He stood quietly, a few feet from the shore . . . watching. His right hand was wedged into the front pocket of his snug faded cutoffs while the long fingers of his left hand slowly pushed his aviator sunglasses to a perch atop his thick dark brown hair. A wolfish grin creased his handsome features. His amber eyes narrowed, then widened with appreciation as golden sparks lit their depths. Obviously, he liked the view and was enjoying his voyeurism immensely.

The object of his fascinated study was the shapely posterior of a young woman who stood knee-deep in water a dozen feet from the shoreline of the lake. She was bent over at the waist, her skimpy cutoffs riding high over her bottom as she methodically chopped away at water reeds with a dangerous-looking machete. To the steady rhythm of her work, her knees alternated to the beat of a Willie Nelson song. The rowdy melody issued from a little black radio buckled to the back of her minuscule shorts. Her body movements provoked outrageous responses from the man's libido. He could feel the twitching of her limbs wash over his flesh in sensual patterns of delight. Then she joined Willie in a lusty duet, plopping each severed bunch of reeds to the beat of the song into a canoe floating nearby. The man actually growled softly. His grin changed to a predatory smile as one of his eyebrows rose in approval.

He sucked in his breath and felt the heat rise in his shorts when he caught a glimpse of her thin white shirt tied tautly around her middle. No bra! He'd bet all last year's salary that she wasn't wearing panties either. All this and the next three months off! In a daze he began to compose an adult version of "What I Did on My Summer Vacation." Yet he didn't move a muscle. He just stood mesmerized, absorbing her performance.

She sang the chorus, punctuating each beat with a chop of her mean-looking blade and a shake of her well-rounded bottom. Her uninhibited rendition finally drove him to action. Wrapping his sweaty fist around all the change in his pocket, he took careful aim and heaved the coins in a concentrated shower around her undulating form. She stopped singing and whirled around in one motion. She turned so quickly that her firm, unfettered breasts swayed and shuddered; her gold streaked topknot lost its fastener and long silky strands of hair tumbled around her face and shoulders. Her pink mouth was open in surprise, and he had the sudden urge to suck on her full lower lip. Her eyes grew large, but not with fear. Silently, she reached to the back of her shorts to turn off the radio; her breasts strained against the thin fabric of her shirt. The man stood transfixed, continuing to smile as he ground his teeth for control. Oh, man! he thought feverishly. Blue eyes fringed in black bedroom lashes, and a wet white shirt. He couldn't help himself as his smoldering gaze devoured her figure. Something almost snapped inside him when he realized that the heat of his visual exploration was causing her shadowed nipples to harden and become blatantly aroused, seemingly beyond her conscious awareness. Without a word, he knew -- and more important, he knew she knew -- there was a physical attraction between them. Sexual chemistry was working its magic!

"I'd offer you all the funds in my bank account, but once the check hit the water, it'd be worthless," he said softly. He hesitated for a moment, speaking with his golden gaze, telling her she was priceless in his estimation. "You see, I left my indelible pen at the office," he added, lifting his hands and shoulders in an expression of remorse.

Wordlessly, she accepted his explanation. But she was forced to duck her head to hide the grin of appreciation tugging at the corners of her mouth and dancing in her wide blue eyes.

Casually, she unknotted the shirt and used the tail to wipe the blade of her machete. She gave an inordinate amount of attention to the simple task, not realizing she was supplying the man's overworked libido with yet more provocation as the wet fabric pulled away and then resettled on her full breasts.It had been several months since the last trespasser had stumbled upon her land. And certainly none had been as handsome and inventive as this man. His coin-throwing attention-getter would have been insulting had he not vindicated himself with the verbal compliment. She had felt something when their eyes met, a power and a heated response she hadn't experienced in years. Chemistry! It was clear she'd been alone too long, she warned herself.

Although she kept her eyes focused on the blade of the knife, her mind supplied a vivid image of the interloper: Not quite six feet tall, lean and muscled, thick dark hair trimmed neatly, broad shoulders, and a pleasant smile. But it was his amber gaze that had reached into her soul. His eyes held pain and suffering as well as humor. He was too young to have eyes like that. She wondered what in the world could cause that much pain in one so young. He couldn't be more than twenty-five or -six.Finally she raised her eyes to meet his again. Her voice held only quiet authority when she spoke. "Do you know you're on private property?"

