Grinning, Bryan dropped down on the bed. “I know. That’s why I can never resist dishing it out. Lee, really, I know you have a pair of jeans. I’ve seen you wear them.” She brushed at the hair that escaped her braid. “Designer or not, take jeans, not seventy-five-dollar slacks. Invest in another pair or two,” she went on while Lee frowned down at the clothes still in her free hand. “Put that gorgeous wool sweater back in your drawer and pick up a couple of flannel shirts. That’ll take care of the nights if it turns cool. Now…”

Because Lee was listening with a frown of concentration, she continued. “Put in some T-shirts—blouses are for the office, not for hiking. Take at least one pair of shorts and invest in some good thick socks. If you had more time, I’d tell you to break in those new hiking boots, because they’re going to make you suffer.”

“The salesman said—”

“There’s nothing wrong with them, Lee, except they’ve never been out of the box. Face it.” She stretched back among Lee’s collection of pillows. “You’ve been too concerned about packing enough paper and pencils to worry about gear. If you don’t want to make an ass of yourself, listen to momma.”

With a quick hiss of breath, Lee replaced the sweater. “I’ve already made an ass of myself, several times.” She slammed one of her dresser drawers. “He’s not going to get the best of me during these next two weeks, Bryan. If I have to sleep out in a tent and climb rocks to get this story, then I’ll do it.”

“If you tried real hard, you could have fun at the same time.”

“I’m not looking for fun. I’m looking for an exclusive.”

“We’re friends.”

Though it was a statement, not a question, Lee glanced over. “Yes.” For the first time since she’d begun packing, she smiled. “We’re friends.”

“Then tell me what it is that bothers you about this guy. You’ve been ready to chew your nails for over a week.” Though she spoke lightly, the concern leaked through. “You wanted to interview Hunter Brown, and you’re going to interview Hunter Brown. How come you look like you’re preparing for war?”

“Because that’s how I feel.” With anyone else, Lee would have evaded the question or turned cold. Because it was Bryan, she sat on the edge of the bed, twisting a newly purchased sweatshirt in her hands. “He makes me want what I don’t want to want, feel what I don’t want to feel. Bryan, I don’t have room in my life for complications.”

“Who does?”

“I know exactly where I’m going,” Lee insisted, a bit too vehemently. “I know exactly how to get there. Somehow I have a feeling that Hunter’s a detour.”