First Impressions

morning’s profits weren’t extraordinary, but solid enough to help Shane stop worrying over the large chunk of her capital that she had given to her mother. The wolf wasn’t at the door yet, she told herself optimistically. And with luck—and the Christmas rush—she could hold him off for quite some time. Two or three good sales would keep her books from dipping too deeply into the red. Professionally, she wanted little more at the moment than to calmly tread water. Personally, she knew precisely what she wanted, and she had every intention of seeing to it quickly.
    She was going to marry Vance, and it was time she told him so. If he was too proud to ask her because he didn’t yet have a steady job, she would simply have to persuade him to see things differently. Shane had made up her mind to take a firm stand that very day. There was an excitement bubbling inside her, a sense of purpose. Today, she thought, almost giddy from it, nothing could hurt her. She was going to propose to the man she loved. And she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
    “Pat, can you handle things if I go out for an hour?”
    “Sure, it’s slow now anyway.” Pat glanced up from the table she was polishing. “Are you going to another auction?”
    “No,” Shane told her blithely. “I’m going on a picnic.”
    Leaving Pat staring behind her, Shane raced upstairs.
    It took her less than ten minutes to fill the wicker basket. There was a cold bottle of Chablis inside it, which she had splurged on madly. It might be a bit rich for the peanut butter sandwiches, but Shane’s mind wasn’t on proprieties. As she raced out the back door, she was already picturing spreading the checked tablecloth in front of Vance’s living room fire.
    Wet, slushy snow sloshed over her boots as she stepped off the porch onto the lawn. The perfect day for a picnic, she decided, letting the hamper swing. The air was absolutely still. Melted snow dripped from the roof with a musical patter. The fast water in the creek broke through thin sheets of ice with an excited hissing and bubbling. Shane paused to listen a moment, enjoying the mixture of sounds. The feeling of euphoria built. She found it the most exquisite of days, with the sky coldly blue, the snow-laced mountains rising and the naked trees slick with wet.
    Then the low purr of an engine intruded. She looked back, then stopped as she recognized Anne pulling up in the drive. All of her joy in the afternoon slipped quietly away. She hardly noticed the fingers of tension that crept up to the base of her neck.
    With her faultless grace, Anne picked her way over the melting snow in calfskin boots. She wore a trim fox-fur hat now to match her coat, and a small, smug smile. There were ruby studs, or clever imitations, glinting at her ears. Though her daughter stood rigid as a stone, she glided up to greet her with the customary brush of cheeks. Without speaking, Shane set the hamper down on the bottom step of the porch.
    “Darling, I had to drop by before I left.” Anne beamed at her with a cold gleam in her eye.
    “Going back to California?” Shane asked flatly.
    “Yes, of course, I have the most marvelous script. Of course, I’ll probably be weeks on location, but . . .” She gave a gay shrug. “But that’s not why I dropped by.”
    Shane studied her, marveling. It was as though the ugly scene between them had never taken place. She has no feelings, Shane realized abruptly. It meant less than nothing to her. “Why did you come by, Anne?”
    “Why, to congratulate you, of course!”
    “Congratulate me?” Shane lifted a brow. It was easier somehow knowing that the woman in front of her was simply a stranger. A few shared genes didn’t make a bond. It was love that did that, or affection. Or at the very least, respect.
    “I admit I didn’t think you had it in you, Shane, but I’m pleasantly surprised.”
    Shane then surprised both of them by giving an impatient sigh, “Will you get to the point, Anne? I was on my way out.”
    “Oh, now, don’t be cross,” she said placatingly. “I’m really thrilled for you, catching yourself a man like that.”
    Shane’s eyes chilled. “I beg your pardon?”
    “Vance Banning, darling.” She gave a slow, appreciative smile. “What a catch!”
    “Strange, I never thought about it quite that way.” Bending, Shane prepared to pick up the hamper again.
    “The president of Riverton Construction isn’t just a mild triumph, sweetheart;