Before he climbed up from the basement, he put his blazer back over the weapon at his hip.  Instinct told him this family would flip at the sight of a gun.  In the living room, the girls lay on their stomachs in front of the fire, chins propped on palms, feet swinging in the air as they concentrated on counting Monopoly money.  They glanced at him, and their chatter halted.  He offered a smile, which they returned only half-heartedly.  The apprehension had returned.  He headed toward Jenna where she shifted between the stove and the counter.  She’d put in all the wonderful female touches making the farmhouse a home.  Colorful dishtowels and canisters contrasted against the white tile and bright plates and prints hung on the walls.  He assessed her in one glance as he walked into the kitchen.  Oversized plum sweater, leggings, heavy socks.    “Smells good,” he said.  “Good thing the stove’s gas, huh?”   She smiled, but didn’t look up from cutting carrots into thin slices.  “Was there anything wrong or is it just the power outage?” “Slipped a belt. Should be fine once the power goes back on. Power Company says they should have this area up and running sometime tonight." She nodded.  Silence fell for a moment, and when he didn’t make any move to leave, the tension between them stepped up.  “You’re welcome to stay for dinner,” she said, finally.  “A thank you for the wood and working on the furnace.” Her stiff, overly polite invitation had been offered with the hopes he would turn it down, no doubt.  He considered whether or not he wanted to oblige as he watched her small hands work on dinner preparations.  Her nails were neat and unpainted, her fingers slender and petite.  Like the rest of her.  Although her clothes hid her true shape, the muscle tone in those slim legs didn’t go unnoticed.  No rings, no bracelets.  No jewelry at all. She stopped chopping and looked at him from beneath a fringe of thick golden lashes.  “I mean, I’m just making stir fry.  If you have something else you need to do…” “Would love to stay for dinner.”  He kept his voice level and soft.  “I’ll go change and bring back some wine.  Red or white?” Her shoulders drooped.  She slid the carrots into a small glass bowl and turned away.   “Either, I guess.” Definitely not a sincere invitation.  Too bad, she’d made it, and he was taking it.  He couldn’t remember ever having a woman avoid him this way.  While he considered himself average looking, it seemed he had something that attracted the opposite sex.  But Ms. Jenna Montgomery hardly cared to look at him, and from her tight body language, couldn’t wait for him to get out.  He studied her profile, something odd niggling at the back of his mind.  “Have we met before?” She shook her head without looking at him.  “Everybody tells me I look like someone they know.  I have one of those faces.” He couldn’t place her.  A television personality?  Certainly gorgeous enough.  But no, that wasn’t it.  It would come to him. He nodded and turned for the door.  “Back in a bit.” *  *  *  *  * Jenna waited a full ten seconds after the door closed then slumped against the counter, closed her eyes and exhaled heavily. Dammit!  Five weeks in Vermont without anyone noticing her, only to have her landlord, of all people, think he recognized her.  A twist of nausea seared her gut.  Pulling on years of training, she took deep, steady breaths and focused her mind.  Calm.  She had stay calm.  Her stomach couldn’t handle another acid attack.  Visiting the hospital was not an option.  It would only take one leak to one reporter at one newspaper or magazine, and the media would descend on this peaceful little town like vultures on a fresh kill.  She’d have to pick the girls up and run. Again.  He’d know where she was.  He’d be there before she could call the local FBI field office.  Before she could convince the local cops of the urgency of the situation.  He’d hunt her down and— Stop!  She screamed the word in her head and squeezed her eyes shut.  Her mind.  She had to control her mind.  She didn’t have the luxury of going off on wild, ridiculous  tangents like that.  Rational.  Logical.  She had to keep her emotions out of this. She laid the meat out on the cutting board, sprinkled seasonings and cut cubes.  The knife trembled in her hand.  She gripped it until her knuckles drained of blood. It was her own fault for inviting him.  Stupid.  She should have just said thanks and sent him on his way.  But he’d come over at the end of the day, carried wood into her house, started a fire and repaired the furnace. “Calm down,” she muttered to herself.  “You’re over the top again.  It doesn’t mean anything.”  He wouldn’t know her.  She wasn’t that all-mighty, friggin’ important.  Besides, recognizing her from a book jacket photo was about as possible as winning the lotto.  She hardly resembled the celebrity she’d once been.  The woman on her books had straight blonde hair snaking down her back, dressed in expensive designer clothes, wore professionally applied, photo-shoot make-up.  That woman was poised, elegant, and confident.  The complete opposite of who Jenna saw in the mirror now. She hated this new persona, inside and out.  Short, her hair fell in ringlets she could barely contain.  She’d lost so much weight her body was straight and scrawny.  In fact, with the exception of her breasts, which were disproportionately large for her body, she looked like a boy.  Thin with shaggy hair, plain clothes and no makeup.  She felt ugly.  But she pushed the self-disgust aside.  Ugly was good.  People ignored and avoided ugly.  Beauty attracted attention. Yet, as frumpy as she felt, Cole had been keenly focused on her.  She’d seen that look before, knew when a man was interested.  Pleasure flickered in her heart, but fear doused it.  He was flirtatious by nature—the way he talked, smiled, even the way he moved, languid and easy and confident.  He oozed charm.  Except when he was angry.  When he’d snapped at her on his porch, she’d mentally sorted through the other houses she’d seen with the property manager and considered choosing another.  His anger seemed to dissolve the minute he walked in and set eyes on Tory and Ashley huddled on the sofa, his disposition shifting to relaxed, sexy, charismatic.  She’d known men like Cole Spencer before.  A ladies man one minute, a chauvinistic, controlling monster the next.  In fact, she’d been married to one.  A quick dinner for helping them, and she would banish him to his own house.