The tree limb slammed Paige Turner's forehead unapologetically, in the exact same place it had hit her only ten minutes ago, which was just not the best use of her head she could have come up with on a Sunday afternoon.

"Ow!" Paige ducked, way too late, of course, palming her forehead as she stumbled, trying to keep her balance. Damn. She so hadn't needed to do that twice to know that it was a bad idea. She eyed the shaggy black dog gallivanting beside her. "I'm totally going to blame you for this, Bandit."

He barked at her, feigning complete ignorance of the human language, then planted his feet and shook, spraying water all over her. Bonus for her, she was already soaking wet from being knocked into the lake only moments before, so it didn't matter.

Except it did. There was just something not-so-fantastic about being sprayed by a wet dog on a chilly autumn afternoon. Those water droplets could easily qualify as torture when they hit her skin, and torture wasn't exactly high on her list of preferred activities.

He shook again, hitting her for a second time, eliciting a shriek of protest from her. "Oh, come on. Seriously? That has to stop." She shoved her wet bangs out of her eyes, an action that might have been helpful before she'd started down the overgrown trail from the lake and smacked her head into the offending limb that had been just the right height for her not to notice it. Twice, both on the way there, and on the way back. Because she was super talented like that.

Instead of accommodating her, Bandit wiggled the entire back half of his body with unabashed delight, his ears tucked with joy as he clenched his dripping tennis ball between his teeth.

Trying to hide a smile, she frowned at him and set her hands on her hips, eyeing him. "Seriously, Bandit, I think you owe me an apology for knocking me into the water while I was retrieving your tennis ball, which you wouldn't get, from the lake you wanted to swim in. Who's going to bring their dog to a trainer who can't control her own dog, huh?"

Bandit leapt up and pressed his nose to her cheek, making her laugh. "Okay, fine, I forgive you."

He barked at her, then whirled around, his ears pricked as he stared in the direction of her cottage. He woofed once, then took off in a dead sprint down the trail, disappearing from view almost instantly. Within a moment, she could hear him barking frantically, his deep woof announcing that he was in protection mode and was absolutely thrilled about that fact.

Knowing there was nothing up ahead that he could get into trouble with, she paused to inhale deeply, stretching her arms above her head to bask in the glorious autumn afternoon. Who was she kidding? She didn't care Bandit had knocked her in, and they both knew it. She was just happy that this was her life now. It had been almost a year since…well, no.

Since nothing.

She wasn't wasting brain space on her past, especially one that involved a complete nervous breakdown and panic attack in the middle of her office's Monday morning meeting, attended by everyone. Because who needed to replay the lowest moment of one's emotional and professional existence? Not her. So, yeah, she wasn't even going to remember that it had happened.

She was, however, delighted to think about her fledgling dog training business, and how badly she wanted to make it happen. It all started with her own shaggy, adorable beast. She pursed her lips, a shrill whistle splitting the air.

Instantly, Bandit stopped barking, and she grinned. She knew Bandit was standing at attention, waiting for the second whistle to tell him what she wanted from him. She'd rescued him a year ago, and he'd been an untrained lunatic. She was pretty impressed with how far they'd come in such a short time.

She whistled again to tell him to come back, then ducked behind the trunk of a thick oak tree. Paws thundered down the path, crackling on the dead leaves. A black streak blew by her, and she scuttled around to the other side of the tree, out of sight.

The footsteps slowed, and she knew Bandit was going into tracking mode. He loved to play hide-and-seek, an affinity that she had capitalized upon when teaching him to "Come." She wasn't going to lie. She was super impressed with how well she'd trained him. It was Bandit who had convinced her to try to make a go of dog training. Training dogs felt like a much better fit for her than waitressing at Mug, a local restaurant that had been kind enough to give her a job when she'd run screaming from her life and moved back to New Hampshire a year ago.

Bandit suddenly bounded around the tree, barking with such joy that she started laughing. Still squatting, Paige was easy prey for his excited leap, his seventy-five-pound frame knocking her off balance with ease.

"Bandit..." Her voice trailed away in amusement as she collapsed on the ground, instantly covered by the wet dog. She gave in and wrestled with him for a moment, rewarding him for his obedience. If only the lawyers at her old firm could see her now: the cutthroat female attorney, who had never cracked a smile during her six-year stint, rolling around in the dirt.

See? Being carried out of the law firm on a stretcher after a panic attack in the middle of a team meeting wasn't so bad, when it resulted in moments like this, right? Yeah, sure, it had taken her almost a year to stop descending into a lump of quivering, salivating goo every time she saw a sign for a law firm, but hey, she was going to be damn proud that she managed to stand upright and regain control of her ability to speak now, right?

Bandit barked, startling her back to the present, which was definitely where she wanted to be, instead of mired in her past. She kissed the tip of his wet nose. "I never would have made time for you in my old life. What kind of a pathetic life choice is that? Spending twenty hours a day working?" God, what a life. She'd choose living alone in her cabin in New Hampshire over the harborside condo she'd shared with…

God. No. He was absolutely not worth thinking about.

