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on her body the blood thundered in her ears, echoing through her head until she thought it would surely burst.
    The timer on her dryer buzzed, and in the furthest reaches of her mind Dovie feared the worst had happened, that her head really had burst. Then she realized what it was and made a sound like air going out of a balloon. “Oh, good … our clothes …”
    “Can’t wait to get rid of me, huh?”
    She looked at him to find that teasing smile back on his lips, and said softly, “You’re welcome to stay for the day, as far as I’m concerned.”
    He sobered and crossed to her mantel, silently counting his steps, then opened the hinged face of her clock and felt the hands. “It’s almost ten; I don’t want to miss Harley.”
    “Fine.” She swallowed hard, drowning a hope she hadn’t bidden, and clapped the dishes she was carrying into the sink. “I’ll get your clothes.”
    His spicy citrus scent, fresh as the outdoors, clung to his warm chamois-cloth shirt. The legs of their jeans, his so much longer than hers, had tangled into a veritable lover’s knot during the drying cycle.
    She separated them with a wistful smile, squared her small shoulders, and took his clothes to him. He was dressed and ready to leave beforeshe could say Jack Robinson. She trailed him to the door, her heart suddenly heavy as lead.
    “I’d be happy to drive you down to the river road,” she offered when he reached for his waders.
    “No, thanks.” Nick felt her eyes boring into his back and half turned, towering over her in the small entryway. “I need to learn my way around.”
    “Oh, of course,” Dovie agreed too quickly, and backed a step away from him, only to trip over his fly rod, which still stood by the front door.
    He reached for her wrist to keep her from falling. “Are you all right?”
    “Yes,” she whispered miserably, knowing that he must think her totally graceless, a real klutz.
    A smile softened his strong jaw when she was finally steady on her feet. She was so fragile, as delicate as china. He released her reluctantly and leaned down to pick up his fly rod. “Listen, thanks for breakfast.”
    “My pleasure.” Anxiety made her voice breathless.
    He turned and opened the door. “Good-bye, Dovie.”
    She shivered and hugged her arms against a cold chunk of despair. “Good-bye, Nick.”
    Halfway out the door he stopped and weighed his decision for a few seconds before turning back. “Will you meet me at the river tomorrow?”
    “T-tomorrow?” she stammered, so startled by his abrupt about-face that she could hardly think.
    “If you’d rather not—”
    “No … I mean,
yes
, I’d like that very much.”
    “Same time?”
    The snow swirled in about her feet, blanketing those garish red-and-gold socks in winter white, but summer blossomed in her smile. “Same time.”
    “See you then,” he confirmed before closing the door softly behind him. And for the first time since he’d lost his eyesight, Nick was looking forward to tomorrow.

Four
----
    A good six inches of snow lay on the ground the next morning and a pale gray sky presaged several inches more before nightfall, but nothing short of an avalanche could have deterred Dovie. Clutching tightly the split-bamboo rod and graphite reel that had belonged to her father, she practically slalomed down Spicey Hill.
    Slightly winded, as much from the excitement of seeing Nick again as from her race against time, she paused at the bottom to catch her breath. Inhaling deeply … exhaling slowly … She finally felt her pulse return to normal. She shouldn’t have bothered. The instant she spotted him, her heart went bobsledding again.
    He’d claimed her favorite spot, of course, but had cleared a place to his right for her. Sharp-combed waves chopped at the rocky bank where he stoodwith feet spread wide and fly rod at the ready, his rugged masculinity harmonizing perfectly with the wild river setting.
    Moving with the precision and power of a