Annoyed at the plague of memories, Gard stalked toward the gate where Jenna Hardy’s flight was disembarking. Pacing behind the TSA guard, she studied the travelers who straggled up the gangway and out into the concourse, trying to pick out Hardy. She pictured Hardy as an icy blonde, haughty and unapproachable, like her mother and Susannah and her brother’s wife Daphne. She was typecasting and she knew it, but then, from what she’d experienced of Jenna Hardy so far, she definitely fit the mold of socialite.

A woman appeared out of nowhere, stopping a few feet in front of Gard and perusing her with an amused smile. In low heels, she was almost Gard’s height, and expensively dressed in tapered chocolate brown pants and a rust-colored cashmere sweater that hugged her smallish breasts. The reddish-brown top complemented her wavy, chin-length chestnut hair and accentuated her truly remarkable spring green irises. She was slender, with flawless ivory skin that rarely if ever saw the sun. Her pallor, together with the faint smudges beneath her large, luminous eyes, gave her a fragile, vulnerable air.

“Dr. Davis?”

“Yes. Ms. Hardy?” Gard realized she’d been staring and hoped Hardy had not noticed. It wasn’t as if she didn’t see beautiful women every day. Well, perhaps not every day, but she had seen beautiful women in her life before, and still did. But she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been captured quite as quickly by the elegant arch of a brow or the seductive slant of a smile. Jenna Hardy’s face wasn’t perfect, the bridge of her nose had a small bump and her jaw was just a little too square to be classically beautiful, but she was…arresting. And damn it, she was staring again.

Gard held out her hand. “Gard. Gard Davis.”

Jenna laughed and took the offered hand—larger than hers, the palm was rough, but the grip surprisingly gentle. Gardner Davis was not at all what she’d expected. On the phone, the doctor had been irascible and gruff, and Jenna had pictured someone sharp-faced, hard-eyed, and humorless. Although Davis’s features were boldly hewn, her broad forehead and strong jaw gave her a confident, commanding look, even if at the moment, she appeared slightly flummoxed. Her discomfiture was rather endearing, considering how from across the room her dark good looks had made her seem remote and unapproachable. The appreciative glint in her eyes as she took Jenna in, more than once, was quite nice also. Jenna was no stranger to admiring glances, but she was very aware that the looks were for Cassandra. She hadn’t dated a woman who hadn’t been dating Cassandra Hart in…forever. Her choice, of course, and one she did not regret.

“Thank you for picking me up, but you needn’t have,” Jenna said. “I could have taken a cab.”

Gard automatically reached for the carry-on Jenna juggled along with a briefcase and suitbag. “Let me take those. You would never find a cab out here this time of night, and even if you did, no one would drive you the forty miles to Little Falls.”

Jenna rankled at the suggestion she couldn’t manage on her own. “It’s been my experience that for enough money and a generous tip, you can find someone to do almost anything.”

“Yes, I imagine that’s true,” Gard said stiffly.

“I can carry my own bags, thank you,” Jenna said, annoyed by the criticism apparent in Gard’s tone.

“It’s quite a hike out to the parking lot. No need for you to struggle.”

“Always so gallant, Dr. Davis?”

“Not so you’d notice.”

Despite her aggravation, Jenna relinquished her grip on the luggage. She wasn’t going to let false pride stand in the way of good sense. Her headache had abated, but her stomach hadn’t weathered the flight quite as well. She was still a little shaky, she wasn’t going to be able to carry all her luggage, and there were no redcaps in sight. “I have another bag that I checked.”

“Planning to stay for a while?”

Jenna wasn’t certain why everything Gard Davis said sounded like an accusation, as if she were being judged and found lacking. She’d had a hellacious day, her temper was none too steady under the best of circumstances, and she’d stopped accepting insults in silence the day she’d crawled out of Darlene’s trailer. “Is there some reason I shouldn’t?”

“Not at all,” Gard said. “Baggage claim is this way.”

The overly bright, faintly grimy room held three luggage conveyors, two of which sat motionless. A third rattled around with a few stranded bags dotting their black belts in an endless loop. Gard headed in that direction.

Jenna hurried to keep up. “Then what—”

“I doubt you’re going to find Little Falls very entertaining,” Gard said. “Certainly not what you’re used to.”

“Oh? What do you suppose I’m used to?”

“The flight you took came up from New York City. Is that where you live?”

