Now what? she asked herself. She’d let herself fall for a man she hardly knew, barely understood and wasn’t altogether sure she liked a great deal of the time. He certainly didn’t understand her and didn’t appear to want to.

Yet he’d planted a willow in her yard. Perhaps he understood more than either of them realized. Of course, there couldn’t be anything between them, really, she reminded herself hastily. They were poles apart in attitude. Still, for the moment, she had no choice but to follow her heart and hope that her mind would keep her somewhat level. As she rose, Maggie remembered fatalistically that it never had before.

It was quiet downstairs, but as soon as she came to the landing, she smelled coffee. She stood there a moment, wondering if she should be annoyed or pleased that Cliff was making himself at home. Unable to decide, she walked back to the kitchen.

“Want a cup?” Cliff asked as she entered. He was already leaning against the counter in his habitual position, drinking one of his own.

Maggie lifted a brow. “As a matter of fact, I would. Have any trouble finding what you needed?”

He ignored the sarcasm and reached in a cupboard for another cup. “Nope. You haven’t eaten lunch.”

“I generally don’t.” She came up behind him to pour the cup herself.

“I do,” he said simply. With a naturalness Maggie thought bordered on arrogance, he opened the refrigerator and began to search through it.

“Just help yourself,” she muttered before she scalded her tongue on the coffee.

“You’d better learn to stock up,” Cliff told her when he found her supplies discouragingly slim. “It isn’t unusual to get snowed in on a back road like this for a week at a time in the winter.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You eat this stuff?” he asked, pushing aside a carton of yogurt.

“I happen to like it.” She strode over, intending to slam the refrigerator door whether his hand was inside or not. Cliff outmaneuvered her by plucking out a single chicken leg, then stepping aside. “I’d just like to mention you’re eating my dinner.”

“Want a bite?” Apparently all amiability, he held out the drumstick. Maggie concentrated on keeping her lips from curving.

“No.”

“Funny.” Cliff took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. “Just coming into this kitchen seems to work up my appetite.”

She shot him a look, well aware that she was now standing on the spot where they’d made wild love only a short time before. If he was trying to get a rise out of her, he was succeeding. If he was trying to distract her from what they’d discovered in the attic, he was succeeding, as well. Either way, Maggie found she couldn’t resist him.