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healed right. His hands suited what she knew of his nature, she decided. They intrigued her.
    “No blood,” he answered.
    “Good.”
    “You’re bein’ mighty concerned about my health all of a sudden.”
    Thena gave him a warning look. “Don’t bet on it. I just don’t want your carcass to foul my island.”
    She began to wipe peach juice off his face, her ministrations a little rough and impatient. Hazel eyes, she thought suddenly. He has beautiful, deepset hazel eyes. And he smelled sweaty and masculine in an erotic way that drew attention from some traitorously female part of her brain.
    “How old are you?” he asked abruptly. She nearly dropped her cloth. Thena cocked one dark brow at him.
    “Twenty-five. Why?”
    “Just askin’.”
    She began wiping his face again, but now she felt very uncomfortable. His weathered complexion was red from the rough cloth; her fingertips accidently brushed his skin and the texture of his fine beard stubble transmitted strange signals up her arm.
    “How old are you?” she asked just as abruptly.
    “Thirty-two. Why?”
    She pursed her lips in exasperation. “Just asking. You look older than that. It’s all those cowboy squint lines.” Thena tossed the cloth onto the countertop above him. “There.” She sighed with deep fatigue. “I’m afraid you’ll live.”
    “You hate me,” he said evenly. “And I reckon I don’t blame you.”
    They shared a long look and both of them blushed. The word “hate” provoked a confusing intensity, Thena thought. Her mouth tightened into a straight line. “Give me any reason why I shouldn’t hate you. I’m going to fight this plan of yours. I’m going to go to the state conservation people and ask them to get some sort of legal order against you.”
    “Fair enough. Fight, then. But when you talk to those folks, do me one favor, huh? Don’t say I’m sellin’ the island just to make money. I’m not, ’cause I’ve got more money now than I know what to do with. So don’t make me out to be a hog. I’m sellin’ this place because I don’t intend for it to be some sort of do-goodin’ monument to my old hypocrite grandpa. He was spiteful and mean.”
    “You’re spiteful too, cowboy. That’s a sad way to live your life.”
    “You want me to feel different, you give me good reason.”
    “All right,” she answered tautly. “I’ll give you a tour of the island that will knock your boots off.”
    Jed nodded, accepting her challenge. “I have to leave late tomorrow afternoon, but between now and then you show me around and I might keep an open mind.” It wasn’t a lie, he assured himself. He might. “Whatever I decide, I want you to know I sure hate that you’re takin’ this so personal.”
    She fended off that disturbing comment with an impatient wave of one hand. “So tell me where hardheaded cowboys such as you are born and raised.”
    “Wyoming.”
    Thena looked at him as if he’d said “the moon.” “Ah, now I see. You couldn’t possibly understand what this island or any other island is all about.”
    Jed nodded. “Never saw an ocean or an island, before yesterday. Don’t care to see one again. You ever been West?”
    “I visited New Orleans once, when I was a little girl.”
    Jed looked at her from under his brows, the look conveying deep worry.
    “That’s not West,” he noted dryly. He mimicked her. “You couldn’t possibly understand what I’m all about.”
    “New Orleans is west of here. It qualifies.”
    He chuckled. Thena tilted her head and absorbed the gentle, warm sound. It invaded her body and loosened all her muscles with disturbing ease. Certain parts of her body enjoyed the experience even more than others.
    Jed abruptly stopped chuckling when she leapt up, frowning at him.
    “Get on your feet and go back to your campsite,” she demanded. “I have painting to do. I’ll see you at dawn.”
    “I’m camped—”
    “I know where you’re camped. Cendrillon and I watched you