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It was very difficult for a multitude of reasons, and she was hard put to explain to herself just why. It was a gut reaction, one of those first impressions formed of a stranger. Carrie couldn’t stand the man. She didn’t like the way he walked.
    Gabe Jackson looked down into her face, saw the unfriendly light in her eyes and the unpleasant tilt to her eyebrow, and a slow grin widened his firm mouth, causing creases in the sides of his cheeks. He looked to be enjoying the introduction.
    Holding out a strong-looking hand—she was reminded of the effortless way he had plucked her out of the way by the road—Gabe murmured, a deep nimbly sound, “Ah, the, bad-mannered little girl.”
    Smiling an insincere smile, Carrie retorted sweetly, “And the persistent boor.”
    His grin was definitely widening. Janet, not quite hearing the muttered exchange but picking up odd undercurrents, asked with confusion, “Have you two met before?”
    Still holding her hand tightly, too tightly as she gave an impatient tug, Gabe said, watching her, “We weren’t formally introduced.”
    Finally rescuing her hand, Carrie flexed cramped fingers. “Thank the gods,” she muttered in response. He tilted his dark head down to her.
    “Beg pardon?” he asked; his nearly black eyes had two unholy lights deep in them, and she stared back in hostility.
    “Never mind. Mother,” Carrie turned toward Janet, “is there anything I can do for you?”
    “Why, no, dear, I don’t think so. Just look after Gabe for me and introduce him to people he doesn’t know while I go and see how Emma is doing,” Janet said vaguely, her mind on other matters. “Thank you, honey.” And with that, she turned to head back to the house.
    Carrie put a hand to her hip, sighing exasperatedly as Janet disappeared. This was the last thing in the world that she had meant by her offer. She made a poor attempt to hide her feelings from Gabe and asked him, “Have you met all your neighbours yet?”
    His eyes flicked carelessly over the people around him, then dropped back to hers. “I believe so, thank you all the same.” They watched each other carefully.
    Carrie looked about her also. “Nice weather,” she stated unoriginally with a fine show of boredom.
    The grin, never, it seemed, absent long, tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yes. Would you like a drink?”
    She was about to refuse, just for the sheer perversity of it, but she suddenly changed her mind, ashamed of how she had been acting. It was hot still, and her mouth was dry. “Yes, please.”
    “I’m surprised you know how to say ’please’. I would have thought the word wasn’t in your vocabulary,” he remarked in a pleasant voice. She stared at him as she wondered if he was being nice or not. She decided not. “What would you like?”
    Looking over the array of different bottles with distaste, she said, “Orange juice, thank you.”
    He located the jug that sat near several bottles of vodka and quickly poured some into a glass, dropping a few cubes in. “Teetotaller?”
    “Do you like to speak in incomplete sentences?” she asked in reply as she took hold of the glass proffered. He refused to let go.
    “You didn’t say ’thank you’ the last time, either,” he remarked.
    Starting to smile in spite of herself, Carrie retorted, “I’ve already said ’thank you’ for the drink once. Besides, as I recall, I didn’t ask for help, nor did I want it!” Her eyes met his over their joined hands. She said deliberately, “If you must, thank you once again—for the orange juice.”
    Relinquishing the glass, Gabe smiled wickedly as he replied, “You’re welcome for the orange juice—and the help with the flat tyre!”
    She turned slowly in the direction of the pool, walking casually and sipping her refreshing drink. He fell into step beside her. “You really did try hard, didn’t you?” he commented. He had an attractive voice that brought Carrie’s eyes around to him.
    “What do you