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Dealer's Heart

by Cyndi Whitten

Published by Awe-Struck E-Books, Inc.

Copyright © 2008

ISBN: 978-158749-666-0

Electronic rights reserved by Awe-Struck E-Books, all other rights reserved by author. The reproduction or other use of any part of this publication without the prior written consent of the rights holder is an infringement of the copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. People and locations, even those with real names, have been fictionalized for the purposes of this story.

Chapter One

A keen wind blew from the southwest lifting leaves upward in sudden gusts. Spots of rain fell on the windshield. Abby Wilder flipped on the wipers and watched frayed clouds tear by overhead.

The Shell station came into view. She signaled to turn though there were no other cars on the road to notice it. Parking next to the first set of pumps, Abby turned to look for her purse on the back seat. It laid there somewhere sandwiched between her luggage pieces. The strap of it stuck out beneath the cosmetic case and she gave it a tug. When it did not budge, she pulled again. This time she jerked with all her strength and the purse came free. The force she used also caused her to elbow to jam the steering wheel and the horn blasted and rattled the Pennzoil sign. Abby glanced around to see if she startled anyone...then she remembered where she had stopped.

A white pickup truck sat near the convenience store where two men talked to the clerk. A dusty black jeep jutted halfway out of the garage with its hood lifted. Dimmed lights in the work area suggested that no one planned to finish the job today despite the fact that it was only eleven o'clock in the morning. Alongside the station, the grass was thick and weedy and the open land was filled with scrub brush and trees that drew together into thickets.

Rummaging now through the deep purse for her credit card wallet, Abby did not notice one of the men left the convenience store and approached her driver's side door. A sharp rap on the window made her flinch and she turned to see black jeans fitted over trim hips and a gray work shirt over-top very broad shoulders. She pressed a button and the window rolled partway down. "Premium please and fill the tank," she said before pressing the up-button on the window. She poked through her purse once more and found the credit card before he asked for it.

A sharper rap sounded on the window.

The man had not moved to fill the tank and Abby wondered at him. He simply stood there with hands on his hips. She let the window open completely. Hadn't she used the magic word? "Now?"

He looked as if the word pained him and he bent until he rested his arm on the window's ledge. "You're at a self-service gas station."

Abby heard what he said but watched him now at such close proximity and she thought it odd that a man with such dark hair and brows should have green eyes.

"That means you have to pump the gas yourself."

Abby nodded, not taking her eyes from his. "I know what self-serving means."

"I bet you do." He opened the car door for her and half smiled at her. Long dimples creased his face.

Abby climbed out of the Porsche and eyed the man. He stood at least eight inches taller than she. He needed to shave, though he looked handsome regardless, for grizzle touched his chin and upper lip. He had a strong nose too as though he might be part Greek or Roman. Yes, he was very good looking, Abby decided, and shoved her glasses further onto her nose.

"Do you know how to work the pump?"

She supposed he would stand there until she could prove she would not blow the station sky high. Well, Abby did know how to pump gas. She had done it once a couple of years ago. She studied the instructions on the machine. Even with glasses and contacts the words looked small. Select cash or credit. Abby mashed the credit button and inserted the charge card. Lift the handle and insert the pump.

"You have to turn the lever."

Abby gave him a scorching look when he reached past her and flipped on the lever.

Inserting the nozzle, she told him, "I was getting to it."

She wasn't sure he believed her, for the man leaned against her car door with crossed arms and one black boot crossed over the other waiting for her to prove it.

"I've got this, thank you," said Abby.

He nodded.

A moment passed.

"Don't you have some loose screws to tighten or something?" She glanced at the garage and back to him.

He barked out a laugh and shoved off the car. "I was just leaving when you honked your horn for service. That's when I noticed--"

"I did not honk for service. I accidentally hit the horn with my elbow."

He watched her for another moment, then said, "Uh huh." Moving toward the hood of the car, he placed his hand beneath it for the latch. "I noticed you have a fluid leak beneath the engine."

She knew quick panic rising and released the pump handle. "NO...no that's okay."

His dark brows bunched together.

"My grandfather will fix the car if something is wrong with it."

"It might only be a loose cap--"

"No," she said firmly. Trying to think of anything to keep a mechanic from looking under the hood, she exclaimed, "I watch 60 Minutes and I know all about highway mechanics charging double the money for simple repair jobs."

He threw back his head and laughed uproariously.

Why was he laughing?

He looked at her again. Still grinning, he backed away with his hands outstretched. "I do not work here young lady." He let his hands fall but kept walking backward. "I was just trying to be a nice guy and tell you you've got a fluid leak. But, since you've got someone to help you I will leave you alone." He twisted around then and walked toward the jeep in the garage. Slapping the hood down, he climbed into the driver seat. The vehicle groaned irritably when he started the engine and it grumbled again when he shifted into gear and drove it out of the drive. Waving in good-riddance, he drove onto the highway heading west.

* * *

She mashed the number four on her cell phone. When her grandfather answered, Abby told him, "I do not think I can do this. I will mess this up."

"What are you talking about, Abigail; of course you can do this. Hannible is easy pickings for a champ like you."

"I just met him. I thought he was the gas station attendant."

"I never told you he worked at the station."

"NO, no...I thought the man who came to my...never mind. Cole Hannible thinks I'm an idiot."

"GOOD," her grandfather said loud enough that she had to hold the phone away from her ear. "Let him think you are a nattering nitwit. You will be able to broadside him all the quicker."

"I accused him of trying to rip me off."

"Serves him right if you did. God knows he ripped me off."

"He was only trying to help me."

"You are breaking up," Popper told her and then asked, "Is your cell phone dying?"

"You told me to let it die."

"Perfect. I will see you in a couple of hours. And, Abby...the news...heading..."

Abby looked at the cell phone. The screen turned off and the battery went dead.

* * *

After purchasing an armload of snacks for the road trip, Abby left the Shell station. She drove thirty minutes before seeing another vehicle and the one she suddenly saw up ahead was not moving but sat parked on the shoulder of the road. The dusty black jeep's hood stood open and the driver emerged to wave a hand for assistance.

Abby slowed when she saw Cole Hannible and she rolled down the passenger-side window.

Of course he recognized her. It was funny how he hesitated as if he wished anyone else in the world offered assistance. Taking a breath, he leaned toward the window and said, "Thanks for stopping. Do you have a cell phone I can use?"

"Yes, but the battery is dead."

He nodded as if he already knew that. He said, "Then how about giving me a jump?"

She nodded and pulled the car forward. After doing a three-point turn, she parked the Porsche facing the jeep. She shut off the engine and joined him at the front of the car.

"You have to leave your car running."

"Oh," she said and walked to the car again.

"And pull the hood latch."

Abby remained in the car this time and peeked at Cole between the door jam and the hood to watch him work. She knew a moment of anxiety when he studied the engine, but he seemed only interested in attaching the cables to the battery.

She guessed she should have recognized him. Cole had not changed too much but then again he had only been seventeen years old when he worked on Popper's ranch. Abby had been eleven at the time and she had never had much contact with him. That was thirteen years ago, which made Cole thirty now. So much had happened in those years in between. After Abby's mother remarried and they moved to South Carolina, Popper called the family and said Cole Hannible no longer worked for him. He claimed Cole cheated him in a game of poker to steal a colt.

Abby remembered thinking at the time that it didn't sound like the Cole Hannible she knew. He had seemed such a hard worker coming to the ranch early and leaving for school, then returning after school to help with the horses. She didn't even know Cole knew how to play poker, or any other game, for that matter. He seemed the serious type.

Two years afterward, Abby saw the stolen colt on television. The three-year-old Dealer's Heart was the most beautiful stallion she had ever seen with its black coat and mane. The horse stood at least seventeen hands high and ran faster than the speed of light. Dealer's Heart won the Triple Crown of racing that year: the Preakness, the Belmont, and the Kentucky Derby. That's when the feud began between Cole Hannible and Popper.

Abby blinked when she heard Cole trying to start the engine of his jeep. He tried again.

Abby cupped her chin in her hand and stared at the landscape. The west wind sighed in the tree branches. Pine and oak trees stood dense behind wired fencing. The leaves glistened with moisture.