She hopped up, wiping her hands over the leaves and dirt clinging to her wet clothes and skin, but quickly gave up trying to brush it off. "Hopeless, I tell ya, it's hopeless." Oh, well. That was the beauty of being a dog trainer in New Hampshire instead of a lawyer in a prestigious Boston law firm.

She resumed her walk, dirty leaves and all, whistling cheerfully at the fact that she no longer had to care about how she looked. Dirty, soggy jeans were so much better than pristine business suits designed to suck the soul out of anyone unfortunate enough to wear them.

What? Baggage? Her? Never. She grinned. Never.

She glanced at her watch as they walked. "Ten minutes 'til we're due at Mom's. Let's run!" Bandit barked excitedly, bounding along beside her as they jogged down the trail. He broke heel only once, when a squirrel darted literally between his feet, so she forgave him on that one. "You're such a good boy—"

They emerged from the woods, and she stopped dead in her tracks, gawking at her cottage.

There was a Mercedes in her driveway, parked next to her muddy pickup truck. Not the type of car that any of the locals drove. It was the type of car that a lawyer from her old firm might drive. The same car that she used to have back when she was in the process of losing her mind.

The old sensations of fear, paranoia, and other super-fun emotions crashed over her in a sudden, violent assault that made her breath hitch. Her chest tightened up almost instantly, and fear twisted her stomach. Okay, so she wasn't as recovered as she thought she was, if the mere sight of a car like her old one could start the old symptoms revving up.

Then again, it wasn't just the sight of the car. It was the fact it was parked in her driveway, driven by someone who most likely represented the world that had nearly destroyed her. Someone had come to see her. To ask her to come back? Oh…not that. That would be really bad.

She took a step back.

Deep breaths. Think of the meadow. The pale pink flowers. Deep breaths.

Bandit abandoned her and raced toward the car, barking his pseudo-vicious defense bark, as if he were going to kill anyone who stepped outside. Yes, yes, if he killed the driver that might relieve her stress. If she turned around and walked quietly back into the woods, pretending she hadn't seen the car, and Bandit ate the person inside, then she could claim complete innocence…

God. Murder? She was actually thinking of murder? She was so much better than that.

Deep breath, Paige. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. What if her old boss got out of the car? Someone from her old firm, coming to check on her?

A retaliatory barking from inside the car sounded as Bandit approached. Paige forgot her breathing rhythm. Dog? Was it a client? Hope rushed through her, an almost violent plea for something that would deliver her from the hell that was coming fast and hard toward her. It would be so much better if it was a dog client.

She released her last deep breath as she watched the driver's door begin to open. Please, be a client. One in blue jeans and boots who had stolen the car from an impound lot. Not a lawyer. Not from Boston. Not from her old firm. Dammit. She had to stop thinking about her old firm! Yeesh. She was going to have to go back for more therapy after this visit if she didn't start concentrating on pink flowers.

Breathe.

The door stopped opening when Bandit ramped up his barking, the hackles on the back of his neck making him look even bigger and more intimidating than he actually was. He was so happy to be scaring the intruder, she decided not to call him off. She loved that dog far too much to steal his joy by making him stop. And it had nothing to do with wanting to intimidate the driver into deciding to drive off without actually getting out of the car. Seriously. It didn't. At all.

Well, maybe a little.

Then again, if it was a client, she did need to let the driver out of the car. If it turned out to be someone from her old firm, then she'd let Bandit eat him. He would have better access anyway, once the driver was outside the car, right? So, that was good.

She liked that plan, at least she liked it enough that she decided it would be okay to recall her dog and let the driver out of the car. For the moment. "Bandit! Heel!"

His hackles still up, and his tail rigid, Bandit returned to her side, but kept his gaze fastened alertly on the car. One threatening move and he'd attack. Or at least that was how it appeared. In reality, he'd interpret it as a game and slobber all over the person with doggy kisses, not that the driver of that car needed to know that. Besides, she could work with Bandit on that. With some excellent training, she was pretty sure she'd be able to turn him into an attack dog trained to launch himself at any suit-wearing lawyer who showed up at her house.

"Wait until you have a clear opening for the throat," she whispered as she grabbed Bandit's collar and made a dramatic show of restraining him, which probably didn't do her reputation as a dog trainer much good, but it made her feel better, just in case the visitor was unwanted. She took a deep breath. I can do this. "You can come out," she called out.

The door opened the rest of the way, and a shiny Italian shoe crunched gingerly down onto the gravel.

Oh, crap. That was definitely not a shoe that would ever be worn by someone local.

Her heart started to pound as the shoe was followed by a pristine charcoal gray pant leg, with a crisp pleat exactly where it was supposed to be. Another shoe and leg followed, which matched, dammit, and then a hand grabbed the doorframe. It was a hand devoid of any calluses or blisters. The hand of a lawyer?

