Read Green Fire for Free Online Page B

while they're doing it. Don't be too hard on them, Rani. The tradition of hunting season is too old and established for you to be able to change it."
    Rani was forced to laugh a little. "I know. I wouldn't think of depriving men of their yearly flings. But I'm glad you're not a hunter, Mike."
    He leaned back in the booth and smiled at her. "If I were, would you be having lunch with me?"
    She shook her head. "I doubt it. I much prefer artists."
    "Actually, a real macho hunter with a pickup under him could probably have managed that tree in my driveway a lot more efficiently than I did." Mike chuckled as he continued with his story. His blue eyes were full of self-directed amusement.
    Rani sat across from him and realized she was mentally comparing Mike to Flint Cottrell. But how could you compare a successful artist to an alley cat? Mike was in his mid-thirties, his features sharp and aquiline, his sandy-brown hair a little long and a bit on the shaggy side, which only seemed appropriate for his profession. He had a lean, wiry build, and there was a certain artistic intensity about him that fit the image of a painter. He wore a long-sleeved, white, open-necked shirt and a pair of faded, paint-stained jeans. He had a pair of expensive running shoes on his feet. Rani had met him the first day she'd stopped at the Reed Lake post office to pick up her general delivery mail.
    As in most small towns, the post office was a cheerful meeting place for the regulars as well as visitors. It was also the center of local gossip, and Mrs. Hobson, the woman in charge of the Reed Lake post office, took her role as good-natured gossipmonger seriously. She was already waiting with avid attention to see if anything serious developed between the vacationing librarian and the wintering artist.
    A casual friendship between Rani and Mike had sprung up immediately, and Rani had a hunch that if she allowed it to develop further, Mike would be more than willing. But Rani had no intention of getting too involved with an artist or a vacation romance. It wasn't the sort of thing she did. She knew where to draw the line to ensure that her safe little world stayed neat and orderly. As she bit into her overstuffed hamburger, Rani remembered Flint asking bluntly if she was sleeping with Mike. Nothing could have been farther from the truth.
    "How about another try at dinner?" Mike asked, pouring ketchup on his french fries. "My treat this time. I haven't got the nerve to ask you to go to the trouble of fixing another meal after I failed to show up for the last one. There's that resort restaurant at the other end of town. The one that overlooks the lake. We could give it a try."
    "Sounds great. Tomorrow evening?"
    He nodded. "I'll make reservations. With all these hunters in town, we might need them."
    "I doubt it. This crowd doesn't look like it dresses for dinner. These guys will be sticking to taverns and cafes, not dining at a resort. I'll be ready at six. Okay?"
    "I'll clean the paint off my hands in honor of the occasion," Mike assured her.
    Rani parked the Oldsmobile in the driveway of her rented house an hour later, shoved open the door and reached behind the driver's seat to pick up an armful of groceries. She was bent over, struggling with the heavy bag, when she felt a large, masculine hand settle all too casually on the small of her back, just above the waistband of her jeans.
    She overreacted, her instincts telling her at once whose hand it was. "What the… ? Flint!" Her head came up too quickly, striking the roof of the car. "Ouch!"
    "Are you all right?" There was genuine concern in his voice. "Here, I'll take that bag for you."
    She backed hurriedly out of the way and collided with his sweat-streaked, bare chest. The fatigue sweater had apparently been long since discarded. When she glanced upward, she saw the rivulets of perspiration gathering at a point just beneath the line of his throat and trickling down through crisp, dark hair. He frowned