Tierney arrived downstairs just in time to answer the doorbell, offering a polite smile to the man on her doorstep.

“Hi John.”

“Tierney!” he said, a broad smile lighting up his homely face. “What a nice surprise to hear from you today!”

John Stuart, DVM, was the Holderness-based veterinarian of the German shepherd that Ian had adopted earlier in the summer. He was also a frequent “surprise” dinner guest at the Wednesday and Sunday family suppers that Tierney hosted, leading her to believe that her brothers were not-so-subtly trying to set her up with the well-meaning, good-intentioned thirtysomething doctor.

A few inches taller than Tierney, John was so slight, she guessed that they probably weighed about the same. With reddish-blond hair, freckles, and brown eyes hidden behind thick glasses, John didn’t exactly scream “dream lover.” Her wild imaginings ran much more toward tall, dark, and dangerous than small, ginger, and chipper.

“Thanks for coming by, John. I really appreciate it. Come on in.”

“Your mysterious text sure got my attention!”

With his hopeful smile and enthusiastic inflection, he reminded her of one of the golden retrievers he looked after.

Be nice, she thought. You’re about to ask for a big favor.

“I’ve been meaning to call you and thank you for dinner on Sunday. That was some ham!”

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“With my family all in Maine, it means a lot that I get to share yours.”

Since she didn’t want to encourage him to think of ways to “officially” join her family, she didn’t smile at this comment. Keeping her face impassive, she just stared at him.

He laughed nervously, his cheeks reddening. “Rory and Brittany sure look happy lately, huh?”

“They do.”

“Love will do that, I guess,” theorized John, clearing his throat. “It actually got me to thinking, Tierney…I mean, well, maybe you and I could, um—”

Oh, God, no. “John, I need your help with something.”

“Right. Yes. Sorry. We can talk about other things, um, later.” He looked around her tidy living room. “Where’s the patient? In the kitchen?”

She glanced at the ceiling. “Upstairs.”

“You said it was a hunting accident. Did you find the poor fellow in a snare?” he asked, following her across the living room and up the stairs.

“Not exactly. He came to my door.”

“Really? My!” John gasped dramatically. “It’s very unusual for animals to seek help from humans in such situations, but it has been known to happen. You have such a gentle manner, Tierney, I just bet he—”

“He banged on my door,” she clarified.

“Oh? How odd. Banged, huh? Are we talking about a larger animal? How in the world did you get it up the stairs—”

She paused at her bedroom door, standing back and gesturing to Burr, who sat up in the bed, bare-chested with his “Destroyer” tattoo on full display and a wary expression that would frighten any normal human out of his skin.

John blanched, turning to Tierney.

“That is not an animal.”

“You haven’t met him yet.”

She stepped into the room.

“John, this is Brian. Brian, this is John. John is a, um, well, he’s a veterinarian who treats my brother’s dog. Juniper. I mean—Juniper is the dog. Ian is my brother. Obviously. Brian is, um…well, he’s an old college friend from, um, from Dartmouth, where I went to college, and, um, well…anyway, Brian was out…last night, um…hunting. Yes, hunting! With, um—he was with some—some buddies,” she said, crossing her room to stand beside Burr and shoot him a disapproving look, “…and—and this happened.”

There, she thought with satisfaction. I’m getting the hang of this lying thing, aren’t I?

She shot a triumphant look at Burr, expecting to see admiration on his face, but he was looking up at her like she’d lost her mind, while John still hovered in the doorway of her room looking bewildered. His glance slid to the white bandage that Tierney was pointing to, then back to Tierney.

John cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “This…being?”

“A bullet wound,” said Tierney. “It went straight through, as far as I can tell, but it needs care. Stitches, for sure. I think it’s infected.”

“I see,” said John, still frozen by the doorway. “May I—May I please speak to you in the hallway, Tierney?”

“Yes,” she said, turning to Burr. “We’ll be right back…Brian.”

Burr, who appeared to be waffling between annoyed and amused answered, “You got it…Millie.”

Her lips twitched as she turned and followed John out into the hall.

“Am I to understand that that man has been shot?”

“Yes,” said Tierney.

