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In her present agitation, the remark was hardly laughable. “I can't help feeling that I'm out of my league,” she sighed. “Here I am in a dress I made myself when he's used to taking out fashion models in designer clothes.”

“I have known Reece for ten years. He isn't the kind of man who judges a person's worth by the label on their clothes.” He applied the brake and made the turn into the cabin's driveway.

Stopping the car, he switched off the engine
and glanced at his passenger. She sat frozen in her seat while he climbed out of the car and walked around to open her door. Her hands were like ice when he helped her out of the car and closed the door.

Inside the cabin, Joanna had heard the car drive in and the first door being slammed shut. She unconsciously held her breath until she heard the second, half-afraid Reece might be right and Rachel Parmelee would back out at the last minute.

“They have arrived.” She stressed the plural slightly and glanced at her uncle to see his reaction.

But he continued to stare out the window at the lake. Joanna sighed, wanting to shake him. At the rap on the door, she crossed the room to admit their guests. She pushed open the screen door and smiled warmly.

“Come in. I see Linc managed to get you here safely,” she said addressing her comments to Rachel and ignoring Linc—on the surface. An inner radar was completely sensitive to his presence. “Was the traffic very heavy?”

“No.” Even as the widow entered the cabin, her gaze was racing past Joanna.

A hint of pink appeared in the woman's cheeks, almost a match to the pale pink dress she was wearing. Joanna stole a look over her shoulder, already guessing the cause for the widow's faint blush.

Reece was standing near the center of the living room, waiting to greet their guests. Joanna
wished he would smile and get rid of that proudly courteous look.

“Hello, Reece,” Rachel greeted him in a stilted fashion.

“Good evening, Rachel,” he responded in a like manner.

They both sounded so formal that Joanna wouldn't have been surprised if he'd made a stiff and courtly bow over the widow's hand. Her mouth tightened.

“I think it's going to be cool tonight,” Linc murmured as he paused beside her.

She flashed him a glance that said she knew exactly what he meant. Although when his hand moved to the hollow of her back to guide her into the room with the others, she felt anything but cool. She shifted away from his touch at the first opportunity.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” she urged and excused herself. “I have to check on dinner. Why don't you offer them a drink, Reece?”

“What would you like?” her uncle inquired of his guests while Joanna retreated to the kitchen and left them to break the ice—literally. “A glass of sherry? Wine?”

“A glass of sherry, please,” Rachel requested because she'd read in books that's what real ladies ordered.

“I'll have a beer,” Linc said.

A liquor tray was sitting on one of the tables, complete with decanters, glasses, and an ice bucket. But it included no beer, which Linc had already noted.

“Fix Rachel's drink. I know where the beer is kept.” He crossed to the kitchen archway, leaving the two of them alone in the room.

After pouring the glass of sherry, Reece handed it to Rachel. His dark gaze probed her expression, but it was locked against him—as it always was.

“You have turned down all of my invitations to dinner. My niece must be more persuasive than I am,” he murmured.

What could she say? That she had been wrong to accept this one? That would have been too rude. “She is a very lovely girl,” Rachel said as if that explained it and sipped at the sherry.

Its dryness seemed to cake her tongue, leaving a strong after-taste. It had been a mistake to order it. She should have asked for something she knew she would like instead of attempting to impress Reece. She watched him splash whiskey into a tumbler of ice cubes and wished she could trade with him.

“Please sit down.” He gestured toward the seat cushion of the sofa while he chose the armchair on its left. There was an aura of worldly authority about him that seemed so natural.

Rachel tried to emulate his aloof composure as she sank gracefully—or so she hoped—onto the couch. She couldn't help noticing how well the silk shirt fit the cut of his shoulders. He was so trim and manly that she couldn't look at him without feeling that wild fluttering in her stomach.

She had never believed such men truly existed, which was why she couldn't believe someone like Reece was really interested in her. For all intents and purposes, she had never been out of the Ozarks in her life except for that one trip to Chicago twenty years ago.