Ten minutes later, Cole approached the driver's side door. He leaned on the window frame and watched Abby. His dark hair matted to his head and his eyes looked dull. He spoke the truth when he said, "I hate to ask." Drawing a deep breath, he asked, "Would you give me a lift? I live about ten miles up the road. Are you going that far?"

"I'm going that far," said Abby resigning herself to the task.

Cole slammed both hoods shut and Abby watched him as he reached into the back of the jeep for...a shotgun?

The weapon looked heavy with a long scope on the top barrel and she might have re-thought the whole adventure, but Cole was already attempting to squeeze himself into the passenger seat. It took him three tries to get in since sitting in the Porsche for a man his size was like trying to stuff a marlin into a sardine can. Once seated, his knees came up to his chest, he put the gun between his knees, and he pushed the barrel stiff against his face.

Abby frowned at him and pushed her glasses up onto her nose. "Goodness."

He asked in a serene voice. "What's wrong?"

She surveyed him from top to kneecap. "Well, I'm wondering now that you're in, how will you get out?" She bit her lip, thinking. "I'm also wondering why you brought that shotgun with you."

"Rifle," he corrected. He shifted a bit and winced as he reached for the door to yank it shut. "I cannot leave it in the jeep because someone would steal it. If not that, it would get wet in the storm." He twisted his head to look down at her. "Why? Does it make you nervous?"

"I didn't expect it, that's all," she told him and reached for her own door handle. The next problem would be to shift the car into reverse. His big leg blocked the gear.

Watching her, Cole Hannible recognized the problem and brushed her hand off the stick. "Step on the clutch," he instructed when he felt the gears rip beneath the car. He sat close enough to the ground to feel the heat off the pavement. The girl pushed the clutch and Cole jammed the stick into reverse. "You drive and I'll shift," he told her. "Just tell me when you hit the clutch next time."

She backed the Porsche and did another three-point turn on the highway. "Shift," she told him as she clutched and the car sailed into second, third, and fourth.

"I can't shift into fifth," Cole said when the joystick hit his leg. "Slow down and stay in fourth."

"But I'm doing eighty."

"Then slow down because I don't want to die."

She lifted her foot off the accelerator and the Porsche slowed to sixty. "I thought you would like to get home before the rain starts."

He knew she said it because she wanted to get rid of his company as fast as he wanted to get rid of hers. "What is your name?" He watched her now in such close quarters, taking in her shoulder-length blonde hair, her oversized glasses, and her glossy pink lipstick.

"Abby," she told him without looking at him.

"Abby? That's nice. It suits you. Abigail?"

She frowned and shook her head.

"Just Abby then; Abby who watches 60 Minutes and who secretly wants to be a racecar driver?"

She laughed and eased her foot off the accelerator. "Sorry."

"Now, Abby, tell me," he said, admiring the leather dash of the car. "Is your family wealthy?"

She frowned at him.

He pretended shock too. "What?"

"You can't ask people about their money."

"Why not?" He tried to look concerned by bunching his brows.

"I don't know, but you don't do it. It is not polite."

Her explanation made him grin. "It's true though, isn't it? You are driving a Porsche 911 Turbo. What girl your age drives one of these?"

Abby wrinkled her nose at his questions. "My grandfather bought this car for me as a graduation present."

"You just graduated high school?"

"College," she answered in a dignified tone.

"Oh," he said, dragging out the word. "What did you major in?"

She waited a moment before answering, as though she didn't want to talk to him.

He waited expectantly.

Finally, she said, "I earned a BA in Animal Science, but this last year I majored in Animal Psychology."

He tried to keep the skeptical tone out of his voice. "You're an animal shrink...I mean, scientist?"

"A bachelor's degree would limit me in the science field. To be a researcher I would have to earn my masters, even my doctorate, but I do not want to do research. I want to train animals."

"Dog trainer?" He could imagine little Abby in her big glasses training some yappy little poodle.

She frowned at him as though she could read his thoughts. "I trained my mother's Collie but I also train larger animals...horses for instance."

"Race horses?"

She nodded. "I have trained thoroughbreds but I prefer show horses. I also train students to compete from Class A to Nationals."

Her answer surprised him. Maybe she was not as air-headed as he first thought her to be. "Well, what do you know Abigail," he offered, shifting as much as he could. "I raise horses and cattle. I would offer you a job but you probably charge outrageous fees. Unless..."

Her brown eyes held suspicion.

"...unless you would consider giving me a break on the charges because we're such good friends." He enjoyed needling her. The way she kept wrinkling her nose provoked him further. "What do you say?"

"I don't think so."

"What? You don't think you'll work for me or you don't think that we're such good friends?"

"Based on our current friendship, Mr. Hannible, I would charge you double." She knew it was a mistake as soon as she said it.

"I didn't tell you my name."

Abby's grip tightened on the steering wheel and her stomach did a little flip. "What's that?"

"I didn't tell you my name. You called me Mr. Hannible."

"No, I called you Mr. Horrible." That was quick thinking and Abby smiled at her answer without looking at him.

He sat close in the seat next to her and she could practically feel the curiosity burning inside of him. She chanced a glance at him and saw the few freckles sprinkled across the left side of his face. A tiny scar cut across the top of his right cheek. Green eyes narrowed on her.

How perfect that Stanley chose that moment to wake. The cat stretched on the luggage and sat up to place a massive paw on the armrest. The orange tabby brought his nose right up to Cole Hannible's ear and sniffed.

Cole had more room to maneuver than Abby thought because when the wet nose touched his ear, he twisted with lightning speed and put his back against the door. "HO," he let out, and then, "What is THAT?"

Abby almost braked at his outburst. Pressing the accelerator again, she told him, "That is Stanley." She reached out and rubbed the cat's big head.

"No, that's a mountain lion. He's an exotic pet, right?"

Abby laughed and pushed the cat toward the back seat. "He's a plain ordinary tabby cat."

Cole straightened in the seat but watched Stanley out of the corner of his eye. "What do you feed him, steroids?"

Abby smiled. "I feed him Hannibles." Her answer brought them full circle to the original conversation.

Green eyes burned. "How do you know my name?"

"You just told me, Mr. Hannible."

She could see Mr. Hannible grew tired of the exchange for he closed his eyes and turned his head toward the window.

She pushed the accelerator again and the Porsche sailed easily to eighty miles per hour. When she maintained the speed for two minutes, a red light on the panel blinked. The car continued along with the light glowing for another minute before a knocking sound began beneath the hood. At first, the noise was faint but then it grew louder with every rotation of the tires.

Cole Hannible wrenched his head around to stare at the dash. "You are out of oil?"

"Look, its a little oil can light. Isn't that clever?"

Cole stared at her with wide eyes as though he could not believe her ignorance. "That's what I told you at the gas station. You have an oil leak...STOP THE CAR."

Abby did not have to stop the car. It stopped all by itself when the installed mechanism locked the engine. The Porsche, doing seventy now, rolled along until Abby stepped on the brake.

Cole grabbed the wheel and pulled hard to the right. "Steer to the shoulder."

The car rolled into the grass and Abby yanked the emergency brake. "Wow," she exclaimed. "Who would've thought that would happen?"

* * *

The air grew intense with anticipation, dark with foreboding. Cole Hannible contemplated murder, or so Abby gathered by his flared nostrils and narrowed eyes. They stood outside the car now and Cole peered beneath the hood of the Porsche. He slammed it shut. "We will have to walk," he said without looking at her. It had been several minutes since Cole looked directly at Abby, as though he feared that if he saw her he would do so through the scope of his rifle.

"It's going to rain. We should wait for the storm to blow over and then walk if we still need to..."

His green eyes narrowed. "The storm will take hours to blow over and I'm not sitting in that red tin can during a hurricane."

"Hurricane?" Abby had been leaning against the car and now pushed upright. "What hurricane?"

He peered through the trees now judging the best path to take. "Hurricane Debbie."

"It's going to New Orleans," she corrected. She had purposely watched The Weather Channel this morning.

Cole stood in front of her with his rifle slung over his shoulder. It seemed he tried to stay civil but his frustration revealed itself the longer he spoke: "No it's not. It is coming straight at us. The weatherman said we will start to feel the effects by three o'clock and thanks to you we are not closer to shelter but farther from it." His heavy brow lifted a fraction. "Where the jeep stalled I could have crossed the fields to the Eggert ranch but the highway goes southwest and then cuts back. We are at least ten miles away from my place with nothing between here and there."

