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a razor or masculine talc or after-shave. Who used it? His wife. . . no, he said he had a housekeeper, not that having a housekeeper precluded having a wife, but somehow he didn’t seem married. There was something free and untamed in his attitude that did not speak of running in double harness . . . an arrogance, a certain stance.
    Still, she felt sure there was a woman in his life ... or women. He was too much at ease with her to be one of those embittered and dedicated bachelor types. Whoever the woman was, Serenity did not envy her. As she had told Barbie, the dominating male had never appealed to her, and Hudson Grey was definitely bossy and absolutely dedicated to having his own way.
    However, he had been good to her. It would have been horrible to come out of that crash with no one around and to have waited ages on that lonely road for someone to drive by. Gosh, she was muddled in her thinking. If Hudson Grey and his deer, dogs and sheep had not been in that exact spot she would not have crashed.
    She hooked the chain with her toe and as the water drained away she dried herself in a large soft pink towel, then wrapped it about her sarong fashion and washed her hair under the shower before dressing leisurely. She was in no hurry to cross swords with her host. What a ridiculous thought! There was no earthly reason for feeling that they would be antagonists. She merely had to thank him for his hospitality, arrange with some garage to retrieve her car, and arrange transport for herself to the nearest town . . . that would be Greymouth, He said the car was a write-off, so maybe the insurance company might just view it where it was.
    She glanced in the mirror at her boy-slim figure and took satisfaction from the neat cut of her jeans and the smooth fit of her top. She ran her comb once more through her wet fair hair. That brilliant sunshine would soon dry it, silky and shining. It would turn under at the ends naturally, a style which suited her pale oval face and wide grey eyes. Bracing herself, she picked up her discarded clothes and crossed to the bedroom to drop them on top of her suitcase. This room, like the rest of the house, was charming, restful and inviting and the view across to the Southern Alps was fabulous.
    ‘Are you going to be all day?’
    Serenity frowned. Hudson must have heard her leave the bathroom . . . what an impatient beast he was. She took her time going down the stairs, and found him crossing the dining room carrying a large tray with cakes, scones and teapot, milk, sugar and cups.
    ‘Hurry up. We’ll have it on the patio. You look as if a bit of good West Coast sunshine would not go amiss.’
    Resentfully, Serenity followed him. No girl appreciated being told she was pale and wan. It was mainly tiredness and stress anyway. ‘What’s the great rush? You told me to take my time.’
    He answered with a cheerful grin, ‘I’ve just taken these hot scones from the oven and wanted you to enjoy them. Hot buttered scones and raspberry jam are irresistible. Milk? Sugar?’
    Serenity eased into a wrought-iron chair and narrowed her eyes. ‘You cooked them?’
    ‘Such cynicism in one so young. It’s painful. Milk? Sugar?’
    ‘Milk, no sugar, thank you.’ She noted he had removed his red tartan shirt, and his athletic frame looked even more vital in jeans and loose-knit short-sleeved shirt. ‘You don’t look the sort to be messing around in the kitchen.’
    His tanned face creased into an even deeper smile as he passed her a cup of piping hot tea. ‘I didn’t say I’d cooked them, I said I’d just taken them from the oven. My housekeeper, who spoils me utterly, knew my weakness and baked a raft full of them before she left. She put them in the deep freeze, and I just had to heat them. You do jump to conclusions, I must remember that ... try one.’
    She took a scone and bit into it thoughtfully. Yes, he was just the kind of man a housekeeper would spoil, or any woman actually, and he had