First Impressions (2 page)

“Hmm? Oh, no thanks,” she murmured absently. “I'll have a cup later.”

When the door swung shut, Donna stared at it, then at the can of coffee in her hand. “Now what got into her?” she wondered aloud.

As she walked home, Shane felt confused. Though emotional by nature, she could, when necessary, be very analytical. At the moment, she was dealing with the shock of what had happened to her in a few fleeting seconds. It had been much more than a feminine response to an attractive man.

She had felt, inexplicably, as though her whole life had been a waiting period for that quick, silent meeting. Recognition. The word came to her out of nowhere. She had recognized him, not from Donna's description, but from some deep inner knowledge of her own needs.
This was the man.

Ridiculous, she told herself. Idiotic. She didn't know him, hadn't even heard him speak. No sensible person felt so strongly about a total stranger. More likely, her response had stemmed from the fact that she and Donna had been speaking of him as he had walked in.

Turning off the main road, she began to climb the steep lane that led to her house. He certainly hadn't been friendly, she thought. He hadn't answered her smile or made the slightest attempt at common courtesy. Something in the cool blue eyes had demanded distance. Shane didn't think he was the kind of man she usually liked. Then again, her reaction had been far removed from the calm emotion of liking.

As always when she saw the house, Shane felt a rush of pleasure. This was hers. The woods, thick and touched with the first breath of autumn; the narrow struggling creek; the rocks that worked their way through the ground everywhere—they were all hers.

Shane stood on the wooden bridge over the creek and looked at the house. It did need work. Some of the boards on the porch needed replacing, and the roof was a big problem. Still, it was a lovely little place, nestled comfortably before woods, rolling hills and distant blue mountains. It was more than a century old, fashioned from local stone. In the rain, the colors would burst out of the old rock and gleam like new. Now, in the sunlight, it was comfortably gray.

The architecture was simple—straight lines for durability rather than style. The walkway ran to the porch, where the first step sagged a bit. Shane's problem wouldn't be with the stone, but with the wood. She overlooked the rough edges to take in the beauty of the familiar.

The last of the summer flowers were fading. The roses were brown and withered, while the first fall blooms were coming to life. Shane could hear the hiss of water traveling over rocks, the faint whisper of wind through leaves, and the lazy drone of bees.

Her grandmother had guarded her privacy. Shane could turn a full circle without seeing a sign of another house. She had only to walk a quarter mile if she wanted company, or stay at home if she didn't. After four years of crowded classrooms and daily confinement, Shane was ready for solitude.

And with luck, she thought as she continued walking, she could have her shop open and ready for business before Christmas. Antietam Antiques and Museum. Very dignified and to the point, she decided. Once the outside repairs were accomplished, work could start on the interior. The picture was clear in her mind.

The first floor would be structured in two informal sections. The museum would be free, an inducement to lure people into the antique shop. Shane had enough from her family collection to begin stocking the museum and six rooms of antique furniture to sort and list. She would have to go to a few auctions and estate sales to increase her inventory, but she felt her inheritance and savings would hold her for a while.

The house and land were hers free and clear, with only the yearly taxes to pay. Her car, for what it was worth, was paid for. Every spare penny could go into her projected business. She was going to be successful and independent—and the last was more important than the first.

As she walked toward the house, Shane paused and glanced down the overgrown logging trail, which led to the Farley property. She was curious to see what this Vance Banning was doing with the old place. And, she admitted, she wanted to see him again when she was prepared.

After all, they were going to be neighbors, she told herself as she hesitated. The least she could do was to introduce herself and start things off on the right foot. Shane set off into the woods.

She knew the trees intimately. Since childhood she had raced or walked among them. Some had fallen and lay aging and rotting on the ground among layers of old leaves. Overhead, branches arched together to form an intermittent roof pierced by streams of morning sunlight. Confidently she followed the narrow, winding path. She was still yards from the house when she heard the muffled echo of hammering.

