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to the sliding glass doors. Even as he entered the house, Linc knew he was too restless, too on edge to sleep. He went instead to the study where there was always paperwork to be done.

Chapter Two
    I t was early afternoon when Joanna Morgan’s plane arrived in Springfield, Missouri. By the time she had claimed her baggage, signed all the papers to rent a car, and found where it was parked, she was almost sorry she had insisted it wasn’t necessary for her uncle to pick her up at the airport.
    It had sounded so simple and sensible when she’d told him her plans over the phone, especially when she’d looked at a Missouri map and seen it was roughly forty-five miles from the airport to her uncle’s cabin. In Los Angeles, that was just across town.
    After more than two hours in airports, waiting to leave and changing planes, plus another threehours in the air, she wasn’t overjoyed by the thought her final destination was still an hour’s drive away. She didn’t take it too well when she discovered the little economy car she had rented didn’t have air-conditioning.
    She had already begun to wilt under the unrelenting heat typical of a Midwestern summer. Rolling all the car windows down gave her some relief as she traveled south on the highway. But the hot wind that blew in ruined the smoothly coiffed style of her ash-blonde hair.
    The city limits of Springfield were about twenty minutes behind her when the gently rolling plateau gave way to sharply ridged hills. Her uncle had often mentioned the beauty of the Ozark Mountains, but Joanna had little time to spare to reflect on the scenery. There seemed to be more traffic than the two-lane highway could handle and she had to give her full attention to the road.
    As the highway twisted up one high ridge and curved down to the next valley, Joanna found herself trapped behind a slow-moving fuel tanker truck. At twenty miles an hour, she crawled up a hill behind it, her little economy car lacking the power to accelerate past the truck in the rare narrow gaps of oncoming traffic. As soon as they reached the crest, the truck barreled down the hill trying to pick up momentum to climb the next, not giving Joanna a chance to pass. It was an exercise in utter frustration.
    Between that and the baking heat of the sun,Joanna was at the end of her patience when she reached the intersection of the state road her uncle had directed her to take. In a gesture of defiance, she thumbed her nose at the truck as she turned off.
    She hadn’t gone a half a mile when a farmer in a pickup truck, loaded with hogs, pulled onto the road in front of her. Again, the oncoming traffic wouldn’t allow her to pass and her speed was reduced to a nerve-wracking crawl. Knotted with tension, she sat behind the wheel, her cheeks flushed with the heat, her temper seething.
    Joanna wasn’t sure when she first suspected that she had gone past the second turnoff. The farther she went, the more convinced she became that she had missed it. She glanced again at the directions her uncle had given her over the telephone. They sounded so straightforward and simple. How could she have possibly gotten lost?
    A hundred yards ahead, there was an old service station built out of rock. A couple of old cars were parked beside the building, but it looked deserted when Joanna pulled in front of the gasoline pumps. She pushed on the horn and peered at the station, trying to see through the dusty windows. There wasn’t any response to the honking of her horn but as she climbed out of the car, a man in greasy overalls ambled out of the building.
    â€œDo ya’ want reg’lar or unleaded?” he drawled and wiped his hands on an equally greasy rag.
    â€œI don’t need gas,” she declared with a curt shake of her head. “I think I missed my turn—”
    â€œYou’re lost, huh?” He didn’t sound surprised.
    Joanna bristled. “I am not lost. I only