Libby finally tore her gaze away from the lake and picked up her collection of printouts from Robbie MacBain. She shuffled the papers until she found the digital photos that had accompanied Robbie’s Internet ad. She stared at the young boy sitting on his pony in front of a field of Christmas trees and tried to decide what it was about him that had made her choose to come here.

His mother’s home was certainly enticing enough. And the mountains held their own allure, if only for their illusion of security.

But Robbie MacBain had been the final deciding factor. There was something about him, something almost otherworldly. He was a child with the eyes of an ancient soul. There was a presence about him, as he sat so proudly on his pony and looked directly at the camera with a subtle, I-know-a-secret smile lifting his lips and the promise of magic shining in his young, pewter-gray eyes.

Libby shuffled the papers again and found Robbie’s last e-mail to her. “Head northeast out of Pine Creek,” he’d written, “and drive until you see a large field of Christmas trees on your right. I think it’s about five miles from town. I know it’s not a very long ride on the schoolbus, so it shouldn’t take you too long to find my home.”

Libby adjusted the rearview mirror so she could see herself, brushed a stray curl from her face, and gave a quick fluff to her short, wavy hair. She blinked her huge brown eyes as she examined her reflection, hoping that her light touch of makeup wasn’t too much, and smiled to make sure a stray piece of lettuce from the sandwich she’d gotten in Bangor wasn’t stuck in her teeth. She wanted to look at least presentable when she met her new young landlord, so he wouldn’t realize that he’d rented his mother’s home to a desperate woman with secrets of her own.

Satisfied that she looked like a sane, sensible, thirty-one-year-old jewelry maker, Libby started the car, waited for a pickup truck to drive past, and pulled back onto the road.

She drove slowly through the tiny town of Pine Creek, noticing with interest the few stores and three dozen or so people going about their business. She also noticed that her little car was dwarfed by the many pickups and huge logging trucks. She saw only one other car, squeezed between dust-covered pickups in front of Dolan’s Outfitter Store.

She stopped at the intersection in the center of town and tried to decide which way to turn. She didn’t have a compass, but there were only three ways out of Pine Creek, and Libby picked the graveled but obviously much-used road that put the sun to her left, figuring it pointed her northeast.

She traveled for six miles and still didn’t see a Christmas tree. Libby picked up theMaine Atlas and Gazetteer she’d bought at the airport in Bangor, but her attention was quickly drawn back to the road when a streak of white swooped past the nose of her car. She slammed on the brakes and jerked the steering wheel to the left to avoid hitting the large bird.

She was traveling too fast, and her car skidded toward the ditch. Libby jerked the wheel back to the right, and again she slid on the frozen gravel, fishtailing into the sharp curve that suddenly loomed before her.

She might have been able to maintain control if that damn suicidal bird had not flown past her windshield again. She cut the wheel to the right this time, only to skid on a puddle of ice at the edge of the road. Her car hit the ditch, shot up the embankment, and suddenly became airborne.

Libby shielded her face with her arms as she plowed through a stand of evergreens, her scream of surprise cut short when the small car slammed into the frozen farm pond on the other side of the trees. Both airbags exploded, punching Libby in the chest and face with the force of a cannonball.

She slapped the slowly deflating airbag away, coughing on the packing powder that had shot through the interior of the car when the airbags deployed. Water and ice cascaded over the hood, seeping into the cracks in the windshield, and the sound of the hissing engine and gushing water turned Libby’s shock to terror.

The car settled deeper into the pond.

Libby grappled with the buckle on her seat belt as freezing water rushed over the floorboards. She finally got free but couldn’t open the door. It was locked, and she couldn’t find the release button on the new-model rental. She tried rolling down the windows, but they were electric and wouldn’t work, either. So she pulled her wet feet up onto the seat and started kicking at the driver’s side window. After several forceful kicks, she realized there was a man wading through the water toward her. His steely glare followed the path her car had taken, and then his piercing gun-metal eyes came to rest on her.

The car settled deeper into the pond.

The idiot. Why wasn’t he rushing to help her get out before she drowned? Libby kicked the window harder and yelled at the man to do something.

But he only continued to glare.

Until finally, and ever so slowly, he tried to open the door, only to find it was locked. He pointed at the gearshift and motioned for her to put the car in park.

Sitting upright, Libby pushed on the gearshift until it was in the park position. She heard the distinct sound of all four locks clicking open. She immediately lifted the door handle and tried to open the door, but it still wouldn’t budge.

And the car continued to settle deeper into the pond.

Libby started beating on the window again.

The man broke more of the ice around where he stood, braced one booted foot to the right of the car door, and took hold of the handle. With a powerful tug, he pulled open the door, and gallons of water rushed into the car, sweeping Libby into the passenger seat. She banged her head on the opposite window and cursed.

But she quickly shut up when her ungracious and still glaring rescuer ducked into the car. The guy was huge, the most ferocious-looking man she’d ever laid eyes on.

And he was cursing back at her.

Something about murdering his prize Christmas trees.

Or was he wanting to murder her?

“You little fool,” he growled as he reached toward her. “You won’t drown because the pond is not deep.”

More shaken by his attitude than his size, and deciding she wanted to escape him as well as the sinking car, Libby drew up her knees, planted her feet on his chest, and shoved.

Her action was so unexpected, the giant reared up, bumped his head on the roof, and went sprawling backward into the pond with another colorful curse of his own. Libby scrambled over the seat and out the door before he could recover, only to find that her legs refused to hold her up.

She fell on top of the giant.

Powerful arms wrapped around her. They both sank under the surface this time, and Libby swallowed half the pond as she struggled to get free. His strength mocked her efforts. And with one of his viselike arms wrapped around her waist and his other hand cupping her bottom, he simply stood up.

Libby instantly stilled when she found herself looking into deep gray eyes that were no longer glaring.

They were laughing.

And the giant’s hand on her bottom felt more like a caress than an attempt to secure her.

So much for first impressions. She was a soaking wet, shivering mess who couldn’t even keep her car on the road, and he was a knock-down-gorgeous mountain of man who couldn’t even control his hormones long enough to fish her out of a pond without copping a feel. But before she could tell him what she thought of his anything but heroic rescue, the chaos of the crash finally caught up with her, and Libby slumped forward and very quietly—and most unwisely—fainted.

The whispering woke her.

And the throbbing in her temple caused her to moan.

The whispers immediately ceased, and Libby opened her eyes, only to let out a scream of surprise that made her sit up and grab her head. Two strong hands reached out and took hold of her shoulders, keeping Libby from toppling over. Her head swam, making her dizzy, and she grasped the arms holding her steady, only to find herself looking into the deepest, darkest pewter-gray eyes she’d ever seen.