She frowned. “Why’d you think that?”

“Because…I thought you said or implied you’d gotten a pretty good settlement from the divorce. When you were talking about how you could afford to put up the greenhouses, not have to care if you lost money on the lavender, all that.”

“Oh. Well, I did get a good lump of money from the divorce-but not because Simpson gave me anything for free. We had a house together. He wanted to stay in the house to raise his kids, and I didn’t need or want to stay there, so he owed me my share. Actually, I’d earned more than him back then. But the point was-”

It wasn’t that hard to finish her sentence that time. “You wanted to spend any money you got from the marriage. It felt like ugly money somehow. As if it could sabotage your luck if you used it in a relationship with someone else.”

“Yeah. And I know that thinking was superstitious.”

“It is. But I remember feeling that way after my divorce, too. Then it wasn’t about money. I gave her all the money I could, wanted her to have it. She had the girls. But the ‘stuff’-furniture, paintings, the things we’d split up that were part of the marriage-at the time, it didn’t matter how valuable they were or how much I liked them or even needed them. I wanted all ties severed.”

“So you understand. Why’d you get divorced, Cam?”

“I told you. Because I couldn’t settle in one place. I was too restless. Not responsible enough. Not mature enough to make any kind of husband, either,” he said honestly. “And you?”

Her bare big toe had sneaked over and found his bare big toe. Now they were playing footsie, he realized. Both of them, like kids who couldn’t stop touching each other. No matter what they were sure of and what they weren’t.

There had to be something narcotic in the Vermont air. Something dangerous.

Maybe it was even in her big toe.

“Me, what?” She seemed to be referring to some question he’d asked, as if she’d lost track of the conversation.

Hell, so had he. “Why’d you get divorced? Because he cheated? Because you fell out of love? What?”

She didn’t answer for a long time, and then finally she made a sound-like a wry little chuckle, only not so much humor in it. “We have a problem, Lachlan.”

“What’s that?”

“The problem is that I want to answer your question. I have this horrible feeling that you could turn out to be someone I could seriously trust. How weird is that?”

“Weird? You’re not used to trusting people?”

She propped up on an elbow then. Moonlight draped the round of her shoulder, the edge of one plump, firm breast, the sweet soft curve of her hip and high. “Don’t waste your time sounding surprised, Cam. You’re no more used to trusting people than I am. You’re a loner. Just like me.”

He didn’t know what to say, except that she didn’t strike him as a natural loner in any conceivable way. She was an earth mother, a giving lover, a warm, nurturing woman right down to her toes. He said honestly, “I can well understand your needing time to get over a hurtful relationship, but in the long run it’s impossible to imagine you living alone. Or not wanting to be in a marriage.”

“I won’t be climbing into another serious relationship,” she said firmly.

He didn’t believe her. But he said, “That’s a relief, because I don’t want to hurt you. And for darn sure, I won’t lie to you. You know my work here’s only temporary, that I’ll be leaving soon. That’s the way it has to be.”

Again she smiled, at a moment when no other woman would have smiled at him. “And I’ll be staying here. Because that’s the way it has to be-for me. So we’re both safe, right?”

“Safe?”

“Safe,” she repeated. “You don’t want to shake up my world. I don’t want to shake up yours.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

“We do need to watch it, though,” she said carefully. “I’m totally for casual sex. Especially with a man who’s only going to be here for a short time, and who positively doesn’t want anything serious from me. But we’ll both get cranky if we start to seriously trust each other, so let’s try not to, okay?”

She got up then. He didn’t instantly understand that the conversation-and their lovemaking-was all done. In principle, they should have left an hour earlier at least. The night temperatures were dropping fast now, and the mosquitoes had come out to feast-still, he was shaking his head as he quickly gathered their gear together.

The woman he seemed to be falling for, very hard, very fast, very irresponsibly, was walking toward his car completely naked in the moonlight. She didn’t seem to find anything odd about that. She didn’t seem to find anything odd about wanting to sleep with a man who wouldn’t stick around for her, either.

But it bugged him.

It was never a good idea, to wake up the next morning without both people having agreed on what they needed from such an encounter. Only Violet’s version of clearing the air had sure muddied his. Maybe most men would be happy to hear she was up for a short, passionate affair.

