First Impressions

“You’ve cut yourself off from your feelings, Vance, and it eats at you.”
    “You don’t know a damn thing,” he tossed back, only more enraged to hear her speak the truth.
    As he glared at her, Shane heard a bird set up a strident song in the woods behind her. The high, piercing notes suited the air of tension and anger. “You’re not nearly as hard or cold as you’d like to think,” she said calmly.
    “You don’t know anything about me,” he countered furiously, grabbing her arms again.
    “And it infuriates you when the guard slips,” Shane continued without breaking rhythm. “It infuriates you even more that you might actually feel something for me.” His fingers loosened on her arms, and Shane drew away. “I don’t push you, but something else certainly does. No, I don’t know what it is, but you do.” She took a long steadying breath as she studied him. “You’ve got to fight your own tug-of-war, Vance.”
    Turning, she walked to the house, leaving him staring after her.

Chapter 7
    He couldn’t stop thinking of her. In the weeks that passed, the mountains became a riot of color. The air took on the nip of fall. Twice, Vance spotted deer through his own kitchen window. And he couldn’t stop thinking of her.
    He split his time between the two houses. His own was taking shape slowly. Vance calculated he would be ready to start the more detailed inside work by winter.
    Shane’s was progressing more quickly. Between roofers and plumbers, the house had been bedlam for more than a week. The old kitchen had been gutted and stood waiting for new paint and trim. Shane had waited patiently for rain after the roof had been repaired. Then she had checked all the familiar spots for signs of leaks. Oddly, she found herself a trifle sad that she didn’t have to set out a single pan or bucket.
    The museum area was completely finished. While Vance worked elsewhere, Shane busied herself arranging and filling the display cases that had been delivered.
    At times she would be gone for hours, hunting up treasures at auctions and estate sales. He always knew the moment she returned because the house would spring to life again. In the basement, she’d set up a workroom where she refinished certain pieces or stored others. He saw her dash out or dash in. He saw her carting tables, dragging packing boxes, climbing ladders. He never saw her idle.
    Her attitude toward him was just as it had been from the first—friendly and open. Not once did she mention what had happened between them. It took all of his strength of will not to touch her. She laughed, brought him coffee and gave him amusing accounts of her adventures at auctions. He wanted her more every time he looked at her.
    Now, as he finished up the trim on what had been the summer parlor, Vance knew she was downstairs. He went over his work critically, checking for flaws, while the simple awareness of her played havoc with his concentration. It might be wise, he thought, to take a trip back to Washington. So far, he had handled everything pertaining to his company by phone or mail. There was nothing urgent that required his attention, but he wondered if it wouldn’t be wise to have a week of distance. She was haunting him. Plaguing him, Vance corrected. On a wave of frustration he packed his tools. The woman was trouble, he decided. Nothing but trouble.
    Still, as he got ready to leave, Vance detoured to the basement steps. He hesitated, cursed himself, then started down.
    Dressed in baggy cord jeans and a hip-length sweater, she was working on a tilt-top table. Vance had seen the table when Shane had first brought it in. It had been scarred and scratched and dull. Flushed with excitement, she had claimed to have bought it for a song, then had hustled it off to the basement. Now, the grain of mahogany gleamed through the thin coats of clear lacquer she had applied. She was industriously buffing it with paste wax. The basement smelled of tung oil and lemon.
    Vance would have turned to go back upstairs, but Shane raised her head and saw him. “Hi!” Her smile welcomed him before she gestured him over. “Come take a look. You’re the expert on wood.” As he crossed the room, Shane stood back to survey her work. “The hardest thing now,” she muttered as she twisted a curl around her finger, “is going to be parting with it. I’ll make a nice profit. I only paid a fraction of its worth.”
    Vance ran a fingertip over the surface. It was baby smooth