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Knowing she would hate herself for asking, she bit anyway. "What?"

  "A patsy."

  They were still arguing as he drove into the Amtrak parking lot. She directed him to her green Camaro and opened the door as he pulled up beside it.

  "I won't say it's been fun," she said, taking one last look at his hard, unsmiling face before she stepped down. "But I do thank you for the rescue." She slammed the door and grinned up at him. "I'll pass your favor on to the next unfortunate soul I meet."

  She stepped back, undaunted by his glare, waving as he drove out of the parking lot. And that, she thought, is that. At least she wasn't adding a permanent member to the growing number who disapproved of her life-style. He was only a temporary critic. Putting her car in gear, she headed for her home, her work and her friends in La Jolla.

  ❧

  Thirty minutes later, she walked through the door of Cachet, the craft shop that had metamorphosed into one of the town's most distinctive gift boutiques.

  "Thank God you're back!" Kara found herself almost smothered by Judy's impulsive hug. Her normally unflappable friend looked suspiciously bright-eyed. Her black hair, usually drawn back in a smooth knot, hung in wisps around her face, and her lipstick looked as if it had been slowly and methodically chewed off.

  "I told you I'd be back about four. I'm only a few minutes late."

  Judy eyed her grimly. "Don't pull that innocent act with me. Juanito has been burning up the telephone lines for the last hour, and you know how he is when he gets excited. What I managed to understand I didn't like. He was babbling something about pistoleros, and that you had disappeared. Why were gangsters chasing you, and where did you go?"

  Kara mentally heaped curses upon the head of the absent Juanito as she put her arm around her distraught friend. "Beth," she called to the college student who helped in the store on weekends, "can you take over for a while? We're going to be in the back."

  "Sure thing, Kara." A tall, slim girl with brown hair turned away from the blown-glass creations she was dusting. "Take your time. I'll sing out if it gets busy."

  "I told you this crazy stuff was going to get you in trouble." Judy eyed Kara darkly as she herded her into the corner of the stockroom they had furnished as an office. "Are you going to listen to me now? No, of course you won't," she answered herself bitterly.

  "You'll keep running down there doing your crystal-ball routine until everyone at the racetrack knows what you're up to."

  She dropped down into a wicker chair, scowled at Kara, who sat across from her, and plowed on without coming up for air. "Don't you understand that there are people who would do anything to get the information you conjure up? Doesn't it worry you at all?"

  Experience had taught Kara to sit quietly and listen. Or at least look like she was paying attention.

  Why was it, she wondered for the hundredth time, that almost everyone who knew her tried to organize her life? It must go back to that cute thing, she pondered. They took one look at her and decided that she didn't have a brain large enough for two thoughts to rub together.

  It wasn't as if she were mentally deficient, she thought, as Judy's words flowed over her. Quite the contrary. Under her optimistic and humorous approach to life she was actually pretty levelheaded.

  Only a few people, however, were discerning enough to detect the intelligence that was an integral part of her makeup. Judy knew, but at times such as these she tended to forget.

  She was beginning to run down, Kara noted with relief. She was now in the you've-got-to-get-rid-of-this-Florence-Nightingale-complex stage.

  "You can't keep running around putting Band-Aids on the whole world, Kara. What would happen to these people if you weren't around? They'd survive, that's what. You can't take the whole world on as your personal charity." Judy leaned back, wondering if this time she had said the magic words that would make Kara less vulnerable to appeals for help. As her friend's husky voice reached her ears, she knew that once again she had failed.

  "I haven't adopted the whole world, Judy. Only a small part of my neighborhood." Kara shifted to a more comfortable position. "And I am discriminating, you have to give me that. I never take on anyone who's lazy or incompetent. Only those who are hard-working, but for some reason temporarily unable to help themselves."

  "What's so temporary about the Estradas? I don't see them working to the point of self-sufficiency. Their reputation is spreading, and every week they find at least one more kid sitting on their doorstep. Pretty soon they'll have to open another place, and then you'll be down there twice a month."