Maybe, even as early as last week, he’d have been ecstatic to hear a woman talk that way.

Only hearing Vi talk about casual sex and not wanting to trust him made him feel as edgy as if he’d sat on a porcupine. She deserved more than that. She should be demanding more from a man than that.

And damn it. He wanted to be more than that to her. Realizing how hard his heart was suddenly pounding, Cameron took a long, low, calming breath.

It had to be the moonlight. He just wasn’t a man to think, or spell, a word as petrifying as commitment. Tomorrow-daylight-he’d get a grip on this whole thing. He just knew he would.

Eight

When Violet walked outside, the morning fog was magical. Pink dawn hues swirled in the mist. Drenched flowers and grass made the whole world sing with scent and color. It was her favorite kind of morning.

Today, though, she clumped toward her Herb Haven in mud boots and a scowl. She’d had hiccups twice already. Her stomach seemed to be doing a nonstop agitated jitterbug.

The Haven’s parking lot already had four cars, even though it was barely seven. Customers were waiting for her. She gave an early class on Wednesday morning before the store opened, a class she normally loved to bits. But this morning her mind was entirely on the night before.

She’d never had casual sex before. It wasn’t her fault. She’d always meant to fool around tons, but she’d fallen in love with Simpson young and there’d never been a chance. Now she was perfectly thrilled to throw her morals out the window, only it was all so awkward. She’d gone into her bedroom first last night, but she assumed Cameron would join her. Instead he’d gone into the spare room. And stayed there.

When you had mind-blowing fabulous sex with a lover, didn’t you get to spend the night with him? What the hell were the rules to this deal, anyway? Cripes, it would resolve so many problems-and so much heartache-if she could just privately love someone and not have to worry about his caring about her long term.

Only, so far, this wasn’t working at all. The sex part had been terrifyingly stunning. Only, she hadn’t slept all night, first waiting for Cameron to come into her bed, and then worrying why he’d slept in the other room. And then there was that other tricky little problem.

She was crazy about the guy. More crazy than she could ever remember feeling before-even about Simpson. Cam was warm and funny and accepting and interesting and honest and everything she loved in a guy-not counting that naked-to-naked had been better than anything she’d ever dreamed of.

The love word had been on her mind even before they’d done the Deed. Making love had just made that worse.

She knew better than to let that love word enter the picture.

Glumly she opened the door to the Herb Haven. Lights were already on. Four women sat on the wooden table in the back, all talking at once and sipping her best coffee brew. They all knew where the key and coffeepot were; they knew the whole routine. Betsy and Harriet were farmers’ wives; Roberta was a freshly divorced teacher; Dinah was a college student home for the summer with energy to burn. The women had nothing in common besides a history in White Hills-and wanting to make natural cosmetics at home.

“We’re making cold cream today, right? Cold cream, aftershave and an herb bath.” Violet heeled off her mud boots, plastered on a cheerful smile and charged in. Work would get her mind off Cam. It had to. “Did you ladies hear that Dora Ritter is pregnant? And everyone says it’s Tom Johnson’s, and his wife is pregnant at the same time.”

“No!” Betsy said in delighted horror, and the women were off. Aprons were donned. Bowls and pots and measuring devices gathered from the cupboards, and then the core ingredients brought out. Lanolin. Beeswax. Almond oil. Naturally Violet started making herb water first, and each of the women had chosen their favorite: lavender, rose, mint and lemon balm.

Smells pervaded the back room. Violet kept both the gossip and the work flowing, but no matter how fast she ran, her mind kept sneaking back to Cameron. She kept thinking, I want that man. I want to sleep with him. Love him. Laugh with him. And why shouldn’t I? What’s so wrong if two consenting adults both simply want to have a good time together?

“Violet, how long does this mess have to cook?” Betsy asked her.

Violet peered over the edge of the double boiler. “You’re not trying to cook it. You just want the lanolin and beeswax to melt together. After that you add the almond oil.”

“Gotcha.”

“And at that point you call me, and I’ll show you how we whisk in the herb water. You wanted the lemon balm, right?”