Though it disturbed the stillness of the woods, Shane liked the sound. It meant work and progress. Quickening her pace, she headed toward it.

She was still in the cover of the trees when she saw him. He stood on the newly built porch of the old Farley place, hammering the supports for the railing. He'd stripped off his shirt, and his brown skin glistened with a light film of sweat. The dark hair on his chest tapered down, then disappeared into the waistband of worn, snug jeans.

As he lifted the heavy top rail into place, the muscles of his back and shoulders rippled. Totally intent on his work, Vance was unaware of the woman who stood at the edge of the woods and watched. For all his physical exertion, he was relaxed. There was no hardness around his mouth now or frost in his eyes.

When she stepped into the clearing, Vance's head shot up. His eyes instantly filled with annoyance and suspicion. Overlooking it, Shane went to him.

“Hi.” Her quick friendly smile had her dimples flashing. “I'm Shane Abbott. I own the house at the other end of the path.”

His brow lifted in acknowledgment as he watched her. What the hell does she want? he wondered, and set his hammer on the rail.

Shane smiled again, then took a long, thorough look at the house. “You've got your work cut out for you,” she commented amiably, sticking her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “Such a big place. They say it was beautiful once. I think there used to be a balcony around the second story.”

She glanced up. “It's a shame the fire did so much damage to the inside—and then all the years of neglect.” She looked at him then with dark, interested eyes. “Are you a carpenter?”

Vance hesitated briefly, then shrugged. It was close to the truth. “Yes.”

“That's handy, then.” Shane accepted the answer, attributing his hesitation to embarrassment at being out of work. “After D.C. you must find the mountains a change.” His mobile brow lifted again and Shane grinned. “I'm sorry. It's the curse of small towns. Word gets around quickly, especially when a flatlander moves in.”

“Flatlander?” Vance leaned against the post of the railing.

“You're from the city, so that's what you are.” She laughed, a quick bubbling sound. “If you stay for twenty years, you'll still be a flatlander, and this will always be the old Farley place.”

“It hardly matters what it's called,” he said coldly.

The faintest of frowns shadowed her eyes at his response. Looking at the proud, set face, Shane decided he would never accept open charity. “I'm doing some work on my place too,” she began. “My grandmother loved clutter. I don't suppose you could use a couple of chairs? I'm going to have to haul them up to the attic unless someone takes them off my hands.”

His eyes stayed level on hers with no change of expression. “I have all I need for now.”

Because it was the answer she had expected, Shane treated it lightly. “If you change your mind, they'll be gathering dust in the attic. You've got a good piece of land,” she commented, gazing over at the section of pasture in the distance. There were several outbuildings, though most were in desperate need of repair. She wondered if he would see to them before winter set in. “Are you going to have livestock?”

Vance frowned, watching her eyes roam over his property. “Why?”

The question was cold and unfriendly. Shane tried to overlook that. “I can remember when I was a kid, before the fire. I used to lie in bed at night in the summer with the windows open. I could hear the Farley cows as clearly as if they were in my grandmother's garden. It was nice.”

“I don't have any plans for livestock,” he told her shortly, and picked up his hammer again. The gesture of dismissal was crystal clear.

Puzzled, Shane studied him. Not shy, she concluded. Rude. He was plainly and simply rude. “I'm sorry I disturbed your work,” she said coolly. “Since you're a flatlander, I'll give you some advice. You should post your property lines if you don't want trespassers.”

Indignantly, Shane strode back to the path to disappear among the trees.

Chapter 2

Little twit, Vance thought as he gently tapped the hammer against his palm. He knew he'd been rude, but felt no particular regret. He hadn't bought an isolated plot of land on the outskirts of a dot on the map because he wanted to entertain. Company he could do without, particularly the blond cheerleader type with big brown eyes and dimples.

