The dog she’d ostensibly come to meet was yipping joyfully on the other side of a cyclone fence, wearing a track in the snow as he dashed six feet in one direction, then six feet in the other.

“That’s Festus,” Eli said, standing and unceremoniously pulling Brynne up after him. “Festus, meet Brynne Bailey.”

Brynne stood, trying to brush snow off her flannel-lined jeans and the front of her warmest jacket. “Hello, there,” she greeted the dog. Approaching the fence, she put out a hand for him to sniff. “I own a really bossy cat, but I hope you and I can be friends anyway.”

Festus gave a gleeful yip and wagged his tail frantically as Eli opened the gate and stepped back to let Brynne precede him.

Reaching the back porch, they kicked the snow off their boots, and then they were inside, in a small but well-designed kitchen, streaked with bars of sunshine from the windows and skylights.

“Nice,” Brynne said.

Eli acknowledged the one-word compliment with an equally brief nod. “I’ll build up the fire and make some coffee. You’ll be warm in no time.”

She was already warm, despite spending at least an hour in the freezing cold, buffeted by icy winds. The echo of Eli’s body still pulsed along the length of her arms and the inside of her thighs; it was a wonder she wasn’t sweating like a wrestler under hot lights.

“I’m fine,” she said nervously. “Really.”

Eli started toward the next room, paused as he passed her and spoke gently. “Relax, Brynne. I didn’t bring you here for any reason other than to warm up before I drive you back to town in my truck.”

Brynne averted her eyes, bit her lower lip.

She was relieved.

She was disappointed.

When Eli moved on and busied himself stoking the embers in the living room’s Franklin stove, she took off her jacket, draped it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs and leaned down to pet Festus.

“I think I’m in love,” she murmured, gazing into adoring canine eyes.

She thought Eli was out of earshot; turned out, he wasn’t.

“I know I’m hot,” he teased, “but isn’t it a little soon?”

Brynne laughed, in spite of, or maybe because of, her jittering nerves. “Egomaniac,” she replied. “I was talking to your dog.”

“Damn,” Eli replied, moving to the sink, where he rinsed out and then filled the carafe from his coffee maker. “Decaf or high-octane?”

“You drink decaf?”

“No,” came the answer. “I was counting on you to ask for regular.”

“Do you ever say anything serious?” Brynne inquired.

He paused, turned to look at her. They were half a room apart, but something invisible arced between them.