First Impressions Read Free Page A

just come in. “There’s a lot of work to do.”
    He came back with a quart of milk and set it on the counter, then reached for his wallet. Donna rang it up, shooting Shane a look from under her lashes before she gave him his change. He left the store without having spoken a word.
    “That,” Donna announced grandly, “was Vance Banning.”
    “Yes.” Shane exhaled. “So I gathered.”
    “You see what I mean. Great to look at, but not exactly the friendly sort.”
    “No.” Shane walked toward the door. “I’ll see you later, Donna.”
    “Shane!” With a half laugh, Donna called after her. “You forgot your coffee.”
    “Hmm? Oh, no thanks,” she murmured absently. “I’ll have a cup later.”
    When the door swung shut, Donna stared at it, then at the can of coffee in her hand. “Now what got into her?” she wondered aloud.
    As she walked home, Shane felt confused. Though emotional by nature, she could, when necessary, be very analytical. At the moment, she was dealing with the shock of what had happened to her in a few fleeting seconds. It had been much more than a feminine response to an attractive man.
    She had felt, inexplicably, as though her whole life had been a waiting period for that quick, silent meeting. Recognition. The word came to her out of nowhere. She had recognized him, not from Donna’s description, but from some deep inner knowledge of her own needs.
This was the man.
    Ridiculous, she told herself. Idiotic. She didn’t know him, hadn’t even heard him speak. No sensible person felt so strongly about a total stranger. More likely, her response had stemmed from the fact that she and Donna had been speaking of him as he had walked in.
    Turning off the main road, she began to climb the steep lane that led to her house. He certainly hadn’t been friendly, she thought. He hadn’t answered her smile or made the slightest attempt at common courtesy. Something in the cool blue eyes had demanded distance. Shane didn’t think he was the kind of man she usually liked. Then again, her reaction had been far removed from the calm emotion of liking.
    As always when she saw the house, Shane felt a rush of pleasure. This was hers. The woods, thick and touched with the first breath of autumn; the narrow struggling creek; the rocks that worked their way through the ground everywhere—they were all hers.
    Shane stood on the wooden bridge over the creek and looked at the house. It did need work. Some of the boards on the porch needed replacing, and the roof was a big problem. Still, it was a lovely little place, nestled comfortably before woods, rolling hills and distant blue mountains. It was more than a century old, fashioned from local stone. In the rain, the colors would burst out of the old rock and gleam like new. Now, in the sunlight, it was comfortably gray.
    The architecture was simple—straight lines for durability rather than style. The walkway ran to the porch, where the first step sagged a bit. Shane’s problem wouldn’t be with the stone, but with the wood. She overlooked the rough edges to take in the beauty of the familiar.
    The last of the summer flowers were fading. The roses were brown and withered, while the first fall blooms were coming to life. Shane could hear the hiss of water traveling over rocks, the faint whisper of wind through leaves, and the lazy drone of bees.
    Her grandmother had guarded her privacy. Shane could turn a full circle without seeing a sign of another house. She had only to walk a quarter mile if she wanted company, or stay at home if she didn’t. After four years of crowded classrooms and daily confinement, Shane was ready for solitude.
    And with luck, she thought as she continued walking, she could have her shop open and ready for business before Christmas. Antietam Antiques and Museum. Very dignified and to the point, she decided. Once the outside repairs were accomplished, work could start on the interior. The picture was clear in her mind.
    The first