Erin nearly choked on the wine that she had been sipping. She eyed the interior of the cabin speculatively. “You’re not telling me that you bought this place sight unseen?” she gasped, unable to shake the astounded look from her face. It hardly seemed “perfect” for anyone, much less an eleven-year-old girl bound to a wheelchair! Erin surveyed the living quarters more closely. The old cabin needed a lot of work. The cleaning alone would take several days, and the varnish on the pine walls was cracking and beginning to peel. There was no hot water, the floors needed to be refinished, and the furniture—all of it needed to be replaced or repaired. The list of jobs seemed endless to her practiced eye.

Kane watched Erin with obvious amusement. The deep-timbred tones of his laughter drew her attention back to him. “No,” he laughed, “I haven’t bought this place. In fact, this weekend is just a trial run. A widow owns the place, but she hasn’t been up here since her husband died a couple of years ago. She knows that I’m interested in buying it, but she agreed to rent it to me for the weekend—to look around for myself.”

“You’re really serious about buying it?” Erin gasped. “It doesn’t even have electricity!”

“Part of its charm, wouldn’t you say?” He grinned at her obvious dismay.

“It’s your money,” she conceded with a dismissive shrug, and took another sip of her wine. The bright embers from the fire and the heady effect of the wine lured her into a serene sense of complacency. She watched Kane over the rim of her cup, and noticed the mood swing that seemed to come over him.

At her offhand comment about money, Kane stiffened. “That it is,” he agreed almost inaudibly. He set the remains of his uneaten dinner aside, and stared into the orange and black coals of the fire. His mood had indeed shifted, and Erin, even in her peaceful state, could sense that the tension was coiling within him again.

The fire crackled and popped as it burned the pitch-darkened wood. The movements of the flames reflected in menacing shadows over the angular structure of Kane’s masculine face. His question surprised Erin.

“Did you know that Mitchell Cameron’s arraignment hearing is scheduled for late this week?” he asked in an accusatory voice. Gray eyes slid sideways, trying to catch her reaction. His pose was relaxed, his hands crossed comfortably over his chest, but Erin could sense the strain due to the twist in the conversation, and saw the tense rigidity of the muscles in his face.

“I read about it in the paper,” she replied unevenly. Carefully, with nervous hands, she set aside the rest of her suddenly unappetizing sandwich and took another drink from her cup. The cool wine felt smooth against the rough texture of her throat. Mitchell Cameron had become a taboo subject between Erin and Kane, a topic that was never brought out into the open. It was as if, by silent agreement, neither person would chance the subject of Mitch. For reasons Erin didn’t understand, the subject of Mitch was a potential powder keg. Why then, tonight, would Kane turn the conversation in Mitch’s direction?