What the hell had she been after? he wondered as he drew a nail from the pouch on his hip. A cozy chat? A tour of the house? He gave a quick, mirthless laugh. Very neighborly. Vance pounded the nail through the wood in three sure strokes. He didn't want neighbors. What he wanted, what he intended to have, was time to himself. It had been too many years since he had taken that luxury.

Drawing another nail out of the pouch, he moved down the rail. He set it, then hammered it swiftly into place. In particular, he hadn't cared for the one moment of attraction he had felt when he had seen her in the general store. Women, he thought grimly, had an uncanny habit of taking advantage of a weakness like that. He didn't intend for it to happen to him again. He had plenty of scars to remind him what went on behind big, guileless eyes.

So now I'm a carpenter, he mused. With a sardonic grin, Vance turned his hands palms up and examined them. They were hard and calloused. For too many years, he mused, they had been smooth, used to signing contracts or writing checks. Now, for a time, he was back where he had started—with wood. Yes, until he was ready to sit behind a desk again, he was a carpenter.

The house, and the very fact that it was falling to pieces, gave him the sense of purpose that had slipped from him over the last couple of years. He understood pressure, success, duty, but the meaning of simple enjoyment had become lost somewhere beneath the rest.

Let the vice president of Riverton Construction, Inc., run the show for a few months, he mused. He was on vacation. And let the little blonde with her puppy-dog eyes keep on her own land, he added, pounding in another nail. He didn't want any part of the good-neighbor policy.

When he heard leaves rustling underfoot, Vance turned. Seeing Shane striding back up the path, he muttered a long stream of curses in a low voice. With the exaggerated care of a man greatly aggravated, he set down his hammer.

“Well?” He aimed cold blue eyes and waited.

Shane didn't pause until she had reached the foot of the steps. She was through being intimidated. “I realize you're
extremely
busy,” she began, matching his coolness ice for ice, “but I thought you might be interested in knowing there's a nest of copperheads very close to the footpath. On
your
edge of the property,” she added.

Vance gave her a narrowed glance, weighing the possibility of her fabricating the snakes to annoy him. She didn't budge under the scrutiny, but paused just long enough to let the silence hang before she turned. She'd gone no more than two more yards when Vance let out an impatient breath and called her back.

“Just a minute. You'll have to show me.”

“I don't
have
to do anything,” Shane began, but found herself impotently talking to the swinging screen door. Briefly, she wished that she'd never seen the nest, or had simply ignored it and continued down the path to her own home. Then, of course, if he'd been bitten, she would have blamed herself.

Well, you'll do your good deed, she told herself, and that will be that. She kicked a rock with the toe of her shoe and thought how simple it would have been if she'd stayed home that morning.

The screen door shut with a bang. Looking up, Shane watched Vance come down the steps with a well-oiled rifle in his hands. The sleek, elegant weapon suited him. “Let's go,” he said shortly, starting off without her. Gritting her teeth, Shane followed.

The light dappled over them once they moved under the cover of trees. The scent of earth and sun-warmed leaves warred with the gun oil. Without a word, Shane skirted around him to take the lead. Pausing, she pointed to a pile of rocks and brown, dried leaves.

“There.”

After taking a step closer, Vance spotted the hourglass-shaped crossbands on the snakes. If she hadn't shown him the exact spot, he never would have noticed the nest . . . unless, of course, he'd stepped right on it. An unpleasant thought, he mused, calculating its proximity to the footpath. Shane said nothing, watching as he found a thick stick and overturned the rocks. Immediately the hissing sounded.

With her eyes trained on the angry snakes, she didn't see Vance heft the rifle to his shoulder. The first shot jolted her. Her heart hammered during the ensuing four, her eyes riveted to the scene.

“That should do it,” Vance muttered, lowering the gun. After switching on the safety, he turned to Shane. She'd turned a light shade of green. “What's the matter?”

“You might have warned me,” she said shakily. “I wish I'd looked away.”