Abby could only think to defend herself. Forget the height and breadth of the man--and that he carried a high-powered rifle--she squared off on him. "Why didn't you cut through the field then instead of begging a lift from me?"

"Because there is a hurricane approaching."

"You said that already," she informed him and leaned against the car again. She refused to look at him now, though she realized he stared at her with great concentration. She assumed he wanted to choke her or do some other sort of bodily harm to her person. Abby would have never guessed that what Cole thought was that in her high temper she looked lovely with her blonde tresses lifting in the wind and that her complexion looked dewy soft in the gray light of the storm.

At last, he said, "Get what you need from the car and let's go."

Abby grabbed her purse and keys and shooed Stanley out of the back seat. By the time she turned around Cole had walked down the incline that separated the highway and the fenced acreage. "Come on," he called to her. "There isn't time to stand around."

"Do you think the car will be all right if we leave it here?"

"Out of your hands the car is fine. Come on."

Abby started down the incline but hesitated again. "There's bound to be another car come along."

Cole shifted his weight and looked eastward. "Because there's been so much traffic up until now?"

"I'm not sure about waking. I think we should stay in the car."

"I'm walking; now." He proved it by hopping the fence. "Stay here or come with me. It's your choice."

It was nice of him to say but Abby knew she did not have a choice. Popper might not find her before the storm hit and she was not going to stay by herself in a hurricane. Nope, she was sticking with the man with the rifle.

* * *

They trudged along as fast as they could over and through palmetto brush and densely packed pine trees. There was no path; only trees, logs, moss, crickets, mosquitoes, and more hungry gators than Abby cared to think about. This wasn't the Florida dream-destination for young and old alike, the Sunshine State known for its white sandy beaches, fat juicy oranges, mocking birds, hibiscus flowers, and palm trees. Abby would pay to see just one of those things. She would sell the Porsche. Shoot, she would sell Cole Hannible to see one orange. MOREOVER, it crossed her mind that Cole did not try to find the simplest course but instead tested her moral fiber, her gist--her espirit de corps. From time to time, he turned around to see if she still followed him.

They came to a tiny stream winding like a gray ribbon in and out of the trees. Cole started to cross but Abby stopped. The white sneakers she wore cost a lot of money.

"You paid over three hundred dollars for those?" He stared at her feet in disapproval.

A log bridge crossed farther to the east and Cole crossed first to show Abby the technique. It looked easy enough but when she stepped onto the log, she lost all sense of balance.

"Don't look down."

She lifted her eyes to see him and began to slowly inch her way across the log.

"That's right, take it slow, and keep looking at me." He waited on the bank with the rifle at his side and his hand on his hip. His voice sounded soothing but the hard set of his jaw suggested impatience. Suddenly he stood straighter and called, "Hold up, the cat is trying to move around you."

Stanley had grown intolerant of her measured progress and when Abby's feet spread, he made a dash between them. Abby waved giant circles trying to keep her balance. When she was stable again, she took a breath, and grinned at Cole Hannible in victory.

Then she fell into the water.

His hooting laughter pushed her temper over the top. Abby fished her glasses out of the stream and then stomped toward shore. Her jeans and her shoes were soaked through, as was her white blouse. She stood on the bank, threw her purse to the ground, and with both hands shoved the glasses onto her face. "WHAT IS SO FUNNY?"

That put a hitch in his laughter and he watched her a moment. "You are the most helpless female I have ever met."

She glared at him with her fist curled at her side.

When he saw her intent, he laughed again but then stepped away when she advanced toward him. "Did I mention that you're an attractive girl?" He fought to save himself stumbling backward through a scrub bush and sideswiping a pine tree. When she took a swing at him, he grabbed her hand. He spun her round and marched her toward her purse. "Don't get your tail in a knot," he told her and released her abruptly so that she tripped next to her purse. "It is not my fault you took a fall."

She sank to her knees feeling the hot tears in her eyes. Twisting hard, she sat on the ground.

Cole hunkered in front of her and eyed her cautiously. "Oh come on, what happened? You fell into the water. You'll dry."

Abby sniffed and poked at her glasses. "You laughed at me."

"You were funny."

"You called me helpless."

Cole took a steady breath, held out a hand to help her, and then stood alongside of her. "Because you are." He walked again but did not drop her hand. "You can't pump gas, you know nothing about car maintenance, you have no balance, and you pay far too much money for sneakers."

Abby tried to pull her hand from his.

He turned to look at her without releasing her. "I'm sure you're good at something, let's think a minute." Walking again and pulling her with him, he asked, "Can you sing?"

Abby shook her head.

"Can you cook?"

"No."

Cole frowned but kept walking. "Do you play a musical instrument?"

* * *

Low clouds raced westward and the wind became gale force as it whistled through the trees. Giant oak limbs groaned over their heads as two o'clock sunshine dimmed to dusk light.

Cole led the way again. He had given up the search to find Abby's one talent, having exhausted every avenue for each suggestion: domestic duties, foreign languages, music abilities, art appreciation, woodworking, and sports. He had not said it but Abby knew Cole Hannible thought she was not only the most helpless woman but also the most useless woman on the planet, in the universe, in the charted galaxies including the one with the Planet of the Apes in it.

Fortunately, Abby's self-worth did not rest upon what Cole Hannible thought about her. He never once asked her if she could permute the eight cubes in the last layer of the Rubik's Cube or if she could pull a tablecloth out from beneath dinnerware set for six and not break a dish. She could do both of those things impressively. Cole did not ask her if she could spin a basketball on one finger or if she could tell a clever joke. If he had asked, she would have told him that last September she won the title of Miss Fire Prevention at the state fair. Cole Hannible simply did not ask the right questions.

The first squall line moved through the area bringing a quick shower but it added to Abby's misery. She sat on a fallen tree. Her tote-sized purse lay at her feet and she bent to rummage through it for food.

Sensing a quick treat, Stanley came to sit next to the purse and he blinked his oval eyes at Abby. He looked fresh enough after the three-hour walk, but of course, he hiked on four legs. That was just one of the advantages of being a cat Stanley might explain.

Cole Hannible stomped toward her with an irritated look as he watched her open a Twinkie package. "You should tell me when you stop. We could get separated."

Abby smiled at him. "My voice only carries a mile or so."

"We still have a long way to go."

"How many miles are left to travel, Mr. Hannible?"

He sighed and shrugged his broad shoulders. "I don't know. Two or three maybe."

"Then it doesn't matter if I sit here for five more minutes, does it? We are not going to make it. Twinkie?"

His green eyes squinted at her. "No."

No, it did not matter or no, he did not want a Twinkie? She asked, "Snowball then?" She dug deeper into her purse. "How about a jellyroll?"

"I DON'T LIKE JUNK FOOD."

"Well, that is probably what makes you so irritable."

"I just want to get home before the storm hits." His hands were on his hips and he seemed to try to gather his wits about him. He asked in a civil tone, "Is that a flashlight?"

Abby pulled the piece out of her bag, happy to get rid of the bulk. She had taken it from the glove compartment on impulse. The compact flashlight had a fluorescent light on the bottom.

Cole's shoulders relaxed as he stared at Abby. "May I see it?" He stepped forward to take it from her and then sat next to her to study each light selection.

Even sitting, Cole Hannible's size dwarfed hers. His long jean-clad legs stretched out in front of him. His shoulders filled the space between Abby and a nearby tree. "This will come in handy if we have to stop." He glanced at her. How striking he looked with his grizzled jaw and straight mouth. His eyes were nicest of all, Abby decided. He sat close enough that she could see how thick and black his lashes were beneath those straight and thick brows.

Cole did not seem to mind her examination or maybe he was not aware of it. He said, "Out here, somewhere is an old barn. I think I can find it." Looking at the sky, he continued, "We would be smart to head for it instead of my ranch. Let's hole up until the storm passes." His eyes came back to hers and he frowned. "What's the matter?"

Aghast that he had caught her mooning, Abby asked, "What do you mean?"

Cole stood and stared at her with his rifle slung over his shoulder. "You are too quiet. Haul your backside off that log and come on." He turned to move away.

Abby looked at Stanley with raised brows.

Stanley blinked his eyes and shrugged.

