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disappointment came down on her, crushing and shameful. “But mostly? Mostly you’re just sad.”
    “Sad?” She summoned up a light laugh. “How positively gothic of me.”
    “There you go again,” he said. “Laughing when nothing’s funny. That can’t be good for you.”
    Her chuckle died on the vine. He rose and glanced at a silver watch Goose suspected could launch the space shuttle if necessary. “Last ferry’s at four,” he said. “Nice meeting you.”
    She jumped to her feet on a breathless spurt of panic. She could wonder later why this curt dismissal hurt her. For now, she simply had to stop it. “Rush.”
    He turned back, nothing but polite interest in his stony face. She hesitated, took her time arranging the camel-colored wool of her coat over her arm. He waited.
    Finally she said, “I’ve got a job to do here. I’ll get it done faster with your cooperation.”
    “You’ve heard my conditions.”
    She swallowed even as her body burned with a treacherous heat. “Honesty. Nothing less.”
    He studied her while her stupid heart galloped around in her chest, then nodded once. “Best get started, then.”
    Relief buzzed through her, hot and startling. What the hell? She’d known the guy half an hour. When exactly had his approval come to mean something to her? She cleared her throat and stepped forward, near enough to shake hands if she wanted to. A good, friendly distance. Professional.
    “So. Any chance you can point me to the Ranger Station?”
    “The Ranger Station?”
    “Yeah. Apparently it includes quarters for summer staff that are vacant for the season. My boss arranged for me to room there while I’m on Mishkwa.”
    “I live at the Ranger Station, Goose.”
    “Oh.”
    “Alone.”
    “Well.” She had a near-hysterical urge to laugh. “I won’t be a bother. I’ll stay out of your hair, promise.” Oh God. He didn’t have hair. And what little he had, she wanted to be in so badly she could taste it. What was wrong with her?
    “What if I want you to bother me?” His eyes were hot and silvery, and her knees went weak. Ridiculously, shockingly, girlishly weak.
    “Well.” She patted his arm. It was like tempered steel under her hand, and her palm tingled with a completely inappropriate appreciation. She withdrew it hastily and dredged up a friendly smile. “I’m sure we’ll manage to keep things professional.”
    “Honesty, Goose.” He shook his head. “This won’t work without it.”
    “I’m doing the best I can,” she snapped. “There’s a fucking lot of pheromones flying around here, though. Give me a break.”
    She broke off, aghast at her language. Her tone. Her honesty . Oh God. She was falling apart. She was. She was sixteen again and racing heedlessly into a firestorm of raging desire. Again. And Rush was going to watch it happen. How could he miss it when he was staring at her with flat, unreadable eyes, likely as startled by her outburst as she was?
    Then he smiled. Slowly. It moved over the stern, unforgiving bones of his face like the rising sun moved over a cliff, transforming rocky harshness into breathtaking beauty.
    “Let’s go.”
    She blinked, still stunned by the smile. “Go?”
    “Next door.” He shook his head at her beret. “You’re staying on Mishkwa, you’ll need decent gear. Ben’ll figure you out. Come on.”
    He seized her hand in his, and a heady sizzle shot up her arm straight to the base of her skull. He marched toward the door, and she stumbled along behind him.
    “Oh, and Goose?”
    “Hmm?”
    “For the record? When I do come on to you, you won’t have to wonder.” He sent her a look over his shoulder, his eyes molten silver. “You’ll know.”
    She smiled brightly—perhaps moronically—at him. “Oh. Right. Um, thanks.”
    He grinned at her. Actually grinned.
    “Just being honest.”

Chapter 4
    RUSH WAS enjoying the feel of Goose’s hand in his—damn, how long had it been since he’d held a woman’s hand?—when