The Reluctant Hero. Lenora Worth

them while Derek pulled her up as if she were nothing more than a broken branch.

      Stephanie accepted his hand and felt secure in that able-bodied, strong grip. In the light of day, she also became very much aware of Derek as a man. She hadn’t imagined his good looks; they were very much a reality. His craggy face was a study in mystery, an interesting stony countenance that didn’t invite attention. But she imagined women gave him a second look whether he liked it or not.

      Annoyed by her wayward feelings, she let go, then fussed with straightening her clothes and shaking dirt out of her hair.

      “Hello,” she said, a lopsided smile covering her embarrassment. “Nice doggy.”

      Derek folded his big arms across his chest again, then gave her a long, measuring look. “A total disappointment. He always did fall for a pretty face and perfume.”

      Even as he said it with such sarcasm and disdain, he reached down and patted the dog on the neck, as if he were protecting the animal, a small fraction of pride measuring his wry smile.

      Stephanie continued to brush twigs and dirt from her hair and clothes, then remembered she really should be mad at Derek for letting her think his dog was going to attack her. “I thought… You could have called him down, you know. He scared the daylights out of me.”

      “I could have,” he replied, turning to head back toward the house. “But then, you could have minded your own business and stayed in the city.” Tossing her a hard look over his shoulder, he asked, “So, Miss Maguire, how’d you find me, anyway?”

      “I work at a television station, remember,” she told him, hurrying up the sloping hill to keep pace with him. “We do research when we go after a story.”

      Derek whirled around then, all traces of a smile, wry or otherwise, gone from his lips. “I told you—I don’t want to be a story. But since you went on the air with this anyway, I guess there’s no stopping you now.”