Rogue's Revenge - By Gail MacMillan Page 0,9

him.

Damn him. Trying to make me uncomfortable. Allison strode into the bathroom, unbuttoning her suit jacket with a violence that all but ripped the hand-covered buttons from its front. Sarcastic bastard! That truce is straining at the bit already.

Fifteen minutes later, she padded barefoot into the bedroom. Swathed in one of the Lodge’s white terry robes, her freshly shampooed hair blown dry, she felt much better, much more ready to cope with the barbarian whom her grandfather had made his foreman.

“Slippers, I need slippers.” She rummaged though the suitcase he’d thrown onto the bed. Only when she’d found a pair and was bending to put them on did she notice that the black suit she’d worn earlier, that she’d left draped over a chair, was gone.

Mrs. Oakes. That’s it. She came into my room and took my suit out to dry. I hope she’s not a meddler who sticks her nose into my business. I don’t need that kind of nuisance. Her son is bad enough. Wonder where she was when we arrived, why she didn’t come out to meet us? And why wasn’t she at the funeral? After all Gramps did for her and her despicable child, it was the least she could have done. Until that moment she’d been too involved with other thoughts to wonder about the housekeeper.

As she passed through the dining room and glanced outside toward the river, she noticed fog still lay wrapped over the landscape. Although the Lodge was warm and she could hear the crackle of a wood fire from the living room hearth, she shivered. Thank goodness Mrs. Oakes was on the premises. Being alone under such eerie conditions with the last man to see her grandfather alive would not be a heartening prospect. She pushed her way through the swinging door into the kitchen. Heath stood at the stove. He was stirring the contents of a pot.

“Where’s your mother?”

“Took you long enough to ask.” He kept his attention on his task.

“It’s been an unusual day. I had other things on my mind. I assumed she was here at the Lodge taking care of things while you helped bury Gramps. So where is she?”

“England.” Concentrating on what he was cooking, he didn’t turn to face her.

“England! Good lord, what is she doing in England?” Drop a bombshell or what!

“My grandmother was a war bride. My mother always wanted to trace her roots over there. The trip was a gift from Jack…just before he died.”

“You mean we’re alone here? No guests, no housekeeper?” Can this day get any more insane?

“That’s right.” He lifted a steaming spoonful from the pot and held it up to cool.

“This is incredible.” Allison threw up her arms dismay. “My mother will be furious when she finds out.”

“She knows.” He tasted from the spoon, dropped it into the sink, and faced her.

“What? No way! Why would she allow me to come here, knowing…?”

“I think she considers us both mature, responsible adults.” He shrugged and leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms on his chest. “And you do have that self-defense course.”

“Don’t tempt me.” She clutched the shawl collar of her robe to her throat. “I’m going to call her right now and let her know the situation, because I think you’re lying.”

“You’ll have to go to town to do that.” His lips quirked. “We didn’t have a telephone when you were here years ago, and we still don’t. Jack always figured having one would only be an unnecessary intrusion. And cells don’t work up here because of our location between the mountains.”

“You mean the only way to contact civilization is still that old CB he kept…keeps…in his office?”

“Once in a while, when it decides to work. By the way, you don’t have to clutch that robe. I’m not about to ravish you. At least not until I’ve had my supper.”

“Ohhh!” She dropped her hand to her side to glare at him. “Very funny.”

“Your knuckles were turning white. Couldn’t have been very comfortable.”

He turned back to his cooking.

Don’t let him get to you. Don’t!

She cocked her head to one side. “Is that a dryer I hear? You’re doing laundry?”

“Not mine,” he replied, bending to check something that was wafting a mouth-watering fragrance from the oven. “I threw your suit in to dry.”

“No!” Allison bolted past him and into the laundry room. Yanking open the dryer door, she stared in horror at the tangled black ball. She pulled it out and strode into the kitchen.

“Look, just look!” She shoved