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from her. Their fingers brushed, as lightly as fingers brush every day in ordinary situations. Abby jerked back and nearly sent the dishes crashing to the floor.
    "A little jumpy?" He watched her. He had discovered that you learned more from faces than from words.
    "I'm not used to having anyone else in the kitchen." A feeble excuse, and one that didn't ring true even to herself. "I'd better give you a hand, at least tonight, until you team where things go. There's a dishwasher." She grabbed more dishes from the counter, filling her hands and her mind with ordinary chores. "It seems ridiculous that the boys make such a fuss over the dishes when they don't have to do much more than load and unload."
    "We could spread out the pain a little more if I cooked once a week and you cleared up."
    She was bent over the dishwasher, and she had to straighten to stare at him. "You cook?"
    He nudged her aside. "Surprised?"
    It was silly to be, she knew. But none of the men in her life had ever known one end of the stove from another. She remembered her father quite clearly hard-boiling eggs on a hot plate in a motel room, but that was as far as it had gone. "I suppose when you live alone, it helps."
    He thought of his marriage. She heard him laugh, but he didn't sound amused. "Even when you don't, it helps." The dishwasher rattled a bit as he added dishes. "This thing's a little shaky."
    She frowned at the back of his head. "It works." She wasn't about to admit that she'd bought it secondhand and, with a lot of sweat and skinned knuckles, installed it herself.
    "You'd know best" With the last of the dishes in, he closed it. "But it sounds to me like a couple of the bolts have shaken loose. You might want to have it looked at."
    There were a lot of things that needed to be looked at. And they would be, once the manuscript was submitted and the rest of the advance was in her bank account. "I imagine you want to work out some sort of schedule."
    "Eager to start?"
    Abby went to the coffeepot and poured two cups without asking. "You're here to get background, I'm here to give it to you. The best times for me are mid-morning or early afternoon, but I'll try to be flexible."
    "I appreciate it." He took the coffee, then leaned on the stove, dose to her, as a kind of test for both of them. He thought he could just smell the rain on her hair. She stood very still for a moment, still enough that he could see his own reflection in her eyes. When he saw it, he forgot to look for anything else. Incredibly, he found he wanted to reach out, to touch the hair that brushed her shoulders. She stepped back. The reflection vanished, and so did the need.
    "Breakfast is early." Concentrate on routine, Abby warned herself. As long as she did, there wouldn't be room for these sudden, sharp desires to sneak up on her. "The kids have to catch the school bus at 7:30, so if you're a late sleeper you're on your own."
    "I'll manage."
    "If I'm not in the house, I'm probably in the barn or one of the other outbuildings, but I should be ready for you by ten."
    And what in hell did a woman with hands like a harpist do in a barn for an hour and a half in the morning? He decided to find out for himself rather than ask. "We'll figure on ten. The time element might vary from day to day."
    "Yes, I understand that." The tension was draining as they focused in on business. Abby relaxed against the counter and savored what would be her last cup of coffee for the night. There were hours yet to fill between this and the cup of herbal tea she'd pamper herself with at bedtime. "I'll do the best I can. The evenings, of course, are taken up with the children. They go to bed at 8:30, so if there's something important we can go over it after that. But generally I do my paperwork at night."
    "So do I." She had a lovely face, soft, warm, open, with just a touch of reserve around the mouth. It was the kind of face that could make a man forget about feminine guile if he wasn't careful. Dylan