Whirlwind

“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 at the ankles, returning his glare with a measuring gaze. She raked her blond hair back with the manicured fingers of her right hand. “You like calling the shots, don’t you, Forrester?”

“I like being my own boss, yeah.”

“You like being in control.”

He wiped his hands on his jeans and said, “I don’t like surprises, that’s all.”

“Oh, really?” She began to smile wickedly. “Sometimes surprises can be nice.”

“Most of the time, surprises can be damned annoying.”

“Tsk tsk. What a boring attitude about life.”

“How I live my life is none of your business.”

“Want to know what I think?” she asked.

“Not really.”

“I think you could use a few surprises now and then, Cliff Forrester.”

With that, she came away from the car with a fluid motion and caught the front of Cliff’s shirt in her hand. Her grip tightened, and she tugged, pulling him close enough to kiss. Her face was almost level with his, and her laughing blue eyes teased him boldly. Suddenly Cliff could smell the sweet fragrance of her perfumed hair and feel the lithe strength of her legs against his.

She said, “How about one right now?”

She didn’t wait to be kissed, but lifted her mouth up to his and caught his lips swiftly. She tasted crisp and warm, and when she slanted her mouth across his, Cliff felt his senses quicken. His blood was suddenly tingling everywhere, a tide of heat beating hard in all his nerve endings. Liza’s tongue found his and played a mischievous game for a moment. Sensations Cliff had thought were long gone came bubbling up from a secret place deep inside, and surprised the hell out of him, all right. Standing there in a shaft of sunlight with the vibrant young body of Liza Baron pressed provocatively against him, Cliff felt his mind go blank. And his body come alive.

Then it was over. She loosened her grip on his shirt, leaned back and tilted her head to look him saucily in the eye. The lazy pleasure that shone in her gaze exactly matched the expression on the face of the little devil that swung from her earlobe.

“See?” she breathed. “A surprise can be very nice.”

Sometime in the past ten seconds, Cliff’s hands had found their way to her arms, and he held her very tightly. From between clenched teeth, he said, “You take a lot of chances, don’t you?”

“I like to feel good.”

“You like playing with fire, I think. I wonder if you’ve ever been burned?”

He couldn’t stop himself. Her cocky smile, the tease in her eyes, the supple contour of her body—yes, all those things combined to trigger an inexplicable anger in Cliff. He found himself gripping Liza hard, pulling her close and kissing her with every ounce of pent-up energy inside himself.

With a sigh, she gave herself to him, abruptly relaxing in his arms. One of her knees eased between his two, and her hands crept slowly around Cliff’s neck as the kiss deepened into a hot and savory contact.

But Cliff didn’t want her relaxed. He knew her game and intended to change the rules. Swiftly, he tightened his grip on Liza and forced her back against the car. She squirmed and choked on a protest. She clutched his shoulders for balance and then fought the kiss like a wildcat. Roughly, Cliff pushed her mouth open and ravaged her tongue with his own. He could feel her breast quiver against his chest, and her breath came in gasps.

Then he tasted blood.

At once, Cliff let her go. His stomach churned, and he found he was trembling as he stepped back.

Liza sat up on the car, hastily straightening her tiny dress where it had slipped low on one of her breasts. There was blood on her lip again, a bright droplet where he’d been kissing her a moment before.

“What was that for?” she asked shakily, lifting her hand to her lip and staring at the blood that came away on her fingertips.

“I don’t like being manipulated, Miss Baron.”

She looked up, blue eyes widening. “I wasn’t manipulating you. I just thought—”

“You couldn’t get under my skin verbally, so you tried the next best way to get a reaction out of me.” Cliff half turned away, angry with her and disgusted with himself. “That was a stupid trick,” he snapped. “It could have gotten you into a lot of trouble.”

“I don’t think so,” she said, studying him with an unnerving solemnity. “You’re not as tough as you pretend to be.”

He cursed under his breath—half at himself for reacting to her ploy. He was shaking inside.

“In fact,” Liza said quietly, watching as Cliff worked at pulling himself together, “I’m beginning to think we’re a little alike.”

He laughed shortly and shook his head. “There’s a fundamental difference between you and me, Miss Baron.”

“Which is?”

“You’re a born fighter. You like to get a rise out of people and make them angry. You feed on conflict. Hell, you’re at war with the whole world!”

“And you?”

Cliff turned away, suddenly wishing he was alone again. “Me,” he said, “I’ve given up.”