Chapter Two

An hour lapsed and the next squall line moved through the county making the first feel like a weak sprinkle shower. The wind blew the rain at a side angle through the trees instead of pouring straight down.

Up ahead an enormous barn sat back in the middle of a wide circle clearing surrounded by a ribbon of low trees. Abby wondered what fool built a barn out in the middle of nowhere; why not a five-star hotel with room service?

Cole strode to the double door and slapped at the huge key lock.

What fool built a barn out in the middle of nowhere and stuck a padlock on the door?

She watched Cole yank at the lock as if he thought to pry it open with his bare hands. There he stood, a huge hunched figure with sopping black hair plastered to his head and his rifle stuck beneath his armpit.

Abby thought to find another way inside. The wind did not blow as strong along the side of the barn. Still, every gale threatened to launch Abby head over heals. She found no other door but up high set a narrow window...if she could find a ladder she could reach it and climb through to shelter.

Several weathered crates sat alongside the far end of the wall and she stacked them beneath the window. Four crates completed the ladder and she climbed them to shove at the unlocked glass. Abby grabbed the sill and pulled herself halfway through before she wondered about getting down into the empty barn. All of a sudden Hurricane Debbie unleashed a fierce blast of wind that toppled the crates and flipped Abby into the barn.

She fell seven feet.

Abby lay still on her back on the hay-strewn floor and stared up at the dark gray ceiling. A dabble of light filtered through the window. She could not close her eyes while listening to the sound of the wind as it ripped past the building. Was she dead? She had heard that hearing was the last to go...

A rifle blast roused every nerve in her body and Abby gasped for air.

Cole Hannible entered the barn and trained the high beam light on her. "What are you doing?"

What was she doing? Did he not respect the dead at all? She managed to roll to her side and then into a sitting position. A small groan escaped her.

"How did you get in here?"

"I came through the window."

Cole brought the light back around and she could see the outline of his broad shoulders beyond the beam of light. "What window?"

She nodded toward the opening near the ceiling and Cole moved the light upward.

"That was a climb. Are you alright?"

"Sure." With the return of normal breathing, Abby got to her feet. "The floor broke my fall."

"Good," he said, apparently not meaning he had been concerned. He meant good in the sense that he did not have to haul her through the storm to an emergency room, or good that he did not have to set a bone or perform mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

Cole said, "You should have shut the window while you were up there. Now all the rain will come in and it will get damp in here."

"You want me to climb up there and close it?" His lack of sympathy irritated her.

He knew it too and flashed a grin. "How did you get up there in the first place?"

She could tell him about the cleverly constructed ladder...then again, she would have to explain that she had not thought about a landing so she settled for the cliché, "Where there is a will..."

"This is my will and my way," said Cole, holding up the rifle. He walked past her to bolt the barn door with a long piece of wood.

A scratching noise above their heads caused Cole to swing the light upward. Stanley clawed his way through the window. He landed with a thud at Abby's feet.

"Poor kitty," she cooed.

"I told you to close that window. Now look what the wind blew in."

Abby scooped the cat into her arms and turned his ears away from Cole Hannible's abusive tongue.

Cole said, "He looks nearly as disheveled as you do."

Abby set the cat on the floor and then bumped her glasses onto her nose. She looked at her clothing. Yes, it was true; she scored at bad beauty impact. Her white blouse clung to her figure like plastic wrap. So did her jeans. Her little sneakers looked mud-stained and sounded squishy. As for her hair, it felt like wet spikes on top of her head. She tugged at it and a long spear of hay came loose.

Cole grimaced. "That helps." He turned his attention to the flashlight. When he flipped on the fluorescent bulb the barn filled with soft light. Happy with it, he grinned at Abby, and then winced again when he took in her appearance anew. "Woman, you are a mess."

Did he have no gallantry in any bone in his body? "The fact that you do not find me attractive tickles me to death, Mr. Hannible."

He guffawed and set the flashlight on a wooden crossbeam. "Then you ought to have a good laugh."

She narrowed her eyes. "Good. I do not want you to like me. I don't want you to try to charm me or try to kiss me..."

"KISS YOU?" His green eyes sparkled and his hand landed on his hips. "You don't shut up long enough for anyone to kiss you."

So this was where their relationship wound up: virtual strangers yet comfortable enough in each other's company to hurl poisoned one-liners? Fortunately for Mr. Hannible, Abby did not beat up people three times her size. She spun away from him, collected her purse and her cat, and walked as far away from him as she could go--which was not far enough. She could still see him! She sat and leaned her back against the side of the barn.

* * *

Cole wandered around the barn. Where the light faded on the walls, the shadows crept out of the corners. The cool air flowed in from the open window. He could see nothing past it but falling water. Along the back wall was a row of seven stalls. The structure appeared sturdy enough to withstand the wind.

He tried to imagine the devastation taking place but if trees snapped in half, he could not hear them over the wind. The wind no longer howled, it growled like an angry animal.

East of the barn, a tornado touched down and ripped small trees from the ground. Cole's jeep flipped into a trench and rested on the driver's side. The Shell sign smashed through the mini-mart and landed in the snack aisle. Fritos and Pringles blew eight to ten miles away.

Cole set his rifle in the corner near the door. After a ragged breath, he glanced at Abby and knew a fresh surge of resentment. He could have braved the storm himself and reached Oak Manor before the storm hit. If she would have let him look at the Porsche at the Shell station, neither one of them would have been in this tight spot now.

He rubbed his wet face with both hands and swept his hair off his forehead. Again, he glanced at the girl. She claimed she was not hurt from the fall but he wondered about that. She looked as though she was having a hard time resting and kept switching her sitting position. He walked toward her.

* * *

Abby could feel the wall vibrating. She straightened her legs again and leaned to the right. No good; her bottom hurt something awful. Shifting to the left, she pulled her legs into her body.

She opened he eyes and flinched. Cole Hannible had squatted down beside her. "Go away," she told him and closed her eyes again.

"Do you have any aspirin?"

Abby opened her eyes in surprise. Was he concerned about her? Had she been wrong to think Cole did not care about her discomfort?

"I have an unbelievable headache."

No, she was not wrong about Cole Hannible or his dispassionate nature! She reached for her purse and dragged it into her lap. Finding the small bottle, she handed it to him.

"Here," he said, tilting the container and handing her two caplets.

"I don't need them."

"Yes you do. Take them."

Abby held out her hand and sat forward. "I have nothing to drink."

"Why do you need a drink?" he asked, lifting two pills to his mouth and swallowing them dry.

With a sigh, Abby looked at him. "I hate to disappoint you again, but I have yet another flaw in my character: I cannot swallow dry pills."

"You don't have a bottle of water in that magic purse of yours? No Perrier or a nippy of Jack Daniels?"

"No," she confessed leaning toward him. "I will wait to get home before I start drinking the hard stuff. If only to forget."

His eyes danced in the lamplight. "Take the aspirin. You're getting edgy."

Abby studied the caplets in her hand. "I can't..."

Cole stood and held out his hand to pull her to her feet. "Put the pills in your mouth and when I open the door, cup your hands to hold the water."

She did not want to do this; her body ached and she did not want to attempt any more physical feats today. Mostly, she did not want to argue with Cole any longer. "You know what," she told his broad back? "Let‘s just forget it. I'm fine now. I just need to rest."

He lifted the two-by-four that locked the doors, then shoved the door with his shoulder. "Come here and put the pills in your mouth." He cracked the door open a quarter of the way and rain sloshed on his boots. "COME ON."

"It's all right." She would have backed away but he grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the door.

"ARE THE PILLS IN YOUR MOUTH?"

Abby quickly stuck them in.

"CUP YOUR HANDS."

When Abby made a half-hearted attempt to stick her hands outside, Cole captured her around the waist and held her close to his chest so that the entire front of her faced the water. Surprised to feel his arms around her, Abby swallowed the pills dry.

Fifteen seconds later, Cole pulled her into the barn and let the heavy door slam shut. He spun her around with his hands on her shoulders. "Did you swallow the pills?"

She nodded and blinked the water off her lashes. The front side of her clothing was drenched anew. Her eyeglasses started to steam. She could not see Cole but she heard his deep laughter.

"At least your face is clean."

She nodded. "Yes, thank you." She pulled away from him and returned to her spot on the floor.