“While hunting?”

“Correct.”

“By whom?”

“I don’t know.” She blinked at him. “Um. He won’t tell me.”

“It’s irrelevant to us anyway. He needs to go to a hospital and file a police report.”

“John,” she said, reaching out and placing a hand on his arm, “if he does that, he’ll get his friend in trouble.”

John pursed his lips, his expression sour. “As well he should! His friend shot him! And I suspect—from the looks of him…he wasn’t an entirely innocent party in this debacle.”

“John, please.” She sighed, curling her fingers around John’s thin arm and feeling a small sense of satisfaction when he flicked his eyes to where she touched him. “I need your help.”

John scanned her face with a sigh. “Who—erm, who is he to you? This…Brian?”

“A friend,” she said.

“An…ex-boyfriend?”

“Does it matter?”

“I think it does.” John lifted his chin. “Downstairs, I was about to ask if you’d like to go out on a date with me.”

Oh, Lord.

“And frankly, Tierney, it would be awkward for me to have the feelings I have for you and to help your friend, only to find out later that you and he…well, that you’re romantically involved with him.”

“I see,” she said. “Well, we’re not. Romantically involved.”

John visibly relaxed. “Okay. So about that date…?”

Tierney removed her hand, cocking her head to the side. “Are you coercing me into a date with you in exchange for helping my friend?”

That wiped the overconfident smirk off his face. “No! No, no, no! Coercing? Please. That’s the wrong word, Tierney. Trading would be better: something I want for something you want.”

Yuck. This was a side of John Stuart she hadn’t seen yet, and she didn’t like it one bit. He wasn’t a golden retriever, after all. He was a fox…or a rat.

“If the cost of stitching up Brian is to go on a date with you, John, then yes, I’ll join you for dinner some evening.”

John took a deep breath, obviously not completely satisfied with her answer, but somehow recognizing that pushing her further would be unwise. “Well, that would be—just terrific. Does Friday work?”

“It does,” she said, without a hint of warmth.

“Then I will pick you up at seven,” said John.

She gestured to her bedroom door. “Now that payment’s been sorted out, can we get back to…?”

“Uh, yes,” he said. “I’ll need some clean cloths and hot water.”

“I’m on it,” she said. “Let me just talk to, um…Brian. For a second, huh?”

John pursed his lips, looking annoyed. “Sure.”

“Be right back.”

She slipped back into her room and closed the door behind her, then turned to face Burr, who stared at her with wide eyes. “Your old friend from Dartmouth? A hunting accident? Brian?”

“You seem dead set on protecting your identity.”

“I am.”

“So? I’m helping.”

“Helping?” he clarified. “You’re the worst liar I ever saw in my whole life. I mean, you bring bad lying to an art form. They could write odes to how badly you lie.”

“Not even!” she said. “That time was far smoother than usual.”

“It gets worse than that?” He pretended to shudder. “Amazing.”

She decided to ignore him. “John’s a vet. He’s going to stitch you up and give you antibiotics.”

Burr’s eyes narrowed just a little. “…in exchange for a date with you.”

“You heard?”

“You didn’t shut the door,” said Burr. His lips turned down. “He’s a weasel.”

Yes! He was exactly right—John wasn’t a fox or a rat. He was a weasel!

“Seemed like a small price to pay.”

“For what?”

“For you to be well,” she said. “For you…to be safe.”

His icy-blue eyes bored into hers. “Is my wellness important to you, Tierney? My safety?”

Her cheeks flushed with sudden heat, and she crossed her arms over her chest protectively. Did his safety matter to her? The answer came quickly: yes. Why? Hmm. Because of Suzanne? Partly, yes. But helping Burr solely for his sister’s sake wasn’t totally accurate either, which bothered her because she had no further answers as to why she kept sticking her neck out for this virtual stranger.

“Why do you care?” he asked softly.

“I don’t,” she lied, flashing her eyes to his.

“Then how come…?”

“Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph at the manger! Didn’t anyone ever teach you to just say thank you?” she barked, turning on her heel and opening her bedroom door. “He’s ready, John. I’ll go get the water.”

She hurried downstairs, pressing her cool palms to her flaming cheeks as she sped into the kitchen, pulled out a pot, and filled it with water before placing it on the stove.

Why do you care? Why do you care? Why do you care?

The words circled round and round in her head as she leaned against the kitchen counter.

I don’t, she thought…but it was a lie. She did.

He’s injured, she reasoned. Any Christian person with an ounce of charity would care.

Fine, responded her conscience, then why are your cheeks red? Christian charity shouldn’t make you as red as a tomato.

Her cell phone buzzed in her back pocket, and she retrieved it quickly, grateful for the reprieve from her puzzling thoughts…until she saw the text.

RORY: Ian said you were being weird.

TIERNEY: Ian doesn’t know weird from last Tuesday.

RORY: What’s going on?

TIERNEY: Mind your business.

RORY: Dinner on Wednesday?

TIERNEY: Of course.

She stared at the screen for a moment, wondering if she should tell Rory about “Brian” before Wednesday, which was tomorrow. If she didn’t, and John mentioned him to Ian sometime today or tomorrow before dinner, her brothers might overreact.

TIERNEY: BTW, I have a friend from college staying.

RORY: What friend?

TIERNEY: You don’t know him.

RORY: Him?

TIERNEY: I have to go.

Suddenly her phone buzzed in her hand with an incoming call from Rory. Oh, for fuck’s sake!

“Hello?” she said.

“Who is he?” asked Rory.

“Brian.”

“Brian what?”

“You don’t know him.”

“So you said. Who is he? Was he there this morning? Why didn’t you introduce him to Ian? Damn it! He knew something was off with you.”

“Nothing was off,” Tierney insisted. “He was upstairs sleeping. That’s all.”

“Where upstairs?”

“None of your business.”

“Tierney—”

“I’m an adult, Rory. I’m not answering your nosy-parker questions.”

“I thought I knew all of your college friends,” her brother grumbled. “I’ve never heard of a Brian from Dartmouth.”

“Just because I didn’t mention every friend I ever had doesn’t mean I didn’t have them.”

“So where was he when Mom had her stroke?”

“In…Ireland.”

“He’s Irish?”

That’s when Tierney heard it—just the slightest relaxation in her brother’s voice. And since Burr was Irish, she didn’t have to lie, thank God.

“Yeah.”

“Huh. Does he speak it? Irish?”

He certainly understood what she said to him this morning when he patronizingly asked her for a smile. “As well as us.”

“Huh,” muttered her brother, and she heard it again—that “he’s one of us” thread in Rory’s voice that told her he was calming down a little.

Except that Burr wasn’t “one of them” at all, Frankly, she still had no idea what he was, but he wasn’t clean-cut like Rory or big and good-natured like Ian. He was intense and secretive, with fiercely beautiful eyes.

“Will that be all, Commandant?”

He sighed. “I’m not trying to be an asshole.”

“Really? Because, wow, Rory, you’re awfully good at it.”

“Come on. You’re my only sister. I just…I want you to be safe.”

“I am safe,” she said, “though I’m more annoyed by the second.”

“What’s he doing there?” asked Rory.

“Visiting,” said Tierney. “Like I said.”

“Where does he live?”

“Boston.”

“What does he do?”

She had no idea. And unfortunately, if she started weaving some story, she’d end up doing her weird, spazzy-lying routine, so it was better that she get off the phone entirely. “I have to go, Rory. You’ll meet him tomorrow at dinner, okay?”

“How bloody long is he staying?”

“None of your business.”

“Fine. Ian and I will…I mean, we’ll look forward to meeting him.”

Oh, Christ. “Grand. See you then.”

Before Rory could utter another word, she clicked “End” and pocketed the phone. Then she took the boiling water off the burner and headed back upstairs.

***

For the first few minutes they were alone, John had put on latex gloves, then peeled back the bandages on the front and back of Burr’s shoulder, rambling on about some horse he’d looked at this morning that had a disgusting-sounding intestinal blockage.

Burr tried not to look utterly repulsed…not by the horse, but by the man.

Who was this fucking jackass, forcing Tierney to go on a date with him? He boiled over the thought of her having to endure a night of this guy’s company. Burr paid his debts, and he would owe her big after that.

“How do you know Tierney again?” asked the vet, swabbing at the bullet hole with something that stung like crazy.

“Dartmouth,” growled Burr, suspecting that Dr. Weasel was having a bit of fun at his expense as he dug into the wound.

“Right. That’s in…Dover, right?”

“No,” said Burr, glad he’d played regional hockey and competed at Dartmouth a time or two. “Hanover.”

“Of course. My bad,” said John. “Well, I guess she’ll be back in a second. I’ll give you a shot, then I’ll sew it up. I hope my technique works for you. I’ve only addressed bullet wounds on animals, not people.”

“Pretend I’m a doberman,” growled Burr, sliding his icy eyes to John and letting his nostrils flare with distaste.

“The doberman pinscher gets a bad rap.” John laughed nervously. “They’re actually very gentle animals.”

Not the ones that Burr had seen. Sean and Declan had two that they’d trained to tear a man’s face off, and Burr had seen them in action more than once.

“How do you—I mean, don’t get me wrong,” said John, dropping his eyes to Burr’s tattoo before taking off his rubber gloves with a loud snap. “You don’t seem like the sort of company that Tierney would keep.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes, Brian, that’s right. She’s quiet. Gentle. She takes care of the museum. She takes care of her family. She reads. She takes walks. You…you seem rather rough, frankly.”

“Rough.”

“No offense,” said John.

“None taken,” said Burr.

“So…you were hunting?”

“Sure.”

“Where?”

Fucking weasel. Not man enough to just come right out and call him a liar. Weaseling around in his weaselly manner. Burr fucking hated guys like this one.

“John, I get the feeling you don’t approve of me,” he said softly, the unmistakable flavor of “you’re really starting to piss me off” in the taste of his voice.

John took a deep breath and sighed, finally gathering the courage to look Burr in the eyes. “I like her. I want what’s best for her, and you’re not it.”

“Oh. And I suppose you are?”

“I’m steady and serious. I have a thriving business. Her brothers like me.”

“Then maybe you should extort a date from one of them,” suggested Burr.

John blinked, his eyes furious, his jaw tight. And Burr had a feeling he might have even come up with a decent comeback if Tierney hadn’t walked back into the room at that moment.

“Hot water,” she said, removing the glass of water from the bedside table and replacing it with a soup pot of steaming water. “I have clean washcloths in the bathroom. Will that do?”

“Fine,” said John, his lips thin and angry.

Burr grinned at Tierney. “Thanks, aisling.”

Her eyes widened, and her lips parted, and Burr—who couldn’t look away from her if his life depended on it—had a sudden thought that she might look a little like that if he ever licked her cunt nice and slow.

Fuuuuuck. Where did that fucking idea come from?

Didn’t matter. It was already there, indelible in his mind, and his dick twitched under her covers, hardening at the idea of tasting her. He wondered if any other man had claimed that particular territory with his mouth before…and for some reason, he doubted it.

“You’re…welcome,” she said, her voice just a little breathless, making more blood race south to jack up his cock.

“Aisling?” muttered John, who was threading a needle. “What’s that?”

Ah, but thank the good Lord for John. Here was an excellent use for him: killing a boner.

“Do you speak Irish, John?”

“Don’t you mean Gaelic?” asked Dr. Weasel.

Flicking a glance at Tierney, Burr watched, rapt, as her lips tilted up—up, up, up—until her entire face was brightened from pretty to breathtaking, transformed with a smile so pure, so guileless, Burr forgot how to breathe. Hers was the face of an angel, of someone whose emotions hadn’t been sullied by a dark and terrible world, and all he wanted was to have the privilege of making and watching her smile for as long as she’d let him.

After years of dirty smirks born of another’s suffering, he could have basked in her smile all day—bathed in it, fed on it, become drunk on it. And the best part of all was that she was smiling because they were sharing something—just the two of them. They knew something that John didn’t know—hell, that most of the world didn’t know. But they did. It was profoundly intimate to share an inside joke with her. He couldn’t remember the last time anything had felt so damned good.

For all that they were born in America, Burr and Tierney shared a proud Irish American heritage. And they both knew that the only people who called it “Gaelic,” were people who didn’t know their masa from their uilinn.

Shaking her head at Burr, the look on her face a warning to stop being naughty, she turned and left the room.

“No,” said Burr. “I meant Irish. We call it ‘Irish,’ not ‘Gaelic.’”

“We?”

“Irish Americans. Like me. And Tierney.”

“Huh.” John cleared his throat, clearly displeased that Burr and Tierney shared anything at all, and positioned a syringe near Burr’s shoulder. “I’m going to give you a shot of lidocaine around the area. Should numb it for the stitches.”

Tierney returned with the cloths and placed them beside the pot of water.

“Aisling means, um…means ‘friend,’” she said, answering John’s question and giving Burr a stern look. He raised his eyebrows at her, but she pursed her lips, telling him to hush up and go along with it.

“Fine,” Burr said, acquiescing to her. “Aisling means ‘friend.’”

Even though it didn’t. Not at all.

Aisling meant “dream” or “vision,” and in Burr’s opinion, it was one of the sexiest endearments in the Irish language, especially when it was directed at Tierney Haven.

Twenty minutes later, Burr had four stitches on the front side of his shoulder, twelve on the back, and clean dressings covering both.

“I can’t give you an oral antibiotic. What I have with me isn’t intended for human use,” said John, removing his gloves and placing a small tube on the bedside table. “But I cleaned out the wounds, and I’ve covered them with a strong antibiotic ointment. I’ll leave some here with you.”

“Thanks, John,” said Tierney. “You’re a lifesaver. Truly. Can I offer you a cup of tea before you go?”

“That would be nice,” he said. “I’ll tidy up here and meet you in the kitchen.”

Tierney looked at Burr for a moment before nodding at John and heading downstairs.

“Thanks, Doc,” said Burr. “What do I owe you?”

“Are you asking what I want in exchange for treatment?” John stood up from the chair next to the bed, narrowing his eyes at Burr. “That’s easy. Go back to wherever you came from.”

Burr didn’t respond. He just stared at Dr. Weasel long and hard—a glare that generally scared the shit out of other men. To John’s credit, he straightened up to his full, measly height, standing his ground.

“I don’t know you, Brian,” said John, staring back at Burr, his eyes concerned, “but you seem like trouble to me. Hunting accident? No. I highly doubt it. That injury was made with the bullet from a revolver, not a hunting rifle. Probably a nine-millimeter gun. Possibly a thirty-eight.” He waited a moment, then he lifted his chin. “You said I ‘extorted’ a date from her, which bothered me, but I’m man enough to admit you’re right. I’ve liked her for a while now, and she’s a catch no matter how you slice it. Did I press my advantage earlier to get her to say yes? I did. I don’t know if that’s playing dirty or not—they say all’s fair in love and war, right? All I really know is this: I would never hurt her, Brian. I wouldn’t put her in danger. Can you say the same?”

There was nothing to say. John had called him out with honesty and—for a weasel—a surprising amount of man-to-man dignity, and while Burr still didn’t like him, he felt the first glimmer of respect for him.

“Take care of yourself,” said John, picking up his medical bag and leaving the room.

Burr grimaced as John’s footsteps faded.

Worst of all, Dr. Weasel was right.

Being here, staying here, was certainly putting Tierney in some danger. No, Sean and Declan didn’t know where he was right now…but it was only a matter of time, wasn’t it? Burr couldn’t stay hidden in this little cottage with Tierney Haven forever. And he’d sooner gut himself than see another innocent woman get caught up in his mess—or worse, hurt. Especially Tierney, who’d looked after him with little regard for her own safety. She deserved so much better than to be caught in the cross hairs of his fucked-up existence.

Tomorrow he’d leave here and head over to Ray’s house on Lake Ossipee. On the way, he’d buy a burner phone, call Ray for an update, and then wait to find out what would happen next. And no one, least of all Sean Shanahan, would ever be any the wiser that an Irish angel named Tierney had shown him more kindness than he deserved, and—for a brief moment in time—been his safe haven.