First Impressions (7 page)

“Shane . . .” Concerned with the damp eyes and rollicking laughter, Donna searched for the right thing to say.

“Oh, I wish I had known before so I could have congratulated him.” Almost beside herself with delight, Shane laid her forehead on the table. Taking this as a sign of a broken heart, Donna put a comforting hand on her hair.

“Shane, you mustn't take on so.” Her own eyes filled as she gently stroked Shane's hair. “Cy isn't for you. You deserve better.”

The statement sent Shane into a fresh peal of laughter. “
Oh, Donna!
Oh, Donna, do you remember how she always wore those neat little coordinates to school? And she got straight As in home economics.” Shane was forced to take deep breaths before she could continue. “She did a term paper on planning household budgets.”

“Please, darling, don't think about it.” Donna cast her eyes around the kitchen, wondering if there were any medicinal brandy in the house.

“She'll have her own shoe trees,” Shane said weakly. “I just know it. And she'll label them so they don't get them mixed up. Oh, Cy!” On a new round of giggles, she pounded a fist on the table. “Laurie. Laurie MacAfee!”

Almost frantic with concern, Donna gently lifted Shane's face. “Shane, I . . .” With a jolt she saw that rather than being devastated, her friend was simply overcome with amusement. For a moment, Donna stared into round dancing eyes. “Well,” she said dryly, “I knew you'd be upset.”

Shane howled with laughter. “I'm going to give them a Victorian whatnot as a wedding present. Donna,” she added with grinning gratitude, “you've made my day. Absolutely made it.”

“I knew you'd take it badly,” Donna said with a baffled smile. “Just try not to weep in public.”

“I'll keep my chin up,” Shane promised, then smiled. “You're sweet. Did you really think I was carrying a torch for Cy?”

“I wasn't sure,” Donna admitted. “You were . . . well, an item for so long, and I knew how crushed you were when the two of you broke up. You'd never talk about it after that.”

“I needed some time to lick my wounds,” Shane told her. “They've been healed over for a long while. I was in love with him, but I got over it. He put a large dent in my pride. I survived.”

“I could have killed him at the time,” Donna muttered darkly. “Two months before the wedding.”

“Better than two months after,” Shane pointed out logically. “We would never have made a go of it. But now, Cy and Laurie MacAfee . . .”

This time they both broke out into laughter.

“Shane.” Donna gave her a sudden sober look. “A lot of people are going to be thinking you still care for Cy.”

Shane shrugged it off. “You can't do anything about what people think.”

“Or what they say,” Donna murmured.

“They'll find something more interesting to talk about before long,” Shane returned carelessly. “Besides, I have too much to do to be worried about it.”

“So I noticed from the pile of stuff on the porch. What's under that tarp?”

“Lumber and materials.”

“Just what are you going to do with it?”

“Nothing. Vance Banning's going to do it. Want some more cocoa.”

“Vance Banning!” Stunned, then fascinated, Donna leaned forward. “Tell me.”

“There's not much to tell. You didn't answer me,” Shane reminded her.

“What? No, no, I don't want any more.” Impatiently, she brushed the offer away. “Shane, what is Vance Banning going to do with your lumber and materials?”

“The carpentry work.”

“Why?”

“I hired him to do it.”

Donna gritted her teeth. “Why?”

“Because he's a carpenter.”

“Shane!”

Valiantly, Shane controlled a grin. “Look, he's out of work, he's talented, I needed someone who'd work under union scale, so . . .” She spread her hands.

“What have you found out about him?” Donna demanded the right to fresh news.

“Not much.” Shane wrinkled her nose. “Nothing, really. He doesn't say much.”

Donna gave her a knowing smirk. “I already knew that.”

A quick grin was Shane's response. “Well, he can be downright rude when he wants to. He has a lot of pride and a marvelous smile that he doesn't use nearly enough. Strong hands,” she murmured, then brought herself back. “And a streak of reluctant kindness. I think he can laugh at himself, but he's forgotten how. I know he's a workhorse because when the wind's right I can hear him hammering and sawing at all hours.” She glanced out the window in the direction of the path. “I'm in love with him.”

“Yes, but what—” Donna caught her breath and choked on it. “
What!
”

“I'm in love with him,” Shane repeated with an amused smile. “Would you like some water?”

For nearly a full minute, Donna only stared at her. She's joking, she told herself. But by Shane's expression, she saw her friend was perfectly serious. It was her duty, Donna decided, as a married woman starting on her second child, to point out the dangers of this kind of thinking.