Oh, God. She felt like she was going to vomit.

Sensing her agitation, Bandit sat up and joined her in staring intently at the tinted glass, as if together they could burn a hole through it. He'd stopped barking and gone still, his fur still up, his tail stiff, his body rigid. Damn. He really would attack for her. God, she loved her dog.

A head of thick brown hair appeared, followed by dark sunglasses that were, unfortunately, attached to the face in a completely appropriate and dignified manner. Where the hell were the lunatic, backwoods serial killers in this town? That's who should be in her driveway, not a well-dressed, proper, possible lawyer in a nice car. Seriously. What the hell?

Then the driver stood up, and faced her, giving her a full view of him, and she immediately forgot all the complaints that had been forming in her mind.

He was no lawyer. He was a man, in every virile sense of the word, if one were using the word to mean things like tall, strong, broad-shouldered, five o'clock shadow, corded thighs that were visible even beneath the suit, and a strong jaw that would be perfect for running her tongue over...

Oh, crap. Had she really just thought that? She was still too strung out to think about sex, especially sex with strangers, and especially sex with strangers driving nice cars.

His strong jawbone was tensed in apparent agitation, and a muscle flexed in his cheek. Hey, she knew what that kind of tension felt like. They could be besties, and she could massage it out of him…

And…again, with the "oh, crap, had she really just thought that?"

His dark lenses hid his eyes from view, giving him an air of mystery that was irritatingly appealing. She knew enough about high-end men's fashion to know that no store-bought suit would have fit his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and stacked thighs. He was wearing custom all the way, which normally would give her hives…except on him…the only word she could think of was yum, which had to be a sign that she was losing her already tenuous grip on her recently recovered sanity.

Honestly, after her traumatic stint in her law firm, she'd considered suits on men to be code for "uptight, out-of-shape, misogynist asshole alert." She'd never thought a man in a suit could be hot, utterly male, and viscerally untamed, but she'd apparently been wrong. She could almost see her visitor tossing a load of firewood over his shoulder and hiking through the woods, wearing jeans that fit his butt just right, and beat-up hiking boots that had years of outdoor manly activities scuffed into the leather…

Suit-guy/potential outdoor hottie cleared his throat in that way that people did when they had absolutely nothing in their throats except irritation that you weren't paying appropriate attention to them…making Paige realize she was gaping at his broad chest.

And…yeah. Chalk one up for "how utterly embarrassing." She immediately closed her mouth to put an end to the gaping and potential drooling. She then cleared her throat as well, but it was more to make sure she was capable of sounding at least semi-normal. She wanted to give some articulate, sane welcome speech that made her sound competent, calm, and not on the edge of a freak out.

That's what she wanted. It's what she intended. It's what she thought she could manage to accomplish.

When she started to talk, she realized that she had, apparently, completely overestimated her capabilities. "Hi."

Hi. Hi? What kind of articulate greeting was that? It was so not enough to distract him from her gaping at his hotness.

"Good afternoon." He nodded, his head tilted at the wrong angle for him to be looking at her face. She studied the angle of his sunglasses and then tracked the likely path of his eyes…holy crap. Was he staring at her chest?

Dear God. No man had looked at her like she was a woman in years. He had to be a pervert, or suffering from a neck cramp, or just randomly insane, right? But just to be sure…she looked down to confirm what he was looking at…and immediately wished she hadn't. Or at least wished the ground would swallow her up.

She'd forgotten that she was covered in dirt and leaves from her wrestling match with Bandit. But that was no big deal, at least not in comparison to the fact that her wet, white tee shirt was spotlighting to the world, and to her nice-car-hottie specifically, that she had not bothered to put on a bra for her afternoon walk.

Double crap.

Going braless was so not a big deal when the only male she was with had four legs and a tail. An entirely different matter when faced with a ridiculously handsome man dressed like he was ready to pose for a cover of GQ.

Damn. She wasn't sure she could ethically attribute all sorts of nefarious adjectives to him now. It would have taken a eunuch not to at least glance at a pair of nipples gawking at him, and given the way her body was reacting to his overpowering maleness, she was willing to wager that he had a couple of perfectly functioning testicles inside those expensive pants. Gritting her teeth, she crossed her arms over her chest and tried to appear nonchalant. "Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Freedom Dog Training, but I must have taken a wrong turn." His voice was a deep rumble, so insanely delicious that she almost asked him to keep talking, just so she could listen for a while.

Dear God, he was like a sex-demon-incubus-hypnotic-vampire-seducer or something. He had to be, because she simply didn't find men in suits attractive, and she was not the type to start purring at the sound of a man's voice.

Oh, wait…she belatedly processed his words, and realized that he had come looking for a dog trainer.

This delicious cauldron of smoking hot male, who clearly represented the world that had almost destroyed her, had come looking for her. Yay? Or…major panic attack and meltdown?

She wasn't sure yet which it was going to be.