A Hopeful Heart and A Home, a Heart, A Husband. Lois Richer

met hers, and he mouthed the word chicken.

      Melanie sighed, resigned to her fate and fully aware that he would keep it up until she got wet. She strolled slowly into the water, getting a bit more of her heated skin wet with each step. She turned carefully, trying not to splash, and found Mitch directly behind her.

      “I hope you’re happy.” She glared at him. “I have no feeling below my waist, and my hands are getting numb.”

      He grinned and dived into the smooth water beside her, splashing her hugely. When he stood up, streaming rivulets of chilly lake water running down his face, Melanie let him have it.

      “You did that on purpose, you sadist. I’m soaked and I’m freezing. I do hope you feel better now.”

      She turned to go back to shore and found him blocking her way.

      “I’m sorry, Melanie.” His voice was deceptively soft as his chilly hand closed around her arm. Wide and innocent, his baby blues stared at her soulfully. “I really didn’t know you couldn’t swim.”

      “Of course I can swim, silly,” Melanie told him, trying to stop her teeth from chattering. She wrapped her arms around her midriff, hugging herself for warmth.

      Unfortunately the motion pushed her full breasts upward, accentuating the cleavage her suit displayed. She watched Mitch’s blue eyes grow rounder in appreciation before she realized the reason. Her hands dropped to her sides in embarrassment.

      His laughing gaze met hers. One black lock of hair dangled boyishly over his forehead. A wide smile slashed across his rugged, tanned face.

      “You are just going to have to get in there and swim a few strokes to prove it,” he whispered in her ear as his hands brushed up and down her arms to warm her.

      Melanie glared at him even as her body recognized the heat flowing from his body. She moved closer. Just to get warm, she told herself. When his arms wrapped around her and she was pressed against the heat of his chest, she groaned at the warmth that was beginning to penetrate her skin.

      “Come on, Melanie, let’s swim.”

      It was the last thing she heard before Mitch’s arms tightened like steel bands and he pulled her under the water.

      Icy cold waves slapped against her and left her with two options: move or freeze to death. Melanie moved.

      Breaking his tight hold on her, Melanie surprised Mitch with a move she had learned long ago in lifesaving class. In a few seconds he was flat on his back and going under. With one last shove, Melanie pushed him to the sandy bottom before swimming furiously away in a speedy crawl that had won her numerous competitions in high school.

      Of course, Mitch demanded retribution. She just had not expected it to be a kiss. And when his cold lips pressed against hers, Melanie found that the fire building between them could not be doused, even by the freezing lake water. She kissed him back, returning his warm embraces until her blood was singing in response.

      Mitch was the first to pull away.

      “Okay, you win,” he teased. “You can swim, and kiss.” He grinned that devilish grin at her. “And you do both very well, I might add.” Turning, he ducked under the water, surfacing twenty yards away to call out his challenge.

      “I’ll race you to the buoys,” he dared her. His strong arms made a swath through the water. “Loser supplies supper,” he told her when she caught up.

      And so it had gone for the rest of the day. Teasing, talking, touching each other, but never getting too serious.

      The long, lazy afternoon on the crowded beach presented a perfect opportunity for getting to know each other, but regardless of the many ploys she tried, Melanie gained very little personal information about Mitchel. It was frustrating and she was finally forced to admit defeat.

      He lost their swimming contest and she left him to arrange their late supper, especially since he’d long ago finished off the sandwiches and pop she’d packed.

      Ever resourceful, he’d come up with the very ingenious and inventive idea of hot dogs and chips, with chilled cans of iced tea to drink. As they sat around a campfire, replete with their feast, Melanie sensed he was deliberately shutting her out, refusing to answer her innocent questions. She turned a marshmallow, letting the coals toast it golden brown before popping it into her mouth.

      Oh, he hadn’t been rude about it. His answers had been polite enough, but, somehow, the subject of family was a closed book with Mitchel Stewart. And although he freely discussed his work, Mitch only let her see bits and pieces of the real man.

      Melanie knew that he hailed from the East, that he had gone to school there and come to Mossbank a few weeks ago. She had learned a little about his schoolboy antics and that he loved to swim but wasn’t very good at it.

      But that was it. Mitch had told her nothing of his family or his past. And she wanted to know.

      She gazed into the fire. Maybe a direct approach was the best. Plunge in and take the consequences. Somehow, the enveloping darkness gave her courage.

      “Mitch?”

      He sat on a log, staring vacantly into the flickering flames. The huge fire he had built had died down to an orange-red bed of coals. Wind danced across it, licking up a flame here or there.

      “Hmm,” he asked, staring languidly.

      “Please, don’t think I’m being nosy,” she began, knowing darn well that nosy was exactly what she was being. “It’s just that I would like to know a little more about you if we are going to be rooming together.”

      When his dark head jerked, Melanie held up a defensive hand.

      “I know your reputation from my friends at the hospital, but…” Melanie hesitated, searching. “I don’t know you.” Her voice was soft, plaintive, a call for understanding.

      Mitch had pulled a pair of tattered blue jean shorts over his swimsuit. Below the frayed cuffs, his long, muscular legs crossed and uncrossed as he fidgeted on the huge log. Finally he stood, towering over her in the gloom. Melanie could feel his blue eyes studying her. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but firm.

      “Look. I’ve offered half of the prize money and a place to stay to make sure you can collect your half. Can we leave the personal histories out of it?”

      He squatted in front of her and stared directly into her face. His voice was half-laughing, half-serious, but there was an underlying tenseness that Melanie couldn’t ignore.

      “I give you my word I’m not an ax murderer, or a psychotic, or any of those other terrible things you’ve been imagining.” His white teeth glittered in the dark. Melanie thought immediately of a wolf and then remonstrated with her overactive imagination, sitting quietly when he continued.

      “You are welcome to stay at my place for as long as you need to. But that’s it. You go your way and I go mine.”

      His fingers closed around the soft flesh of her upper arms, drawing her upward. And Melanie allowed herself to be coaxed to his heat. He was like fire, and she a moth, drawn irresistibly to his flame. He attracted her with his hidden secrets and mysterious smile. His past was another facet of a man who occasionally let her see his generosity. And she would probably get burned, but right now Melanie could only concentrate on his touch.

      “Don’t get me wrong,” he muttered as his eyes brushed her body, admiring her figure. “You’re a very beautiful woman and I enjoy the view as much as the next red-blooded male.” His hands slid down her back to the indentation of her waist, and he urged her closer.

      “But I don’t play games, and I have no intention of getting married just because I allow you to stay in my apartment.”

      “I never said I wanted to get married! Mitchel Stewart, you are the most egotistical, pushy, rude, overbearing—”

      “You have said all this before,” he reminded her. His hands