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across the path behind them. “They’re the first I’ve seen since I’ve been home.” Captivated, she watched them until they were out of sight. “There’s deer too. I’ve seen the signs, but I haven’t been able to catch sight of any yet.” She gave a contented sigh as the quail rustled in the woods. All at once, she remembered the condition of her hand.
    “Oh, Vance, I’m sorry!” Releasing him, she jumped to her feet. “Did I get any on you?”
    For an answer, he turned his palm up, studying the white smear ironically.
    “I really am sorry,” she managed, choking on a giggle. He shot her a look as she struggled to swallow the irrepressible laughter. “No, really I am. Here.” Taking the hem of her T-shirt, Shane lifted it to rub unsuccessfully at his palm. Her stab at assistance exposed the pale, smooth skin of her midriff.
    “You’re rubbing it in,” Vance said mildly, trying not to be affected by the flash of skin or the glimpse of her narrow waist.
    “It’ll come off,” she assured him while she fought a desperate battle with laughter. “I must have some turpentine or something.” Though Shane pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, the giggle escaped. “I
am
sorry,” she claimed, then dropped her forehead on his chest. “And I wouldn’t laugh if you’d stop looking at me that way.”
    “What way?”
    “Patiently.”
    “Does patience usually send you into uncontrollable laughter?” he asked. Her hair carried the scent of her shampoo, a faint tang of lemon. It was odd that he would think just then of the honey-sweetness of her mouth.
    “Too many things do,” she admitted in a strangled voice. “It’s a curse.” She drew a deep breath but left her hand on his chest as she tried to compose herself. “One of my students drew a deadly caricature of his biology teacher. When I saw it, I had to leave the room for fifteen minutes before I could pretend I disapproved.”
    Vance drew her away, unnerved by his unwanted, unreasonable response to her. “Didn’t you?”
    “Disapprove?” Grinning, Shane shook her head. “I wanted to, but it was so good. I took it home and framed it.”
    Suddenly, she became aware that he was holding her arms, that his thumbs were caressing her bare skin while his eyes watched her in the deep, guarded way he had. Looking at him, Shane was certain he was unaware of the gentle, intimate gesture. There was nothing gentle in his eyes. If she had followed her first instinct, she would have risen to her toes and kissed him. It was what she wanted—what she sensed he wanted as well. Something warned her against making the move. Instead, she stood still. Her eyes met his calmly, with no secrets to be seen in them. All of the secrets were his, and at that moment, they both knew it.
    Vance would have been more comfortable with secrets than candor. When he realized that he was holding her, that he wanted to go on holding her, he released her.
    “You’d better get back to your painting,” he said. “I’ll take those measurements.”
    “All right.” Shane watched him walk to the door. “There’s hot water in the kitchen if you want some tea.”
    What a strange man, she thought, frowning after him. Unconsciously, she lifted a finger to the warm spot on her arm where his flesh had touched hers. What had he been looking for, she wondered, when he had searched her eyes so deeply? What did he expect to find? It would be so much simpler if he would only ask her the questions he had. Shrugging, Shane went back to her painting.
    Vance paused by the foot of the stairs and glanced at the living room. Surprised, he walked in for a closer look. It was clean as a whistle, with every vase, lamp and knickknack packed away in labeled boxes.
    She must have really worked, he thought. That compact little body stored a heavyweight energy. She had ambition, he concluded, and the guts to carry it through. Whatever her former fiancé termed her, Vance would hardly