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before adding, ‘On one condition.’
    ‘Name it!’ He smiled.
    ‘Stop cal ing me “kid”,’ she said in al seriousness.
    His smile broadened at the request and he responded easily, ‘You got it, ki—honey.’
    ‘God, no!’ Riona didn’t hide her distaste. ‘Honey— that’s even worse.’
    ‘Al right, what should I cal you? Miss Macleod?’ he suggested with obvious irony.
    ‘That’l do,’ Riona answered drily, and, before he could argue the matter, climbed out of the car.
    He fol owed, lifting her bicycle out of the boot.
    ‘Thanks.’ She forced out the word.
    He shook his head at her, then left with a resigned, ‘See you around, Miss Macleod.’
    Not if I see you first, Riona thought, but didn’t quite have the nerve to say. He already considered her childish enough, having lost interest in her as a woman.
    She should have been pleased about that. She told herself she was. She lied.
    She decided the best thing was to keep out of his way. But it real y did prove impossible. The next morning, when she played organ in the vil age
    church, he was there, sitting in his great-uncle Hector’s pew, in direct line of her vision. Every time she made the mistake of looking up from the music, he paused mid-song and gave her a slow, wry smile. She realised he must be laughing at her, enjoying her discomfort, wel aware she didn’t know how to handle him.
    When the service ended and he seemed on the point of approaching her, she slipped out of the back door of the church and went overland to the
    doctor’s house. The doctor was a non-believer who only attended church for weddings and funerals, but in Riona’s eyes he was one of the most giving men in the community. Since her grandfather’s death, he had insisted she join him for Sunday lunch.
    The roast was prepared by his housekeeper, Mrs Ross, and sometimes the widowed lady sat down with them to enjoy it.
    ‘Three for lunch, today,’ Dr Macnab said when he’d taken off her coat and escorted her through the hal .
    Riona smiled at the housekeeper as she appeared in the dining-room doorway. ‘You’re staying, Mrs Ross?’
    ‘Ach, no, lass, the company’s too exalted for the likes of me,’ the older woman replied with a shake of the head. ‘I’ve told the doctor. I’m away
    now.’
    ‘Exalted?’ Riona had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
    It was the doctor who answered, ‘Aye, the man himself,’ and, at the ring of the doorbel , added, ‘That’l be him.’
    Him? Riona didn’t need twenty questions. She knew. Even before she heard the doctor say, ‘Come away in, Cameron, man,’ and saw the
    American’s large frame in the doorway.
    He looked surprised to see her, too. Clearly the doctor hadn’t warned him.
    ‘You know Riona, of course,’ Dr Macnab said, as the two exchanged stares rather than smiles.
    ‘Miss Macleod.’ The American inclined his head towards her.
    She fol owed his lead. ‘Mr Adams.’
    The doctor raised a brow at such formality, but said nothing, as he led the way into the dining-room.
    Though she’d lunched many times at the doctor’s, Riona was the one who felt ‘out of it’. While Dr Macnab and Cameron Adams chatted easily
    about both local and world affairs, she sat largely silent. Several times the doctor tried to draw her into the conversation, but she was completely inhibited by the American’s presence.
    She listened, however, and gathered that the American did not intend to sel the estate, as they’d al assumed he would.
    ‘Initial y I’l have to employ a manager to run it,’ he said to the doctor. ‘Apart from not having the experience, I’ve commitments in America.’
    ‘So you’l be returning home soon?’ Riona asked him.
    ‘Is that wishful thinking?’ he suggested drily, before saying, ‘Not for a few weeks. I’ve managed to wangle a month’s vacation from work.’
    ‘May I ask what you do?’ the doctor put in.
    ‘I’m in construction,’ Cameron Adams answered readily