He shook his head.

"Then you must have been living in a monastery," she said.

"You're going to make me blush."

"I'll sell tickets," she retorted.

He smiled again. "I like you, Carolina May." He brushed a kiss over her startled lips. "I like you a lot. Want to see if something comes of it?"

"You don't waste any time, do you?"

"No." His smile vanished. "I'm living on borrowed time."

She was too shocked to speak.

"We all are," he added. "Most people just don't notice." He took her hands in his. Her fingers were cold. He rubbed them lightly between his palms. "Tell me about Governor Quintrell."

The warmth of Dan's hands and the intensity in his eyes were another kind of caress. She'd been intrigued by him from the first glance. And it had been way too long since a man made her feel like a woman.

"The governor." Her voice was too husky. She cleared it. "He doesn't want anything in the family history that he doesn't approve of in writing."

Dan's musical whistle was as unexpected and alluring as his smile. "Slander, libel, and lawyers?"

"Yes. And I don't even know the difference between slander and libel."

"Slander is defaming through speech. Libel is defaming through writing or photos."

"Are you a lawyer?"

"Nope. Disappointed?"

She smiled slightly. "Relieved. The worst date I ever had was a lawyer. The second-worst, too. Do you think Governor Quintrell put that rat on my pillow and then made a threatening call when I didn't bolt?"

"The call, possibly. You can download all kinds of sound effects from the Net and play them back anywhere, anytime. But the rat…" Slowly Dan shook his head. "I don't think so. I'm not saying the governor isn't mean enough, but people notice him wherever he goes, even at home. He wouldn't risk getting caught with a dead rat in his pocket."

"He could have had somebody do it for him."

Dan thought about the bodyguards he'd seen in the kitchen. One of them certainly could have pulled a rat from a live trap, gutted the rat, and dropped it on Carly's pillow. Yet even as he thought about it, he shook his head.

"Not likely," Dan said.

"Why?"

"It would give the errand boy a hold on the governor."

She thought it over, then nodded. "Pragmatism, not ethics, is that what you're saying?"

"Politicians are a pragmatic lot. They have to be." Dan stood up, wincing slightly.

"Your leg," Carly said.

"Did the governor say anything else to you?"

"You know," she said, standing up, staying close to him, pushing his personal space the same way he'd pushed hers, "whatever there is between us won't go far if you keep ignoring simple questions."

For a moment his eyes were those of a stranger again. Then he muttered something under his breath, sighed, and said, "I did a lot of PT this morning."

"PT? Physical therapy?"

"Yes." It could also mean physical training, PT of a very specialized type. But he didn't want to explain that to the little historian who had innocence and female interest simmering in her eyes. "It makes the leg stronger and it hurts like a bitch."

"Which volcano were you climbing?"

"The wrong one. Carly, I want to help you."

She looked like she was going to pursue the subject of where and how he'd been injured. Then the corner of her mouth quirked in a half smile. "Help me, huh? Never heard it called that before."

He snickered and shook his head. "Damn, but you're getting to me. I thought nothing could, not anymore." Before she could ask what he meant, he kept talking. "What did the governor say to you?"

"That if I published anything without his permission, his lawyers would make my life a living hell."

Dan's eyebrows rose. "Just like that?"

"Yeah. He wasn't feeling warm and fuzzy when he said it. I've got it recorded, if it matters."

"It might. I'll listen to it while we have dinner."

"Tonight?" she asked.

"Sure. Unless you're doing something else?"

"Going through my notes over cheese and crackers doesn't count as something else."

"Did Winifred feed you breakfast or lunch?" he asked, remembering the day he'd met Carly, how hungry she'd been.

"I happen to like cheese and crackers. And peanuts and raisins."

"Sounds like e-rations. Compact and survives well without refrigeration. Easier, more reliable, and more nourishing than snake."

"Were you a soldier?"

"I'm assuming from your presence here in the archives that you're not going to back away from Winifred's history."

Carly took the change of subject without missing a beat. Around Dan, mental flexibility was required. "I signed a contract. I'll honor it unless and until Miss Winifred tells me to stop."

He laughed curtly. "Don't hold your breath on that one."

"I won't. What is it between the governor and Winifred anyway?"

"I don't know."

"I'm easy. I'll settle for gossip."

"I still can't help. Lucia might be able to." Or his mother, if he could get her to talk about the past. "Maids overhear a lot. People are so accustomed to them coming and going that no one notices."

He took her arm and led her toward the stairs.

"Alma sure won't be helping me," Carly said as cold air poured over her.

"Why?"

"She disliked me on sight."

"Odd."

The courtyard was bare but for patches of snow in the shade. Last summer's weeds lay brown and flattened on the wet ground. The sun had been hard at work on the snow, but another storm was on its way. Dan opened the back door to the newspaper office.

"Maybe Alma resents the extra work," Carly said, leading the way down the hall. "Not that there's been that much. Everything I get in that household I have to do myself."

"What does Winifred say about that?"

"I haven't told her. She has enough grief just taking care of her sister." Carly shook her head at the thought of that sad, wasted body kept alive only by Winifred's determination.

As Dan opened the front door of the newspaper office, he filed the maid's surliness along with the other facts he'd been accumulating since the moment he'd found himself standing on a ridge watching his greatgrandfather being buried and not knowing why he'd walked three miles to do it.

He hadn't wanted to get involved in life again. To feel rather than to think. Somehow Carly hadn't given him a choice. He didn't know if that was good or bad, but he knew it was real.

Her little SUV was parked half a block down, in one of the narrow alleys that crisscrossed Taos. He took her hand and headed down the block.

"You're sure you won't back off?" Dan asked.

"Yes."

He weighed her response. He didn't sense any hesitation or weakness. "Too bad there's only one bed in your room. Unless you'd rather stay at my place?"

She stopped and stared at him. "Aren't you taking a lot for granted?"

"No. You are." He tugged at her hand, leading her toward the alley.

"What do you mean?"

"You're assuming that a dead rat and a threatening phone call are the worst you'll have to face." He watched understanding change her expression from anger to pallor. "Your place or mine?"

"Why are you doing this?" Carly asked.

"Doing what?"

"Helping me."

"You were the only real color at the Senator's funeral. Life is precious, Carolina May. You take it for granted. I don't."

She didn't know what to say, so she followed Dan in silence, wondering how his hand could be so warm and hers so cold.

Abruptly, he stopped walking and said something really unpleasant beneath his breath.

Carly followed his glance. Her car was sitting oddly, like it had been parked on a stairway.

At first she thought someone had let the air out of the tires. Then she realized that three out of four tires had been slashed. Shreds and chunks of tread were scattered around like pieces of black flesh. Red spray paint was smeared over the windshield. When she looked in through the open door, bloodred paint pooled all too realistically on the front seat.