She took another sip of the sherry and almost couldn't swallow it. She tried to be very casual when she set the glass on the coffee table.

“Is the sherry too dry?” Reece inquired.

“It's fine,” she lied.

Joanna was slipping a bibbed apron over her head when Linc walked into the kitchen. She glanced at him, sharply curious and suspicious. The lazy flick of his glance sent a rippling warning along her nerve ends. She felt raw and exposed, on edge in his presence.

“Do you want a beer?” he asked and walked straight to the refrigerator.

“No thanks.” She tied the apron's bow at the back of her waist. The pop-top of an aluminum can sounded behind her as she turned on the burner under the pan of broccoli.

“Rachel made the dress she's wearing. You might want to compliment her on it,” Linc suggested.

Joanna glanced to the side where he was standing, a hip leaning against the counter and a can of beer in his hand. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, showing more of his bronzed torso than she felt safe to see.

“I'll remember that,” she said stiffly.

As she removed the potatoes from the oven, she switched the setting to broil for the trout. She was conscious of his eyes following her every move, tracking her like a cat sighting its prey.

“I never would have guessed you had domestic talents,” Linc remarked.

“I had a very good teacher,” she tried to keep the irritation out of her voice.

Tonight was too important for Reece. She didn't want to ruin it by losing her temper with Linc. It wouldn't be easy since he had the knack of rubbing her the wrong way. Completely unbidden, the thought came that he also knew how to rub her the right way; his kiss had been proof of that.

“Who? Your mother?”

“No—Reece. My mother has difficulty boiling water,” Joanna admitted on a rebellious note.

Linc made no comment on that, as he straightened from the counter. “It's getting awfully quiet in the living room. I suggest you serve dinner as soon as possible. It might make up for the lack of conversation.”

As he left the kitchen to rejoin the couple alone in the living room, Joanna conceded that he did have a point. Silence could become an insurmountable barrier. She remembered too well that Rachel had told her that she ran out of things to say after five minutes and Reece was showing no inclination to use his considerable charm to draw the woman into a conversation.
If that trend continued, it would be a long evening.

Removing the salad plates from the refrigerator, Joanna carried them out to the table. She glanced briefly into the living room where Linc seemed to be carrying the conversation. Her uncle didn't appear to be following the talk, his gaze continuously roaming over Rachel Par-melee who didn't look at him at all. When each of the place settings had a salad, Joanna slipped the broiler pan into the oven and took off her apron.

She entered the living room and paused near the table. “If you would come to the table, we can sit down for dinner.” The seating arrangements were simple, the men and women sitting opposite each other. “That's a very lovely dress,” she remarked and prompted her uncle, “Isn't it, Reece?”

“Yes, it is very lovely. Very becoming on you, Rachel,” he agreed with a display of his old charm.

The compliment was rewarded by the softening of the woman's features and the sparkle that brightened her eyes. Joanna thought that at last they were getting somewhere.

“Did you make it yourself, Rachel?” she asked.

The widow lowered her gaze to the table as she picked up her salad fork. “Yes, I did.”

Joanna interpreted the lowered eyes and quiet reply as a display of modesty. A knee nudged her right leg under the table. Since Linc was seated
on her right, it had to have been him. But she wasn't sure if it had been accidental or on purpose. Joanna slid him a glance and was confused by the hard look he was giving her.

Annoyed, she ignored him to concentrate on Rachel. “You certainly are an excellent seamstress. I wish you had time to give me some sewing lessons.”

There was an uncomfortable silence for several seconds during which Joanna instinctively glanced at Linc. His mouth was pulled down at the corners in dry exasperation.

“Sewing is a matter of practice,” Rachel replied at last. “A skill that is generally learned out of necessity.”

“But once it is learned, it would be a shame not to use it,” Reece inserted.

“Have you seen Jessie Bates lately?” Linc directed his question at Joanna, bringing about a complete change of topic.

“Not lately, no.” She eyed him warily. “Why?”

