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skirt might make a good rag; she’d already tossed her stockings in the trash; and she must be getting slap-happy tired, because her own dirt struck her as incredibly funny. Even her pink nail polish looked murky gray.
    There was a chemical john in the lean-to, but no shower or bathtub. The only way to turn gray skin back to white was to swim in the pond in the ravine. Gram had stubbornly held that cold water never hurt anyone, and then, there was nothing softer than hair washed in lake water. As a kid, Bree had found bathing in the pond high adventure, but as the cabin shaped up and she battled with exhaustion, she didn’t dare strip down and risk having Hart catch her taking a bath.
    Of course, maybe he wouldn’t come back. Bree clung to that hope as the minutes passed, making bargains with herself. If you clean that corner just so, he’ll never show up again. If there isn’t a single speck of dust on the floor, maybe he’ll disappear off the face of the earth.
    It couldn’t have taken four hours to buy groceries, and he really couldn’t possibly know what she wanted anyway. For that matter, if she took a towel and soap down to the pond, the chances of his finding her were nil. No one could see the pond from the road or the back of the house; you had to weave through woods and brush to get there. She would be perfectly safe, getting off her skin the layer of itchy grime that was starting to drive her bananas.
    But she was sitting at the kitchen table when Hart walked in. A sponge bath at the sink had moved a little of the dirt around; her chin was cupped in a weary palm, and her eyes were staring resentfully at the door. Toothaches always came back.
    “We haven’t gotten over our temper, I see. Never mind, a little food will revive you.” He plopped a bag of groceries down on the table in front of her, then disappeared outside for more. Bree’s fingers drummed out the death march on the blue-and-white tablecloth as he carted in three more bags, but she didn’t so much as glance at any of his purchases.
    Hart shook his head sadly. “I leave an incredibly attractive woman and come back to a waif. Why do you wear your hair like that, anyway? It makes you look like a skinned rat.”
    The insult rolled off her back. What was one more?
    “I didn’t mean to be so long, but I got hung up in the real-estate office. Getting out of my lease may be a little tricky, but I think I can manage it. Fishing’s darn good around here, the man told me. Finaker. Know him? Fat old coot. Beer belly the size of a watermelon, wolf teeth, itty-bitty eyes?”
    Bree stared at him, determinedly keeping her expression neutral, and told herself that the corners of her mouth were not twitching. Even though Finaker did have itty-bitty eyes.
    “You’d better like peanut butter…” Hart reached in the first bag to grab a massive jar of the stuff. “Figured you’d feel too lazy to cook, first day out. Just stay right where you are. I’ll make the sandwiches and unpack the rest of the groceries.”
    Bree didn’t flicker an eyelash.
    A dozen steaks piled up on the table beside her. Steaks she couldn’t possibly afford. A bag of oranges, another of apples, four containers of strawberries, four bags of oatmeal cookies, enough boxes of cornflakes for forty-seven people…
    The corners of her mouth were trying to turn up again. He was just so… awful.
    Get a hold of yourself, Bree, she told herself sternly. He’ll go away only if you ignore him.
    But he was such a difficult man to ignore…He had this cajoling baritone and a wounded look as though she was hurting his feelings by not approving of his purchases, and she wasn’t absolutely sure whether she wanted to kill him or laugh.
    “I didn’t want to trek any farther than Mapleville, so I was stuck with the local store in picking out some clothes for you. Underpants…” Gravely, Hart tossed three polka-dotted whimsies in her direction; they would have landed on her nose if she