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stubborn, arrogant man in all her life. A man just like his father. Her stomach turned over at the thought of Jonah McKee and she shoved his image out of her mind. She would have preferred a practice somewhere in eastern Oregon farther away from Max, but Doc Fletcher’s unexpected visit to Portland and his offer had been too tempting to turn down.
    â€œWe need young, dedicated, talented people, Skye,” he’d said in his slow-moving drawl, his words punctuated by snowy white eyebrows that dipped and rose above the gold rims of his glasses. “But most young doctors aren’t interested in a Podunk town so small you can drive through without blinking. So I thought you might want to come back home, be near your mother. I can offer you pretty good terms. Hell, I’ve made my money there, so I won’t need a down payment on the business—and you’re really just buying the practice. I lease the building, but there’s an option to buy in a couple of years. We’ll work out the contract so that you can pay me a balloon payment in five years....” He’d gone on and on, and though Skye had thought she’d turn him down flat, the deal had been too sweet to refuse. Fletcher had been right when he’d mentioned her mother. Irene Donahue, not yet sixty, wasn’t in the best of health, and Skye did want to be close to her. In the end, Skye had agreed. She didn’t regret her decision. The only hitch was Max.
    As the road curved to accommodate the river and the mountains, she caught her first glimpse of Rimrock, little more than several blocks of buildings clustered around a single stoplight. She drove past the turnoff for the old copper mine and headed straight through the heart of town, past the small buildings, some ancient, some new, where afternoon shadows were slinking across the dusty asphalt streets.
    On an impulse, she stopped at the Shady Grove Café, parked beneath an old oak tree and cracked open her windows before stepping onto the pockmarked asphalt of the lot. She set Kildare in his carrier in the shade of the tree, then walked to the twin glass doors of the old restaurant. An A-frame building with wings, the café had been through owners and names too numerous to remember.
    Inside, the air conditioner rattled a noisy welcome. Several booths were occupied, but Skye didn’t recognize anyone. The place smelled of stale coffee and cigarette smoke, while the deep fryer added its own special aroma. She slid into a booth near the window, and despite all the efforts of the air conditioner, the heat seeped through the glass and the clear, black plastic curtain that had been drawn to offer some shade.
    A short waitress with a frizz of brown curls took Skye’s order for a cola, then hustled, order pad and pencil in hand, to the next table. As it was the middle of the afternoon, the lunch crowd had dispersed and the dinner crowd hadn’t yet arrived.
    Within minutes, the waitress left a sweating glass of soda and a bill on the table before passing through swinging doors to the kitchen. Skye took a long swallow as she studied the menu that hadn’t changed much in the past seven years. A bell tinkled and a gust of hot air whooshed into the room.
    â€œI want chocolate and vanilla swirled together,” an impish voice commanded.
    â€œThen that’s what you’ll have.”
    Max! She’d know his voice anywhere—it still haunted her dreams and played with those memories that she’d sworn to tuck away forever. She froze for a second, then quietly took a breath and glanced up. Their gazes collided, and if she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn there was a tremor in the earth. Her heart kicked into double time as she looked at him, tall and lean as ever, wide shoulders hidden by a time-softened work shirt, his brown hair still streaked by the sun. Raw as the wind that swept through this part of the valley and rugged as the hills that