She could, unlike most people he knew, be comfortable with long spells of silence. It appealed to him. The more careless he became in his attire and appearance, the more meticulous she became in hers. It amused him to see her go off every morning and return with her makeup perfected and her hair carefully groomed. Hunter made sure they’d been mussed a bit by the end of the day.

Hiking, fishing. Hunter had seen to it that her jeans and boots were thoroughly broken in. Often, in the evening, he’d caught her rubbing her tired feet. When she was back in Los Angeles, sitting in her cozy office, she wouldn’t forget the two weeks she’d spent in Oak Creek Canyon.

Now, Lee stood near the edge of the creek, a fishing rod held in both hands, a look of smug concentration on her face. He liked her for it—for her innate need to compete and for the vulnerability beneath the confidence. She’d stand there, holding the rod, until he called a halt to the venture. Back in camp, he knew she’d rub her hands with cream and they would smell lightly of jasmine and stay temptingly soft.

Since it was her turn to cook, she’d do it, though she still fumbled a bit with the utensils and managed to singe almost anything she put on the fire. He liked her for that, too—for the fact that she never gave up on anything.

Her curiosity remained unflagging. She’d question him, and he’d evade or answer as he chose. Then she’d grant him silence to read, while she wrote. Comfortable. Hunter found that she was an unusually comfortable woman in the quiet light of a campfire. Whether she knew it or not, she relaxed then, writing in the journal, which intrigued him, or going over her daily notes for the article, which didn’t.

He’d expected to learn about her during the two weeks together, knowing he’d have to give some information on himself in return. That, he considered, was an even enough exchange. But he hadn’t expected to enjoy her companionship.

The sun was strong, the air almost still, with an early-morning taste to it. But the sky wasn’t clear. Hunter wondered if she’d noticed the bank of clouds to the east and if she realized there’d be a storm by nightfall. The clouds held lightning. He simply sat cross-legged on the ground. It’d be more interesting if Lee found out for herself.

The morning passed in silence, but for the occasional voice from around them or the rustle of leaves. Twice Hunter pulled a trout out of the creek, throwing the second back because of size. He said nothing. Lee said nothing, but barely prevented herself from grinding her teeth. On every jaunt, he’d gone back to camp with fish. She’d gone back with a sore neck.