“No. No, not really.” Her biggest problem at the moment was to keep her mind and body from wanting more of him. Opening her eyes again, she stared at the rain-drenched window. “I’ll admit I’ve had a couple of restless nights since—well, since we started to dig the pond. It isn’t easy knowing what happened in that gully ten years ago, and I have a very active imagination.”

“Part of the job?” He turned toward her a bit more, so that her leg slid casually between his. Her skin was smooth as polished glass.

“I suppose.” She laughed, but he thought he detected nerves in it. “One night I was certain I heard someone in the house.”

He stopped stroking her hair, drawing her back far enough to see her eyes. “In the house?”

“Just my imagination,” she said with a shrug. “Boards creaking in the attic, stealthy footsteps on the stairs, doors opening and closing. I worked myself up into quite a state.”

He didn’t like the sound of it, even in her dismissive tone of voice. “Don’t you have a phone in this room?” Cliff demanded.

“Well, yes, but—”

“Why didn’t you call the police?”

Maggie sighed and wished she’d never mentioned anything about it. He sounded like a cranky older brother scolding his scatterbrained sister. “Because I’d left the kitchen extension off the hook. I’d been trying to work that afternoon, and—” The word scatterbrained flowed back into her head. Embarrassed, she trailed off. “Anyway, it’s better that I didn’t call. I felt like an idiot in the morning in any case.”

Imagination or not, Cliff reflected, she was still a woman alone, isolated, and everyone in a ten-mile radius knew it. “Are you locking your doors?”

“Cliff—”

“Maggie.” He rolled until she was on her back and he was looking down at her. “Are you locking your doors?”

“I wasn’t,” she said, annoyed. “But after the sheriff came by, I—”

“Stan was here?”

A breath hissed out between her teeth. “Damn it, do you know how often you cut me off in the middle of a sentence?”

“Yes. When did Stan come by?”

“The day after the state police were here. He wanted to reassure me.” She wasn’t cold now, not with the way his body was pressed against hers. Desire began to stir again, not too quiet, not too slow. “He seems to know his job.”

“He’s been a good sheriff.”

“But?” Maggie prompted, sensing more.

“Just a personal thing,” Cliff murmured, shifting away again. Maggie felt the chill return immediately.

“Joyce,” she said flatly, and started to rise. Cliff’s arm came out to pin her down.

“You have a habit of saying little and implying a lot.” His voice was cool now, his hold firm. “It’s quite a talent.”

“It seems we have little to say to each other.”