  Kara grinned. Judy wasn't nearly as tough as she sounded. Once, just once, she had crossed the border to help at the orphanage. She had spent the day hugging babies, playing with the older children and fighting tears. Ever since, she had been playing shamelessly on the heartstrings of friends and business associates, wangling large and small donations for the children. She also spent hours at rummage and garage sales, buying good used clothing with the money. She never worried about sizes. Every item would be put to use. She also never went back.

  Kara sighed. "We've been talking about that. We're all concerned about how fast they're growing. We either start going to the dog races at Caliente during the week, in addition to the horses, or come up with something new. I've been thinking about some of your rich friends, the ones who own businesses. Maybe they'd like to adopt an orphanage or sponsor a few of the kids. With all the wealth in this town, we should be able to come up with something. Why don't you ask Bill, your CPA friend, if a charity in another country is tax deductible." Kara stood up. "Let me know what you find out."

  Before she could move, Judy pointed a stern finger at the empty chair. "Sit, Kara! You're not walking out of here until you tell me what happened this afternoon."

  Kara flopped back down, scowling hideously at her friend. "You sound just like the man who rescued me. Nag, nag, nag."

  "Then he's a man after my own heart," Judy assured her. "Now talk."

  Kara heaved a sigh and launched into an imaginative and well-edited version of the day's activities.

  ". . then he drove me to my car and left me. If I'm lucky, it's the last I'll ever see of him."

  "Was he that bad?"

  "Yes."

  "What's his name?"

  "I don't know. He was too busy telling me what he thought of my antipoverty program to answer any questions."

  "What'd he look like?"

  Kara grinned. Trust Judy to get right to the heart of the matter. "He's just your type. You'd love him."

  "Meaning you didn't." Judy had more than once expressed her opinion of Kara's penchant for quiet, understated men.

  "Precisely. He's big, tough, has go-to-hell green eyes and manners to match. He reminded me of Charles Bronson in that movie you made me watch on TV last week."

  "And you didn't get his name?" Judy regarded her friend through blue eyes round with shock. She didn't believe in passing up heaven-sent opportunities.

  "Listen to me," Kara urged. "By the time we reached the depot we could hardly wait to say good-bye. And since we argued all the way from the border, neither of us was in the mood for polite introductions. He's a hard man, and he thinks I'm soft in the head."

  She rose, stretched and looked down at the desk they shared. "Sorry I couldn't bring him home for you," she finished absently, picking up a letter. "You'll just have to manage with the ten or so you have hovering around." She looked up, flourishing the letter. "What are we going to do about this?"

  "The Business Association charity thing? We'll go, of course. I've already sent them a check. We haven't missed one yet. It's a good cause, and if we need other reasons, we've made some good local connections in the past, and it's tax deductible."

  "What more could we ask for?" Kara queried lightly. "What are you going to wear? Something severe, to remind people that you're the brains of the outfit?"

  Judy stood up, looking down at Kara from her five-inch advantage. "Sure," she agreed. "As long as
your dress is some romantic bit of fluff. God forbid that anyone should think I'm the artistic one," she said piously.

  Harmony restored, they turned toward the door.

  Judy stopped, gesturing dramatically. "Wait a minute! I bet if you really concentrated, you could remember his license number. Then maybe you could track him down through the DMV. What do you think?"

  "I think it's a rotten idea," Kara said dryly. "I'm not about to try. I don't want to know his license number; I don't want to know him. With luck, I'll never see the man again."

  But luck, elusive and unreliable at the best of times, was not with Kara.

  Chapter 2

  Just one week and a few hours later, she and Judy were being welcomed to a rambling house perched on the cliffs above the Pacific. Judy was in a black-and-white, hip-hugging chemise that was a perfect foil for her dark hair and honey-tanned skin. Kara had chosen a graceful ice-pink dress of crystal-pleated georgette with a wide, square neck and full sleeves ending in deep cuffs. It fell in a soft sheathe to just below her knees.

