Lover Beware

was barefoot, her shorts and halter-neck top stuck to her skin with sweat, her hair tangling around her face where it had blown loose from her plait, and her skin tanned and bare of makeup.
    She wasn’t the city girl she’d been before, and she wasn’t the quiet, empty person she’d been just days ago. She had changed, but she liked the changes in herself.
    She didn’t know if she could actually walk in high heels anymore, or where on earth in Tayler’s Creek she could even wear high heels, but she decided then and there that she was going to try. Wearing high heels would mean more clothes, because unless she put on weight, she wouldn’t fit any of the old ones, and that meant shopping.
    Blankly, she considered what it would be like to once again take part in the utterly female ritual of shopping—to stroll through malls and browse through boutiques, choosing clothes and shoes not because they were practical, but simply because they made her look and feel good.
    She felt dazed at the prospect, and somehow lighter, as if a weight had just slipped from her shoulders. But then the past few days had been filled with change, ever since Michael Rider had intruded back into her world and forced her out of the rut she’d sunk into. The process had been painful, and she’d resisted like crazy, but for the first time in years, she felt free, and despite her tiredness and the grimness of what she was doing, she felt…strong.
    A wry smile curved her mouth. It was scary to think that the moment of empowerment had happened while she was holding one of the most potent symbols of male power—a gun—in her hands.
     
    A MISTY HAZE, the peculiar characteristic of cyclones in New Zealand, built up as the day passed. The cloud cover remained heavy, and the breeze began to gust.
    Jane moved from trimming branches near windows, to working on the home alarm system she’d devised. She hauled water up the stepladder and filled the bucket that she’d set on the roof just above the entrance to the kitchen. When it was half full, she climbed back down the ladder, and pulled on the rope attached to the bucket to test it. Water cascaded down, partway soaking her despite the fact that she took care to step back.
    She replaced the bucket, balancing it carefully on the edge of the guttering, and refilled it with water. It was a kid’s trick, but it was effective.
    She repeated the same booby trap over the front door, and to finish off, she gathered up empty paint tins from the barn and empty cans that were stored in a rubbish bin liner ready to be taken to the recycling station. She punched holes in each can, using a hammer and a nail, then strung them together in two bunches with baling twine, and tied a cluster to each bucket of water. Now when either of the buckets came down, they would not only soak the attacker and, hopefully, hit him on the head or the chest, but the attached cans would tumble down around him, making plenty of noise.
    There wasn’t a lot else she could do. If an intruder decided to smash glass and come in one of her windows, then she was sunk. She had Jess for protection, and if she had to, she would use the gun.

Chapter 6
    AT FIVE MINUTES past midnight, the power failed.
    Jane sat up in bed and set down the book she’d been trying to read. The wind was howling, and thin drizzle spattered her windows. Jess’s tail thumped on the floor. Jane patted her head as she reached for the phone on her bedside table and discovered that that was dead, too. Either the storm had knocked the lines out, or someone had wrapped their car around a power pole, bringing the lines down.
    Jackknifing out of bed, she dragged on her shorts, pulled a shirt over the soft cotton singlet she’d worn to bed, and padded downstairs, holding the torch she’d left beside the bed. Jess had followed her, and now she flopped down on the kitchen floor, set her head down, and let out a gusty sigh. Reassured by Jess’s relaxed mood, Jane rummaged in the hall cupboard and extracted the battery lantern that was stored there, carried it through to the kitchen, and adjusted the knob until the room was filled with a soft glow.
    She tried the phone again. The line was still dead. She paced the kitchen, stared out at the wild night, and was abruptly gripped by a sense of isolation.
    Although she’d spent a lot of time on her own over the past few years, she hadn’t often been alone. Barring the time he’d spent in hospital, she’d always had