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unpredictable and the potentially dangerous confined within the pages of her manuscripts. She turned over on her side, fluffed her pillow and considered the man in her living room. It was strange that he had shown up on her doorstep even though she had never actually summoned him.
    Darius Cavenaugh must be very anxious to pay off his debt to her. Or else he was very anxious to get her into bed. Kimberly glowered into the darkness.
    Men, in her experience, rarely pursued women quite this far, at least not ordinary women such as herself. She couldn't help wondering what it was that had brought Cavenaugh all the way from his vineyards to her front door. She could understand that a man such as Darius Cavenaugh would be very conscious of the bonds of the debt he felt he was under. After all, he had undoubtedly grown up imbued with the notion of obligation and loyalty and family honor.
    The noble-sounding virtues were stamped all over his hard face. Kimberly remembered little Scott solemnly telling her all about the generations of Cavenaughs who had been in the wine business. The boy had chatted quite freely while they had waited together in the sheriff's offices for the arrival of his uncle. Scott was, even at his young age, quite aware of the importance of family heritage. "That's why the witches kidnapped me," he had explained with a touch of pride. "They knew my uncle would pay anything he had to, to get me back. Uncle Dare wouldn't let anyone keep me."

    "Dare?" Kimberly had questioned, wondering about the mysterious uncle who was on his way to collect his nephew. "His real name is Darius. But we all call him Dare." For some reason Kimberly had not felt sufficiently at ease with the tough, powerful man who had arrived later to call him by the shortened version of his first name. He had remained Cavenaugh in her mind. And after tonight, that hadn't changed. "Do you have an uncle who would pay lots of money to get you back?" Scott had demanded interestedly, kicking his feet as he sat on the wooden chair beside her.

    One of the men in the sheriff's office had bundled him up in an old leather flight jacket, which Scott had loved on sight. "No, I'm afraid I don't have anyone who would shell out cold cash to get me back," Kimberly had told the boy, unprepared for the way it had upset him. "How about your mom and dad?"
    he'd Pressed anxiously. "I never knew my father," Kimberly had said carefully,
    "and my mother died a few years ago."

    "And you don't even have an uncle like mine?" Kimberly had gently denied the existence of any such useful uncle in her life. Later, after meeting Darius Cavenaugh she'd privately decided there were very few lit the kids in the world with uncles like Cavenaugh. She had thought the topic of who might pay her ransom should she ever be kidnapped had been closed. Certainly Scott's attention had been totally diverted the moment Darious Cavenaugh had walked through the door. The child had rushed forward with excitement and confidence in his greeting. Cavenaugh had swept him up and examined every inch of him with eyes of green ice. At last, satisfied that the boy was all right, he'd allowed Scott to make the introductions. Eagerly Scott had explained who Kimberly Sawyer was and how she had come to his window that night. "We went across the top of the porch and down the side and the witch never even knew we were gone, did she, Kim?"

    "No," she agreed, smiling affectionately at the Youngster. "She never even knew. Rather like Hansel and Gretel." "I told Kim you would have paid anything to get me back, isn't that right, Uncle Dare?" Holding the hand of the man

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    with happy possessiveness, Scott looked up at his uncle for confirmation.
    "Anything," Cavenaugh had agreed. Kimberly had seen the grim protectiveness in the depth of the man's gaze and had known he spoke the truth. Cavenaugh would have done more than pay a ransom to get