car from the lake and got to the boathouse in time to see you ram this tree like you wanted to push it into the next county.”
“I always drive like that.”
“Like an idiot, you mean?”
“Look, Forrester, why don’t you go jump—”
“Put this on,” he commanded, dropping his jacket across her shoulders, “before you freeze. Why a grown woman would wear a dress like that—”
“There’s nothing wrong with my dress!”
“You must have left half of it at home, that’s all.”
“If you don’t like it,” Liza said, fed up at last, “I’ll take it off.”
Cliff had heard a lot about Liza Baron in the ten years he’d lived in Tyler. She’d hightailed it out of town after high school and returned only a couple of times before a conflict with her mother drove her away, leaving behind a long litany of stories that celebrated her wild ways.
She was as beautiful as everyone said, he’d admit. As beautiful as her legendary grandmother. Nearly six feet tall in her heels and lean as a greyhound, she had the look of a cover girl right down to the damn-you gleam in her eye. Her platinum hair was an astonishing tangle, and her face had an oddly asymmetrical quality he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off. Her cold blue gaze challenged his, her patrician nose seemed perpetually upturned in a cocksure attitude and her slightly off-center mouth, a flaw that was accentuated by the ragged little cut on her lower lip, was...well, mesmerizing. She moved constantly, too—tapping her toe, swinging the mane of her hair over her shoulders or flipping it back from her forehead with an impatient hand.
Her earrings caught the morning light and glittered. From one ear dangled a golden angel with a glinting glass eye, but from the other ear swung a larger figure—that of a devil carved out of onyx. Oh, Liza was devilish, all right. But she seemed to be trying awfully hard to keep that bad-girl facade in place.
So Cliff wasn’t surprised when she let his jacket slip off her shoulders and started to peel off her dress.
He stopped her by grabbing one slender wrist just as she began to yank the dress. She looked up, feigning surprise.
“Take it easy,” he said, determined not to let the vixen ruffle him. “If you die of exposure, it’ll be me who has to answer a bunch of questions.”
Her gaze burned into him with the power of a hot laser. “I’d hate to trouble you.”
“Then keep your clothes on.” He released her wrist and turned away. “Let’s see what’s wrong with the car.”
A moment later she followed him around the convertible, quite composed and haughty. “You must be a pretty handy fellow to have around, if my grandfather hired you.”
“I do what I can.” He kicked some branches away from the hood of the convertible and bent over the mess to check on damage.
“Do you see him often? Granddad, I mean?”
“Now and then.” Cliff examined the damage to the car’s grille and headlights.
“Does he come out here?” she asked, standing behind him on the gravel. Her voice sounded casual. Maybe too casual.
Cliff glanced up at her. “Nope.”
She quickly mastered her expression, endeavoring to look unconcerned. “Does he look well? I mean...is he healthy?”
“What is this? Twenty questions? He’s your family, not mine.”
She flushed. “I haven’t seen him for a while, that’s all.”
“Three years, right?”
Her pouty mouth popped open, then snapped shut quickly as she covered her surprise. Her glacial eyes narrowed. “Exactly how do you know so much about me, Forrester?”
“I wish I could say that I get around a lot, but stories about the infamous Liza Baron are repeated all the time.” Cliff crouched by the front tire and pushed back the tree branches to get a better look under the car. “Even I’ve heard the one about how you spiked the punch at the homecoming dance. People still can’t figure out how you did it—and got crowned homecoming queen in the same hour.”
She shrugged. “I hid the bottle in my underpants until the time was right.”
“Hmm,” said Cliff, guessing that she’d said that just to see his reaction. He chose to ignore the lie and said, “The fender’s bent pretty badly. It’ll cut the tire if you try to move the car.”
She leaned over his shoulder. “Can’t you yank the fender out a little? I’ve got a tire iron in the trunk, I think.”
“It’ll ruin the fender.”
“Do it anyway,” she said blithely, bending over the closed door to tug the keys out of the ignition. Cliff couldn’t stop a glance down the amazing length of her bare legs, but she pretended to be unaware of his scrutiny. She straightened and led the way to the trunk with a taunting sashay, saying, “It’s good to know people still think of me now and then. My mother hasn’t poisoned everyone against me.”
Suddenly on guard, Cliff said, “Why would your mother do that?”
“We’re estranged. That’s a polite word for hating each other.”
“I know what it means.”
“We don’t communicate. Haven’t spoken for years.”
“And you’re proud of that?”
Liza snapped open the convertible’s trunk. “It’s a fact of life in our family. My mother despises me.”
“Alyssa Baron couldn’t despise anybody.”
Liza looked up from rummaging in the trunk and skewered him with those clear blue eyes of hers. “You know my mother?”
“We’re acquainted.”
“You talk about me with her?”
“Any mention of your name,” Cliff said, “causes her pain.” He took the tire iron from her hand, and with care added, “And I wouldn’t hurt Alyssa for anything.”
“Alyssa, is it?” Liza asked, her beautiful face suddenly stiffening with a frozen sort of smile. “My, my. You’re a little young, aren’t you?”
“For what?”
“For squiring her around town these days. I mean, she’s almost fifty—”
“My relationship with Alyssa is completely pure, I assure you, Miss Baron. We’re friends, that’s all.”
Cliff didn’t owe anyone an explanation for his tie to Alyssa Baron, the one person in the world he could stand to spend any time with these days. Alyssa’s quiet acceptance, her unspoken support, her— Well, there were many qualities in Alyssa Baron that Cliff appreciated deeply. Qualities he didn’t
