Read Online Whirlwind by Nancy Martin - Free Book Online Page A

off the porch. What was he so churned up about? She couldn’t imagine.
    But she found herself smiling. He was good-looking for an older man, after all. And there was something under that surly facade he tried to keep in place. Something very attractive and...well, vulnerable.
    She liked seeing his face change when she crossed him. His expression seemed so dead most of the time. Cliff looked like a man who was functioning underwater. Every reaction was slow and seemed filtered through a screen or something. But when she managed to make a remark that irritated him, Cliff looked like a completely different man. His eyes grew fiery, his mouth hardened and his careful speech—that modulated voice and slightly New England accent—became a direct link to his brain.
    Liza liked Cliff best when he got steamed enough to yell back at her. He was more alive. More human.
    Something was bugging him, though.
    â€œI think I’d better find out what it is,” Liza murmured to herself. “After all, it’s not healthy for a guy to keep secrets bottled up inside. It’s for his own good.”
    She stayed out of his way for the rest of the afternoon, but planned to get back to him later. In the meantime, there was work to do, after all. Busy with her sketch pad, Liza made more drawings, deciding on color palettes and curtain designs and what kinds of furniture she should coax her grandfather to buy to really make Timberlake look fabulous. Some of those Adirondack chairs, for instance. And a wrought iron table from Italy. And maybe an antique canoe suspended from the trusses—that was what the porch needed to give it style! Liza licked her pencil and made more notes.
    At sunset, however, the darkness drove her indoors again. In the kitchen, she found Cliff.
    â€œNo,” he snapped as he fixed a sandwich for himself. “You may not have anything to eat.”
    â€œHow about those fish you caught this morning?”
    â€œI ate them for lunch.”
    â€œI hope they gave you indigestion.”
    â€œI burned them, as a matter of fact.”
    She laughed at him and boosted herself up to sit on the counter so they could be eye to eye. With a quick tug, she pulled her skirt down over her thighs, then crossed her legs provocatively.
    She asked, “Are you going to try starving me out of the place? I’m hungry, Forrester. You can either share what you’ve got or drive me into town for a decent meal.”
    He glared at her for ten long seconds, then averted his gaze before she had a chance to read anything in his expression. He gave an infuriated sigh and shoved the sandwich plate across the kitchen counter at her, growling, “I hope your plans for renovating the lodge are better organized than your living arrangements.”
    â€œOh, don’t be a fuddy-duddy,” she said, settling down cross-legged to munch on the sandwich he’d prepared. “I’ll go to the store tomorrow and get us something really good. Do you like spaghetti with hot peppers? That’s my specialty.”
    â€œWhy? Because you can’t cook anything else?”
    She grinned, mouth full of delicious ham and Wisconsin cheese that had been liberally slathered with hot mustard. “I’m a lousy cook, as a matter of fact. How’d you guess?”
    â€œShot in the dark,” he said shortly, setting about makinganother sandwich. He worked without haste, putting two slices of whole wheat bread on a new plate and carefully arranging lettuce on both pieces. It was amazing how careful he was, his large hands surprisingly agile and quick, but precise. He said, “Cooking takes care and patience, two qualities you don’t seem to have in abundance.”
    Liza shrugged amiably, not taking offense. “I hate following other people’s directions, even in recipes. I’d rather toss in a little extra spice and see what happens, you know? And I lean toward very hot things. I like zip in