CHAPTER TWO

IF SHE’D HAD enough nerve, Liza would have asked him a dozen questions then. But the memory of his ferocious grip and a kiss that had been clearly born of anger, not attraction, along with the shuttered expression on Cliff Forrester’s taut face, told Liza she’d better keep her mouth shut. For once, she listened to the voice of common sense in her head.

He didn’t give her a chance to work up more courage, either. Curtly asking for her car keys, he got behind the wheel and tried the Thunderbird’s engine. It started, but the rattling sound that immediately rose from under the hood prompted him to shut off the ignition at once.

Still behind the wheel, he considered the problem for a long moment, during which he appeared to fight with his own feelings. “I’ll drive you into town,” he said eventually, looking as if he’d rather subject himself to the Spanish Inquisition than prolong his time with Liza. “You can hire a tow truck at the garage.”

Liza quailed at the thought of going into Tyler. Now that she was so close, she suddenly wanted to put a lot of distance between herself and her old hometown. Trying to conceal her anxiety, she said, “Can’t you fix my car?”

Forrester got out of the car. “From the sound of that engine, the damage is beyond my skills. You’ll need a real mechanic. I’ll go get the truck and take you to a garage.”

Liza noticed how tight his jaw was. But there were other signs that he wasn’t quite in control of himself. His hand might have shown a tremor when he closed the car door. And the set of his shoulders gave away something Liza couldn’t quite pinpoint.

The man was peculiar, all right. One kiss had clicked an emotional switch in him. One minute he’d let passion overwhelm him. Then he’d looked positively shaken by what had transpired. Now, the prospect of driving her to town seemed to fill him with loathing.

Insulted, Liza said, “Don’t do me any favors, Forrester. I’ll hitchhike to the nearest garage.”

“In that getup?” he said as the color began to return to his face. “The only drivers on the road this morning will be farmers, and none of them will risk picking up a hot number like you.”

“A hot number?” Liza repeated, amused. “Now, that’s a blast from the past. We’re called women today, Forrester.”

“The gossips around town would call you a hot number,” he retorted, turning to grab his fish and leave.

“I don’t know which is worse,” Liza called after him, “showing myself to the gossips of Tyler or spending the next twenty minutes with you.”

“We don’t have to talk,” Forrester said over his shoulder. “You could take a nap instead. Looks like you could use it.”

Liza considered throwing something at him as he walked away, but nothing was handy.

When he was out of sight, she snatched his jacket off the ground and said, “It was just a kiss, for crying out loud. There’s no need to get all bent out of shape!”

Liza wasn’t quite sure why she’d done it. The man had looked like he needed shaking up, that was all. She hadn’t meant to manipulate him with the kiss. Not exactly. Kicking the T-bird’s tires, Liza frowned, wondering for an instant if he was right. Did she like conflict all the time? Had she kissed Cliff Forrester just to stir up trouble? And why did she feel so damned stirred up herself around him? His rumbling voice gave her goose bumps.

Or maybe it was just the cool morning air. Shivering suddenly, Liza put the jacket back on.

He reappeared a few minutes later, materializing like a ghost out of the shadows.

“Damn!” Liza jumped. “Do you have to do that?”

“Do what?”

“Sneak up on a person like that!”

Forrester didn’t answer, but tossed a thick sweater at her. “Here,” he said. “Put this on before you go into shock.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, right. You want me to run you to the hospital so somebody can take a look at that cut on your lip?”

“It’s just a scratch, for heaven’s sake.” She handed him his jacket.

He seemed on the verge of saying something else, but hesitated. A moment later, he shrugged. “Have it your way. The truck’s out back.”

Liza followed him around the lodge, simultaneously pulling on the long sweater and trying to stay on her feet as her narrow heels sank into the soft earth. The sweater reached her midthigh, two inches higher than the hem of her miniskirt, but it was wonderfully warm.

The truck turned out to be the same rusty old pickup Liza remembered from her youth—the vehicle her grandfather had used for hauling yard trimmings away. The idea of getting into it with an unknown quantity like Cliff Forrester made Liza a little nervous, but she decided to brazen it out.

“This old thing is still running?” she asked, yanking open the passenger door.

“I don’t use it much.”

“Oh, you have a car of your own?”

“No, I just don’t drive often.” He got in and slammed his door.

Liza did likewise. “Are you some kind of hermit, Forrester?”

“What’s wrong with being a hermit?”

“Not a thing,” she replied tartly, “if you like living alongside birds and skunks and chipmunks—”

“In the peace and quiet, you mean?”

“Is that a hint for me to shut up?”

“If I wanted you to shut up, I’d have told you,” he said, turning the key in the ignition. The engine spluttered and caught with an unmuffled roar. “Hang on tight,” he advised over the noise of the truck.

