He pushed up, dragged an unsteady hand through his hair. “I’m not ready to hear any goddamn click.”

She sat up quickly, brushed fussily at the front of her shirt. It threw her off balance that she could find his temper both irritating and arousing at the same time. “You think I want to hear one? I’ve got enough on my mind right now without you clicking around in my head. I need to find the first key. I’ve got to work this out. I need to find a job. And I don’t even want a stupid job. I want . . .”

“What? What do you want?”

“I don’t know.” She scrambled to her feet. There was a fury inside her. She didn’t know where it came from or where it needed to go. Turning away, she stared at the house across the river, folded her arms firmly over her chest. “And I always know what I want.”

“You’re one up on me there.” He rose, but didn’t go to her. Whatever was pumping inside him—anger, need, fear—was too unstable to risk touching her.

The breeze was playing with the ends of her hair, as he had. All those tumbling clouds the color of old gold, like something out of a painting. She looked so slim, so perfect, standing there, half turned away from him while the dying sun shot a thin line of fire along the rise of western hills.

“The only thing I’ve been absolutely sure I wanted . . . ever,” he realized, “is you.”

She glanced back as nervous wings began to stir in her belly. “I don’t imagine I’m the only woman you’ve wanted to sleep with.”

“No. Actually, the first was Joley Ridenbecker. We were thirteen. And that particular desire was never fulfilled.”

“Now you’re making a joke of it.”

“I’m not. Not really.” He stepped toward her and his voice was gentle. “I wanted Joley, as much as I knew what that meant at thirteen. It was intense, even painful, and kind of sweet. Eventually I found out what that meant. I wanted other women along the way. I even loved one, which is why I know the difference between wanting a woman, and wanting you. If it was just sex, it wouldn’t piss me off.”

“It’s hardly my fault you’re pissed off.” She scowled at him. “And you don’t look or sound as if you are.”

“I tend to get really reasonable when I’m seriously annoyed. It’s a curse.” He picked up the ball Moe spat at his feet, then threw it with a strong whiplash of arm. “And if you think it’s a joy to be able to see both sides of an argument, to see the validity on each end, let me tell you, it’s a pain in the ass.”

“Who was she?”

He shrugged, then picked up the ball Moe returned, threw it again. “Doesn’t matter.”

“I’d say it does. And that she still does.”

“It just didn’t work out.”