  Dane Logan, lounging near an open window listening to the muted roar of the ocean, stiffened in surprise and watched as Kara turned at the sound of a familiar voice. With a warm smile, she joined a tall, bony man with bright blue eyes. Reaching up, she tugged lightly at a strand of brown hair that drooped over one eye.

  "Gary, I think it's time to invite you over for a home-cooked meal again," she said, eyeing him critically.

  "I knew my fatal charm would get to you someday," he said calmly.

  "Right," she agreed. "Aside from that, no one else can keep my ferns and fuchsias looking the way you do."

  "So it's really my green thumb that you love."

  She stretched up to give him a quick hug. "Among other things." They grinned at each other, then parted as someone else called her.

  Managing to keep well behind her, Dane followed as Kara made her way from one room to another. He watched her meditatively. The poised beauty before him was a far cry from the hoyden who had tumbled into his truck. Her silvery hair was arranged in a graceful swirl that seemed to have no visible means of support. And she was no kid.

  Kara was stopped every few feet either to greet friends or acknowledge an introduction. Her natural ebullience drew others like bees to honey. The sound of her husky laughter drifted to him, as someone described an amusing incident.

  Judy, who had taken an alternate route, met Kara near a spreading green plant that would have intimidated a normal-size room. "Don't look behind you," she murmured, turning to admire large, shiny green leaves, "but someone dark and determined has been following you since we got here."

  Obediently not looking over her shoulder, Kara stared straight ahead into a mirror and met a silvery-green gaze. "Oh, Lord," she murmured, closing her eyes, hoping the apparition would fade before she opened them.

  When she did, and it hadn't, she turned to Judy.

  "Let me introduce you," she said brightly.

  "Your rescuer?" The question was redundant.

  Kara's description had been remarkably graphic.

  "Hm-hmm."

  "You don't know his name, remember?"

  "I'll find out! I'll bring him over," she decided, avoiding the mirror.

  "Don't bother," Judy said in amusement. "He's saving you the trouble. He's on his way."

  "Terrific," was Kara's weak response. She grabbed her friend's arm. "Remember what I said," she ordered. "He's just your type. You'll be crazy about him!"

  "Kara, we both know the kind of men I like, but that one is too much of a good thing. Besides, he's looked right through me several times, and he still doesn't know I'm in the room." She edged away with a grin, forcing Kara to drop her hand. "But he's been eyeing you like a hungry lion who's just found a juicy chunk of meat. I'm removing myself from the line of fire, but I expect a full report on Monday."

  "Some friend," Kara mumbled to the space Judy no longer occupied. Oh, come on, she lectured herself in the instant before she turned to face him. It won't be that bad. You say hello; he says hello. You make a clever remark about the incident last week, and he smiles. You thank him again; he nods. You say good-bye, so does he, and that's it. She mustered up a smile and turned.

  "Hello."

  He looked down, resisting the temptation to touch her hair and see if it was as baby soft as it looked.

  Instead, he asked, "Are you about ready to eat?"

  "What?" She might have known he wouldn't follow a script, she told herself in resignation.

  "Are you hungry?"

  She nodded. "I'm starved. I haven't eaten since this morning."

  "Neither have I. Will you have dinner with me?"

  So much for Judy's interpretation of his hungry look, she thought. "You mean, sit with you?" she asked, aware that a lavish buffet was being set up in the next room.

  "It's customary."

  The man is a complete enigma, she decided, puzzling over his comment. Her response was polite and untruthful. "Thank you, that'll be nice."

  "Good. Let's go." One large hand touched the small of her back and nudged her toward the door.

  "We're walking away from the food," she pointed out.

  "I wasn't talking about salads made from whipped cream, tissue-thin slices of ham, and funny meatballs the size of grapes. I want a steak. Big and thick and rare."

  "You mean at a restaurant?" She dug her high heels into the deep pile of the rug and stopped.

  "Bright girl." The slight pressure of his hand increased, urging her forward. She halted again as the door closed behind her. "Now what's the matter?" he asked, when she wouldn't budge.

  She backed up against the house, arms folded across her chest. "I'm not going. I don't even know your name. A perfect stranger hauls me out of a house and expects ..."

