Declan knocked on the door and then stepped back, a grin on his face. Iris was going to love today’s present. 

She opened the door and he held up a large paper bag. “Fresh catnip,” he said proudly, in lieu of a greeting. “My neighbor has a patch that is out of control, and the neighborhood cats all seem to think that her flowerbed is their new home. She practically threw the catnip at me and told me to make a run for the truck.”

Iris busted out laughing, and Declan felt pride and happiness swell in his chest. He’d made her laugh. He felt ten feet tall.

She stood back and let him past her and into the apartment, closing the door behind him quickly. “It’s getting to be that time of year,” she said, burrowing down into her sweater. “I can’t believe Halloween is almost here.”

“Which just means that it’s a perfect time for us to go to the Harvest Festival together.”

Just then, Oreo and Milk came streaking out of one of the back bedrooms and came to a stop in front of him, their eyes staring up at him eagerly.

“It’s like they know that’s catnip,” Iris said dryly.

“Yeah, just like that,” he said with a grin. “You two ready to become very, very happy?” He took the catnip out and sprinkled it on the floor, and they began rolling around in it ecstatically. “I think I’m making your cats high,” he said with a wink at her. She blushed, and he figured that was just as good of an invitation as any to get a hello kiss. “While the kids are occupied,” he said in a low growl, and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her to him. She melted into his arms and tilted her head up, offering her sweet lips to him.

As their lips melded together, moving with an urgency that made…certain parts of him south of the belt line come alive, he wondered anew at finding Iris again. Having her in his life again. Her brilliant red hair brushed his shoulders and he breathed in deeply. She smelled so damn good. 

He wondered if she realized how beautiful she was.

Knowing her, probably not.

Finally, he forced himself to pull away and instead contented himself with nestling her against his thighs. She felt so perfect in his arms.

While the cats yowled and purred their way through the pile of catnip, he sniffed the air. It smelled…off. He pulled away from Iris and breathed in deeply. “Are you…cooking something?” he asked hesitantly. Iris had never been much of a cook, but that sure smelled like snickerdoodles.

Burnt snickerdoodles, if his nose was correct.

“Oh noooooo!!!” she wailed, yanking away from him and hurrying to the kitchen, using furniture along the way for support. “I was going to set the timer, and then…”

She yanked the oven door open and the smell hit at the same time as the sight of dark smoke curling out. Choking, he ran over to the window above the kitchen sink and yanked it open, then searched for the fan switch over the range. He flipped it on high, then turned back to see Iris, hands on hips, glaring at the oven. It was a good thing looks couldn’t kill, or he was plenty sure the oven would go up in flames, with the strength of that glare.

Of course, if she continued to keep cooking, the oven might go up in flames anyway…

He couldn’t help himself – the laughter he’d been holding in came busting out. She looked up, shooting death rays at him too, and then…she broke. Her lips twitched, one corner and then the other, and then she began laughing also.

“Oh Declan,” she said, between gales of laughter, “how is it that I can be so smart, and yet so stupid at the same time? How hard is it to set a timer?!”

If Iris Blue McLain was anything at all, it wasn’t stupid. She had more book smarts in her little pinky than he did in his whole body.

Street smarts, on the other hand…

He decided to sidetrack her from her train of thought by scooping her up into his arms and carrying her to the couch, matching the squeal of her surprised laughter with a grin of his own.

He settled down on the couch, cradling her in his arms. The way she was squirming around on his lap meant he was going to be very interested in something other than her complete inability to cook in just a minute, but he tried to stay focused on the topic at hand.

No matter how tempting it was to just stare at her pink, soft lips.

“So why did you skip setting a timer?” he asked, once she’d finally stopped laughing. He wasn’t about to pour salt into an open wound and say it out loud, but it seemed like a plenty easy thing to do.

“I got sidetracked reading,” she said meekly, like she was confessing to a triple homicide. She was completely embarrassed.

He was completely enchanted.

“Andddd…” he prompted, when that appeared to be the end of her explanation.

“I thought I’d just read for a minute. That minute became a really long minute.”

He threw his head back with a hearty chuckle, the fun of lightly teasing Iris almost outweighing the pain of discussing reading. “Anything in particular that you were reading?”

“A romance novel. Julia Quinn. She’s my favorite historical author.”

“Hmmm…” Declan’s mind had wandered from the topic because…well, it was reading, for one, but even more importantly, Iris was sitting on his lap. Suffice it to say, the blood in his body was not in his brain. His hand wandered up under her shirt, stroking the soft bare skin of her back.

She felt amazing.

“Well, we better get going before the festival ends without us!” she said brightly, wiggling off his lap and to her feet.

Had she wiggled a little more than she’d needed to, to get off his lap? He was pretty sure she had. She looked over at him and just smiled innocently.

He didn’t trust that innocent smile – not one bit.

He figured he was being damn smart not to.

She grabbed her cane from the corner – a wooden staff with intricate swirls, topped with a funky head. Her hand fit into the grip and he realized that it was a specialized grip made just for her. Or at least a hand close to her size. 

