“Hmmm.” His monumental self-absorption was obvious now that Gran pointed it out. “I’ve known for a while we weren’t right for each other, but I decided to wait and break up after he finished his cardiac residency.” She grabbed utensils from a drawer and set the oak table with nubby blue place mats and napkins. “Turns out it was Clarice Bennett, one of the other cardiac residents, he wasn’t finished with. The two-timing rat.”

Gran rapped the spoon against the rim of the pot with unnecessary force. She efficiently ladled the thick chowder into pottery bowls Gracie’s mother had made many years before. “You’re better off without the rodent.”

“Probably.” Definitely.

Gracie’s heart and stomach felt hollow, despite the brave face she paraded for Gran’s benefit. At some point between moving in with Baxter last year and discovering the full scope of his betrayals last week, her self-confidence had weakened to the consistency of wet tissue paper.

She took her seat at the table. “I’m sure I’ll be better off concentrating on my patients instead of letting myself be sidetracked by some man.”

“Speaking of men who’d like to sidetrack you...” Gran settled into a chair across from Gracie. “I saw Clayton at the hospital this afternoon. He said he’d stop by here after his evening rounds.”

“Great, I have something important to tell him. You’ll never guess who—” The ding-dong of the doorbell interrupted her news. Both women glanced at the Regulator clock on the wall, and then exchanged quizzical looks. “Expecting someone?”

“Just Clayton. But he wouldn’t ring the bell or come in through the front.”

“And it’s too early for him.” Gracie jumped up. “You sit. I’ll get it.”

MacDuff went bounding down the hall in front of her. The outside lights were still on, and Gracie peeked out the sidelight. If she hadn’t known Dylan Bradford was in the neighborhood, she might have believed it was her best friend standing in the shadows of the wide porch with his back to her.

Going by size and shape alone, the tall, broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, man waiting there could have been Clay’s twin. But Dylan carried himself with an assurance that her friend’s abandoned-child insecurities would never let him duplicate. And from a purely objective standpoint, Dylan had a way better ass.

Squelching the observation beneath a world of misgivings, Gracie pulled the door open. Dylan turned toward her, and she got her first full-length, full-frontal view of him.

And what a view! Wow! Her heart went zing. Except that reaction would be physically impossible. She would not allow herself to generate such a cartoon-ish reaction. Her gaze traveled over his brooding, upscale, male-model good looks. She searched, praying for flaws. Warts or moles or jagged scars. Anything unsightly would do.

Nope. None. Blond, sun-streaked hair in artless disarray, chiseled jaw with just the right touch of grunge, the beginnings of a goatee rimming a perfectly shaped mouth, and deep blue eyes that flashed heat and commanded attention.

And to say he had on a sweater and jeans would be like saying Pavarotti could carry a tune.

More than a few lambs had provided the soft wool for the garment that covered his wide shoulders and chest. And she knew from shopping with Baxter that the designer denim molding itself to Dylan’s long, muscular legs cost more than the blue book value of her poor, dead car.

But he apparently didn’t like being studied any more than she’d liked it earlier. His clenched jaws rippled as if he were cracking walnuts with his molars. Dropping the leather duffel bag he carried, he leaned over to greet MacDuff, effectively ending her inspection.

The dog licked Dylan’s fingers like they were covered in hamburger, but his interest soon waned and he moved on to sniffing the bag. Straightening, Dylan stuck his hands in his back pockets and lifted his lips into a cajoling smile.

“The cabin’s uninhabitable.” He proffered the information as though it was the latest stock tip. “I need a place to stay.”

“Too bad.” Gracie’s primary goal was to get rid of him before Clay arrived. Disobliging the spoiled playboy at the same time was just a bonus. “There’s a motel out on the highway if you need a place to stay.”

“You said this place is a bed and breakfast. What about here?”

Because Clay will be here any second. “We aren’t open for the season.”

“I just need a room for one night. Someplace to sleep and plug in my laptop. It doesn’t have to be perfect. I’ll clear out first thing in the morning.” He upped the firepower of his smile from cajoling to megawatt.

The gesture had the exact opposite effect on Gracie than he probably expected. No way could he know that her disastrous association with Baxter had immunized her against the easy charm of entitled young men with too much money and too little character.

“Sorry.” She crossed her arms and refused to budge.

“Hey, c’mon,” he coaxed. “I gave you a ride.”

“Not until I asked,” she reminded him.

“And I’m asking you—”

”Gracie?” Gran said, coming down the hall. “Who’s here? Is it Cla—?”

“No.” She hoped she’d cut her off in time. Slanting her eyes toward Dylan, she checked for a reaction. “Just a tourist looking for a place to stay.”

Gran stopped in the doorway beside her. “I’m afraid we don’t open until next week.”

“So your granddaughter said.” Dylan treated her grandmother to the same persuasive smile he’d used on Gracie a minute before. “And I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you, but it’s kind of an emergency. If I could stay the night, I’d make it worth your while.”

“We-ell,” Gran began.

Seeing her soft-hearted grandmother waffling, Gracie stepped in. “Sorry, but no.”

“I’m Dylan Bradford.” He ignored Gracie and spoke directly to Gran. “I haven’t visited the area since I was a child, but I might be here fairly often in the future.”

Gran nodded, recognizing him, of course. “I’m Nora Lattimer.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Lattimer. Have you lived in East Langden long? Did you know my father’s family when they came here regularly?”

“I saw them around occasionally. My husband, Chester, worked for them at the mill.” Gran offered the information in her usual mild-mannered way, not mentioning that Granddad had been the mill’s master carpenter and that losing his job had been a financial catastrophe for them, or anything about the years of hardship that followed.

“I’ve heard my uncle say what a sad day it was for the family when the business here closed.” The high-voltage smile dimmed appropriately.

Gracie swallowed a snort of disbelief. “I’ll wager it was a sadder day for the workers.”

After a slicing glance, he resumed ignoring her. “Gracie said there’s a hotel on the highway. May I use your phone to see if there are any vacancies? I dropped mine in a puddle earlier and it stopped working.”

“I’m sure The Granite Inn has vacancies.” Gracie said. “Is that what happened to your phone?”

“It won’t hurt to check.” Gran ushered Dylan down the hall to the landline in the kitchen. “Water and cell phones don’t mix. I’ve heard you should put a wet phone in a bowl of rice.”

“I’ll give that a try.” He dialed the number Gran provided. After a brief conversation, he hung up and turned to them with a smile. “All set. Mmm, something smells good.”

“We’re having a bite to eat,” Gran admitted. “Would you like to join us?”

“I wouldn’t want to impose.” He hung back from the table, making a show of his reluctance.

“You probably need to be on your way,” Gracie urged.

“Nonsense, Gracie. It’s nothing fancy, mind you, just some chowder, but we’d be happy to have you stay.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He rubbed his hands together. “A bowl of chowder sounds great. My grandmother’s cook used to make this all the time.”