“I thought he might have regaled you with more tales and superstitions of the Ozarks,” he shrugged. “He is a walking encyclopedia of folklore.”

“Well, he hasn't.” Joanna was just as glad, too. She was still half convinced that she had made his superstition about the redbird flying across her path a self-fulfilling prophecy.

“I can remember one of my first meetings with Jessie,” Reece recalled with a smile. “He explained to me about the 'law of the hills.' ”

“What is the law of the hills?” Joanna was the
only one at the table who didn't smile at his comment.

“Ridgerunners—hill-folks—don't look favorably on the so-called outside authorities whether it's a sheriff, state, or federal agents. They prefer to handle their own problems,” Linc explained. “It's commonly known as hill 'just-us.' ”

At first, she thought he had said justice, then she caught his pun and smiled. “I won't ask how it works.” She finished her salad and noticed that her uncle had also. “Excuse me while I check on the trout.”

“Let me carry these plates out for you and help dish the food,” Rachel volunteered as Joanna pushed her chair away from the table.

Before she stood up, she felt the toe of Linc's boot nudge her foot. She smothered the burst of irritation. She was well aware of how to act with guests. She certainly didn't need any sideline coaching from him.

“No, you stay here,” Joanna refused the offer. “We didn't invite you here to put you to work. This is your day off.”

With the salad plates stacked in her hand, she carried them to the kitchen and set them in the sink. It only took a few minutes to dish up the broccoli and arrange the broiled trout on a platter. This only left the baked potatoes and the cheese sauce. When they were served, she rejoined them at the table.

“This cheese sauce is delicious, Joanna. So smooth. Did you make it?” Rachel asked.

“Yes, but I can't take the credit. The recipe is a
family secret,” she explained. “Actually I shouldn't say that because it belongs to Reece. He is a marvelous cook.”

“I didn't know that.” Rachel looked at him anew.

“Yes, I once considered training to be a master chef,” he admitted and shrugged. “Now it is merely a hobby.”

“With your hours, I doubt if you have much time to cook, do you, Rachel?” Joanna remarked sympathetically and was kicked in the shin by Linc. She breathed in sharply at the pain but he was already talking, covering her small sound.

“I don't know about you, Rachel, but I can fix a mean batch of scrambled egss,” he declared, mocking their culinary feats.

“That's more in my Linc,” Rachel admitted with a wan smile.

Through the rest of the main course and into dessert and coffee, the conversation vacillated over various subjects without ever becoming truly lively. On two other occasions, Joanna was prodded by Linc's foot. She no more understood the cause for it then than she did the other times.

Rachel finished her coffee and replaced the cup on its saucer. “I enjoyed the meal, Joanna, and I insist that you let me help with the cleanup.”

“Sorry.” Her smile was bright as she refused Rachel's offer again. “But Linc has already volunteered for kitchen duty tonight. This time you can relax after dinner and chat with Reece.”

Joanna noticed how ill at ease the woman looked at the prospect, but it couldn't be helped. The object of this evening was to get the two together. Joanna carried some of the remaining dishes into the kitchen and Linc brought the rest.

“Did I
volunteer
to wash the dishes or dry them?” Linc mocked.

“Dry.” The dishes clattered loudly as she stacked them in the sink with an impatient disregard for their breakability. “And would you mind explaining why you kept kicking me all night? It's a miracle I'm not limping.”

“I was trying to keep you from putting your foot in your mouth, but I'm now convinced that's impossible,” he said dryly.

“Why? What did I do?” Joanna stopped to stare at him incredulously.

“Do you want that answered point by point or just the highlights?” He lifted a dark brow in mocking inquiry.

“The highlights will do.” She jammed the stopper in the sink drain and wished it was his face.

“A candlelight dinner isn't exactly subtle. You should have barbequed steaks outside so it could have been less formal and more relaxed. The only thing missing tonight was the violin music in the background.”

“And?” She tightly prompted him to continue, irritated by the common sense of his answer.