His gaze skimmed to the left and then to the right over his shoulder to the log cabin on the point of land beyond. Was he in the wrong place? Had he taken the wrong turnoff? Oh, God, no! he thought. This was the most right place in the world. "Who owns it?" he countered.

"It's mine."

"All of it?"

"I own this whole point up to the rail fence. That belongs to the Westons," she replied, not sure why she bothered to name names.

"Whew! That's a relief." He whistled. "I've been given permission to use the Weston place for the summer. For a minute there, I wasn't quite sure I'd followed the directions correctly."

Suddenly, her face was wreathed in a smile of recognition. "Why, you must be Dr. Jon McCallem. Welcome to Minnesota. Mrs. Weston wrote to tell me you were coming. I'm sorry they won't be able to be here this year. Is Mr. Weston recuperating well from his stroke?"

"Very nicely. His paralysis is almost gone and his speech is improving with daily therapy." His response was automatic because he had become fascinated with the glow of her smile. He was not a trespasser; therefore, he was welcomed. An almost miraculous change had come over her features, and he liked what he saw -- quality! She was a very attractive woman, about his age, he guessed. Clearing his throat, he brought the conversation back to their meeting. "I-ah, seem to be at a disadvantage here. The Westons didn't mention anything about a sprightly neighbor."

"Hardly sprightly," she contradicted smoothly, but she smiled impishly just the same.

"Well, you are small, and you dance and sing in a very lively way. Yes, you're a free spirit if ever I saw one." He smiled when she lowered her lashes over her big blue eyes and flushed pink with embarrassment."I'm Jenny Larson, Dr. McCallem." She wondered what kind of nitwit he must think he was addressing. She fumed in exasperation. Of all times to sing with Willie . . . and jiggle to the beat!He walked to the edge of the water, disregarding the fact that his brand-new Nikes were getting soaked. "I'd like to shake hands formally, Ms. Larson, but that scabbard you're toting is very effectively intimidating my good manners," he teased. "Won't you sheath the blade? I promise, I'm completely harmless." His smile was innocence personified. Embarrassed again, she quickly put the sharp machete into the bottom of the canoe. "Sorry," she mumbled.

Without another word he waded into the water and stood before her. Taking her hand in his firm grasp, his amber eyes sparkled with anticipation when she lifted her gaze to meet his. "I'm very glad to meet you, Jenny. Tell me, where do you live? There weren't any houses along the road that I could see."

Because he still held her hand, and because he refused to release her gaze, she motioned ineffectually with her left hand in the general direction of what appeared to be an island off the main peninsula of her land. "I live over there . . . on my island. "

He gave the small grassy area bordered by oak and willow trees a cursory glance, and returned his gaze to her smoky blue eyes. "I don't see any house, Jenny. Are you sure you live on that island?" He continued to clasp her small hand between his larger ones, his right forefinger marking circles of heat on her wrist. She knew he would feel her galloping pulse beating there. She just nodded in reply, but her eyes were beginning to dance with suppressed mirth. He released her hand and moved his hands to her shoulders, holding her firmly in his strong grasp. "Watch my lips, Jenny," he ordered softly.

Oh, that was very easy to do, thought Jenny, her eyes dropping to explore the angles and curves of his wide, sensuous mouth.

"There . . . is . . . no . . . house . . . on . . . that . . . island."

With his clearly enunciated words Jenny snapped back to reality and burst into laughter. "It's not an island; it's a peninsula and I live in an underground house, Dr. McCallem. The house is built into the far side of the slope, facing south. You can't see it from here," she explained, still chuckling.

He retained his firm hold on her shoulders. "Your ears are too short for a rabbit's, but you've got a rather pink nose," he said, touching the sunburned tip. And you've got a damn nice tail, he observed silently. "Does your house have a name? Something like Jenny's Cozy Hutch?"

"I call it Jenny's Escape Hatch . . . and don't ask me to explain because I won't," she cautioned firmly.

Accepting her words at face value, he quickly changed the subject. There was a lot more woman here than he had at first imagined. He didn't want to get off on the wrong foot. Still, he had to question her actions when he had first seen her. "Tell me, Ms. Larson, do you always dance when you're chopping away at the flora? Incidentally, that's against the law. Did you know?" One eyebrow rose quizzically.