“Shane,” she began in a patient, maternal tone, “you only just met the man. Now—”

“I knew it the minute I set my eyes on him,” Shane interrupted calmly. “I'm going to marry him.”

“Marry him!” Beyond words, Donna could only come up with sputters. Indulgently, Shane rose to pour her some water. “He—he asked you to marry him?”

“No, of course not.” Shane chuckled at the idea as she handed Donna a glass. “He only just met me.”

In an attempt to understand Shane's logic, Donna closed her eyes and concentrated. “I'm confused,” she said at length.

“I said I was going to marry him,” Shane explained, taking her seat again. “He doesn't know it yet. First I have to wait for him to fall in love with me.”

After setting the untouched water aside, Donna gave her a stern look. “Shane, I think you're under more strain than you realize.”

“I've been giving this a lot of thought,” Shane answered, ignoring Donna's comment. “Number one, why would I have fallen in love with him in the blink of an eye if it wasn't right? It must be right, so number two, sooner or later he's going to fall in love with me.”

Donna followed the pattern of thought and found it filled with snags. “And how are you going to make him do that?”

“Oh, I can't make him,” Shane said reasonably. Her voice was both serene and confident. “He'll have to fall in love with me just as I am and in his own time—the same way I fell in love with him.”

“Well, you've had some nutty ideas before, Shane Abbott, but this is the top.” Donna folded her arms over her chest. “You're planning on marrying a man you've known barely a week who doesn't know he's going to marry you, and you're just going to sit patiently by until he gets the idea.”

Shane thought for a moment, then nodded. “That's about it.”

“It's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard,” Donna stated, then let out a surprised laugh. “And knowing you, it'll probably work.”

“I'm counting on it.”

Leaning forward, Donna took Shane's hands in hers. “Why do you love him, Shane?”

“I don't know,” she answered immediately. “That's another reason I'm sure it's right. I know almost nothing about him except he's not a comfortable man. He'll hurt me and make me cry.”

“Then why—”

“He'll make me laugh too,” Shane interrupted. “And make me furious.” She smiled a little, but her eyes were very serious. “I don't think he'll ever make me feel—inadequate. And when I'm near him, I
know.
That's enough for me.”

“Yes.” Donna nodded, giving Shane's hands a squeeze. “It would be. You're the most loving person I've ever known. And the most trusting. Those are wonderful traits, Shane, and—well, dangerous. I only wish we knew more about him,” she added in a mutter.

“He has secrets,” Shane murmured, and Donna's eyes sharpened. “They're his until he's ready to tell me about them.”

“Shane . . .” Donna's fingers tightened on hers. “Be careful, please.”

A little surprised by the tone, Shane smiled. “I will. Don't worry. Maybe I am more trusting than most, but I have my defenses. I'm not going to make a fool of myself.” Unconsciously, she glanced out the window again, seeing the path to his house in her mind's eye. “He's not a simple man, Donna, but he is a good one. That much I'm sure of.”

“All right,” Donna agreed. Silently, she vowed to keep a close eye on Vance Banning.

For a long time after Donna left, Shane sat in the kitchen. The rain continued to pound. The steady drip from the ceiling plopped musically into the pan. She was aware of how reckless her words to Donna had been, yet she felt better having said them out loud.

No, she wasn't as blindly confident as she appeared. Inside, she was terrified by the knowledge that she loved so irrationally. She was trusting, yes, but not naive. She understood there was a price to pay for trust, and that often it was a dear one. Yet she knew her choice had already been made—or perhaps she'd never had one.

Rising, Shane switched off the lights and began to wander through the darkened house. She knew its every twist and turn, every board that creaked. It was everything familiar and comforting to her. She loved it. She knew none of Vance's twists and turns, none of his secret corners. He was everything strange and disturbing. She loved him.

If it had been a quiet, gentle love, she could have accepted it easily. But there was nothing quiet in the storm churning inside her. For all her energy and love of adventure, Shane had grown up in a slow, peaceful world where excitement was a run through the woods or a ride on the back of a tractor at haymaking. To fall suddenly in love with a stranger might seem romantic and wonderful in a story, but when it happened in real life, it was simply terrifying.

Shane walked upstairs, habitually avoiding the steps that creaked or groaned. The rain was a hollow, drumming sound all around her, whipped up occasionally by the wind to fly at the windows. Her bare feet met bare wood with a quiet patter. A small bucket caught the drip in the center of the hall. Expertly, she skirted around it.