When she sat, Cole sat across front her.

Digging into her purse she found a napkin, wiped her lenses, and fitted the glasses onto her face. She frowned at Cole. "What's the matter, can't you find something else to do?"

"Like what?"

She looked around the empty barn. "Stanley's almost dry, why don't you go torture him for a while?"

"You're more fun to torture," he told her and then added as he leaned in, "You also have the food."

"Oh, I see." She dragged the purse toward her. "After I feed you, you have to go away."

"As far as I can get."

She placed items in front of him: jellyroll, chips, Cheetos, half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Snowball...

"Where did you buy all this, the House of Junk?"

When Abby threw him a look over the rim of her glasses, he recanted. "I read somewhere that it is good to eat this sort of comfort food in emergency situations."

She placed a Milky Way in the pile.

"You don't happen to have a steak in there, do you?"

She hunted deeper and then held up a package. "Beef Jerky?"

"Yes ma'am, close enough." He took the jerky and the Milky Way and then leaned against the wall to enjoy his food.

Abby ate the peanut butter and jelly sandwich while studying the barn. "I don't understand why anyone would build a barn in the middle of the woods."

"We are not in the middle of the woods. We're on Spook Hill."

Abby chewed longer than necessary while thinking about what he said. "Spook Hill?"

Cole leaned on his elbows and stretched his legs in front of him. He crossed one boot over the other. "Yeah, you know the story."

"I do not know the story."

Cole smiled and considered the ceiling. "I think it was a car wreck, or was it...I don't remember but a man lost his head in an accident."

"You mean he got angry?" She removed the cellophane off the Snowball and re-crossed her legs.

He glanced at her and then made a throat-cutting gesture with his thumb.

"Oh."

"He roams the hill at night with a lantern while looking for his head." Cole shifted his position. "People claim that if you watch from the top of the hill you can see the lamp light moving through the trees."

"That's ridiculous."

He shrugged.

She dropped her hand to her lap. "He wouldn't be out in a hurricane looking for his head."

Cole rolled to his side and propped his dark head on his hand. "Right," he agreed. His eyes looked more brown than green in the lamplight. His jaw squared and his features showed no expression. "He would probably hole up in a barn until the storm ended."

She grinned at his version until Cole started to get up. "I was supposed to move away from you, wasn't I?"

"NO...I mean you don't have to move."

Cole reclined again. Finished with his food, he handed her the wrappers. "Thank you, that was great; except for the taste." He watched her stick the cellophane in her purse then he asked, "Where did you go to college?"

Surely, he was not interest but Abby accepted his attempt at civility. "The University of Virginia." She finished eating too and found a napkin in her purse to clean her hands. Adjusting her glasses again, she leaned against the wall and straightened her legs like Cole did.

"You think you've learned how to be a horse handler at college? I would say that even with a degree you are still inexperienced." He sounded like a ranch foreman just then. "Why would I hire you?"

"I'm not looking for a job."

"Say you were; why would I hire you?"

"My stepfather and mother own Sugarbell Farms in South Carolina. I grew up around horses. I helped my stepfather manage the farm and the breeding operations since I was about twelve years old. I did a lot of the office work while I was in middle school but when I attended high school, I began to condition halter horses. I taught students as well."

"Why did you bother to go to college then?"

Abby stretched her stiff arms over her head, feeling drowsy now. "Why does anyone go to college? I wanted a degree and I wanted to attend the toga parties and pizza bashes."

He was not looking at her but she saw him smile. "You would think a girl mucking it in the stables could pump gas."

"It's not as though I can't. I have never driven much. In college I stayed on campus most of the time. You never went to college, did you?"

He rolled to his side with his head propped by his hand. "Why do you think that?"

Abby tried to think fast. "You said you raised cattle. I just assumed you inherited a family farm or something." She shrugged then, "You wondered why I bothered to go to college when I already worked on a ranch."

"You are wrong." He leaned back once more. "I studied animal husbandry through correspondence." He twisted his head to look at her. "I also studied veterinary medicine."

"Dr. Hannible?"

"Hardly, but if you're about to have a cow, I can help you."

She cackled at that. "I'll remember that."

* * *

The aspirin did not take all of her muscle aches away but it relaxed her enough to help Abby fall asleep for several minutes. Stanley woke her when she felt him turn his head sharply and then he pounced on something nearby. She had owned Stanley for nine years and Abby knew he attacked live prey so she twisted around to see what was there.

A gigantic hideous insect with a wingspan of a small airliner ran from the cat.

Forsaking modesty for speed, Abby climbed over--and on top of--Cole Hannible.

He sat upright in a hurry and shoved her foot off his stomach. "WHAT," he shouted and spun around to protect her from a rattlesnake, a jaguar, or perhaps a headless phantom searching for its head. When he saw nothing to provoke her behavior, he turned to stare at her. "What is the matter with you?"

Abby caught her breath. "It was some sort of bird--a pterodactyl, I think."

"That?" He nodded toward the bug. "It's a palmetto bug."

Stanley chased the insect, leapt in the air, and pounced on it.

"The woods are full of them," Cole told her.

Abby's eyes darted around the barn, looking for more of the insects.

He shook his head. "It's a bug."

Feeling silly, she agreed, "Right."

"Relax."

"Right." She sat on her feet, ready to jump out of her skin at the slightest provocation.

Cole moved to lean against the wall again. She did not look at him but knew he watched her and stayed on the alert. He probably wondered what next would ignite her.

Sitting Indian-style, she pulled her purse toward her. She looked for her nail file and when she could not find it, she spilled the contents on the barn floor and swept through the pile to make sure a palmetto bug had not landed there for a snack. She separated the food from the cosmetics and the Bausch and Lomb products. In another pile, she placed the credit card clutch and money wallet.

The miscellaneous pile caught Cole Hannible's attention. "Why do you carry a butter knife?"

It made a nice screwdriver as Abby recalled but instead of explaining she asked, "What good would a spoon be?" She put the aspirin, allergy medication, moisturizer, hand sanitizer lotion, and cuticle remover ointment into another pile.

"A lid?"

"You never know when you will need a good lid," she told him, forgetting why she had it in her purse in the first place. Without finding a fingernail file, she started to repack her purse.

Cole raised his brows in question while holding three wrapped straws.

"Multipurpose."

"Name two besides the obvious," he challenged. His dark hair looked nearly dry now and it curled on top of his head. His lashes were the same shade of blackness.

Abby studied him for a moment longer and then pulled a straw from his hand. "Put five straws together and you can siphon soda from your friend's glass to your own. Strip a straw in half and you can pick the lock to your Porsche."

"Why not just use your keys?"

There were some things that Cole Hannible's mind seemed incapable of grasping so Abby ignored the question and started to pack the miscellaneous pile into her purse.

Cole reached for the Bicycle package. "Cards?"

Abby blinked at him. "Sure. Do you want to play a game?"

Tilting his head, he grinned at her. "I don't know the rules to Old Maid."

"Ohhh," she exclaimed. "You are so funny." Finished packing, she shoved the purse away from her. "How about a game of Rummy, Authors, Hearts, or War?"

"I thought we were already playing War."

She held his eyes. "All right, you pick a game." Abby removed the cards from the package. She did a simple shuffle and waited.

"Five-Card Stud." His hazel eyes sparkled and he watched her reaction with interest.

"Five-Card Stud? How do you play?"

If there was not a lantern, Cole Hannible's eyes could have lit up the barn. "I'll teach you."

Cole did not hear it but Abby could have sworn Stanley started to snicker.

* * *

It took five minutes for Cole to explain the rules of poker. Abby appreciated that he did not try to make ambiguous regulations as Popper did when he first taught her the game. Cole gave her precise instructions about flushes, straights, two, three, and four of a kind. He gathered hay straws and twigs to use as chips, and explained the betting system. He did not mention strategy, or bluffing, or tells.

Abby did not mention them either.

They played for half an hour before Abby could read Cole Hannible's tell. Very subtle he acted so that Abby had to watch him closely. When he held a good hand, he raked his fingers through his black hair. Cole Hannible played strong and tight and that suited Abby just fine. Strong, tight players were the easiest to bluff. Poker was all about being observant and Abby observed that Cole Hannible acted sure of himself now and seemed confident of his victory in all hands dealt.

