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area with the help of wildlife-loving volunteers. An article on the benefits of microchipping your pet. No follow-up on Pip’s condition, though.
    Colby closed the link for the local news site and scanned the other searches that had come up when he’d googled Pip. A professional business site for Pip’s company yielded no personal information. There were a few articles where he was mentioned in connection with his moneyed and titled parents—a search the journalist on the local paper obviously hadn’t done or he would have made more of the story. Maybe even done a follow-up piece profiling the local hero in the hope it would get picked up by one of the national rags. For Colby the articles simply confirmed what he had suspected—from the quality of Pip’s clothes, the address, and his accent—and he read no more.
    His interest in Pip had nothing to do with his wealth or title. It lay in the neat package that held a firecracker of a man and the promise of a hidden smile. A smile Colby desperately wanted to see in the flesh and directed at him. Although, after the way he had goaded Pip earlier, it was more likely that he’d receive a punch on the nose when he arrived on Thursday to collect the clothes.
    How could he, a council estate kid who’d had to train himself to avoid dropping his h ’s or calling people mate, put a smile on the face of a man who, by birthright and breeding, should have everything?
    How did a man who once radiated such joy with just a quirk of his lips, someone who would stop to help a stray dog, become such a grumpy bastard?
    Pain could do that to a person, he supposed. Not to mention that ridiculous crutch, which, if Colby were a different type of therapist, he would say seemed to be the focus of a lot of Pip’s anger. But Colby’s talents lay with his hands, not people’s psyche, and if Pip allowed, Colby would be able to rid him of some of his pain.
    Colby had studied as a physiotherapist before his work as a personal trainer had taken off. He’d always intended to go back to that as a career, but then the DVD had happened, and with money rolling in for doing nothing, working had become less important than setting up the charity shop and doing some good for those less fortunate than himself. He still kept his hand in, though, and had completed several courses on alternative therapies in the last few years to expand his skills.
    Unfortunately he had to be able to touch Pip in order to ease his pain, and he could tell from the way Pip tried to avoid all contact that the offer of healing hands would not be welcome.
    Colby sighed. He closed open tabs about Pip and bookmarked several sites about vintage tweed to read later. Only one site remained opened: the online catalogue of a secondhand clothing shop located in the West Country.
    There was one thing he could do that would improve Pip’s situation, to ease some of the pain he was causing himself without even realizing. Determined to do something, anything , to help the grumpy bastard, even if Pip would balk at the offer, Colby scrolled down the page until he found the shop’s phone number.
    Worst-case scenario, his gift would be thrown back in his face.
    “Cabbages and Kinks. Antiquities, oddities, and ephemera. For all your clothing, accessories, and decorating needs. Mas speaking. How can I help you?”
    Wow. That was how to answer the phone. And so upbeat, as though talking to Colby was the highlight of the guy’s day.
    “Hello? Can I help you?”
    And the enthusiasm had the power to strike Colby dumb. “Sorry. I was just marveling at your phone manner. I can barely get my staff to say the name of my shop.”
    “Was it too much?”
    Colby could almost sense the other guy wince. “No. Slightly overwhelming, but I’ve just spent the afternoon with the grumpiest client ever. It’s nice to hear a cheerful voice.”
    “Glad I could be of service. Now, was there something specific, or did you just want to hear my dulcet