Witchcraft

doing with that letter?" She glanced up from preparing the couch and frowned as she saw the envelope in his hand. "Wondering why you haven't opened it.
    Most people open letters from lawyers fast. Kimberly's mouth curved grimly. "Not in my case. I've already had two letters from that law office. I know what's inside." Cavenaugh eyed her intently. "Trouble, Kim?" he finally asked softly, tossing the envelope gently into the air and catching it absently. "Have you got other problems besides receiving roses impaled with needles?"
    "No. The folks who employ those fancy lawyers are the ones with the problem. They created it themselves, however, and I have no intention of helping them solve it."
    She stepped back from the couch, examining her work. "There, that should do for tonight. It's going to be a bit cramped but it's better than sleeping on the floor."
    "The floor is the only alternative you're offering?"
    "'m afraid so," she said cheerfully. "And since you're sleeping out here, you're in charge of the fire. I don't know how long the electricity will be off and it could get quite chilly by morning."
    "I'll take care of the fire," he agreed, glancing down at the letter in his hand. "Are you sure this isn't something I can help you with, Kim?"
    "What's inside that letter has nothing to do with you. It has nothing to do with me, either. That's what I told the lawyers after they sent the first one. You can toss that envelope into the garbage." He set it back down on the counter instead. "You can be amazingly stubborn at times."
    "Something tells me you can be just as stubborn," she retorted humorously. "But I think stubbornness in men is generally referred to as willpower."
    "In the morning we'll have to see whether my willpower is stronger than your feminine stubbornness, won't we?" he queried easily.
    "Thanks for the bed, Kim."
    "You're welcome. I'm sorry I don't have any extra toothbrushes or razors or whatever it is men need when they stay overnight."
    "It's all right. I've got everything I need in the car."
    "I see. You came prepared?" she asked a bit caustically. "Going to hold it against me?" he challenged gently. "Good night, Cavenaugh . Don't forget to keep an eye on the fire." Head held regally high, Kimberly swept past him to her small, comfortable bedroom. Damned if she was going to get into a useless argument about where he had originally intended to spend the night. Half an hour later the house was quiet and Kimberly lay in bed under her huge feather quilt studying the ceiling.
    This had definitely not been one of her normal, pleasantly predictable days. She wasn't quite certain how to react to today. No doubt about it, she was accustomed to having the unpredictable and the potentially dangerous confined within the pages of her manuscripts. She turned over on her side, fluffed her pillow and considered the man in her living room. It was strange that he had shown up on her doorstep even though she had never actually summoned him. Darius Cavenaugh must be very anxious to pay off his debt to her. Or else he was very anxious to get her into bed. Kimberly glowered into the darkness. Men, in her experience, rarely pursued women quite this far, at least not ordinary women such as herself. She couldn't help wondering what it was that had brought Cavenaugh all the way from his vineyards to her front door. She could understand that a man such as Darius Cavenaugh would be very conscious of the bonds of the debt he felt he was under. After all, he had undoubtedly grown up imbued with the notion of obligation and loyalty and family honor. The noble-sounding virtues were stamped all over his hard face. Kimberly remembered little Scott solemnly telling her all about the generations of Cavenaughs who had been in the wine business. The boy had chatted quite freely while they had waited together in the sheriff's offices for the arrival of his uncle. Scott was, even at his young age, quite aware of the importance of family heritage. "That's why the witches kidnapped me," he had explained with a touch of pride. "They knew my uncle would pay anything he had to, to get me back. Uncle Dare wouldn't let anyone keep me."
    "Dare?" Kimberly had questioned, wondering about the mysterious uncle who was on his way to collect his nephew. "His real name is Darius. But we all call him Dare." For some reason Kimberly had not felt sufficiently at ease with the tough, powerful man who had arrived later to call him by the shortened version of