Declan paced in front of Iris’ dark apartment. There was no answer. He’d knocked three times, each time louder and more emphatic.

Nothing.

One of the outside cats appeared, meowing and wrapping its way around his ankles, but he ignored it. He could pet the damn cat later. Right now, he had a girlfriend to find. He looked around. Her car was there, but her parent’s house seemed to be dark, too. No one was home there either, at least that he could tell.

Where the hell were the McLains?

He and Iris had decided weeks ago to go to a Christmas ice skating show over in Franklin. He’d bought the stupidly expensive tickets that included a meal with the show.

He had everything he needed…except his Iris.

Angry now, he stomped back to his truck. After her cold shoulder and slamming the door in his face, it’d taken him a while to simmer down enough to go to sleep last night. He’d had every intention of pinning her down tonight and forcing her to answer his questions about what the hell was going on inside of that frustratingly beautiful head of hers, but now she had to pull a disappearing act on him.

If she didn’t want to go to the damn ice skating show with him, she could’ve just said so. To stand him up like this was a class act of assholeness, in his opinion.

He threw his truck into reverse and spun out of the McLain’s driveway. Fine. If she was going to be like this, he’d go do something else with his Saturday evening.

He chewed on his lower lip for a moment, and then it hit him – he could go buy propane for next year over at Frank’s Feed. He’d been meaning to do that anyway. No time like the present.

Ignoring how pathetic it made him that he was going to spend his Saturday evening buying propane for next year’s growing season, rather than go on a hot date with a beautiful woman, Declan headed towards Frank’s.

When he got there, he stormed inside and up to the counter. “I’d like to buy propane for next year,” he growled at the pimply kid behind the counter.

“Yes, sir,” the kid said. “Let me go grab the contract.”

Declan ignored the pang of panic at the word “contract,” and just nodded his head dismissively, as if he read contracts every day.

Thank God that wasn’t actually true. He wasn’t sure if he’d survive such tortures on a daily basis.

“Sorry to hear about your girlfriend,” Mr. Burgemeister said at his elbow.

Declan jerked his head in surprise as he turned to stare at the older farmer. Sorry to hear…? What is he talking about?

“Tell her I hope she gets better soon,” the old man continued.

Declan’s mind raced. Get better? Hold on, is this why her parents weren’t home either?

He debated demanding answers for a moment from the gentleman, but it was bad enough that he didn’t know what was going on – he didn’t need to inform Mr. Burgemeister of that fact also. And how the hell was it that Mr. Burgemeister knew and he didn’t?!

“Thanks, I’ll pass that along,” he finally got out.

The kid reappeared from the back room, but Declan was already heading towards the front door. “Hey, you haven’t signed the contract yet!” the kid hollered after him.

“I’ll come back later!” he tossed back and then he headed outside, into the bitter cold.

He drove to the only place he could think of – Wyatt and Abby’s house. She was a deputy sheriff for Long Valley County. If anyone knew what was going on, it would be her.

He skittered to a stop on their gravel driveway after the longest drive of his life, and leaped out of his truck.

“It’s a good thing I’m off duty so I don’t have to arrest you for reckless driving,” Abby observed wryly, standing on her front porch, cradling a mug of coffee in her hands.

Declan jerked his head in acknowledgment of her words, but started right into his burning question. “Do you know what happened to Iris?” he demanded.

“You don’t know?” Abby asked, shocked. “I just figured someone would’ve told you.”

“You don’t know?” Wyatt repeated, coming out of the house and letting the screen door slam behind him with a bang. “I thought Stetson told you.”

“Told me what?!” Declan practically hollered. If someone didn’t talk to him and fast, he was going to start knocking heads together.

“Iris is at St. Luke’s Hospital in Boise,” Abby said quietly. “They life-flighted her out there this morning. I’m surprised you didn’t hear the helicopter.”

Declan staggered backwards, feeling like someone had punched him in the stomach. “Life flight?” he whispered.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” Abby said, moving over to him and pulling him into a one-armed hug. “She fell while trying to clean off her front steps and hit her head on the concrete. Her mom was just coming out of her house when it happened, and thank God for that. It knocked Iris out cold and she could’ve ended up freezing to death.”

Declan couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. Abby rubbed his back. “It’s going to be okay,” she said soothingly. “They’ve got her in the ICU—”

Intensive Care Unit. Life flight. Freezing to death.

Whatever else Abby said was lost to him as he sprinted towards his truck.

“Declan!” she called out but he was gone, tearing down their driveway like a madman.

He had to get to Boise. He had to find Iris. He had to make sure she was okay.