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keep?”
    She didn’t miss the fact that he was telling her outright he was available, and the news sent a pleasant tingle through her. “So does this hardworking vet prefer his coffee plain or would he like a mocha grande with double espresso?”
    Connor hesitated for a moment and she realized that he looked tired. Very tired. “I’ll tell you what,” she decided. “I’ll get some strong coffee going because it’ll brew fast. After you’ve had a cup, I’ll make you that mocha.”
    â€œThanks. That sounds great.”
    Long practice had the coffee brewing within moments. Zoey found the biggest mug she had and placed it in front of him, scooping her pile of papers off the table before she sat down. The table looked a lot smaller than usual with a good-looking man looming over it. Suddenly she remembered her appearance and ran her hands hurriedly through her hair. God, here she was entertaining in her bathrobe! Worse, beneath it were turquoise flannel pajamas with little green frogs on them. She tugged the collar of the bathrobe higher in a useless bid to hide them—the pant legs were plainly visible below the robe. So were the furry slippers. . . .
    â€œIt’s pretty.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYour hair. It’s nice. The color, the waves.”
    â€œThanks.” Maybe the pajamas were okay after all. “So were you out delivering a calf?”
    â€œProbably.”
    â€œYou don’t know?”
    He scrubbed a hand over his face and grinned. “This morning I wouldn’t swear to anything without checking with the dispatcher first. I’m pretty much running on automatic pilot.”
    â€œI’ve done that myself a few times. Sounds like veterinary practice can be a lot like the newspaper business.”
    â€œNot here, surely.”
    â€œNo, thank God. It’s a lot quieter here.”
    â€œIs that why you came to Dunvegan? For the quiet?”
    Not exactly, Zoey thought, but if she told him about that little ability she’d inherited, the one she was trying to leave behind, he’d surely think she was weird. She didn’t want to take a chance on chasing him off, not yet. He looked just too good in her kitchen. . . . So she gave him the same standard answer she’d given her former boss and co-workers, her new publisher, everyone in fact. “Big city journalism is not your career, it’s your life. I wanted a slower pace and a chance to write more human interest stories, instead of just pieces about murders and robberies.”
    â€œInstead, you got wolves.”
    â€œBeats the heck out of human wolves,” she countered. The coffeemaker beeped and Zoey took off the pot, poured Connor’s cup.
    â€œThanks.” He brought it to his face and inhaled deeply. “Smells like heaven.” Sipped. “Tastes like it too. I’m saved!”
    â€œThe miracle of freshly ground beans.” She poured herself a cup as well.
    â€œReally? I didn’t see you grinding any.” His eyes were full of humor as they looked at her over his coffee mug.
    She paused with the pot in her hand and sighed. “Okay, I’ll come clean. I was already awake, been up for over an hour. I’m one of those annoying morning people and I get my best writing done around five. Go ahead”—she waved a hand at him—“recoil in horror.”
    He laughed. “My mother always said there was something magic about mornings. Must be true, since I’m sitting with a pretty woman and drinking good coffee. But I’ll confess too. I saw your lights on when I was driving by and knew you were up. And what I really came here for is to make sure you’re okay.”
    â€œI am okay, thanks to you. As much as I love wrestling wolves, I admit I was getting a little tired when you came along the other night.”
    â€œDid you get that bite checked at the clinic?”
    â€œI called a couple of