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It would be so simple to get rid of him if she could talk, but handicapped as she was, she felt utterly helpless. Then again, her polite no-thank-yous had gotten rid of any number of unwanted men—but she had a feeling they wouldn’t work with Hart. What would? She would have to do something about him. When she got to the cabin.
    Not now, not yet. For now, she inhaled deeply and remembered why she had come here. There was no other place on earth like the mountains in South Carolina in April.
    Clusters of trillium bubbled and tripped over the hillsides in incredible snow-white splashes. The woods were verdant and ripe with new growth; every leaf seemed to catch the sun. Silence was part of the magic. Suddenly, there were no cars except hers and Hart’s, just the soft shadows of woods, the occasional burst of secluded stream, the lush promise of shelter and privacy where no one would intrude.
    The road to Gram’s cabin curved down and around a valley. A very few other vacation cottages stood along the road, but all of them were hidden from sight, with only crooked mailboxes to indicate their presence. The ravine was just past that stand of trees, completely invisible from the road, a lush sanctuary for wildlife and flowers, rising up a steep incline…Gram had loved it so. Gram…
    Shoving the car into first gear for the last steep climb, Bree frowned absently, aware that she hadn’t thought of Gram in hours now, a first in how long?
    Braking to a stop, she let a pent-up flow of weariness flood her limbs as she gazed at the cabin. A shake-shingled roof, log walls, a porch with a swing…Weeds had overgrown everything, but if the place looked disreputable to a civilized eye, Bree saw only happy memories. Eating warm chocolate cookies on that swing; toting home a pailful of blackberries; wildflowers in every room; going to sleep with the smell of that white, delicate blossom that grew everywhere; a bear one night—how Gram had laughed at his antics, allaying the fears of the little girl Bree had been. Like an ocean tide, there was a rhythm to every minute she had spent in that cabin, the ebb and flow of silence and contentment, the soothing murmur of love she had so taken for granted as a child.
    There was no other place she could possibly have gone.
    It was the perfect place…
    A car door slammed behind her, jolting her from the sleepy memories. Gnawing determinedly at the inside of her lip, she snatched up her purse, unlocked the door and stepped out of the car, her heels sinking into the weedy, pungent earth.
    “Who on earth would have guessed you were such a country girl?” Hart’s eyes interestedly traveled the length of her, as if he hadn’t inspected her a dozen times already. “The mystery deepens, doesn’t it, Bree? I’d say you were a man after my own heart, but one look at you and a fool would know how inappropriate that statement would be.” His head whipped around as he jammed his hands in his pockets. “Looks like the place has been closed up for a few years.”
    Those blue eyes suddenly seared hers, and she could have sworn she glimpsed an unbelievable sensitivity, even protectiveness, in them.
    “So what exactly are we going to do about you, honey?” Hart murmured.
    Bree made several adequate sign-language motions, indicating he could drop himself and his car into the nearest ravine.
    He ignored her energetic hand signals. “I’ve always been happy with the place I rent, but you’ve really cornered a special little valley here. Any cottages for rent close by?”
    She shook her head vigorously from side to side.
    “I saw quite a few signs on the road—”
    Violently, her head whipped back and forth again.
    “Nobody’s lived in that cabin for ages, I’ll bet,” Hart remarked conversationally.
    She nodded yes, someone had. Another lie.
    “Fascinating, how you can fib without even opening your mouth.” Hart shook his head. “I was positive there’d be someone waiting here for you—and