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burning for air. He slaked his thirst at a tiny spring, then padded to the crest. The moon was high now and brilliant in the clear starry sky, almost blinding to look at directly. Instead he looked out across the river valley and lay down with his head on his paws.
    Â 
    In the small hours of the morning, Bernie was awakened by the howling of a wolf. He lifted his ravaged face, his swollen eye crusted with a mixture of dried blood and tears. Humans usually couldn’t tell the direction such a sound was coming from, but the old man knew at once that the wolf must be up on Elk Point, said to be a sacred place. The animal sang as if its heart was broken, the mournful refrain taken up by the wolves in the surrounding hills.
    Bernie swore softly. He knew the sorrow-filled song was for him, knew it was Connor who sang it. The tears began again.

Chapter Four
    Z oey headed down the hall to the front door, determined that her next editorial would be in favor of legalizing the murder of people who knocked at ungodly hours. True, she was usually awake at those hours but still . . . The building had better be on fire.
    She flung open the door, expecting anyone but Connor Macleod. At least, she assumed that’s who was nearly filling her doorframe. She didn’t remember him being quite that tall, or so wide of shoulder. Didn’t recall the dark, glossy hair that fell forward into his face and tumbled over the collar of his denim jacket. Or the strong angles of his jaw line, now accented with dark beard stubble. But those pale gray eyes . . . Those she remembered very well.
    â€œHello, ma’am. I’m conducting a survey to see how many people will answer the door this early in the morning. I’ll just put you down as a yes .”
    â€œIt’s six A.M. on a Saturday.” She stared up at him warily for a long moment. “What are you doing here?”
    â€œI’m a desperate man. The Finer Diner doesn’t open ’til six-thirty and I might die if I don’t find coffee soon.”
    Her mouth curved but she kept a hand on the door. Yesterday she’d been too nervous to phone him and here he was today in the flesh. Damn sexy flesh too. Did she really want him to come inside? “So I’d be saving your life if I let you in?”
    â€œGod, yes.”
    What could it hurt? “Well, I couldn’t possibly refuse an emergency like that. I’d be violating some sort of Good Samaritan law.” She waved him inside and led the way to the kitchen.
    He squeezed into a chair behind her little bistro table, then his eyes widened and he gave a low, appreciative whistle. “That’s a hell of a setup you’ve got here. I may never go to the Finer Diner again.”
    â€œI take my coffee seriously.” She did too. The kitchen was small but one half of the counter space was devoted to espresso and latte machines in addition to a regular coffeemaker, two different grinders, and an assortment of glass canisters containing dark beans. Huge bright coffee mugs marched along a shelf, while colorful paintings of steaming cups were hung on the wall. “But you can’t discount the Finer Diner entirely. The food is incredible there.” She knew it for a fact. She’d made a habit of eating there frequently and was already on a first name basis with Bill and Jessie Watson, the couple that ran the place.
    â€œTrue, Bill’s an artist when it comes to food. He’d rather cook than breathe.”
    â€œYou know them? Oh wait, I guess you’ve been here a lot longer than I have.” She kept forgetting that people in a small town knew each other. In Vancouver, she’d lived in an apartment building for years without knowing the names of the people who lived on the same floor.
    â€œWell, it’s true that we’ve been friends for a long time. But it was inevitable—where else could a single hardworking vet go to eat around here with the kind of hours I