“Manhattan,” Jenna said. “Does that automatically make me incapable of enjoying a few quiet weeks in the country?”

“Not at all. Plenty of people come up here from the city for a break. But they usually stay at trendy resorts or elegant B and Bs. Little Falls is hardly on the map.”

“Believe me, I’ve had my fill of hustle and bustle for a while. I just spent a month plane-hopping from one glitzy hotel to another.” Jenna stopped herself from saying more—she didn’t ordinarily reveal details of her personal life, and Davis’s thorny disposition hardly inspired confidences.

“Who is Cassandra Hart?” Gard asked just as a loud whine followed by a piercing screech signaled the lurching start of a conveyor belt.

“I’m sorry?” Jenna scrambled to remember if she’d mentioned who she was.

“Earlier, when I called. You answered ‘Cassandra Hart.’” Pieces of luggage began to spew from the hidden recesses behind the baggage carousel, and Gard slid closer to make the grab. “What’s it look like?”

“That’s mine,” Jenna said, heading for a large black Pullman. Caught off balance by Gard’s reference to Cassandra, she took advantage of the diversion to consider her answer. Before she could tug the large suitcase off the carousel, Gard got to it first and lifted the large bag as if it were no heavier than Jenna’s briefcase.

“So?” Gard asked.

“I’m Cassandra Hart,” Jenna said.

“You have two names?”

“Cassandra Hart is my pseudonym. The name I write under.”

Gard lifted her brow. “You’re an author?”

“Yes, actually, I am.” Jenna shouldn’t have been surprised that Gardner Davis had no idea who she was, but the knowledge was unexpectedly irritating. And the irritation was even more irritating. Why should she care?

“What do you write?” Gard pulled out the retractable handle on the Pullman, grabbed the carry-on, folded the suitbag over the top of the Pullman, and rolled the assembly toward the double glass doors leading outside.

“Novels.” Jenna hurried to catch up. “Let me take one of those.”

“I’ve got them.”

“Do I look like I’m incapable of carrying my own luggage?”

Gard shot her a grin. “You look like you’re used to having an entourage follow you around taking care of your every need.”

“Exactly why would you think that?”

“You just do. Should I have heard of you?”

“You do realize that a question like that could be construed as offensive?”

“Really?” Gard laughed. “How so?”

Jenna stopped walking. “Well, in the first place, you don’t know who I am, which implies that I’m not important enough to be known. Secondly…” She hesitated, her frown deepening. “Actually, I don’t think there is a second place.”

“Are you important enough to be known?” Gard asked.

“Cassandra is, at least some people think so.”

“And what about you?”

They’d reached the deserted lanes outside the airport, and the mountains rose beyond the sparsely lit parking lot, massive and dark against a moonlit sky. Jenna smelled pine, fresh turned earth, and cut grass—country smells. A visceral memory, both pleasure and pain, of all she’d left behind struck her hard and she jumped. “I’m sorry. What?”

Gard slowed, her expression quizzical and concerned. “Are you famous?”

“Not really, although every one of my last seven new releases has made the New York Times top ten list.” Jenna wasn’t sure why she was trying to impress a stranger, and one who wasn’t even all that likable. Maybe being thrown into surroundings so much like those she’d escaped had her off balance, because she certainly didn’t care what this woman thought of her. Maybe it was just the damn headache making a reappearance that had her acting out of character.

“What exactly do you write?”

“Romances.”

“Ah,” Gard said.

“Ah, what?”

“That’s why I don’t know who you are. I don’t read them.” Gard pointed with her chin. “I’m parked over here.”

“What exactly do you read when you’re not reading medical journals?” The parking lot was unpaved, potholed, and muddy. Spotlights hung from telephone poles in no discernible pattern, dotting the lot with thin cones of light that barely reached the uneven ground. Jenna had to step carefully to avoid puddles left by what must have been a recent, heavy downpour. Her shoes were going to be ruined.

“I like mysteries. Puzzles. Things I have to figure out.”

“Have you ever actually read a romance?”

Gard passed into one of the swaths of light, and Jenna saw her frown. “Wuthering Heights in high school. Maybe. Or that might’ve been CliffsNotes.”

Jenna laughed despite her lingering annoyance. “Then you’ve missed a few things. The genre has changed quite a bit in the last hundred years or so.”

Gard stopped beside a dusty black pickup truck. “How so?”

“Well, there’s sex, for one thing.” Jenna leaned forward, squinting to read the logo on the side. “This is yours?”