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need any help.”
    “Lucky Dooley and Hank.”
    She frowned at the teasing. “What is that supposed to mean?”
    “Just that I’d welcome your help, if you were to offer.”
    “This is your project, Mr. Blackhawk. You’ll have to finish it on your own. If there’s something you can’t cope with, you can always leave.”
    His gaze locked with hers. “It’s not a matter of coping. I’d just be glad of the company.”
    Goose bumps that had nothing to do with the chilly air rose on her skin. She turned away and concentrated on tightening the cinch on Ginger’s saddle.
    “I seem to make you nervous, Karen. Why is that?”
    She frowned as she faced him. “You don’t make me nervous, Mr. Blackhawk. You make me mad. ”
    He chuckled at that.
    “You find that amusing?” she asked indignantly.
    His gaze settled on her mouth. “No,” he said softly. “I find it promising. A woman with a temper is always more fascinating than one who’s docile.”
    “I’m not doing any of this to provide you withentertainment,” she snapped, trying not to acknowledge that his words sent an unaccustomed thrill shivering down her spine and set her pulse to racing.
    “I know,” he said, his grin spreading. “That’s what makes it so enjoyable.”
    Karen bit back a retort that would only have escalated the ridiculous debate and mounted Ginger. Stepping back, Grady touched a finger to the brim of his hat in a polite salute.
    “Enjoy your ride.”
    “I intend to,” she lied. She doubted she would enjoy anything as long as this impossible man was underfoot.
    An hour later, though, after riding hard, then meeting up with Hank and Dooley to check their progress on the fence repairs, she was feeling more at ease. She expected that to change the minute she reached the barn, but to her surprise Grady was nowhere in sight. His truck was gone, too. The sigh that eased through her was tinged with something she couldn’t identify. Surely not regret, she thought with exasperation. No, it was relief, nothing more.
    Unfortunately, though, her relief didn’t last long. The evidence of Grady’s presence and of his anticipated return was everywhere. The tools, paint cans and lumber were right where he’d left them. The ladder was still propped against the side of the barn, and the paint had been scraped only from the highest boards, with plenty left untouched.
    She had barely cooled Ginger down and started for the house when his truck appeared in the distance, an unmistakable splash of red against the dull winter landscape. Karen hurried inside to avoid another pointless confrontation.
    But as the afternoon wore on and her gaze kept straying to the man who was diligently and methodically stripping the old paint off her barn, she sighed and accepted the fact that he wasn’t going to go away. She had to find some way to make peace with him.
    In her experience, home-baked cookies were generally an excellent peace offering. With nobody around to appreciate the results, she hadn’t had the urge to bake for some time now. Still, as a gesture of loyalty to her late husband, she made a deliberate choice to bake oatmeal-raisin cookies, her father’s favorites, rather than the chocolate chip that Caleb had loved.
    When the first batch was still warm from the oven, she put some of the cookies on a plate, poured a mug of coffee and carried it all across the yard. As she walked toward Grady, she could feel his speculative gaze burning into her.
    The gesture had been a mistake, she concluded as she met his eyes. He was going to make too much of it, twist it somehow and use it as an opening. Impatient with herself for allowing room for him to jump to a conclusion that a truce was in the offing, she plunked coffee and plate down ungraciously and scurried back to the house.
    She was all too aware that Grady’s intent gaze followed her every step.
    “You are such a ninny, Karen Hanson,” she chided herself as she slammed the door behind her. “Taking