Standing to her full five-foot-one-inch height, she ignored his teasing tone and answered seriously. "For your information, I have permission from the State Environmental Agency. I need the plants for my work." She stepped away and gave the canoe a push toward shore, effectively breaking his physical and mental hold on her. "Are you a vet, Dr. McCallem? You seem to have a propensity for nature's creatures. Or perhaps you're a naturalist. If so, you'll do very well researching this area," she said in a conversational tone.

Lady, he thought, researching your area would be a natural high! Squelching his libidinous reactions he said, "I'm strictly into two legged research. You know, Homo sapiens. I'll give you a hint." His eyes glinted. "In school the guys nicknamed me Jonny `The Probe' McCallem."

"Ahhh, a GYN . . . or maybe a urologist?"

"Wrong end of the creature, Jenny." He laughed. "And I could discuss in depth your . . . Freudian assumption."

"My heavens, a shrink!"

"Close .... I'm a psychologist, but don't look so alarmed. I've never shrunk anybody yet." His smoky gaze ran up and down her shapely length.

Talk about Freudian assumptions, or better yet, sublimated sexual suggestions, she thought. "Area?" she asked.

"Clinical."

"Where's your practice located?"

"Cook County General, Chicago."

"I know it. Specialty?"

"Abused-child-and-spouse syndrome. This year has been hell, and I had to get away." He stopped short, feeling somehow exposed and vulnerable after his last statement. "Hey, what's your background? You're questioning me like a fellow doctor taking a case history."

"I'm trained as a surgical nurse," she replied shortly.

"Did you have to get away too?"

She reached down into the water, unmindful that her shirt was getting soaked again. Moving slowly, she began to gather as many of his tossed coins as she could see. He repeated his question, not moving, trying to keep the sandy bottom from clouding. "Did you have to get away too, Jenny?"

"More or less," she answered, continuing to retrieve the shining treasure. "I'm on sabbatical."

"Since when?"

"It was two years this spring."

"Two years? What happened?"

She turned to him. Her eyes had lost their lustrous glow. "It's a long, boring story, Doctor." She dropped the glistening collection into his outstretched hand.

He jingled the coins. "I'm used to long stories, and I'll wager your story wouldn't be boring." He sifted the silver through the fingers of one hand into the palm of the other. "I can't imagine that anything you might say would be boring."

She tried to switch the conversation back to him as she waded ashore, re-knotting her hair and twisting it up on her head.

He followed in her wake, imagining the frontal view when she reached up.

"Why did you have to get away?" she asked.

He ignored her question. "I'll know everything about you before I leave, Jenny," he whispered. Methodically, she began to wring the water from the hem of her shirt. When she realized how transparent the wet fabric was, she quickly shrugged into a blue work shirt she retrieved from the canoe. She didn't see the expression of disappointment that flitted across Jon's face. If she had, she probably would have been furious. Without thinking she prodded with another question. "Did you get burned out too?"

Mentally filing away this bit of information that Jenny revealed about herself by the question, he laughed harshly. "More like fire-bombed! I couldn't take one more day. My professional wall came tumbling down like the walls of Jericho." His voice was filled with anguish. "Only it wasn't trumpets that were blaring. I began to hear screams in my sleep. When the nightmares wouldn't stop. I knew I had to leave for a while." He stopped speaking and rubbed his hand wearily over his eyes. "My last case really threw me. Jamie died in Children's Hospital. Cause of death: multiple fractures, internal injuries, and a crushed skull. His body was covered with scars from whip marks and cigarette burns. Jamie was beaten because he had accidentally broken a glass when he tried to get himself a drink of water. He was just three years old." Jenny's pale face matched the pallor of Jon's. "It's bad, Jenny."

He jammed his hands deep into his pockets and stared at the tranquil scene before him, not meeting Jenny's sympathetic gaze. His shoulders were hunched defensively. "When I realized I was beginning to take many of those cases too much to heart, wanting to beat the hell out of somebody myself, I knew I had to take some time off. I couldn't do anyone any good if I didn't keep myself professionally objective. I took myself off the project and my old college roommate, Hank Weston, made arrangements for my stay at his parents' summer home." He glanced over at Jenny, who was listening quietly. "End of story."

Jon could read her troubled features easily. She was absorbing some of his feelings of frustration. Willingly, she was reaching out to him. It was almost his undoing. "Don't, Jenny," he whispered.

As though she didn't hear his plea, she asked, "How long have you been working in this program?"

