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I feel the faintest flutter of Regan’s heartbeat beneath my fingertips as I hold her wrist. It’s erratic, racing like she’s just run a marathon with no regular pattern.

If I didn’t know better, I’d worry she was on the verge of a panic attack.

? But I’d bet my license it’s not fear she’s feeling right now. It’s the shock of seeing me again.

Because I’m just as rattled to see that she’s my next patient.

Sure, I knew she was from North Carolina.

That much came up during the haze of conversation after our wild night together back when I couldn’t keep my hands, or anything else, off her.

But I didn’t know she lived here in Whitewood Creek.

I’d never even heard of the town until I signed the job offer and make the trek down here two weeks ago.

It’s a small town, and seemed like the perfect fit while I grasped at my second chance at a career upon finishing residency.

Is this where she grew up?

I tug my stethoscope from around my neck and press it gently to her chest. Her warm skin is soft beneath the thin hospital gown, and the moment my hand brushes against her, I’m flooded with memories.

Memories of me sucking on this chest.

Of holding her breasts in my palms.

Of gripping her while I had her pinned beneath me, her breath ragged as she begged me to go harder, to choke her, to bury myself inside of her.

My cock twitches at the thought, and I clench my jaw tight, fighting to stay focused on my examination because the last thing I need is a random boner while working.

I haven’t had sex in a while, probably my longest stretch in years.

School and transitioning into my new, highly demanding career have been exhausting and I’ve found I just don’t have much in the tank like I did when I was in my thirties.

But beyond that, after what happened with my ex-girlfriend six months ago, I haven’t wanted to.

Told myself I’d take a break from women, and it’s been good for me.

I’ve been a practicing doctor for a year now, and my body usually moves on autopilot as I assess injuries, come up with treatment plans and deliver prognoses. But with Regan sitting here, looking at me with those dazed, light blue, glassy eyes, I’m thrown completely off my game.

She looks beautiful. A little out of it, sure, but beautiful.

Her dark auburn hair is damp, plastered to her shoulders from the shower where she slipped, something I read on her intake paperwork, and her skin is flushed.

I’m sure it’s not with the heat of passion but with the residual fog of the pain meds I’d had the nurse administer for the nasty bruises I know she’ll have on her head and hip.

“How are you feeling?” I ask again, this time softer, my voice caring too much intimacy and familiarity for what this situation deserves.

I clear my throat and take a step backwards to put some space between us.

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, drawing my eyes instantly.

She always had the prettiest, softest lips and I see that hasn’t changed.

“I’m okay,” she murmurs. “It was just a small fall.”

I hold up a finger and have her follow it with my eyes, my hand steady even though the rest of me feels anything but. Then I step closer, my hands moving to her neck and cupping there, pressing gently on the sides and back to check for any swelling.

It’s all standard stuff but my fingers linger for a fraction longer than necessary around her throat.

I can’t stop thinking about the way I choked her right here, how she begged me to do it harder, how her head tipped back, her body arched into mine as I kissed her, and the way that that she moved with my cock buried deep inside of her pussy.

Fuck .

I shake it off and slide my hand to her scalp, searching for bumps or tenderness. But even as I move through the motions, my brain betrays me, flashing to how it felt to tangle my fingers in her gorgeous, dark red hair, to yank on it as she gasped my name, her cries replaying in my ears.

An image of her face down, ass up on the hospital bed with my large hand splayed across her lower back flashes through my memories.

I need to stop.

Now.

I drop her hair like it’s scalding and take a quick step back, clearing my throat.

“Everything looks good,” I say, my tone sharp and detached, desperate to sound professional.

“No major swelling or noticeable lumps. You might have a bruise appear on your forehead, and hip, it’s normal for the area to feel tender for a few days.

Be cautious standing up or walking—you could still be dizzy.

We can have someone wheel you out of here to your car just in case once, we get your discharge paperwork together. ”

Her eyes meet mine, and I force myself to look away.

Instead, I look at a point just behind her bed on the wall.

I press on, needing the distance because this is all ridiculous.

I’m not this type of guy. I’ve treated plenty of beautiful women in the past though none of them have been a one night stand that I haven’t forgotten.

“Make sure someone stays with you for the next 24-hours,” I continue. “Watch for any nausea, vomiting, or worsening symptoms. If anything feels off, come back to the hospital immediately.”