She asked, "Did you say a flush beats four of a kind?"

He hesitated and then asked, "Do you have a flush, Abby?"

"Am I supposed to tell you that before we bet?"

"Call," he barked, throwing a twig into the pot.

Abby laid down her cards showing a pair of twos in a weak hand.

Cole gathered the pot to his growing pile of twigs.

"You know, Mr. Hannible, this game you've taught me is similar to a card game I played in college." It was her turn to deal and she shuffled the cards neatly and did a trick with her right hand that split the deck three ways. She watched Cole's thick brows gathered together. "It's called Ma Ferguson. Do you know it?"

His eyes still sparkled like diamonds but there was caution there now too. "Ma Ferguson?"

Abby dealt the cards in a professional manner and explained rapid-fire, "Seven-Card Stud, low upcard wild. You count your upcard wild along with any others of that value in your hand." Abby smiled at Cole and set the deck in front of her. "Twigs and hay are doubled in value and no gathering more to bet with; if you run out of a wager you bet something of value, like..." She searched through her purse. "...nail polish or straws or something of great value to the other player."

Cole's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward to fix her with an intense look as though he wanted to strip away the façade she had offered so far.

Abby was beyond bluffing and she lifted her brow at him.

"What game are you playing, Abby?"

"I told you, Ma Ferguson." She surveyed his strong face and viewed his muscled forearms below the rolled up sleeves of his gray shirt. Then she returned his gaze boldly and fearlessly.

Back down or quit, they both had their opportunity.

Cole's eyes traveled Abby's features in a deliberate manner. Then he picked up his cards in a courageous gesture.

Chapter Three

Cole lost most of his pile of twigs in the next half-hour.

With a grin, Abby dealt what she knew would be their last hand. She bet in the blind, not looking at the cards. Cole raised without looking at his.

She viewed her cards. She held two aces, a seven, a five, a three, and a two with a five as the upcard: a wonderful hand. Only five of a kind could beat it. She looked at Cole. He acted confident as he raked his fingers through his hair.

He said, "Stop raising and put in all your chips and I will put in..." he thought for a moment. "My jeep."

"I don't want that rattletrap."

Cole's eyes widened. "If you had any taste at all you would appreciate its fine durability, the quality workmanship, and the age of the jeep."

"You are talking about that scrap of metal you left on the shoulder of the road this morning?"

"If you don't want the jeep, say so."

"I already told you that I don't want the jeep."

Cole sat straighter. "How about my rifle?" He pointed toward the weapon by the door.

Abby shook her head. "You are missing the point. You need to bet something of value to me. Something like, I don't know, something I want that you have." They both sat for a moment, thinking. "I know," Abby declared. "You own a ranch, don't you?"

"I'm not betting my property."

"I did not ask you to, but what kind of ranch did you say it is, cattle and horses?"

"I raise racehorses," he said carefully. "I suppose you expect me to bet one of my horses?"

Abby re-crossed her legs. "I don't expect anything from you. It is your bet and if you are not confident enough in your cards to bet a horse, as opposed to that heap you call a vehicle, then fold. Don't bet. I will take the pot as is. Of course, that means I will win."

"A horse it is," said Cole.

Abby feigned disinterest. "What would I do with a horse?"

Cole's dark brows came together. "You are an animal trainer and you don't know what to do with a horse?"

Abby thought about it. "I don't want the one you've named Nightmare or Satan."

"I do not own a horse named Nightmare or Satan. My horses are the finest bred animals in the south."

"If that were true you would think you could afford better transportation."

He growled beneath his breath. "The jeep is a work vehicle."

Abby rolled her shoulders. She felt cramped from sitting on the floor for so long. "Oh, all right," she conceded. "I'll take a horse as your bet but I get to pick the one I want."

"Done."

Abby pulled another napkin out of her purse along with a pen. She watched his hand as Cole steadily wrote on the napkin. A little too steady, she thought.

He threw the paper into the pot and then brushed his hair back as he watched her with those bright eyes.

She pushed her entire pile of twigs into the pot and steadied her breathing. "What have you got?"

"I'm calling you."

Abby laid down the two aces and the two wild cards.

Cole put down his cards, too: two kings and two wild eights. Then he lifted his eyes in surprise.

Perhaps he found it unladylike that Abby rolled backward holding her side and squealing triumphantly?

He shoved the mound of twigs and the napkin toward her and got up to walk to the other side of the barn.

Abby counted her winnings. It was Christmas day and her birthday all rolled up into one. She stood then and joined Cole near one of the stables. "Here, take my hanky," she told him, waving the autographed napkin in her hand. When Cole leaned against the stall and crossed his arms, Abby recanted, "I need you to write down that you owe me one thousand and fifty-two dollars. Just jot it there next to the first statement regarding the horse you owe me." She held out a pen for him to use. "Let's keep everything legal."

"I'm not sure any of this is legal," he told her, taking the pen and paper from her. With his index finger he motioned for her to spin around and then used Abby's back as a hard surface.

She took the pen and paper from Cole. "I assure you, Mr. Hannible, your signature on toilet paper would be legal." She stared up at him for a moment, watching his eyes as they traveled her features. His thoughts were unreadable. She said, "I hope you are not going to pout now. You have been such a good sport all along."

"By that you mean that I acted like a good sport while you pretended you did not know how to play poker?" His eyes looked very green again as he stood closer to the light.

"I didn't lie to you. I have never played Five-Card Stud."

His straight mouth broke into a half-smile. "Maybe you didn't lie, but you played dumb for the first half-hour or so."

Abby stuck her hands on her hips. "Well what did you think I was doing? I was reading your tell."

"I don't have a tell," he declared and when Abby laughed aloud, he pushed himself off the stall. "That's right. I don't tap my teeth with my fingernails or twist my pinkie ring like you do."

"No, you comb your hair back with your hand."

"At least I don't twirl it."

Abby narrowed her eyes and stood on tiptoe, which did not help one bit but it made her feel taller and therefore mightier. "You count your twigs before you bet on a good hand. You don't count them when you are bluffing."

Cole's frown deepened as he thought about what she said and then he replied, "Well, aren't you the bright girl?"

Landing on her heels, she walked toward her purse. She stuffed the endorsed napkin into a side pocket. When she looked up, Cole squatted next to her and when she could not stand his eyeing her any longer, she said, "WHAT?"

"I'm just wondering how long you have been bluffing me, Abby."

"What are you talking about?"

He tilted his head. "I'm not sure but I get the impression I have been skunked in more ways than one."

"Gee, I don't know. Is it possible to skunk a skunk, Cole Hannible?"

He pointed his long finger at her. "You see? Right there! You know my first name and I know I never told you my first name."

Her heart skipped a beat but she shrugged in a casual manner. "You told me your name."

"When?" He leaned toward her and watched her twist her pinkie ring.

"You must have at some point."

"Why?"

"Because I know your first name."

It sounded logical to her.

Cole leaned sideways to stare at her. "What sort of sense does that make?"

Abby reached into her purse and pulled out the napkin he had signed earlier. Then she held it out for him to see. "It's either Cole Hannible..."she brought the paper back to read. "...or Cob Harrison."

Then it happened. Abby lay on her back with her glasses knocked off her face. "What was that?" she asked Cole who lay next to her with his arm around her waist. With only contacts, Cole looked like a fuzzy shape above her.

"I don't know," he said, rolling away from her and grabbing his rifle. The doors of the barn rattled with the force of the wind.

Long distance vision was never a problem for Abby and she could see nothing had entered the barn. She stood and walked to stand next to Cole.

"It sounded like a car wreck." He walked toward the half-opened window. "Climb up on my shoulders and look outside."

How could she tell him gently? "NO WAY." She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head.

Cole's eyes traveled her slim figure. "Come over here."

"No."

He grabbed her wrist and dragged her beneath the window.

"All right, all right, ALL RIGHT," she exclaimed and pulled her wrist from his grip. She pointed an index finger at him. "Do not drop me, Cob Harrison."

"It's Cole Hannible," he told her, dropping to kneel in front of her.

"I told you that you told me."

He did not reply but waited for Abby to climb onto his shoulder.

She hesitated because she did not know where to put her hands. Balancing herself against the wall, she swung one leg over his shoulder.

Cole reached for her hand when she threw over her other leg.

