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week or two there. Should I rethink?”
    She flushed. “No. Of course not. It’s just that—Well, we’re not big and famous, not like Taos or Santa Fe. During the winter, when the ski slopes are active, things get pretty busy, but this is spring, and I just wondered why someone like you would—”
    She broke off, embarrassed. She sounded as if she were fishing for personal information, which, she realized, she was. She couldn’t help it. She found him very attractive, and having him materialize before her like this had created an artificial sense of intimacy.
    But artificial was the important word. What did she think—that Patrick Torrance was her own personal ghost, and now she could take him home and keep him?
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said, fidgeting with the flowers. “I was just being nosy. Forget I said anything. Let me put on my shoes, and we’ll get started.”
    He didn’t argue with her, or insist on spilling his plans. He obviously wasn’t used to explaining himself to anyone, least of all some kooky, barefoot woman he stumbled over in the local ghost town.
    He followed her to the rocky bank of the stream, where she’d left her shoes. He watched as she sat down on a large, fallen tree trunk, which made the perfect bench, and began to brush the sand and leaves from the soles of her feet.
    When she picked up her shoe, though, a simple white sneaker, she found that a spider had crawled into it. She tried to tip him out, but he crawled farther into the toe. She hadn’t seen his markings, so she hesitated to reach in and whisk him out with her fingers.
    She shook the shoe. “Come on out, darn it.”
    â€œHere,” Patrick Torrance said, coming closer and holding out his hand. “I’ll kill it for you.”
    She looked up at him. “Kill him? Why would you kill him?”
    He tilted his head, and then he smiled. “Did I say kill it? I mean to say I’d get it out for you. A purely harmless relocation.”
    She smiled back and handed over the shoe. “Okay.” For a city boy, he caught on quickly. “Thanks.”
    He had found a curved twig on the ground, and he maneuvered the point into the toe of her shoe. He had good hands. Gentle. He angled his wrist subtly a couple of times, with a minute scooping movement.
    He tilted the shoe up to his face and peered intothe shadows. Finally he eased his hand out, bringing the twig free, with the little spider clinging to it.
    He walked over to a nearby patch of dead leaves—the ideal new home for a spider—and then he lay the twig and spider down, so deftly that the spider didn’t even scurry away. The little guy probably thought the whole move had been his own idea.
    â€œWell done,” she said with a smile.
    Then he came over and knelt on the ground before her. “Your slipper, my lady.”
    Oh. Flushing, she found that she almost couldn’t let him do it. It was too personal, too oddly sexy. Besides, she wasn’t much for fancy clothes and shoes, and those sneakers had tramped many a mile around the dusty roads of Silverton and Enchantment.
    Darn. She hoped her foot was clean enough. For the first time in her life, she wished she wore toenail polish.
    But he was waiting, so she stuck out her foot. He was just kidding around. She was getting way too worked up. Maybe she shouldn’t have given up men after all—it had left her too susceptible to the slightest flirtation.
    He took her calf in his hand, and shivers went all the way up her leg. She laughed a little, just out of nervousness. Just to distract him from those pale goose bumps under his fingers.
    He slipped on the sneaker, then cupped his palm around her heel, rocking it to be sure the shoe was seated properly. Then he pulled gently on the tongue,took the laces between his fingers and tied a quick, nimble bow.
    He met her gaze. “Why, it fits perfectly,” he said, smiling in