Who was she to think all she had to do was to sit patiently by until Vance fell in love with her? she asked herself. After flipping on the light in her room, she went to stare at herself in the mirror. Was she beautiful? Shane asked her reflection. Alluring? With a half laugh, she rested her elbows on the dresser to look closer.

She saw the dash of freckles, the large dark eyes and cap of hair. She didn't see the stunning vitality, the temptingly smooth skin, the surprisingly sensual mouth.

Was that a face to send a man into raptures? she asked herself. The thought amused her so, that the reflection grinned back with quick good humor. Hardly, Shane decided, but she wouldn't want a man who looked only for a perfect face. No, she hadn't the face or figure to lure a man into love had she wanted to. She had only herself and the love in her heart.

Shane flashed the mirror a smile before she turned away to prepare for bed. She'd always thought love the ultimate adventure.

Chapter 6

Weak sunlight filtered through the bad-tempered clouds. The creek was swollen from the rainfall so that it ran its course noisily, hissing and complaining as it rounded the bend at the side of Shane's house. Shane was doing some complaining of her own.

The day before, she had moved her car out of the narrow driveway so that the delivery truck could have easy access to the back porch. Not wanting to ruin the grass, she had parked in the small square of dirt her grandmother had used as a vegetable garden. Once the car had been moved, Shane had become involved with the unloading of lumber and had promptly forgotten it. Now, it was sunk deep in mud, firmly resisting all efforts to get it out.

She pressed the gas lightly, tried forward, then reverse. She gunned the engine and swore. Slamming out of the driver's side, Shane sloshed ankle-deep in mire as she stomped back to the rear tire. She gave it an accusing stare, then kicked it.

“That's not going to help,” Vance commented. He had been watching her for the last few minutes, torn somewhere between amusement and exasperation. And pleasure. There was a simple pleasure in just seeing her. He'd stopped counting the times over the last few days that he'd thought of her.

Out of patience, Shane turned to him, hands on hips. Her predicament was annoying enough without the added benefit of an audience. “You might have let me know you were there.”

“You were . . . involved,” he said, glancing pointedly at her mired car.

She sent him a cool look. “You've got a better idea, I suppose.”

“A few,” he agreed, moving across the lawn to join her. Her eyes snapped with temper while her mouth pouted. Her boots were caked with mud past the ankle. Her jeans, rolled up to the calf, had fared little better. She looked ready to boil over at the first wrong word. A cautious man would have said nothing.

“Who the hell parked it in this mud hole?” Vance demanded.

“
I
parked it in this mud hole.” Shane gave the tire another fierce kick. “And it wasn't a mud hole when I did.”

He lifted a brow. “I suppose you noticed it rained all night.”

“Oh, get out of my way.” Incensed, Shane pushed him aside and stomped back to the driver's seat. She turned on the ignition, shoved the shift into first, then stepped heavily on the gas. Mud flew like rain. The car groaned and sank deeper.

For a moment, Shane could only pound on the steering wheel in enraged impotence. She would have dearly loved to tell Vance that she didn't require any assistance. There was nothing more infuriating than an amused, superior male . . . especially when you needed one. Forcing herself to take a deep breath, she climbed back out of the car to meet Vance's grin with icy composure. “What's the first of your few ideas?” she asked coolly.

“Got a couple of planks?”

Even more annoyed that she hadn't thought of it herself, Shane went to the shed and found two long, thin boards. Without fuss or conversation, Vance took them and secured them just under the front wheels, Shane folded her arms and tapped one muddy boot as she watched him.

“I'd have thought of that in a minute,” she muttered.

“Maybe.” Vance stood again to walk to the rear of the car. “But you wouldn't get anywhere the way your back wheels are stuck.”

Shane waited for him to make some comment on feminine stupidity. Then she would have an excuse to give him the full force of her temper. He merely studied her flushed face and furious eyes. “So?” she said at length.

Something suspiciously like a smile tugged at his mouth. Shane's eyes narrowed. “So, get back in and I'll push,” he said, then put a restraining hand on her arm. “Gentle on the gas this time, hot rod. Just put it in drive and easy does it.”

“It's a four-speed,” she told him with dignity.