There were no seat belts in the old pickup, so Liza did as she was told.

Forrester drove carefully down the narrow road that wound through the trees from the lodge, the truck bouncing roughly in the potholes despite his caution. When he hit the highway at the bottom of the long driveway, he didn’t pick up speed but continued to drive the noisy truck very slowly. His prudent driving might have annoyed Liza under most circumstances, because she liked to get where she was going without dillydallying. But this morning she was in no rush to get to the town where she’d grown up. The thought of setting foot in Tyler made her very nervous. Unconsciously, she started chewing her thumbnail—an old habit she’d never broken completely.

“Look,” she said when they headed west on the highway with the sunlight streaming after them, “maybe there’s a better garage in Bonneville. Why don’t you turn around and go the other way?”

“Don’t worry so much,” said Forrester, not taking his eyes from the road. “Maybe you won’t see anybody you know.”

“I’m not worried about that! It’s my car, that’s all. It’s a delicate machine. It needs expert care.”

“Like the kind of care you were giving it when you ran over that tree? Don’t try to snow me, please. It’s obvious you’re scared to death about going home again.”

“I am not!”

“Why did you come back to Tyler if you didn’t really want to see your family?”

“It was a mistake,” Liza said, turning sulky. She looked out the window at the passing scenery—the lush pastures punctuated by stands of tall, Wisconsin trees. Sunlight was just starting to sparkle on the dew, turning the landscape into a dazzling green carpet.

Half to herself, Liza said, “I—I didn’t mean to end up here. It just happened. I was driving around.”

“What for?”

“I was mad! I was—oh, what do you care?”

“Mad about what?”

Liza sighed and leaned against the window, propping her fist against her chin. Despite her instinct to keep the facts secret, she said, “I quit my job.”

“Quit?” Forrester shot a look across at her.

“All right, I was fired. Satisfied?”

“How come you got fired?”

“It’s a long story, and the ending isn’t very interesting. I’m broke, to tell you the truth. The lease on my apartment expired last week, and the landlord changed the lock. Can you believe it! The old coot won’t give me my clothes until I pay the rent!”

“That explains the outfit, then,” Forrester said wryly. “It was the only thing you could get from the Salvation Army, right?”

“Who asked you for an opinion?”

He didn’t react to her anger, but continued to drive along the pasture fences. “Why don’t you just pay your rent?”

“I told you. I’m broke.”

“A grown woman like you can’t balance a checkbook?”

“It’s not that simple,” Liza said. “I’m an interior designer, see? I really wanted my last job to turn out great, so I...well, I kicked in a few bucks of my own. It messed up my cash flow.”

“What did you do that for?”

“Because I wanted the job to be wonderful! You see, it was this great executive office—overlooking Lake Michigan, marvelous sunlight all day, this beautiful view from a dozen floor-to-ceiling windows—everything! I made the place look terrific. Everybody said so. It needed a sculpture, though, to finish the concept. An artist friend of mine had the perfect piece—this mother and child thing that’s great—emotional, you know? Erotic, too, in a way that was very sophisticated. It was perfect for the office, and my friend needed the money very badly. So I—”

“So you spent your rent money on a sculpture that you’re never going to see again.”

“It’s not like that!”

Liza remembered the whole scenario in detail, but doubted she could make Forrester understand. Her artist friend, Julio Jakkar, had needed the money to finance a trip to a drug rehab clinic. Julio was ready to make it work this time, he said, but he’d refused Liza’s offer to pay for the treatment outright. Buying one of Julio’s pieces had seemed like the perfect solution to his problem. Except Liza hadn’t counted on losing her job a few days later.

She couldn’t make a tough loner like Cliff Forrester understand the complexities of a friendship with a sensitive, vulnerable guy like Julio, though.

On another sigh, she said, “I just had to do it, that’s all.”

“So now you’ve got no apartment and no job.”

“I’m not running home to my mother, if that’s what you’re thinking! I’ve been in scrapes before. I can get myself out of this one.”

“Sure,” said Forrester.

“I’d never run to my mother for help, anyway. She’s got troubles of her own, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“She’s stronger than you think.”

“I’m stronger than everybody thinks!”

Forrester didn’t say a word at that, and Liza pretended to be interested in the passing scenery. Things hadn’t changed much, she noticed sourly. People still treated her like a rambunctious child.

Other things hadn’t changed, either. The same farms still stood along the road to Tyler, with even the same names painted on the mailboxes. German names and Swedish names, mostly. Old families that could trace their family trees back to the first settlers.