  He propped a large hand on the wall behind her, just a few inches above her shoulder, and rested his weight on it. His mustache twitched. "I have it on good authority that I'm not perfect."

  "You'd better watch it," she warned. "In a minute you're going to break down and smile."

  "Dane Logan's the name. Apparently we both own businesses in La Jolla. Can we eat now, or do you need a formal introduction?"

  "We eat," she said impulsively as her stomach rumbled. "Where's your car?"

  They walked down the curving street past an unself-conscious array of cars ranging from small, economy models to discreet and blatant symbols of wealth.

  Dane stopped and opened the door of a sleek, black Porsche. As he walked around to his side, Kara wondered fancifully which of his vehicles most truly exemplified the man. The slim, darting and deadly rapier, or the slashing strength of the broadsword?

  Before putting the car in gear, he turned to her and asked, "Do I guess, or do you tell me? There is such a thing as reciprocity, you know." At her questioning look he said, "Your name."

  "Ah." Buckling her seat belt, she said concisely, "Kara Brady. Born and raised in La Jolla. Twenty-five, single and part owner of Cachet, world-famous gift shop."

  Dane checked the rearview mirror and pulled neatly out of the parking space. "World famous?"

  "Will you settle for locally renowned?" He nodded, slowing as he approached a steep curve. "The ball's back in your court. Time for more reciprocity," she informed him, savoring the word.

  He concentrated on the traffic, eventually turning onto La Jolla Boulevard before he replied. "I've lived in a lot of places, recently settled here. I'm thirty-three and a contractor."

  "You left out the part about being single, engaged or involved," she prompted.

  "Is it important?"

  "Yes, because I only go out to dinner with men in the first category."

  "Which leaves intriguing possibilities for the other two."

  "Tonight's invitation," she reminded him as he slid neatly into a parking slot behind the restaurant, "was for dinner. Nothing else, intriguing or otherwise."

  He walked around the car and opened her door. She looked up,
not moving. "Single?" she prodded.

  "Single," he agreed absently, reaching for her hand.

  Later, watching him demolish his steak as she greedily downed her teriyaki chicken, she decided that he was more than an enigma. His preferred modes of transportation, at least the ones she had witnessed, were poles apart. Reflecting on that at length brought her to the conclusion that there was a common denominator-power. And just look at his clothes, she prodded herself. An ebony blazer made of soft, supple suede, gray slacks, a white-on-white shirt, and a splash of yellow silk for a tie. The combination was nothing short of elegant, and yet he managed to look aggressively masculine. Exactly as he had looked last week in his jeans and cotton work shirt.

  Continuing her survey, she eyed his stubborn jawline and determined chin. He had proved that he remained cool in an emergency. He would more than likely follow the path of logic, and be rational, reasonable and levelheaded. He would issue orders and expect them to be followed without question. Definitely a man to be avoided. Oh, sure, he was undoubtedly the answer to some maiden's prayers, but not hers. If she were going into battle, she'd want him on her side, but the last thing she needed was a man like that complicating her life.

  Having reached that decision for the second time, she touched her napkin to her mouth and looked up as Dane spoke.

  "You told me you were single. You didn't say if you were engaged or otherwise involved with a particular man."

  "Is it important?" She grinned as she repeated the question he had asked earlier.

  "Yes." His green eyes flashed silver as his smile slowly curved his mustache. His voice was soft, but perfectly audible, as he added, "I only go to bed with women in the first category."

  Warily, she faced him across the width of the table. She spared a moment to remind herself ruefully that he was also the type to speak his mind. Too bad she hadn't thought of that sooner. She might have been able to divert him. Then, taking another glance at his calmly assessing expression, she decided it wouldn't have made any difference.

  Carefully placing her napkin beside her plate, Kara lifted her glass and downed the remainder of her wine in a couple of gulps. Fortified by a surge of warmth, she said, "This restaurant is wonderful, the meal was delicious, but your approach definitely needs a bit of polish. On a first date you should be subtle and charming. You definitely don't use the iron-fist-in-the-iron-glove method."