“I beg your pardon.” Vance waited until she had waded her way back to the front of the car. For the first time in months, perhaps years, he had to make a concentrated effort to control laughter. “Let the clutch out slow,” he instructed after clearing his throat.

“I know how to drive,” she snapped, and slammed the door smartly. Frowning into the rearview mirror, Shane watched him until he gave her a nod. With meticulous care, she engaged the clutch and gently pressed on the gas. The front wheels crept slowly onto the planks. The back tires slid, then stuck, then ponderously moved again. Shane kept the speed slow and even. It was humiliating, she thought, glaring straight ahead, absolutely humiliating that he was going to get her out without a hitch.

“Just a little more,” Vance called to her, shifting his weight. “Keep it slow.”

“What?” Shane rolled down the window, then stuck her head out to hear his answer. As she did, her foot slipped and fell heavily on the gas. The car shot out of the mud like a banana squeezed from its peel. With a gasp, Shane hit the brake, rocking to an abrupt halt.

Closing her eyes, she sat for a moment and considered making a run for it. She didn't dare glance in the rearview mirror now. It wouldn't be difficult, she reflected, to make a U-turn, then keep right on going. But cowardice wasn't her way. She swallowed, bit her lip, then climbed out of the car to face the music.

Vance was kneeling in the mud. He was thoroughly splattered and hopping mad. “
You idiot!”
he shouted before Shane could say a word. Even as she started to agree with him, he continued. “What the hell did you think you were doing? Pea-brained little twit, I told you to take it
slow.
”

He didn't stop there. He swore at length, and fluently, but Shane lost track of the content. It was enough to know he was in a justifiable high rage, while she was fighting a desperate battle with laughter. She did her best, her very best, to keep her face composed and penitent. Feeling it would be unwise, as well as useless, to interrupt with apologies, she folded her lips, bit the bottom one and swallowed repeatedly.

At first she concentrated on keeping her eyes directly on his, hoping the fury there would kill the urge to giggle. But the sight of his mud-splattered face had her sides aching with restrained mirth. She hung her head, ostensibly from shame.

“I'd like to know who the hell told you you could drive,” Vance went on furiously. “And what person with a brain cell working would have parked the car in a swamp to begin with?”

“It was my grandmother's garden,” Shane managed in a strangled voice. “But you're right. You're absolutely right. I'm so sorry, really . . .” She broke off here as a gurgle of laughter rose dangerously. Clearing her throat, she hurried on. “Sorry, Vance. It was very”—she had to look over his head in order to compose herself—“careless of me.”

“Careless!”

“Stupid,” she amended quickly, thinking that might placate him. “Absolutely stupid. I'm really sorry.” Helplessly, she pressed both hands to her mouth, but the giggles came through. “I
am
sorry,” she insisted, giving up as he glared at her. “I don't mean to laugh. It's terrible.” Dizzy with the effort of trying to hold back, Shane bent over double. “Really awful,” she added on a howl of laughter.

“Since you think it looks like fun . . .” he muttered grimly, and grabbed her hand. Shane landed on her seat with a gentle splash and kept on laughing.

“I didn't—I didn't thank you,” she said on a peal of giggles, “for getting my car out.”

“Think nothing of it.” Most women, he mused, would have been infuriated to find themselves sitting in a pile of mud. Shane was laughing just as hard at herself as she had at him. His grin was completely unexpected and spontaneous. “Brat,” he accused, but Shane shook her head.

“Oh no, no I'm not, really.” She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. “It's just this terrible habit of laughing at the wrong time. Because I really am sorry.” The last word was drowned in a flood of laughter.

“I can see you are.”

“Anyway, I didn't get it
all
over you.” Scooping up some mud, she wiped it across his cheek. “I missed that part right there.” She made a little choking sound in her throat. “That's much better,” she approved.

“You aren't wearing nearly enough,” Vance returned. He trailed both muddy palms down her face. Trying to avoid him, Shane slid, ending up flat on her back. Vance's boom of laughter broke into her shriek. “Much better,” he agreed, then spotting the handful of mud she was about to heave, he made a grab for her arm. “Oh, no, you don't!”

As he laughed, she shifted. Vance landed half on his chest, half on his side. With a muttered curse, he propped himself up, studying her out of narrowed eyes.

“City boy,” she mocked on a whoop of appreciation. “Probably never been in a mud fight in your life.” She was too pleased with her maneuver to see the next one coming.

In a flash, Vance had her by the shoulders. Rolling her over, he straddled her, holding a hand to the back of her head. Lying full length, Shane looked wide-eyed at the mud inches away from her face.