I take another step back, putting even more space between us because it’s the only way I can finish this.

The scent of her damp skin lingers in the air, and the memories I’ve tried to bury threaten to claw their way back.

It’s a strange feeling, being this impacted by a woman I never really even knew.

My eyes instinctively dart to her ring finger as the words leave my lips. Did she end up getting married like she said she wanted to? Does she live alone? Her finger is bare, but then again, she was just in the shower. Plenty of people take their rings off when they bathe.

I clear my throat, trying to ignore the sudden tightness in my chest, and glance at the nurse who’s typing away on her computer, oblivious to my obvious distress. My eyes then fall to one of the friends who brought her in. Sharp green eyes, assessing, like she can tell I’m losing it.

I sure as shit hope she can’t tell what I’m thinking right now because my thoughts are anything but professional or pure.

“Let’s get her a prescription for some pain meds to take home in case she has some residual soreness tomorrow.” My voice is steady and professional.

I can do this.

Then I turn back to her.

Regan .

Her light blue eyes are locked on mine like she’s trying to figure me out, or maybe she already has.

It’s that same look I remember, the one that’s as confident as it is disarming.

That’s how she was even back then. Bold.

Unapologetic. The woman who stripped herself bare—literally and figuratively—without a second thought, spread her legs wide and told me that I’d fall in love with her though I’d try not to.

The woman who gave me pieces of her most people never see. The secrets she whispered. The way she owned her body and every inch of her soul.

God, she’d been magnetic.

And yeah, maybe I fell for her a little back then, but I certainly didn’t love her. I let it go. I had to. I’m not made for a relationship or long-term, and she’d told me she wanted a family someday. Something I definitely didn’t, and still don’t want.

I enrolled in medical school, buried myself in textbooks and rotations, finished my residency, and became a doctor.

My second act. My second rodeo, as I like to call it.

I haven’t thought about her in years—Okay, I haven’t thought about her that much in years.

I’ve had other lovers since then, and even a girlfriend.

Lasting love just isn’t in the cards for me.

Still, there’s something about seeing her here in this slow-moving, unassuming little town that shakes me straight to the core. Like the universe just shifted under my boots and dropped her into my orbit, as if to say, this… this is what you’ve been waiting for .

I came to Whitewood Creek looking for something. I didn’t know what it was, not exactly. Just that I needed a change. Needed space to breathe. To find a version of myself I could actually live with and not hate when I looked in the mirror. I thought maybe a quieter life would be enough.

But now I know she’s here.

Now I’m not sure if I ever really believed in fate before, but standing here, watching her watching me with those big, round eyes, I swear something in me settles. Clicks into place.

I’ve always believed timing matters. That life, no matter how messy or painful or unpredictable, isn’t a set of random events.

Like how I got into bull riding in the first place at eighteen years old and how I got out of it, too.

Retired early, on instinct alone, just weeks before my buddy got on the bull I would’ve likely drawn. The same bull that killed him.

That moment changed me. Made me realize that life doesn’t just happen. Not without reason. And that’s why I don’t question why she’s here and why I’m here.

Because shit doesn’t just happen.

“Will that be a problem? Having someone stay with you for the next 24-hours?” I ask, keeping my tone casual, though my stomach twists as I wait for her to answer. Because I’m curious now. Curious to know if she lives alone or if she has someone who is looking after her these days.

She shakes her head slowly, carefully, her eyes still locked on mine. “No, that won’t be a problem.”

Ah. There it is. Of course she isn’t alone.

Regan’s the kind of woman men don’t let slip through their fingers once they’ve had her.

She’s a catch. She had dreams of a family, and she probably made them happen.

I should feel happy for her, but instead, I feel something that feels a hell of a lot like jealousy towards the man who’s getting to see her smile each morning, and the fact that man could never have been me.

“Great. Nine, please get her discharge paperwork together.” Then I give her another nod.

“Take care, then,” I say, my voice clipped as I spin on my heel and head for the door.

Because I’m not about to stand here and dig up memories that belong in the past. I left my wild, reckless life behind the moment I stepped off the circuit.

The old Hayes Walker? The one who spent his nights charming women into bed and his days training, he’s gone.

But that doesn’t mean that a small piece of me can’t envy what she’s found with someone else.