"Two years. "

"You must have done your specialty work there. You're so young. How can you be burned out?" "I don't suppose you could really label my feelings as burnout, Jenny," he said. "And by the way, I'll be thirty-five soon, although I feel close to retirement age right now."

Her mouth fell open in surprise. Thirty-five! Impossible! Then she began thinking aloud. "McCallem. McCallem. Of course! Boy wonder of Cook County General. You were one of the youngest Ph.D.'s in the country. My husband heard you speak a few years ago. He was very impressed with your presentation. Said you'd make your mark before you were forty. Looks as if you did and with time to spare," she said approvingly. "Your husband's in medicine?" Why hadn't it occurred to him that she might be married?

"Was," she answered softly. "Richard was a cardiovascular surgeon. I was his assistant. He died three years ago. He was just forty years old."

"I'm sorry, Jenny." But if he was honest with himself -- and he tried always to be that -- a part of him was secretly relieved. "How long were you married?" He refused to believe she was anywhere near forty or more years old."We would have celebrated our eighth anniversary two months after his death."

"You must have been a child bride!" he exclaimed.

She smiled knowingly. "I'll be thirty-eight in February."

Covering his surprise -- she seemed much younger -- he asked one last question. "Did you and your husband have children?" He could have kicked himself for asking because her smile froze. She could only shake her head in reply. He was a stranger. How could she explain her anguish over being childless? She had begged Richard for a child. But he kept putting her off year after year with one excuse after another. In the end she had been relieved that she hadn't become pregnant. There was no love left to give to a child, her love had been destroyed by circumstances beyond her control.

She shook herself and replaced her frozen smile with a genuine teasing grin. "And what are you going to do all summer? Loaf?"

Jon followed her lead, glad to have her attention again. "Nope, I'm gonna stand that stodgy AMA on its collective ear. Or knock all the good members on their as-- . . . I mean behinds."

She laughed. "Come on. 'Fess up, Doctor."

"Only if you call me Jon." He tried to look stern, but failed miserably.

"You look more like a Jonny right now," she observed. "You're planning something devious to pull their legs."

"Or knock them on their collective. . ."

"Jon-nee!"

"You sound just like my mother," he chided. But when she stood looking at him with her hands on her trim hips, not looking a thing like his mother, he relented. "For a long time now I've seen nothing but the seamy side of love, and I use the term love in its most superficial definition," he added grimly. "Well, this summer I'm going to look at the other side of love . . . how it begins, what happens then." He stopped speaking momentarily, mentally girding himself for her scoffing response. "I'm going to write a serious paper on the anatomy of the kiss," he blurted.

Jenny tried heroically to suppress her laughter. Feeling she would hyperventilate if she didn't let it out, she howled. "A kissologist! That's priceless! Poetic justice. It'll be a first, Jonny. Can't you just see it? For years to come, staid psychologists will be discussing your paper in sonorous tones. 'Amazing research,' they'll say. 'Astounding discovery!' they'll proclaim. 'I wonder where he got all his willing subjects!' a jealous few will declare. Oh, Jonny." She laughed. "You're going to have a terrific summer. It'll be child's play!" Still shaking with mirth, she wiped the tears from her sparkling blue eyes.

Jon saw that the black fringes were now moistened into tiny star-points, further enhancing his earlier observation of her bedroom eyes. "Kissologist, indeed," he grumbled. "Child's play?" Jenny watched silently as his eyes lost the glow of humor and revealed his pain. "I can't remember how to play, Jenny," he said softly.

With that fervent confession Jenny's heart went out to him. "Then I'll just have to teach you, Jonny." And suddenly the entire world tilted on its axis when he stepped forward and gently stroked her tear-streaked face.

"Have dinner with me, Jenny."

The combined sensual power of his light touch and the imploring expression on his face almost overwhelmed Jenny. This was not what she wanted, nor was it what Jon needed, she decided. Not now. What he needed was peace and quiet and time to restore himself. A summer affair could hurt him . . . and her. She smiled tremulously and stepped back from his touch. "No, Jon. I don't think so. Perhaps another time. We have all summer to share." She was unable to tell what he was thinking. His face had become a mask. Was he upset? Had she hurt his feelings? Did he give a damn one way or the other?

Jon had retreated behind his wall of professionalism, a small part of which he found still intact. She's afraid, he guessed. He believed she felt the attraction between them, but she was afraid. Of him? he wondered. No, but she could be thinking about the slight difference in their ages.