Vance glanced back to the gruesome mess on the side of the path. That, he told himself grimly, had been incredibly stupid. Silently, he cursed her, then himself, before he took her arm.

“Come back and sit down.”

“I'll be all right in a minute.” Embarrassed and annoyed, Shane tried to pull away. “I don't want your gracious hospitality.”

“I don't want you fainting on my land,” he returned, drawing her into the clearing. “You didn't have to stay once you'd shown me the nest.”

“Oh, you're very welcome,” she managed as she placed a hand on her rolling stomach. “You are the most ill-mannered, unfriendly man I've ever met.”

“And I thought I was on my best behavior,” he murmured, opening the screen door. After pulling Shane inside, Vance led her through the huge empty room toward the kitchen.

After a glance at the dingy walls and uncovered floor, Shane sent him what passed as a smile. “You must give me the name of your decorator.”

She thought he laughed, but she could have been mistaken.

The kitchen, in direct contrast to the rest of the house, was bright and clean. The walls had been papered, the counters and cabinets refinished.

“Well, this is nice,” she said as he nudged her into a chair. “You do good work.”

Without responding, Vance set a kettle on the stove. “I'll fix you some coffee.”

“Thank you.”

Shane concentrated on the kitchen, determined to forget what she'd just seen. The windows had been reframed, the wood stained and lacquered to match the grooved trim along the floor and ceiling. He had left the beams exposed and polished the wood to a dull gleam. The original oak floor had been sanded and sealed and waxed. Vance Banning knew how to use wood, Shane decided. The porch was basic mechanics, but the kitchen showed a sense of style and an appreciation for fine detail.

It seemed unfair to her that a man with such talent should be out of work. Shane concluded that he had used his savings to put a down payment on the property. Even if the house had sold cheaply, the land was prime. Remembering the barrenness of the rest of the first floor, she couldn't prevent her sympathies from being aroused again. Her eyes wandered to his.

“This really is a lovely room,” she said, smiling. The faintest hint of color had seeped back into her cheeks. Vance turned his back to her to take a mug from a hook.

“You'll have to settle for instant,” he told her.

Shane sighed. “Mr. Banning . . . Vance,” she decided, and waited for him to turn. “Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I'm not a nosy, prying neighbor—at least not obnoxiously so. I was curious to see what you were doing to the house and what you were like. I know everyone within three miles of here.” With a shrug, she rose. “I didn't mean to bother you.”

As she started to brush by him, Vance took her arm. Her skin was still chilled. “Sit down . . . Shane,” he said.

For a moment, she studied his face. It was cool and unyielding, but she sensed some glimmer of suppressed kindness. In response to it, her eyes warmed. “I disguise my coffee with milk and sugar,” she warned. “Three spoonsful.”

A reluctant smile tugged at his mouth. “That's disgusting.”

“Yes, I know. Do you have any?”

“On the counter.”

Vance poured the boiling water, and after a moment's hesitation, took down a second mug for himself. Carrying them both, he joined Shane at the drop leaf table.

“This really is a lovely piece.” Before reaching for the milk, she ran her fingers over the table's surface. “Once it's refinished, you'll have a real gem.” Shane added three generous spoons of sugar to her mug. Wincing a little, Vance sipped his own black coffee. “Do you know anything about antiques?”

“Not really.”

“They're a passion of mine. In fact, I'm planning on opening a shop.” Shane brushed absently at the hair that fell over her forehead, then leaned back. “As it turns out, we're both settling in at the same time. I've been living in Baltimore for the last four years, teaching U.S. history.”

“You're giving up teaching?” Her hands, Vance noted, were small like the rest of her. The light trail of blue veins under the pale skin made her seem very delicate. Her wrists were narrow, her fingers slender.

“Too many rules and regulations,” Shane claimed, gesturing with the hands that had captured his attention.

“You don't like rules and regulations?”

