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“I have. Been thinking a lot about things the past three weeks.”

“Do, um, any of your neighbors ever cross your mind?”

“Well, yeah, actually. I saw your dad out sun tanning in his tighty-whities the other day and I haven’t thought about much since,” he teased. She balked and slapped his shoulder playfully.

“Gross. And a lie.” She laughed, though.

“Scouts honor. You can ask him. He started with a matching white T-shirt but thought better of it and stripped down to his undies. Read half the afternoon away like that.”

“Oh no, he didn’t!” Paige squealed, bending over her knees in fits of embarrassed laughter.

“Trust me, no one wishes he didn’t more than me, but unfortunately, it’s the God’s honest truth. Except for the part about me thinking nonstop about him. If I’m sticking with honesty, it’s his daughter I’m interested in.”

Paige looked down, unable to keep his gaze without completely disarming herself. She needed her wits about her for this doctor’s visit.

Owen turned left on the main drag at the edge of town, following signs to Helena. She had completely forgotten to tell him where to head. That didn’t seem to stop him from figuring it out, though.

“How did you know?” she asked. He shrugged, a light smile on his lips, sadness pulling at the corners of his eyes.

“I assumed. You asked me, and not your folks, who were sitting on lawn chairs without a worry about blackberry or raspberry bushes, and it came up suddenly. I was pretty sure you didn’t need me to take you to Simerly’s for ice cream.”

He glanced at her again and smiled.

“Well, then you don’t know me that well,” she said. “I was craving some rocky road.”

“So, am I heading in the right way?” he asked.

She nodded, looking down again.

“Well, no matter what happens today, I think I’ll need some ice cream if you want to join me after your appointment.”

Her smile returned and she nodded.

They rode the rest of the way in silence. Owen understood so much without her having to tell him anything. It was easy being with him—they had a comfortable and worn rhythm, but not boring. Her nerve endings still frayed when he was close, and she wanted to jump him twenty-four-seven. But she could also sit beside him, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of her hand, quiet and thoughtful without it being awkward.

In the parking lot she asked him to wait in the truck, and he didn’t try to convince her to let him come up. He nodded, leaned the seat back, the brim of his hat lowered over his eyes. She got out to the sound of pop country blaring from his speakers, the tune carrying her across the parking lot, giving her something to come back to.

Dr. Metcalf was at least efficient. True to his word, he had her in an office, paperwork laid out before him, in less than eight minutes. Twenty sheets of paper filled with medical jargon spread in front of her and if she got a little closer, she could read the results herself. She wasn’t quite sure she was ready for that, though, so she let Dr. Metcalf take the lead.

His office and all, she argued with herself.

“Paige,” he started, then stopped and shook his head. “Dr. Connors.”

She was completely defenseless. He’d taken her one unforgivable gripe—his lack of respect for her as a colleague—off the table. She had nothing. She closed her eyes and hoped that wasn’t what he brought her there to tell her—that she had nothing left. The treatments hadn’t worked and she would be a cancer statistic before she turned thirty-five.

She’d healed near her surgery site at least, but was well aware that wasn’t always a good thing for cancer patients. Many of the kids she’d treated in the islands for stage four cancers grew stronger, more energetic, before they passed away. It was one of the cruelest parts of the disease, the way it gave just enough back so families could see what they would lose. Medicine was a modern marvel, but it wasn’t enough to save every child, every person.

The question remained: was it enough to save Paige?

“Dr. Connors?” Dr. Metcalf asked again. She shook her head loose from the barrage of horrific daydreams pelting the back of her eyelids and opened them. “Are you feeling okay?”

She nodded. “Why? What do the tests show? Just tell me. I’m a doctor—I can handle it.” She sat taller, hoping she didn’t look like the basket case she felt like.

“You’re fine. Better than fine, actually. You’re in the clear.”

Paige’s head tilted like Penske’s did when he was confused.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Metcalf,” she started, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand.