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sensation—and one he certainly hadn’t felt in a long time. Certainly not since that awful day he’d received the news that Liam had died.
    Two years. For two years he’d pulled himself out of bed with no sense of wonder as to what the day would bring. He’d gone through the motions, gotten the job done. He’d wake up from the nighttime confusion that sleep and dreams brought, and the reality that his kid brother was dead and buried would come crashing down on him, numbing him.
    That morning the same truth awaited him. Liam was still dead. He was still never coming back. But somehow it was the tiniest bit easier to bear.
    The kid had died doing something he believed in. He’d died trying to make a difference in people’s lives. He’d lived hard and fast and exuberantly. Cal could respect that. For the first time, he could begin to imagine being at peace with that.
    He still missed Liam. He always would. He’d carry his regrets for his brother’s young life cut short to his own grave.
    Liam’s life was over, but Cal’s wasn’t. For two years Cal had wished he’d been the one who’d died. But that morning Cal had woken up and realized that he was glad—
damn
glad—to be alive.
    Last night he’d pulled a girl out from under the sod of a hillside. Last night she’d gazed up into his eyes, and with a smile like a new morning’s sunshine, she’d somehow, miraculously, jumpstarted his heart.
    He didn’t even know this girl, he tried to tell himself. Hell, he didn’t even know her last name. She was too young, too pretty, too good to be true.
    But there he was, buying himself a new bright-blue shirt to wear the next time he saw her. It seemed ludicrous and foolish, and he almost put the shirt back on the rack. But Marge took it out of his hands and rung it up on her ancient cash register.
    “I heard you were busy last night,” she said, glancing slyly up at him, “rescuing our sweet young visitor from some northeastern city?”
    “Yep.” Cal said nothing more, steadily meeting Marge’s eyes. He handed her a hundred-dollar bill.
    She knew him well enough not to push. Instead of commenting further, she gave him his change and his purchases, neatly packed in a paper bag. “Have a good one,” she said with a smile.
    Cal nodded his farewell and jammed his hat back onto his head as he stepped out of the store and onto the sidewalk. Most of the previous night’s snow had already melted, particularly in town. He tossed the bag into the front seat of his truck, then crossed around to the driver’s side.
    “Ho there, Calvin. What you doing in town in the middle of a workday, son? Buying some new duds from Driscoll’s, huh? Now, let me guess…Could that possibly be because of a woman?”
    Cal turned to see old Doc Samuelson grinning at him from the sidewalk. “Just running some errands,” Cal said calmly, fighting the urge to scowl. He knew how interested the good folk of Asylum were in
any
tidbit of gossip. He could just imagine the speculation that had gone on concerning himself and the city girl. Clearly the story of his rescue of the girl had already spread like wildfire. The local romantics—of which there were quite a few, the elderly doctor included—probably had the two of them paired off and ready to march down the aisle.
    “Herd’s up at winter pasture,” Cal continued. “I’ll be joining them after the weekend.”
    “You’re taking a few days off, are you?” Doc smiled. “Good, good. It’s about time you had a break. Where you heading now? Home, I hope. And step on it, son.”
    Cal lifted an eyebrow, but he didn’t have to ask why.
    Doc Samuelson explained. “I just gave directions out to your ranch to the prettiest girl to hit town since Mrs. S. arrived in the back of her daddy’s truck fifty years ago. She seemed real anxious to talk to you.”
    Kayla. Doc had to be talking about Kayla. Cal turned to open the door of his truck, suddenly eager to get home. Kayla—waiting for him