mildew and old paper, stale with neglect.
The reception desk was littered with abandoned equipment.Underneath a thick layer of dust, there was a stethoscope, a cracked blood pressure cuff, and yellowed patient files spilling from a cardboard box.Walls lined with shelves sagged under more files, the labels faded and peeling.A phone sat on the desk, the coiled cord tangled, and beside it, an old ledger lay open, the water-stained pages filled with spidery handwriting.