He might have laughed at her idea if he didn't feel so old himself. Then a new thought occurred to him. Could she be afraid for him? Yes, that could be part of the answer. It bothered him that he could appear that vulnerable. If his evaluation was correct, he'd have to pull himself together. In his mind this woman was worth the effort. A little understanding and friendship was what she needed, and what he wanted too.

Gradually, his mask fell away and he revealed dancing eyes and a warm smile. Jenny grinned in relief. "Haven't you harvested enough reeds for two?" he teased. "Surely a water sprite needs more than greens for her dinner though."

Jenny chuckled, glad he had gotten over her refusal of his invitation so easily. "They're not going to be my dinner, but I am going to cook them."

"All right," he answered, playing a perfect straight man. "I'll bite. Why?"

"For my work. I make paper."

"Out of reeds?"

"Out of almost any plant."

"This I gotta see."

"I'll invite you over someday and you can help. It's messy, but fun. A good lesson for you," she pronounced, pushing her canoe out into the water and hopping gracefully into her seat. With a smile, a wave of her paddle, and a cheery "See you," she glided away.

He waved, watching as the gentle breeze pulled at her blue work shirt, revealing the feminine curves beneath. He sighed contentedly. He would cultivate her friendship, he decided. Already, he admired her -- she had intelligence, charm, beauty, grace, wisdom, and a wonderful sense of humor too.

He spun around on his heel, forcing himself to run back up the hill. Then, deciding he had gone soft in the head, that he was even more mixed up than he'd realized, he stopped in his tracks, breathing hard. Doctor, this syndrome is known as overcompensation, he lectured himself. You've seen nothing but grief and misery for a long time. Now you happen to meet one nice woman. And, damn it, you're thinking like a star struck kid! You can't use Jenny to solve your problems. Doctor, heal thyself!

With that intention firm in his mind he unloaded his gear from the old rusted VW van he'd bought in college and had never bothered to replace. For the past ten years he'd spent almost every day of his life in a clinic, a lab, or a meeting. What did he need with modern transportation? This was the first vacation he'd had since his grade-school trip to Washington, D.C. Vacation, hell! he chided himself. He was here for rest and rehabilitation. And it was long overdue.Jenny pulled her canoe up on her island and unloaded the reeds and the machete. Then she flipped the metal frame over and stowed the paddle beneath. Gathering her slippery harvest, she climbed the slope to the top meadow grasses. The soft afternoon breeze played with the loose wisps of hair fluttering around her neck and she smiled as she recalled Jon's gentle touch on her cheek. Humming softly, she set to work at the bench she had built between two tree trunks. Rhythmically, she began to cut the reeds into one- and two-inch lengths and drop them into the large metal container at her feet.

He seems to be a very nice man, she mused. But he'd worked himself to a frazzle. People in research had to be especially careful not to overextend themselves. It was so easy to get caught up in the problem, racing to find answers before anyone else suffered. It didn't seem to matter if the research involved physical or emotional trauma the results were the same if the people became too involved. Jon's project contained both elements. It was a wonder he'd lasted this long before he took time off, she thought in amazement. And she wasn't surprised that he was affected by the peace and tranquility of Stuart Lake. She knew that with a few weeks of fun in the sun, he'd feel like a new person. Hadn't she experienced the same sort of emotional catharsis over a year ago? Until he got his bearings again, he would be no good on any research project. He'd have to heal first. Perhaps she could help him in some small way. She could be his friend. She could be more!

She almost cut herself when she jerked her head up in alarm. More? What was she thinking? Rather, it was what she was feeling that upset her. Her body felt flushed and warm with the remembering. Oh, she'd gotten his unspoken message of attraction all right, and Lord love a duck, she'd sent him an identical signal! She shuddered. She hadn't meant to, but he had come up on her so suddenly, she hadn't had a second to get control of that surge of instant response. She was sure it had shown in her eyes . . . maybe even in her body. Had he noticed? Of course, you ninny, she fumed. He's a trained psychologist. He could probably read her like a book. Damn!After spending more than two years without male companionship, she had been able to bury, for the most part, the sexual side of her nature. Now, with one glance from a very handsome man she felt soft and shaky inside. He didn't need a lover. He needed peace and quiet. She didn't need a lover. She needed to get her act together. He only needs a friend, she reminded herself. Now get those damn reeds cooking and forget him.

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