Hey. Its not just a sting. You didnt see the bee. It was huge. Bigger than a horse. Practically bigger than an elephant. And it-
Are you allergic to bee stings?
No. Good grief, no. Im not allergic to anything. Im totally healthy. But Im telling you, this was a big bee. And I think the stingers still in there.
Yeah, I can see it is. Again he lifted his head. Again she felt those amused blue eyes pounce on her face, and caught a better look at him. That shag of blond hair framed a long-boned face that looked carved by a French sculptor.
If she wasnt dying from misery, she might have let a shiver sneak up her spine. One look-and no matter how soggy her mind was from the pain-she was absolutely positive this guy wouldnt normally be running around White Hills, Vermontor any other back-country town.
For the record, she said, youre lost.
You think? He shifted behind her, opened the cabinet and promptly hefted down her first-aid box. Well, actually, it was a shoe box. Filled to overflowing with herbal, natural, artificial and any other kind of first-aid supplies shed accumulated over the past three years-and probably a few her mom had had around for the thirty years before that. He located the tweezers first.
The way the stranger held the tweezers made her nervous. Either that or something else did. Either way, she was really starting to get seriously nervous, not just pretend-and darn it, she hadnt been doing all that well before the exotic stranger barged in.
Youre lost, she repeated. Im Violet Campbell. I own the Herb Haven-the building and greenhouses on the other side of the yard. This is my house. If youll tell me who youre trying to find, Ill be glad to-eeeikes!
He lifted the tweezers to show her the stinger. It looks like the stinger of a little sweat bee.
Violet pinched the skin between her brows. Another delightful advantage to being divorced, apart from removing the scoundrel from her life, was not having to put up with mens sick sense of humor. Who are you looking for? she repeated.
You.
He lifted the brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide and started unscrewing the top. She suspected he was going to pour it on the wound. She also suspected that she was going to shriek when he did-and maybe even cry. But the way he said you in that sexy, exotic accent put so much cotton in her throat that the shriek barely came out a babys gasp.
See, that wasnt so bad, was it? The stingers out. The spots clean. Now you might want to take an antihistamine or put some ice on the spot for a few minutes-
You couldnt possibly want me, she interrupted. And then pinched the skin between her brows a second time. On any normal day she liked people. She liked interruptions. She even liked a hefty dose of chaos in her life. But there were men she felt comfortable with and men she didnt.
This one was definitely a didnt. He made her feel naked, which was pretty darn silly considering she was dressed in the ultramodest clothes of another era-except she suddenly realized her skirt was hiked up past her thighs. The point, though, was that she most certainly wasnt wearing male-attracting clothes. Her women customers got a kick out of her sense of style, but men almost always backed away fast.
That was how she wanted it. She liked guys, had always liked guys, but shed been burned enough for a while. Maybe for a whole lifetime. Normally men noticed her clothes and immediately seemed to conclude that she was a little kooky and keep their distance, so God knew what was wrong with this stranger. Hed surely noticed the oddball long skirt and vintage blouse, but he was still looking her over as if she were meringue and he had a sweet tooth.
Momentarily, though, he went back to playing doctor, scrounging in her first-aid box until he found the ammonium wand for bites and stings. She winced even before hed touched the spot. As if they were in the middle of a civilized conversation, he said, You were expecting me.
Trust me. I wasnt expecting you.
Im staying here for a few weeks. With you.
The wince was wasted. When he touched the wound with the ammonium wand, she sucked in every last dram of saliva her throat had left and released a screech. A totally unsatisfying screech. The ammonium hissed and stung like-damn it. Like another bee sting. Only worse. Still, shed somehow easily managed to keep track of the conversation this time. Obviously, youre not staying here. I dont even know you. Although Im beginning to think youre a complete maniac-
Actually, she wasnt particularly afraid of maniacs. She took credit for being one herself often enough. But shed lost the last of her usually voluble sense of humor with that bite of ammonia. Good-looking or not-sexy or not-she was really in no mood for an emotional tussle with a stranger.
The man swooped everything back in the first-aid box, then turned around and aimed for the freezer, obviously to find some ice. My name is Cameron Lachlan.
Great name. Im happy for you.
He grinned, but he also kept moving. When she motioned to a lower cupboard, he bounced down on his heels and came up with small baggie for the ice. We definitely have some kind of strange screwup going on here. You do have a sister named Daisy Cameron, dont you?
It wasnt often she got that thud-thud-thud thing in her stomach, but her palm pressed hard on her tummy now. Yes, for sure. In fact, I have two sisters-
But its Daisy who lives in France.
