She’d been neglecting the basics lately, Maggie decided, squinting at her reflection. Had it been over two months since she’d been in a salon? Ruefully, she tugged at the bangs that swept over her forehead. It was showing, and it was time to do something about it.

After wrapping her still-damp hair in a towel, she pulled open the mirrored medicine-cabinet door. The nearest Elizabeth Arden’s was seventy miles away. There were times, Maggie told herself as she smeared on a clay mask, that you had to fend for yourself.

She was just rinsing her hands when the sound of quick, high-pitched barking reached her. C.J.’s present, Maggie thought wryly, wanted his breakfast. In her short terry-cloth robe, which was raveled at the hem, her hair wrapped in a checked towel and the clay mask hardening on her face, she started downstairs to tend to the demanding gift her agent had flown out to her. She had just reached the bottom landing when a knock on the door sent the homely bulldog puppy into a frenzy.

“Calm down,” she ordered, scooping him up under one arm. “All this excitement and I haven’t had my coffee yet. Give me a break.” The pup lowered his head and growled when she pulled on the front door. Definitely city-oriented, she thought, trying to calm the pup. She wondered if C.J. had planned it that way. The door resisted, sticking. Swearing, Maggie set down the dog and yanked with both hands.

The door swung open, carrying her a few steps back with the momentum. The pup dashed through the closest doorway, poking his head around the frame and snarling as if he meant business. Cliff stared at Maggie as she stood, panting, in the hall. She blew out a breath, wondering what could happen next. “I thought country life was supposed to be peaceful.”

Cliff grinned, tucking his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans. “Not necessarily. Get you up?”

“I’ve been up for quite some time,” she said loftily.

“Mmm-hmm.” His gaze skimmed over her legs, nicely exposed by the brief robe, before it lingered on the puppy crouched in the doorway. Her legs were longer, he mused, than one would think, considering the overall size of her. “Friend of yours?”

Maggie looked at the bulldog, which was making fierce sounds in his throat while keeping a careful distance. “A present from my agent.”

“What’s his name?”

Maggie sent the cowering puppy a wry look. “Killer.”

Cliff watched the pup disappear behind the wall again. “Very apt. You figure to train him as a guard dog?”

“I’m going to teach him to attack music critics.” She lifted a hand to push it through her hair—an old habit—and discovered the towel. Just as abruptly, she remembered the rest of her appearance. One hand flew to her face and found the thin layer of hardened clay. “Oh, my God,” Maggie murmured as Cliff’s grin widened. “Oh, damn.” Turning, she raced for the stairs. “Just a minute.” He was treated to an intriguing glimpse of bare thighs as she dashed upstairs.