He’d never seen anything quite like it. “Where did you get that cane from?” he asked, helping her into her jacket draped over the end of the couch.

“Ohhh…uhhh…” 

She was back to blushing again. 

One of the best things about dating Iris McLain in high school and college was that she never hid a single emotion on her face. She was an open book. It made watching her endlessly fascinating, like watching a play where turning away for just a moment meant missing minute details and insights into what she was thinking.

They strolled together towards the front door, and he called out to the cats, who were busy cleaning each other from their catnip bath, “You two stay out of trouble. Now,” he said, turning back to Iris on his arm, “Miss McLain, spill the beans. What’s up with your cane?”

“I made it,” she said in a rush.

That stopped him in his tracks. “Really?” he asked, stunned. “I had no idea you knew how to do that sort of thing.”

She shrugged and started walking forward again, obviously uncomfortable with his praise. He opened the front door and they began their slow amble towards his truck. “Well, I decided to figure it out. Those black orthopedic canes with the four feet sprouting out of the bottom? No way. Not for me. My body may think that I’m 90 years old, but that doesn’t mean I have to dress like it. So I had my parents bring some books home for me from the library and I started studying them. There are some really amazing canes out there.”

Books. She taught herself how to make canes by reading books.

He didn’t know why that fact bothered him so much. He shouldn’t be surprised. She was so damn smart, she read books for fun, something he had no concept of.

He just smiled and held open the door of his truck for her, helping her in and then hurrying around to the other side. He couldn’t let her see how much her explanation affected him. He couldn’t make her injury all about him. Especially because it was all about the stupid him, the one where letters didn’t stay put and books were torture devices.

Casting about for something to talk about, anything that didn’t involve books, he blurted out, “So you never told me how this happened.” He waved his hand around in the air, gesturing to her whole body, but inside, he was panicking. He’d told himself not to ask; to let her bring it up when she felt comfortable. Now that he was desperate to change topics, he was pushing her for answers when she’d been staying far away from the subject.

He wasn’t being fair, and he knew it.

He couldn’t seem to stop himself, though.

“Oh, I haven’t?” She let out a high-pitched laugh that was uncomfortable and awkward as hell. “I guess I didn’t realize that.” The tips of her ears were a brilliant pink, which was Sign #1 that she was lying her ass off to him. Iris never could lie worth a damn. He opened up his mouth to apologize for bringing it up, but she kept talking in a rush, keeping him from saying anything. 

“I was driving home from the hospital after an 18-hour shift in the ICU. There’d been a bad wreck that day – three-car pile-up – and I was exhausted. We’d had a nurse call in sick so we’d been short-staffed, and then the wreck meant that the ICU had been packed. Pocatello isn’t as small as Sawyer, of course, but we’re nothing like Boise or Salt Lake.

“Anyway, I saw something out of the corner of my eye but my reflexes were too slow. By the time I realized the herd of deer were crossing the freeway, I was already plowing into them. I killed two deer that night.” Her voice had dropped to a mere whisper, and her knuckles were white, gripping together. She looked like she was holding on for dear life…with herself. “I don’t remember much after that for almost a week. It’s just gone.” She shrugged, staring at the country road ahead of them.

Deer. She hit deer.

His mind flashed back to his mother’s vehicle. He’d been the one tasked with managing the disposal of the vehicle after her accident, and the bloated carcass of the animal that had killed her…

He swallowed hard, feeling the palms of his hands grow sweaty.

Breathe, just breathe.

“I’m really glad you’re okay,” he said softly, reaching over and patting her hand. She grabbed his hand with surprising strength, clinging to it like it was her lifeline.

And maybe it was.

“Thanks,” she said softly. “I don’t like to talk about it – that accident took so much away from me. I don’t think I’d told anyone the full story before now. I wish I could say that I feel better, now that it’s out of me, but…I mostly just feel afraid. What if it happens again? What if this time, it kills me? Like it did your mom?” Keep a straight face. Just nod. Don’t show your reaction. “And, I killed two other beautiful animals. If I’d been more alert, I might’ve been able to slow down or swerve or something. Instead, I just plowed right into them…” Her voice cracked, and he squeezed her hand, his heart breaking right along with her.

It felt like someone had taken his heart out and was wringing it dry.

“Anyway,” she said in a happier tone that rang with false brightness, “Mom and Dad are encouraging me to go to a counselor, and I probably should. I keep telling myself that just talking about it won’t actually kill me, even if it feels like it will.”

They’d long ago pulled to a stop in front of the city park, the Harvest Festival in full swing around them. He squeezed her hand, listening to the silence, waiting to see if she wanted to say anything more. He’d forced her to speak about it; it was only right that he let her tell him everything she wanted to say.

Finally, when it became clear she had nothing else to share, he cleared his throat and asked softly, “Are you okay to go out there and mingle with the fine folk of Sawyer? If you want me to take you back home, that’s no problem.”

She turned to him, a forced smile on her face. “No, of course not! We’re here. Let’s go have some fun.” 

He raised her knuckles to his mouth and brushed them against his lips. God, he loved this woman. Even if he didn’t deserve her, he couldn’t make himself give her up.