A young physician, Dr. Abby Wilmore, attempts to escape her past by starting over at the Grand Canyon Clinic. Silently battling her own health issues, Abby struggles with adjusting to the demands of this unique rural location. She encounters everything from squirrel bites to suicides to an office plagued by strong personalities. While tending to unprepared tourists, underserved locals, and her own mental trials, Abby finds herself entangled in an unexpected romance and trapped amidst a danger even more treacherous than the foreboding desert landscape. Sandra Cavallo Miller’s debut novel transports readers to the beautiful depths of Arizona and weaves an adventurous and heartwarming tale of the courage and strength it takes to overcome personal demons and to find love. “Part  Grey’s Anatomy , part modern western romance, Miller’s enjoyable story marries unexpected diagnoses with the promise of a happily-ever-after and will please fans of Jojo Moyes.” — Publishers Weekly   “The Color of Rock  is a brilliant novella, a mix of local color and subtle literary merit.” — Seattle Book Review “Part romance, part women's fiction, and a touch of mystery thriller. This is a perfect fall read, that will keep you turning the pages until you finish it. . . . It's chicklit with heart.” — Bless Their Hearts Mom blog “[Sandra Cavallo Miller’s] novels not only fill the empty spots on the bookshelf for women in medicine, but also medical fiction in general.” — PHOENIX magazine   Dr. Miller has created a page turner with real and endearing characters. You will vicariously hike in the Grand Canyon and witness some of its secrets. You’ll even learn a little medicine as you watch a delightful romance unfold. -- Therese Zink, MD, MPH, family physician and writer Sandra Cavallo Miller is an author, poet, and retired academic family physician. Her writings and poems have been published in JAMA’s A Piece of My Mind , Pulse: Voices From the Heart of Medicine , Under the Sun , and American Journal of Kidney Diseases . The Color of Rock  is her debut novel. She lives in Phoenix, Arizona.   Chapter One For the second time that morning, Abby resisted the urge to swerve from her jogging path and cross the road, to cut through the sun-spattered woods and follow the deep pull of gravity she felt from the canyon, to go gaze again into those burnished depths, those shattered cliffs. She reminded herself that the canyon wasn’t going anywhere and there would be plenty of time once she was settled to ponder those elaborate layers, sliced open like the most astonishing confection ever fabricated. The incense of pine filled the air, and the soft slapping rhythm of her sneakers steadied her mind. Starting over was no small thing. Starting over after nearly losing yourself, even more. Early light splashed her face through the trees as she reviewed her relaxation mantras. There would be no room for anxiety today. Breathe deep, and capture the day. Abby moved past the campground as tourists began to rise, the fragrance of coffee and bacon drifting through the woods. Glancing over, she imagined who might show up in her clinic that morning. That paunchy middle-aged man, struggling to lift an overloaded ice chest into his truck, was at risk for a bad back strain. That older woman, hunched at her picnic table sucking on a cigarette, had the gray complexion of a heart patient, and this altitude could easily trigger her angina. No distractions, she chided herself. She dropped into a walk, panting softly in the thin air at seven thousand feet—a drastic change from Phoenix. Hurrying into her house, she skimmed off her running clothes and showered quickly, pulled her chestnut hair back into a messy bun. Maybe a little severe, but very professional. As she strode out the door, she fingered the shiny new key in her pocket, the key to the back door of the Grand Canyon Clinic. She was early, staff just arriving. First days were rarely good days for Abby, who realized she was too cautious, too self-critical. Her recent loss of confidence didn’t help, but she knew herself well enough to understand that the only way past it was through it. Abby swallowed hard and introduced herself to the busy nurse who was straightening supplies in the exam rooms. It felt like home, the familiar smells of antiseptic and soap, the spotless floors and counters. “Dr. Wilmore,” she said, shaking the nurse’s hand. “Abigail Wilmore. But everyone calls me Abby.” “Dolores Diaz,” the nurse replied, taking Abby’s hand warmly in both of hers. She was fiftyish, stout, her kind face framed by short dark hair laced with silver. “Welcome to the asylum!  I’m so glad to meet you. I’ve heard such nice things.” “Really?” Abby smiled. “Rumors, most likely.” “Come on, follow me. I know Dr. Pepper is anxious to see you.” Abby kept a straight face. In his place, she probably would have changed her name. Dr. Pepper—how could he tolerate the inevitable teasing,