Can’t Say No

“Can’t find a thing.”

Already paid for it, you must, she scribbled rapidly on her pad, but he’d turned to answer another customer’s question, and he didn’t see the note. He just winked again in her direction. Two customers later, she regained his attention, at least insofar as he leaned on the countertop and stared at her like a lovesick calf. “Hi again.”

Weren’t there child labor laws in this state? The kid couldn’t have been eighteen.

My car, Bree scrawled desperately.

“Maybe it was another rental agency? You want a phone?”

A phone was as useful to her as diamonds in the desert. Tears were so ridiculously close she was ashamed of herself. She never cried. Please look again, she scribbled, and sent pleading eyes to the young redhead.

“Hey, look, no problem. There’s a convention in town, and we’re booked up, but we’ll get you something.” The boy brought back a computer list, suggesting three gas guzzlers that would cost her twice as much as the one she had arranged for.

Bree closed her eyes in frustration, dragging one hand through her hair.

“Now what’s the problem?” growled a baritone next to her.

Bree’s spine turned ruler-straight, her lips twisting in a stiff smile. “Nothing,” she mouthed to Hart.

“No problem exactly, mister…” The redhead explained the mix-up with a happy grin. That grin gradually faded as Hart let forth a stream of invective.

Fifteen minutes later, Bree had in her hand the keys to an affordable compact, and faced the nasty job of having to thank her rescuer. “Thanks,” she mouthed tightly.

“Can’t understand a word. I admit I’m fascinated by your game of not talking, but the immediate priority is food for the hungry. Usually, I offer a woman a meal before we’ve slept together-you’re a passionate snuggler, aren’t you, Bree? Or at least you were until you decided to start screaming. Now, now…” Hart shot her a lazy grin when her eyebrows shot up in outrage. He added in a whisper, “I had to pick up your name from the rental agent, since you’re so stingy with conversation. You look like hell, you know. Actually, a lot of men would probably burn for the way you look. I fail to understand why there isn’t a ring on your finger. You’ve been in Siberia for the last decade? Never mind. You can explain it all to me in sign language while we’re eating.”

A lynching, truthfully, would be too good for him. People were staring at them. Actually, it wasn’t people but women, looking not at them but at him. He drew every feminine eye as they passed, with his nauseating Greek-god profile and commanding stride. Furthermore, he was actually trying to tow her along with him…at least until she dug in her heels at the restaurant door, shaking her head vigorously.

“I take it that’s supposed to mean no? Honey, I’ve heard more noes that mean yes from women than there’s honey in a beehive. I watched you the entire time you were racing around the airport-and we both know you’re in no shape to drive. You could barely keep your eyes open getting off the plane, and your stomach was grumbling half the night. And you have a headache, don’t you?”

She shook her head in denial.

He tapped her nose gently with his forefinger. “And you’re a fibber. Amazing how a woman can fib without even talking.”

An hour later, Bree climbed into her rental car, locked the doors, checked the locks on all the doors, started the engine and jammed her foot on the accelerator. The weariness and depression that had been following her like a shadow these past weeks were gone. Every cell in her body was vibrating with life, after an incredible hour of that man staring at her over a restaurant table. He hadn’t been happy until she’d eaten ham, sausage, eggs and hash browns with two cups of coffee…She never ate that kind of breakfast.

Nor had she ever met a pushier, nosier man than Hart Manning. The less she answered his questions, the more he looked as if he’d gotten hold of a priceless puzzle that increasingly intrigued him. And he’d almost-once-made her laugh, with his coaxing grin and irreverent humor. She’d stopped herself in time. A woman should never encourage a stranger, and she could guess his intentions from the way he kept looking at her, at her breasts and throat and eyes…it was nerve-racking. The man was probably in heat constantly. She’d had a cat like that once.

She’d gotten rid of the cat.

A car zoomed past her, and she flicked her eyes in the rearview mirror. And blinked. A navy blue Lexus was just behind her, and the driver had a leonine mane, eyes that matched his car and a large, powerful hand that waved, all friendly-like.

Swiftly, her eyes returned to the road. Not that she could exactly accuse him of following her-he’d happily volunteered his own destination as a vacation cabin in the town just short of hers. That was still no excuse for his edging behind her as though she needed a caretaker. Her foot snapped down on the accelerator. So she looked sleepy, did she?

An hour earlier she could have fallen asleep in Grand Central Station, but now, thanks to that… bully, she couldn’t have been less tired.

And as for looking like hell…hurriedly, she glanced at the mirror again, only to see that she might look a little tired, but hardly comatose. Her hair was lustrous and shiny, her skin clear, her green eyes snapping with energy, and she’d taken care of those little circles with makeup in the restroom. There was nothing wrong with the way she looked. Nothing.

Except for the delicate frown between her brows when she saw the flashing yellow light trailing her. Pulling over, Bree stopped the engine, took several deep, calming breaths, opened the window and faced the policeman.

“Going fifteen miles over by the clock. License and registration, please.”

Mortified, Bree hurriedly complied. She’d never in her life received a speeding ticket. The gentleman in the tan uniform was more than happy to educate her as to how it was done. Cheeks flaming, Bree accepted the oblong bit of paper and the stern admonition to control her hot-foot tendencies. Only by chance did she glance behind her.

Hart had pulled his navy Lexus off the highway some distance behind her. He was yawning. Yawning!

For the next three hours, her speedometer never once bounced above fifty-five. Neither did her shadow’s.

Gradually, rolling hills led to mountains, and the road began to dip and curve. Streams gushed over the hillsides, stripes of silver where the sun hit. After a time, Bree flicked off the air conditioning and rolled down the windows. The air was sultry, but the smell of pungent woods soothed her fragile nerves.

Hart was following her; she’d known from the minute he deliberately drove past his turnoff. It would be so simple to get rid of him if she could talk, but handicapped as she was, she felt utterly helpless. Then again, her polite no-thank-yous had gotten rid of any number of unwanted men-but she had a feeling they wouldn’t work with Hart. What would? She would have to do something about him. When she got to the cabin.

Not now, not yet. For now, she inhaled deeply and remembered why she had come here. There was no other place on earth like the mountains in South Carolina in April.

Clusters of trillium bubbled and tripped over the hillsides in incredible snow-white splashes. The woods were verdant and ripe with new growth; every leaf seemed to catch the sun. Silence was part of the magic. Suddenly, there were no cars except hers and Hart’s, just the soft shadows of woods, the occasional burst of secluded stream, the lush promise of shelter and privacy where no one would intrude.

The road to Gram’s cabin curved down and around a valley. A very few other vacation cottages stood along the road, but all of them were hidden from sight, with only crooked mailboxes to indicate their presence. The ravine was just past that stand of trees, completely invisible from the road, a lush sanctuary for wildlife and flowers, rising up a steep incline…Gram had loved it so. Gram…

Shoving the car into first gear for the last steep climb, Bree frowned absently, aware that she hadn’t thought of Gram in hours now, a first in how long?

Braking to a stop, she let a pent-up flow of weariness flood her limbs as she gazed at the cabin. A shake- shingled roof, log walls, a porch with a swing…Weeds had overgrown everything, but if the place looked disreputable to a civilized eye, Bree saw only happy memories. Eating warm chocolate cookies on that swing; toting