Squealing, Abby grabbed a handful of black hair when Cole stood to his full height.

"Stop pulling my hair."

"Sorry," she said while patting his curls back into place. She reached for the windowsill when he stood close enough.

The wind blew by the window at such velocity that her hand felt as if it hit a solid wall. Abby gripped the sill and pushed her head out the window. If she wore a wig, she would be chasing it by now. Moreover, it was impossible to see anything the way the rain pellets hit her face--but she did see the ducks.

Abby pulled herself inside. With her free hand she wiped wet hair off her forehead.

"What did you see?"

"Ducks."

Obviously he did not believe her because he said, "Where are your glasses?" He backed away from the window with Abby still on his shoulders. He walked toward her purse and bent at the knees when he spotted her glasses by the wall. He handed them to her and then stood again.

"I'm telling you, they're ducks." She put the glasses onto her face. "Can you imagine; they were on their way to South America and the lead duck says, "Am I losing my mind; I thought we already flew over Tampa," and then WHAM, they are on Spook Hill."

"I know how they feel," Cole said in a long-suffering tone. He stood beneath the window. "Look again."

"They are still ducks," she shouted. Then her glasses blew off her face. She pulled her head inside and whacked Cole on top of the head. "GREAT."

"HEY."

"I just lost my glasses and it's your fault."

Cole knelt quickly and yanked her off his shoulder. He still had her by the upper arm when he stood six-foot-something again.

It occurred to Abby that six-foot-something looked very big... Apparently towering over her was his way of scaring her. It worked really well, too. She took a step backward and stumbled because he had not let go of her arm.

He said in a quiet voice. "Do not hit me."

She straightened and jerked her arm loose. "What are you, twenty-six-feet tall and you are worried about a little tap on the head?" She spun around to walk away but unexpectedly Abby stopped in mid-step.

Grabbing her belt loop, Cole Hannible pulled her backward.

She took a swipe at his hand but he caught her wrist and spun her back around. He pulled her close and grabbed her other wrist. "I told you not to hit me." He leaned his face close to hers. "It is disrespectful."

Without her glasses, his face blurred in front of her eyes but she did not need to see the fire to feel it scorch her skin. "I'm sorry," she whispered, meaning it. She should not have hit him.

After a moment, Cole released her. Out of his grip, Abby became confident again. When he walked away from her, she said, "Those were my favorite glasses."

"You have a spare pair in your purse. I saw them."

"Yes," Abby admitted, walking to where her purse lay. "But they are silver-framed and I like the gold. I'm a Fall."

Cole shifted his weight and watched her. "You are a what?"

"Fall," she explained, digging to the bottom of the bag. "My coloring." She found the spare pair and fit the frames on her nose. "You are a winter."

"I don't care." He leaned against the far wall with his knee bent to support his weight. He hooked his thumbs in the front belt loops of his jeans. "Men do not struggle with those sorts of issues." Then he pushed off the wall and walked toward her. "Who are you, Abby?"

Lacing her hands behind her back, she shrugged, and backed into the pole in the center of the room. It seemed too much to hope that another group of ducks would crash land and interrupt the conversation again. The situation called for the elephant gun of wild cards. "Abby Elizabeth," she told him and smiled serenely. "I look like my mother, I wore braces for three years, I wear a size six shoe, and I stand five foot four and three-quarters. Black-eyed Susan's are my favorite flower. Cheese is my favorite food."

"Junk is your favorite food," he corrected and circled behind her. His voice was suddenly close to her ear. "What is your last name?"

She pushed off the pole and walked toward the ledge where the flashlight sat. She stalled, not wanting to rush into a lie. Fidgeting with the knob on top of the light, she said, "I told you my name."

She did not realize he followed her. His voice was close in her ear again. "You did not."

"Oh," she said, turning around. "I thought I did." She said it with a shrug.

"Well, what is it?"

If Abby told him the name Wilder he would figure everything out quickly and that small confrontation they had a moment ago after she hit him on the head would practically be adorned with hearts and flowers compared to what would happen if Cole found out she was Popper's granddaughter. Abby swallowed hard and replied, "Bell."

Okay, Bell was her stepfather's name but it could have been hers if she had chosen to change it. And today was the day! She officially became Abby Bell right this moment. Her stepfather would be so pleased.

Cole's brows knit together and a line of wonder creased his forehead.

"Abby Bell?"

That was exactly why Abby never took the name. It sounded like a Peter Pan character.

Cole gave a soft and husky chuckle. "Abby Bell?"

Abby brushed past him.

He followed her. "I like it. It suits you perfectly." He sat when she sat and simply watched her with those diamond eyes.

"What is the matter?" she asked. "Are you hungry again?"

He rubbed his face and looked away from her. "I could eat again. As a matter of fact I'm thinking I will go outside and bring in one of those ducks to roast."

"I'm willing to help. I will push you out the window."

Cole flashed a smile, causing the dimples to grow long on the side of his handsome face. "I'll use the door, thanks." He stood then and charged, "Why don't you gather the hay and twigs again and maybe find a loose board so that I can start a fire."

Abby stood too. "I don't have any matches in my purse."

Cole moved closer to her and bent to look directly into her eyes. "We will start a fire the old-fashioned way." He wiggled his brows up and down in a teasing gesture.

Abby's heart picked up speed as she suddenly felt shy. "I hope you are talking about rubbing two sticks together, Dr. Hannible."

Maybe he recognized her bashfulness because he smiled and said, "I never kiss on the first day, Abby Bell." He turned away from her and lifted the two-by-four to push on the door.

Abby followed and stood behind him. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"I'm sure that I'm hungry. A Milky Way and beef jerky are good appetizers." He shoved the door halfway open. The rain streamed past the door and it looked as dark as night outside. The wind blew at least one hundred miles-per-hour.

"Wait. Should I go with you?"

Cole paused and glanced at Abby. "Why should you go with me?"

"I don't know. It seems dangerous outside." She bit her lip.

"And you can protect me?"

He had a good point.

He said, "Come here and put your back against the door. Plant your feet firmly and I'll be right back."

As soon as he charged out into the rain, the door slammed shut. Abby shot into the barn onto her stomach. Getting to her knees, she brushed the hay from the front of her shirt and pants. How she would survive this fashion disaster was beyond her. She jumped to her feet and pushed on the door again.

It did not budge until Cole began to pull it open.

When the door opened an eighth of the way, he tossed the dead creature into the barn at Abby's feet. She danced away while Cole used both hands to grip the door and then squeezed through the opening. He rolled into the barn as the door slammed shut again.

He was completely soaked and his hair looked even blacker plastered to his head. Water droplets covered his face and thick lashes as he frowned at Abby. "Why did you let the door shut?" He shook his forearms to sling off the excess rainwater.

"It was thoughtless of me," she admitted, happy to have him in the barn again.

Cole grabbed the duck off the floor. "Are you going to collect the hay as I asked? Are you going find a board to burn?"

"I'm going to do that right now," she declared and spun away from him. Collecting supplies kept her busy and she was grateful so that she did not have to watch Cole prepare the duck.

Stanley found it quite interesting however.

"Get your fat face out of my way," Cole told the cat, shoving him away with his elbow.

"He did not mean fat, Stanley," Abby muttered.

Cole plucked feathers. "I said what I meant."

Abby bent to pet the cat. "He's the outspoken type, Stan. Ignore him. I do."

Outspoken or not, Cole seemed an expert at starting a fire and cooking a duck--things that came in handy when you are stuck in a hurricane and forced to stay in an abandoned barn. Abby should have paid attention to details when she was a Camp Fire Girl, but who knew?

"Eat some of this," Cole instructed some time later. He handed Abby a chunk of meat. They sat beneath the open window so the smoke would rise and not spread into the barn. Cole used his Swiss army knife to cut the duck.

Abby took the piece and wrinkled her nose at it.

"Don't you want it?"

Shrugging, Abby told him, "I don't usually eat anything that I don't have to remove the cellophane first."

Chewing, Cole nodded. "Eat it anyway. It's good for you."

Abby took a nibble. She took another bite because Cole glared at her. He ate heartily, cleaning the rib bones while Abby tried to finish the piece he gave her. She finally handed it to Stanley when he rubbed his head against her leg.

"That's a waste of good food."

She picked up the food from the floor. "Do you want it back?"