“Only when they're mine.” Laughing, she shook her head. “I was a pretty good teacher, really. My problem was discipline.” She gave him a rueful grin as she reached for her coffee. “I'm the worst disciplinarian on record.”

“And your students took advantage of that?”

Shane rolled her eyes. “Whenever possible.”

“But you stuck with it for four years?”

“I had to give it my best shot.” Leaning her elbow on the table, Shane rested her chin on her palm. “Like a lot of people who grow up in a small, rural town, I thought the city was my pot of gold. Bright lights, crowds, hustle-bustle. I wanted excitement with a capital
E.
I had four years of it. That was enough.” She picked up her coffee again. “Then there are people from the city who think their answer is to move to the country and raise a few goats and can some tomatoes.” She laughed into her cup. “The grass is always greener.”

“I've heard it said,” he murmured, watching her. There were tiny gold flecks in her eyes. How had he missed them before?

“Why did you choose Sharpsburg?”

Vance shrugged negligently. Questions about himself were to be evaded. “I've done some work in Hagerstown. I like the area.”

“Living this far back from the main road can be inconvenient, especially in the winter, but I've never minded being snowed in. We lost power once for thirty-two hours. Gran and I kept the woodstove going, taking shifts, and we cooked soup on top of it. The phone lines were down too. We might have been the only two people in the world.”

“You enjoyed that?”

“For thirty-two hours,” she told him with a friendly grin. “I'm not a hermit. Some people are city people, some are beach people.”

“And you're a mountain person.”

Shane brought her eyes back to him. “Yes.”

The smile she had started to give him never formed. Something in the meeting of their eyes was reminiscent of the moment in the store. It was only an echo, but somehow more disturbing. Shane understood it was bound to happen again and again. She needed time to decide just what she was going to do about it. Rising, she walked to the sink to rinse out her mug.

Intrigued by her reaction, Vance decided to test her. “You're a very attractive woman.” He knew how to make his voice softly flattering.

Laughing, Shane turned back to him. “The perfect face for advertising granola bars, right?” Her smile was devilish and appealing. “I'd rather be sexy, but I settled for wholesome.” She gave the word a pained emphasis as she came back to the table.

There was no guile in her manner or her expression. What, Vance wondered again, was her angle? Shane was involved in studying the details of the kitchen and didn't see him frown at her.

“I do admire your work.” Inspired, she turned back to him. “Hey, listen, I've got a lot of remodeling and renovating to do before I can open. I can paint and do some of the minor stuff myself, but there's a lot of carpentry work.”

Here it is, Vance reflected coolly. What she wanted was some free labor. She would pull the helpless-female routine and count on his ego to take over.

“I have my own house to renovate,” he reminded her coolly as he stood and turned toward the sink.

“Oh, I know you wouldn't be able to give me a lot of time, but we might be able to work something out.” Excited by the idea, she followed him. Her thoughts were already racing ahead. “I wouldn't be able to pay what you could make in the city,” she continued. “Maybe five dollars an hour. If you could manage ten or fifteen hours a week . . .” She chewed on her bottom lip. It seemed a paltry amount to offer, but it was all she could spare at the moment.

Incredulous, Vance turned off the water he had been running, then faced her. “Are you offering me a job?”

Shane flushed a bit, afraid she'd embarrassed him. “Well, only part-time, if you're interested. I know you can make more somewhere else, and if you find something, I wouldn't expect you to keep on, but in the meantime . . .” She trailed off, not certain how he would react to her knowing he was out of work.

“You're serious?” Vance demanded after a moment. “Well . . . yes.”

“Why?”

“I need a carpenter. You're a carpenter. There's a lot of work. You might decide you don't want any part of it. But why don't you think about it, drop by tomorrow and take a look?” She turned to leave, but paused for an instant with her hand on the knob. “Thanks for the coffee.”

For several minutes, Vance stared at the door she had closed behind her. Abruptly, he burst into deep, appreciative laughter. This, he thought, was one for the books.