First Impressions

place. They say it was beautiful once. I think there used to be a balcony around the second story.”
    She glanced up. “It’s a shame the fire did so much damage to the inside—and then all the years of neglect.” She looked at him then with dark, interested eyes. “Are you a carpenter?”
    Vance hesitated briefly, then shrugged. It was close to the truth. “Yes.”
    “That’s handy, then.” Shane accepted the answer, attributing his hesitation to embarrassment at being out of work. “After D.C. you must find the mountains a change.” His mobile brow lifted again and Shane grinned. “I’m sorry. It’s the curse of small towns. Word gets around quickly, especially when a flatlander moves in.”
    “Flatlander?” Vance leaned against the post of the railing.
    “You’re from the city, so that’s what you are.” She laughed, a quick bubbling sound. “If you stay for twenty years, you’ll still be a flatlander, and this will always be the old Farley place.”
    “It hardly matters what it’s called,” he said coldly.
    The faintest of frowns shadowed her eyes at his response. Looking at the proud, set face, Shane decided he would never accept open charity. “I’m doing some work on my place too,” she began. “My grandmother loved clutter. I don’t suppose you could use a couple of chairs? I’m going to have to haul them up to the attic unless someone takes them off my hands.”
    His eyes stayed level on hers with no change of expression. “I have all I need for now.”
    Because it was the answer she had expected, Shane treated it lightly. “If you change your mind, they’ll be gathering dust in the attic. You’ve got a good piece of land,” she commented, gazing over at the section of pasture in the distance. There were several outbuildings, though most were in desperate need of repair. She wondered if he would see to them before winter set in. “Are you going to have livestock?”
    Vance frowned, watching her eyes roam over his property. “Why?”
    The question was cold and unfriendly. Shane tried to overlook that. “I can remember when I was a kid, before the fire. I used to lie in bed at night in the summer with the windows open. I could hear the Farley cows as clearly as if they were in my grandmother’s garden. It was nice.”
    “I don’t have any plans for livestock,” he told her shortly, and picked up his hammer again. The gesture of dismissal was crystal clear.
    Puzzled, Shane studied him. Not shy, she concluded. Rude. He was plainly and simply rude. “I’m sorry I disturbed your work,” she said coolly. “Since you’re a flatlander, I’ll give you some advice. You should post your property lines if you don’t want trespassers.”
    Indignantly, Shane strode back to the path to disappear among the trees.

Chapter 2
    Little twit, Vance thought as he gently tapped the hammer against his palm. He knew he’d been rude, but felt no particular regret. He hadn’t bought an isolated plot of land on the outskirts of a dot on the map because he wanted to entertain. Company he could do without, particularly the blond cheerleader type with big brown eyes and dimples.
    What the hell had she been after? he wondered as he drew a nail from the pouch on his hip. A cozy chat? A tour of the house? He gave a quick, mirthless laugh. Very neighborly. Vance pounded the nail through the wood in three sure strokes. He didn’t want neighbors. What he wanted, what he intended to have, was time to himself. It had been too many years since he had taken that luxury.
    Drawing another nail out of the pouch, he moved down the rail. He set it, then hammered it swiftly into place. In particular, he hadn’t cared for the one moment of attraction he had felt when he had seen her in the general store. Women, he thought grimly, had an uncanny habit of taking advantage of a weakness like that. He didn’t intend for it to happen to him again. He had plenty of scars to remind him what went on behind big, guileless eyes.
    So now I’m a carpenter, he mused. With a sardonic grin, Vance turned his hands palms up and examined them. They were hard and calloused. For too many years, he mused, they had been smooth, used to signing contracts or writing checks. Now, for a time, he was back where he had started—with wood. Yes, until he was ready to sit behind a desk again, he was a carpenter.
    The house, and the very fact that it was falling to pieces, gave him the sense of purpose that had slipped from him