Yes, for several years now-
The point being, he said patiently, that your sister has been playing go-between for us for months. Or thats what Ive understood. Because she was living right there, and because she knows my work and me personally, so you wouldnt have to be dealing with a stranger. You were supposed to be expecting me. You were supposed to have a place for me to stay for several weeks. You were supposed to know that I was arriving either today or tomorrow-
Oh my God. Youre Cameron Lachlan?
He scratched his chin. I could have sworn I already mentioned that.
It came on so fast. The light-headedness. The stomach thudding. The way her kitchen suddenly blurred into a pale-green haze.
Granted, she was a coward and a wuss-but normally she had a cast-iron stomach. Now, though, when she pushed off the counter and tried to stand on both feet, her bee sting stabbed like hot fire and her stomach suddenly pitched. Try not to take this personally, okay? she said. Its not that Im not glad to see you. Its just that youll have to excuse me a minute while I throw up.
Two
Once Violet disappeared from sight-presumably to find the nearest bathroom-Cameron leaned against the kitchen counter and clawed a hand through his hair. Talk about a royal mess. What the hell was he supposed to do now?
Nothing usually rattled him. Normally people got a higher education to earn a better living. Cameron had pursued a Ph.D so he could enjoy a footloose, vagabond lifestyle. He was used to jet lag. Used to time changes and strange beds. He had no trouble getting along with people of all different backgrounds and cultures.
But this blonde was doing something to his pulse.
Be careful with my sister, Daisy had warned him-which, at the time, had struck him as a curious thing to say. His only interest in Violet Cameron was business. Still, whether hed wanted to hear it or not, Daisy had filled in enough blanks for him to understand why she was so protective of her younger sister. Violet had apparently been married to a real, selfish creep. Something happened in that marriage that I still dont know about. Something really bad in the last year. I still cant get her to talk about it, Daisy had told him. But the point is, Violet was always extra smart, in school and life and everything else. Its just since the divorce that shes beendifferent. Fragile and nervous about men.
Since that conversation had at the time been none of his business-and none of his interest-Cameron had pretty much forgotten it. Still, hed definitely imagined a shy, quiet, understated kind of woman. A true violet in personality as well as name.
Now he wondered if Vermont might secretly be an alternative universe. Granted, hed only been in the state for a couple of hours-and on the Campbell property even less than that-but Daisys description didnt match anything hed noticed in reality so far. Violet was as shy as neon lights, as nervous as a lioness, and as far as IQwell, maybe she was smart, even ultrasmart, but who could tell beneath all those layers of ditsiness?
He heard a door open and instinctively braced. Seconds later Violet walked back in the kitchen. When she spotted him leaning against the counter, she seemed to instinctively brace, too.
Considering that Cameron had always gotten on well with women, it was a mighty blow to his ego to make one sick on sight. At the vast age of thirty-seven, though, he never expected to respond to a woman with a tumbly stomach of his own.
The old Vermont farmhouse seemed sturdy and serious. At first glance, hed thought the base structure had to be at least two centuries old. The brick surface had tidy white trim and a shake roof; the plank floors were polished to a high shine. Hed been drawn to the place on sight; it looked practical and functional and solid, nothing frivolous.
Only, then there was her.
Standing with the light behind her, she could have been a fey creature from a fairy story. The first thing any breathing male was going to notice, of course, was her hair. It was blond, paler than sunlight, and even braided with a skinny silk scarf, it bounced halfway down her backwhich meant it had to reach her fanny when it was undone. Her face was a valentine with warm, wide, hazel eyes, sun-kissed cheeks and a nose lightly peppered with freckles.
She wasnt exactly pretty. She just had that something. Some kinds of women just seemed born pure female. They were never as easy to get along with-much less understand-but they seemed to radiate that female thing from the inside out. Nothing about her was flashy or sexy, but she was sensual from that pale, shiny hair to her soft mouth to the rounded swell of her breasts.
She seemed to be wearing old clothes-not old, as in practical, but old, as in the stuff youd find in a great-grandmothers attic trunk. The white blouse completely covered those delectable breasts, but the fabric seemed less substantial than a handkerchief. It was tucked into a long skirt swirling with bright colors. Crystal earrings dangled to her shoulders. A couple of skinny bangle bracelets glinted on her wrist. There was nothing immodest about the clothes; if anything, they seemed unnecessarily concealing for a sultry, ninety-degree afternoon. Cameron just wasnt sure what the vintage gypsy image was supposed to mean.