Can't Say No by Jennifer Greene

worked for Marie as Contec’s systems analyst because it was a responsible, secure job. That was Bree, a lady who made careful choices because she didn’t like change or risk. She’d felt backed up against a wall for years, but she still wasn’t inclined to fight her way out of the garrison.
    At least that was the Bree she used to be.
    The current Bree seemed to be a mess who didn’t have the least idea what she was going to do next, who was eating Corn Flakes and strawberries as if there were no tomorrow, and who had braced a chair against the door in fear of a stranger who clearly wasn’t anywhere around.
    It hardly seemed much of an improvement. The old Bree had character; the new one didn’t have the sense to roll up the cuffs of her pants. Tripping, Bree set down her empty cereal bowl, cuffed the jeans, cleaned up her few breakfast dishes and grabbed a towel and soap, noting with some annoyance that Hart had purchased a brand of soap for delicate skin.
    That man noticed far too much.
    And she was spending entirely too much time thinking about him. After a quick brush of her hair, Bree left the cabin, padding barefoot through the tall, mossy grass. Woodpeckers were going crazy in the hickory just outside; they always did in spring. She felt like humming as she pushed aside branches and overgrown brush on the old familiar path through the woods.
    The woods were virgin. The trees stretched easily four stories tall, their trunks three times bigger around than she was. Sunlight had to sneak through the umbrella of fresh spring leaves overhead. Logs had fallen over the years; rhododendron chased over them and kept on going; patches of white trillium had crept over the old path; and pockets of bluebells were scattered wherever morning sunshine fell.
    With the towel slung over her shoulder and her hands jammed casually in her pockets, Bree lifted her face to the warmth of an Appalachian morning and felt lighter than she had in weeks. A rabbit bounded in front of her and out of sight; she caught the white fluff of a deer’s tail from the corner of her eye.
    From the crest of the hill, she had her first glimpse of the triangular pond, not so big you couldn’t swim across it, not so small a rowboat wouldn’t have ample room to explore. Memories flooded back to her…Gram teaching her to swim, Gram’s wrinkled old skin all goose bumps as she laughed, tossing shampoo to a younger Bree, Gram showing her how to impale the wriggling worm on her fishing hook.
    The mirror of blue was mountain fed and never much warmer than melted snow. Sun-bleached stones formed the shoreline, and Bree sauntered to the water’s edge, dipped a toe in, shivered, grinned and froze as her fingers were halfway to the waistband of her jeans.
    She wasn’t alone. Her lungs suddenly rationed all air going in, and then she quickly ducked behind a pair of ancient pines and crouched down. There was no mistaking that golden mane, even soaking wet.
    Damn the man. Even if he’d managed to rent the house, he didn’t need to have discovered the pond. Her pond, for that matter. And if he had rented the place, where was his car? And why on earth hadn’t he opened a window if he’d slept up there?
    About to take a fast hike back to her cabin, Bree hesitated. Hart’s head had just popped up from the water, his scalp seal-slick, his face ruddy from the bracing chill. He dipped back under, his arms soundlessly slicing through the water. As he raced the length of the pond, his body skimmed just below the water’s surface.
    Disgusted, she realized he was stark naked. And that the tan on his face matched the tan on his rear end. At the far shore, he slipped underwater again. Seconds passed, and Bree suddenly frowned. More seconds, more…Fear gripped Bree’s heart. She vaulted to her feet at the same time that he finally surfaced, and she crouched on her haunches again, feeling like a fool.
    The next time she looked, he was standing in waist-deep water, facing