“Oh, Vance, you
wouldn't!
” The helpless laughter bubbled still as she struggled.

“The hell I wouldn't.” He pushed her face an inch closer.

“Vance!” Though she was slippery as an eel by this time, Vance held her firmly, clamping his knees around her while his hand urged her down. As the distance between revenge and her nose lessened, Shane closed her eyes and held her breath.

“Give?” he demanded.

Cautiously, Shane opened one eye. She hesitated a moment, torn between the desire to win and the image of having her face pushed into the mud. She didn't doubt he'd do it. “Give,” she said reluctantly.

Abruptly, Vance rolled her over so that she lay in his lap. “City boy, huh?”

“You wouldn't have won if I weren't out of practice,” she told him. “It was just beginner's luck.”

Her eyes were mocking him. Her face was streaked with mud from his own fingers. The hands pressed against his chest were slippery with it. The grip on the back of her neck lightened until it was a caress. The hand at her hip roamed absently down her thigh as he lowered his eyes to her mouth. Slowly, without any conscious thought of doing so, Vance began to draw her closer.

Shane saw the change in his eyes and was suddenly afraid. Did she really have the defenses she had bragged to Donna about? Now that she was certain she loved him, could there be any defense? It was too fast, she thought frantically. It was all happening too fast. Breathless from the race of her heart, she scrambled up.

“I'll beat you to the creek,” she challenged, then was off in a flash.

Pondering her abrupt retreat, Vance watched her run around the side of the house. Normally, he would have considered it a ploy, but he found it didn't fit this time. Nothing about her fit, he concluded as he rose. Oddly, he realized he didn't seem to fit either. He hadn't realized he could find anything amusing or enjoyable about wrestling in the mud. Nor had he realized he could find a woman like Shane Abbott both intriguing and desirable. Trying to organize his thoughts, Vance walked around the side of the house to find her.

She had stripped off her boots and was wading knee-deep in the rushing creek water. “It's freezing!” she called out, then lowered herself to her waist. At the shock of cold, she sucked in her breath. “If it was warmer, we could walk down to Molly's Hole and take a quick swim.”

“Molly's Hole?” Watching her, Vance sat on the grass to pull off his own boots.

“Right around the bend.” She pointed vaguely in the direction of the main road. “Great swimming hole. Fishing too.” Shivering a bit, she rubbed at the front of her shirt to help the water take off the worst of the mud. “We're lucky it rained, or else the creek wouldn't be high enough to do any good.”

“If it hadn't rained, your car wouldn't have been stuck in the mud.”

Shane shot him a grin. “That's beside the point.” She watched him step into the water. “Cold?” she said sweetly when he winced.

“I should have pushed your face in,” he decided. Stripping off his shirt, Vance tossed it on the grassy bank before scrubbing at his hands and arms.

“You'd have felt really bad if you had.” Shane rubbed her face with creek water.

“No, I wouldn't have.”

Glancing up, Shane laughed. “I like you, Vance. Gran would have called you a scoundrel.”

He lifted a brow. “Is that praise?”

“Her highest,” Shane agreed, rising to rub at the thighs of her jeans. They were plastered against her, molding her legs while her shirt clung wetly to her breasts. The cold had her nipples taut, straining against the thin cotton. Involved with cleaning off her clothes, she chattered, sublimely unaware they left her as good as naked.

“She loved scoundrels,” Shane continued. “I suppose that's why she put up with me. I was always getting into one scrape or another.”

“What kind?” Vance's torso was wet, cleaned of mud now, but he stayed where he was. Her body was exquisitely formed. He wondered how he hadn't noted before how perfectly scaled it was—small round breasts, wasp-thin waist, narrow hips, lean thighs.

“I don't like to brag.” Shane worked the mud from the slippery sleeves of her shirt. “But I can show you the best way into old man Trippet's orchard if you want to snitch a few green apples. And I used to have a great time riding Mr. Poffenburger's dairy cows.” Shane sloshed over to him. “Here, you haven't got it all off your face.” Cupping some water in her hand, she lifted it and began to clean his face herself. “I tore my britches on every farmer's fence for three miles,” she went on. “Gran would patch them up saying she despaired of my being any more than a hooligan.”

With one small, smooth hand, she methodically scrubbed Vance's face. The other she held balanced against his naked chest. He made no protest, but stood still, watching her.