Whirlwind. Nancy Martin

      “Then keep your clothes on.” He released her wrist and turned away. “Let’s see what’s wrong with the car.”

      A moment later she followed him around the convertible, quite composed and haughty. “You must be a pretty handy fellow to have around, if my grandfather hired you.”

      “I do what I can.” He kicked some branches away from the hood of the convertible and bent over the mess to check on damage.

      “Do you see him often? Granddad, I mean?”

      “Now and then.” Cliff examined the damage to the car’s grille and headlights.

      “Does he come out here?” she asked, standing behind him on the gravel. Her voice sounded casual. Maybe too casual.

      Cliff glanced up at her. “Nope.”

      She quickly mastered her expression, endeavoring to look unconcerned. “Does he look well? I mean...is he healthy?”

      “What is this? Twenty questions? He’s your family, not mine.”

      She flushed. “I haven’t seen him for a while, that’s all.”

      “Three years, right?”

      Her pouty mouth popped open, then snapped shut quickly as she covered her surprise. Her glacial eyes narrowed. “Exactly how do you know so much about me, Forrester?”

      “I wish I could say that I get around a lot, but stories about the infamous Liza Baron are repeated all the time.” Cliff crouched by the front tire and pushed back the tree branches to get a better look under the car. “Even I’ve heard the one about how you spiked the punch at the homecoming dance. People still can’t figure out how you did it—and got crowned homecoming queen in the same hour.”

      She shrugged. “I hid the bottle in my underpants until the time was right.”

      “Hmm,” said Cliff, guessing that she’d said that just to see his reaction. He chose to ignore the lie and said, “The fender’s bent pretty badly. It’ll cut the tire if you try to move the car.”

      She leaned over his shoulder. “Can’t you yank the fender out a little? I’ve got a tire iron in the trunk, I think.”

      “It’ll ruin the fender.”

      “Do it anyway,” she said blithely, bending over the closed door to tug the keys out of the ignition. Cliff couldn’t stop a glance down the amazing length of her bare legs, but she pretended to be unaware of his scrutiny. She straightened and led the way to the trunk with a taunting sashay, saying, “It’s good to know people still think of me now and then. My mother hasn’t poisoned everyone against me.”

      Suddenly on guard, Cliff said, “Why would your mother do that?”

      “We’re estranged. That’s a polite word for hating each other.”

      “I know what it means.”

      “We don’t communicate. Haven’t spoken for years.”

      “And you’re proud of that?”

      Liza snapped open the convertible’s trunk. “It’s a fact of life in our family. My mother despises me.”

      “Alyssa Baron couldn’t despise anybody.”

      Liza looked up from rummaging in the trunk and skewered him with those clear blue eyes of hers. “You know my mother?”

      “We’re acquainted.”

      “You talk about me with her?”

      “Any mention of your name,” Cliff said, “causes her pain.” He took the tire iron from her hand, and with care added, “And I wouldn’t hurt Alyssa for anything.”

      “Alyssa, is it?” Liza asked, her beautiful face suddenly stiffening with a frozen sort of smile. “My, my. You’re a little young, aren’t you?”

      “For what?”

      “For squiring her around town these days. I mean, she’s almost fifty—”

      “My relationship with Alyssa is completely pure, I assure you, Miss Baron. We’re friends, that’s all.”

      Cliff didn’t owe anyone an explanation for his tie to Alyssa Baron, the one person in the world he could stand to spend any time with these days. Alyssa’s quiet acceptance, her unspoken support, her— Well, there were many qualities in Alyssa Baron that Cliff appreciated deeply. Qualities he didn’t see in Liza at all.

      Liza eyed him with one brow raised coldly. “You don’t strike me as the Garden Club type. And I bet you don’t sit on her precious hospital board, either. Which one of her bleeding-heart causes do you have in common, I wonder?”

      “We’re friends,” he repeated.

      “Oh, that doesn’t surprise me. She’s been very friendly with all kinds of men since my father died.”

      “I don’t think I like your implication, Miss Baron.”

      “Truth hurts?”

      He laughed shortly and turned away. “I can see that everything I’ve heard about you is true. You find a weak spot and attack, don’t you?”

      “Have I found your weak spot, Forrester?”

      He chose not to answer that and returned to the front fender. “‘Liza’s always looking to make people uncomfortable’—that’s what your mother says, at least. Is that your way of getting attention, I wonder?”

      She gave an unladylike snort. “In my family you have to practically die to get some attention. You must know my brother and sister, right? Both bright, shining examples of wonderfulness?”

      “They’re well respected, I hear. And you’re not. So? Do you get your share of the family limelight by acting like a spoiled starlet?”

      “Boy, who put the chip on your shoulder?”

      He yanked the twisted fender with the tire iron. “Just don’t try muscling me the way you muscle the rest of your family, okay? I don’t give a damn if you go away and never come back—unlike your mother.”

      “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      “Nothing. Expect maybe you’ll find she’s glad you’ve come home.”

      “I haven’t come home,” she said quickly. “I’m just passing through. I may not even stop at the house. I don’t want to see them.”

      He heard a new note in her voice and glanced up to see Liza frowning. “Scared?”

      “No!”

      Cliff laughed at the swiftness of her exclamation. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re scared, all right.”

      “Who died and made you the Seer of All Things?”

      Cliff didn’t care to talk about himself. Why had he managed to find a pleasant isolation at this forgotten lodge if he wanted to spill his guts all the time? He didn’t. His past was his own business, and he could take as much time as he liked forgetting it. So he kept his mouth shut, which infuriated the pretty Miss Liza Baron.

      As he worked on the fender, she said, “You’re really annoying, you know.”

      “Because I won’t play your game?”

      “I don’t play games!”

      “Oh, yes, you do.”

      “I’m completely up-front with everyone. I—”

      “Like hell. You make everyone jump through hoops to prove how much they love you.” Cliff stood up and looked her straight in the eye. “Well, you can needle me all you like, Miss Baron. I’m not going to jump.”

      She leaned her backside against the car and crossed her long legs