* * *

They had been in the barn for six hours. The wind still howled and the timbers squeaked above their heads. Cole sat leaning against the wall with his knee bent in front of him and his arm supported there. He held a strand of hay and chewed on the end of it.

Abby lay on her belly several feet away from Cole. She cupped her chin in her hand and said, "Okay, if you called the psychic hotline..."

"I would never call a psychic hotline."

"Of course, but stay with me on this one." Clapping her tennis shoes together in the air behind her, Abby continued, "What would you ask? Would you inquire to the state of your love life as ninety-nine percent of the people do on the commercials, or would you ask something perplexing like...did O.J. kill Nicole or not? Where is Osama bin laden? Why do tornados always head straight for trailer parks? Whatever happened to my pearl earring that I know I left on the nightstand but when I woke the next morning it was gone...?" Abby chanced a look at Cole. She still had her chin in her hand. "What would you ask?"

"As well as being very much concerned about your earring, I would like to know why God thought it necessary to trap me in a barn with you for hours on end." He threw the hay away.

Abby rolled to her side and pulled a bottle of nail polish from her purse. She twisted off the top and then said whimsically, "You've evidently been considered worthy and are being heartily rewarded."

"Why are you painting your nails? You are stinking-up the air."

"We paint barns, Mr. Hannible. We polish our fingernails." She did not look at him but studied her work instead. "And my polish is not stinking-up the air any more than that nauseating duck you cooked in here earlier. I can still smell the grease. I can still taste the grease."

She had her legs stretched out in front of her and her sneakers were only six inches from his leg. Suddenly, Cole grabbed her foot and yanked hard causing Abby to slide on her bottom across the floor toward him. The polishing brush slipped in her grip and left a pink trail from her thumbnail to the middle of her arm. "Look what you did," Abby charged. "It's on my jeans, too."

"That's what you get for being such a smart aleck," he told her and leaned his head against the wall again. He did not fear retaliation for he obviously figured Abby was too small to afflict much damage.

How wrong he was! Abby dipped the brush into the polish and then painted a pink stripe down his muscled forearm.

The amusement she received from the action quickly evaporated once Cole's green eyes flew open and he glared at his arm and then at Abby. "All right, that's it," he warned and rolled to his side to get to his knees. He grabbed the polish from Abby's hand and dipped the brush.

Abby jumped to her feet, ready to run, but not sure where to run. She couldn't get the door open if she tried and the window was set too high up to climb through again. Cole stood and took a threatening step toward her. "I didn't mean it," she told him, retreating to the other side of the barn.

Cole followed Abby. He advanced with the nail polish brush in his hand as if he was brandishing a fencing sword. "You didn't mean it?" His black brows shot upward as if he did not believe her. "Explain this," he told her, holding out his smeared arm.

"The brush fell out of my hand?"

He took a step closer. Abby grabbed the flashlight from the ledge and held it above her head. "Put the brush down and I'll let you live."

Cole laughed now, clearly enjoying the game. "Oh, no...you might hit me once, Abby Bell, but then it's my turn." When Abby faltered, Cole chuckled again. "Come on, take the punishment you deserve."

"You started it," she accused. "Leave me alone."

"I did not start this; you insulted my cooking."

Abby frowned. "Are you talking about the dead bird you half-cooked?" she asked and then squealed when Cole made a grab for her. Abby slipped and wormed out of his way before he got his arm around her waist. She skipped away again when he made another grab and then swung the flashlight at his shoulder.

Cole backed out of the way and when Abby's momentum twirled her about, he tripped her with one boot.

Abby landed on her belly.

Cole straddled her, spun her round beneath him and placed his knees on her hands. Grabbing her chin with one hand, he held her face still while he painted a pink mustache on her upper lip. When he released her chin and tossed the brush toward her purse, Cole sat back to admire his handiwork.

"GET OFF ME."

Cole did not. He crossed his arms and studied her laying there beneath him. "We've got to let it dry. If I let you up now you will touch your face. I can't have that." He tilted his dark head and grinned. "All right now, Abby. Have I painted your face or polished it?"

"LET ME GO." She kicked her feet for good measure.

"Not until you tell me how much you enjoyed the duck." He dropped his hands to his thighs.

Abby narrowed her eyes. "You want me to lie to you?"

He did not move.

"It tasted delicious."

He avoided her flailing feet while he twisted away from her. Cole laughed again as he walked back to his place against the wall.

Abby jumped to her feet and wiped at the drying pink mustache. "You better not go to sleep tonight, Cole Hannible."

Cole turned toward her again with his brows raised, as if to say, is that right.

Abby blinked twice. "Never mind."

"That's what I thought."

* * *

The quiet woke her. The wind had died down and except for an occasional wind gust and drops of water falling off the road, all was silent. Hurricane Debby had passed.

Abby sat up. The flashlight still burned brightly across the room but now a soft golden light came through the window. She glanced at Cole who slept five feet away, on his side, and with his head on his arm. Sooty lashes rested on his tanned cheeks. His jaw was fully covered with grizzle now and his black hair curled on top of his head. What a splendid looking man all hard muscled and robust. He inspired infatuation.

Abby knew better than to fall in love with Cole Hannible. Popper would break out in a rash if she came home all doe-eyed over his adversary. Still, Cole fascinated her.

Pulling her purse into her lap, she searched for a bottle of cleanser. Her eyes burned. She should have removed her contacts last night but Abby did not remember falling asleep. Once her lenses were out and soaking, she rubbed her eyes.

Stanley purred and bumped her kneecap. He placed his two front paws on her leg and reached to sniff her face. Abby rubbed his ears.

Stanley asked, What do you think Cole Hannible will say when he finds out your name is not Abby Bell? Of course he did not speak with actual words, but every twitch of his whiskers and every flick of his tail meant something.

She bent toward the cat and whispered, "I don't know. That's Popper's problem. I plan to be home in South Carolina when Cole finds out...maybe not as close as that."

"What are you whispering about over there?" Cole rolled to a sitting position. "And who are you whispering to?"

Abby stroked the cat. "Stanley," she answered in a tone suggesting who else? She doubted Cole Hannible would ridicule her holding a conversation with a cat.

"You talk to your cat," he ridiculed.

So who cared what he thought anyway? Abby replaced her contacts and then brushed her hair. With a moist towelette, she washed her face and hands.

"You certainly are prepared for everything."

"I was once a girl scout." She held up three fingers. "I will help other people at all times." She smiled at him. "I'm helping you right now by maintaining proper hygiene."

"Yes and yesterday you helped me by driving straight into a hurricane so I could spend the night in a barn and sleep on the floor."

Abby packed her purse. "You mustn't take such a negative point of view. We survived, didn't we? We haven't gone hungry." She stopped what she was doing to look at him. "And I won five hands of poker, a horse, and a lot of money. You don't hear me complaining do you?"

He mumbled something beneath his breath and then got up to shut off the flashlight. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes." She walked to stand beside him.

With one hand, Cole lifted the bar and shoved open the door.

Abby surveyed the woodland. Half of the trees still stood though stripped of most of their foliage. The other half of the trees lay twisted and tangled on the ground. The hood of someone's car rested against the side of the barn.

"I hope that's not mine," she said, unable to recognize a paint color. "Maybe it was yours."

He ignored her as he studied the trailing end of the hurricane. "The rain is not over." He pointed toward the sky and the building thunderstorms in the western sky. "But we can't stay here." Cole twisted to look at her with a serious expression. "This isn't going to be a Sunday stroll in the park, you know. We'll have to hike our way out of here." He waved a hand toward the devastation. "The rain will have filled the creeks and washed out the foot bridges." His green eyes took in her figure as though he thought her incapable of making the trip. Possibly he approximated her poundage in case he had to carry her out of the woods.

"All right, all right, you can stay here," she told him. "I'll go for help."

His brow lifted. "I'm just saying..."

"I know," said Abby, ready to leave and adjusting the purse strap on her shoulder. "It will be dangerous and I will have to be brave."

He grimaced at her. "Wait a minute. Are you the same girl who didn't know you were out of oil yesterday; the same girl who was scared of a little bug last night?"

"Don't' forget I am the same girl clever enough to get in the barn without a shotgun and then whip you at poker."

Cole's eyes narrowed. "Rifle."

"I'm just saying..."

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