“I see. Then maybe you’re right, I shouldn’t borrow your Gram Ellen’s clothes. How about something of yours?”

He stood up. “I’ll go get you one of my shirts.” He looked up and down the length of her lying on the couch. “I got some jogging pants that will fit you,” he added. He headed for the door. “I’ll bring you some socks, too.”

As soon as he disappeared up the stairs, Libby sat up and swung her feet over the edge of the couch, pulled up her pants leg, and looked at her knee. It was indeed swollen and red. She flexed the knee several times, stood up, and put some weight on it.

It hurt but still worked well enough. Libby straightened and put one hand to the small of her back, leaning backward to flex her muscles. She ached all over but suspected it was nothing compared with what she would feel tomorrow.

She was lucky. Her injuries could have been much worse, considering that she probably had totaled the car.

Libby looked around the huge living room and soon realized that this was an all-bachelor household now, since Gram Ellen had died two months ago. There was so much dust covering the furniture that Robbie and Michael’s handprints were clearly visible on the coffee table.

Robbie had mentioned in one of his e-mails that his mother had died when he was a child. And apparently there was no new Mrs. Michael MacBain in residence. Or, if there was, she wasn’t much of a housekeeper.

Libby limped over to one of the windows to look out, only to gasp in surprise.

She was standing smack in the middle of Christmas.

The snow that had threatened all day during her drive here had finally arrived. Huge, fat, cotton-ball flakes floated down over the landscape, sticking to everything they touched. Rows upon rows of Christmas trees covered the field for as far as she could see.

She had traveled to Wonderland.

Movement caught her attention, and Libby watched as Michael MacBain drove his tractor up to the edge of the car-eating pond. He climbed down and waded into the water until it reached his chest.

The man didn’t so much as flinch, much less hesitate to enter the freezing pond. How could he do that? Libby shuddered in her own wet clothes at just the thought of how cold he must be. Heck, she knew from personal experience.

She watched, intrigued and maybe in awe, as Michael pulled a cable from the front of his tractor and dove under the back bumper of the car to attach it. Libby held her breath and didn’t release it until he resurfaced.

The man was amazing. Or suicidal. Was he even aware that he could get hypothermia and not even know it until it was too late?

And why was he doing this dangerous and unpleasant chore for her, anyway?

Especially considering how mad he was at her.

She had mowed down some of the prize Christmas trees he’d been growing for a state competition. Anyone in his situation would have simply handed her the phone and told her to call a wrecker. But Michael was working in freezing water to clean up the mess she’d made.

And for that, Libby felt guilty.

She was deeply indebted to Michael MacBain.

And that worried her. She wasn’t used to owing people. Especially tall, ruggedly handsome men who could turn her insides into warm liquid mush with just a look.

Libby hugged herself, remembering the feel of Michael’s hands on her shoulders. Truth told, she’d been downright flustered in a very feminine way. Dammit. She was going to have to watch herself if she wanted to make a go of it here. She couldn’t get starry-eyed over the first good-looking mountain man she met.

Nor could she let herself get too attached to his son.

She’d come here to build a new life for herself, and she couldn’t risk getting involved with her landlords because, above all else, she had to protect her terrible secret.

Michael surfaced from the pond and tossed his head back to clear the water from his face. He waded to the driver’s side of the car and pushed on the door until it clicked shut, then looked in the backseat of the nearly submerged compact and shook his head.

All of Libby Hart’s belongings were soaked, including what looked like a computer floating around in a black briefcase.

The woman was damned lucky to be alive. If he and Robbie hadn’t been home or had been up back in the twelve-acre field, she could have frozen to death before she escaped.

Michael snorted. Woman? he thought with another shake of his head. Libby Hart looked more like a boy than a woman, with her short curly hair, tiny body, and childlike large brown eyes. The only thing big about Libby was her temper.

Michael caught himself smiling again. The woman had been so flaming mad at him that she’d come out of the car cursing at him. Which meant her courage was bigger than she was, for her to go up against a man twice her size.

Which also told him that Libby Hart was reckless.

What had his son gotten them into? For the last four days, Robbie had been so excited about Libby’s arrival, it had been all Michael could do to keep the boy from bouncing off the walls.

So he’d put his son to work getting Mary’s house ready for its new tenant. And he’d shamed Grace MacKeage into supervising Robbie, since she had played such a large role in this unsubtle conspiracy to find him a wife.

Well, hell. Somebody should have asked for a picture of Libby Hart. The woman barely came up to Michael’s chest.

But Michael had to admit that she was all woman. He remembered the feel of her nice little behind as he’d lifted her out of the pond. He’d also noticed her flawless skin and long, elegant neck peeking out of her half-buttoned blouse when he’d carried her into the house. He’d had to button that blouse back up after sending Robbie to get a towel, when he would have preferred to strip it off her instead.

Michael felt his blood beginning to stir, only to realize that he’d gone numb from the waist down. He waded back out of the freezing water, climbed onto the tractor, and put it in gear. He slowly released the clutch to coax the car gently out of the pond, but his memory of Libby’s body proved a distraction. He popped the clutch, and the tractor lurched back, jerking the car with it until Michael and the two vehicles rolled out onto the road.

And still the image of Libby persisted.

Dammit. He had no use for small, reckless women.

Aye, Libby Hart was going to be trouble.

Chapter Four

Robbie sat in Libby’s newly rented house,his elbows on the kitchen table and his chin resting in his palms as he supervised her unpacking. He examined every item as it came out of her soggy suitcase and guilelessly announced whether he thought it was ruined or not.

The ruined pile was growing quite large.

Libby gave up trying to save her belongings and stuffed a lot of things back into the suitcase. She carried it over to the kitchen door and dropped it onto the floor.

“What day does the trash get picked up?” she asked her helper as she set her computer case on the table.

“Picked up?” Robbie echoed, giving her a quizzical look.

“The trash truck. What day of the week does it come around?”

“We don’t have a truck that picks up our trash. You gotta take it to the dump.”

Libby blinked at her landlord. “I have to take it myself?”

Robbie nodded. “Yup. The dump is open every Saturday.”

“I don’t suppose that your taking my trash to the dump is included in the rent?”

As Robbie thought about that, his eyebrows lowered in a deep frown. Libby laughed and waved her hand at the air. “Never mind. You come with me next Saturday and show me where the dump is. If I’m going to live here, I might as well get used to the way things are.”

Libby opened her computer case but had to step back when a gallon of water spilled out, covering the table and running onto the floor. Robbie scrambled away from the mess and whistled.