First Impressions

came to the end of the path, he stopped to watch her. She had nearly a third of the porch done. Her arms were splattered with tiny specks of white. The radio blared, and she sang exuberantly along with it. Her hips kept the beat. As she moved, the thin, faded material of her shorts strained over her bottom. That she was having a marvelous time with the homey chore was as obvious as her lack of skill. A smile tugged at his mouth when Shane leaned over for the bucket and rested her palm on the wet paint. Cheerfully, she swore, then wiped her hand haphazardly on the back of her shorts.
    “I thought you said you could paint,” Vance commented.
    Shane started, nearly upsetting the contents of the bucket as she turned. Still on all fours, she smiled at him. “I said I could paint. I didn’t say I was neat.” Lifting her hand, she shielded her eyes against the sun and watched him walk to her. “Did you come to supervise?”
    He looked down at her and shook his head. “No, I think it’s already too late for that.”
    Shane lifted a brow. “It’s going to be just fine when I’ve finished.”
    Vance made a noncommittal sound. “I’ve got a list of materials for you, but I need to make a few more measurements.”
    “That was quick.” Shane sat back on her haunches. Vance shrugged, not wanting to admit he’d written it out in the middle of the night when sleep had eluded him. “There was something else,” she continued, stretching her back muscles. Leaning over, she turned down the volume on the radio so that it was only a soft murmur. “The front porch.”
    Vance glanced down at her handiwork. “Have you painted that too?”
    Correctly reading his impression of her talents, Shane made a face. “No, I didn’t paint that too.”
    “That’s a blessing. What stopped you?”
    “It’s falling apart. Maybe you can suggest what I should do about it. Oh, look!” Shane grabbed his hand, forgetting the paint as she spotted a family of quail bobbing single file 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