The history of Tyler was much like the history of other small towns in Wisconsin. Founded 140 years ago by German immigrants who fled autocratic rulers in their native land, the original town was called Tilgher, after one of the founding families. Years later, the name was anglicized to Tyler by an impatient official from the land office who couldn’t pronounce the German word. Swedish immigrants followed the Germans, each family paying ten dollars to receive 160 acres of farmland.

One such Swedish immigrant had been Gunther Ingalls, who took his family by wagon train to his parcel. On the rugged trail, he stopped to help an Irish immigrant mend a broken wagon wheel. Jackie Kelsey and Gunther Ingalls became friends over that wheel and proceeded to Tyler together, where they split Gunther’s acreage into two small farms. In the century that followed, the Kelsey family and the Ingalls family flourished side by side. And sometimes feuded, too.

Now Liza’s grandfather, Judson Ingalls, was hailed as the town’s most prominent citizen. Known by most of the citizenry as the venerable, though sometimes crotchety owner of Ingalls Farm and Machinery Company, Judson Ingalls commanded respect in Tyler. As his granddaughter, Liza had felt watched all her life—like a bug under a microscope. Every twitch she made was news to the townspeople of Tyler.

As the truck rumbled past the elementary school playground and inside the boundaries of Tyler, Liza found herself automatically watching the streets for her grandfather. Judson’s tall frame, his distinctive long-legged, slope-shouldered walk and shock of white hair—Liza expected to see him on the next street corner. He was as much a part of Tyler as the picturesque Victorian houses on Elm Street or the stately central square lined with the town hall, the old post office, the Fellowship Lutheran Church with its pretty facade and Gates Department Store. Even Marge’s Diner—tucked on a side street just off the town square—didn’t seem as much of a landmark as Judson Ingalls himself.

Liza realized she was holding her breath as Cliff Forrester drove through the intersection of Main and Elm Streets. She couldn’t stop a cautious peek up the tree-lined boulevard where she had grown up. The huge Victorian home where she’d played as a child was obscured by a pair of giant elm trees, and Liza was glad she couldn’t see the house. It might be too painful. And she didn’t want to alert her mother that she’d come home. No use giving up her advantage.

As if guessing what was on her mind, Cliff Forrester said, “Want me to drive by the old place?”

“Heavens, no!” Liza collected herself, not wanting to reveal how stirred up she felt, arriving in Tyler for the first time since her last monumental blowup with her family. She said crisply, “Just take me to the nearest garage, please.”

Forrester leaned out the window to check the clock in the tower on the bank. “It’s only seven o’clock,” he noted. “I’ll bet Carl’s garage is still closed.”

Exasperated, Liza snapped. “Small towns! Haven’t all-night business hours reached the provinces yet?”

“We’re not used to wild girls driving their convertibles around in the wee hours, I guess.”

“What about some breakfast?” Liza proposed, sitting up straight in the seat as the thought struck her. Anything to avoid stopping at her mother’s house! Manufacturing some eagerness, she said, “Does Marge still make those yummy blueberry pancakes? We could go to the diner and have something to eat—coffee, sausage, the works! Do you know how long it’s been since I had real Wisconsin sausage? Let’s go. My treat. I’m starved.”

Obediently, Forrester whipped the wheel over and made a slow U-turn on Main Street, aiming for a lucky parking space right in front of Marge’s Diner. He slipped into the spot and put the truck in park. But he didn’t shut off the engine or make a move to get out.

“You go ahead,” he said, keeping both hands on the wheel.

“What?”

“Go get some breakfast. You can walk over to Carl’s when you’re finished. You know where his garage is?”

“What is this?” Liza demanded on a laugh. “A brush-off?”

“Go eat,” he said stubbornly.

“Look, Forrester, I’m sorry.” Firmly she said, “I’m sorry about that little scene back at the lodge. Maybe I was trying to manipulate you. I can’t help it sometimes. It’s a habit, I guess. I can be pretty brassy, and I shouldn’t have pushed you—even if it was a pretty good kiss. But I’m willing to put the whole business behind me if that’s what you want. What do you say? If you were going to eat those fish, here’s a chance for something better. I’ll buy you a real breakfast and we’ll forget it happened.”

“I thought you were broke,” he said, looking out the window to avoid meeting her eye.

Liza laughed. “Well, I’ve got twenty dollars left, I think. Plenty for a couple of orders of pancakes. Come on.”

He shook his head mulishly. “I have work to do.”

“Like what? More fishing? Look, I’m trying to make it up to you! Come on.”