"For God's sakes," said a man on the porch. He pushed past her into the cabin. "This has been a day straight from hell. Why don't you have this place more clearly marked? Do you know how many times I drove up and down that road looking for it?"

Four, she thought, wondering who this man was. He was good-looking, but short for a man, maybe 5'6". He was nicely-built, though. He had curly hair and brown eyes. Those eyes were blazing at the moment.

"I had to drive all the way back to the town. Do you know how far away that is?" he demanded.

"Thirty miles," she answered.

"Exactly. So sixty miles out of my way, after the four journeys back and forth."

She smiled. So, it was four! Interesting.

"You think that's funny!?" He turned on his heel and went out the door, returning in a moment with a large suitcase. "Where's the bedroom?"

"Excuse me, who are you?" she inquired.

"I'm the tenant," he answered and then sniffed the air. He looked over at the kitchen. "Hey, I'm sorry," he said. "It was nice of you to stay and wait for me and even to cook for me, but really, it's your fault in the first place. If you had a sign..."

"Shut up for a minute," said Natalie, breaking across his words. He did. Natalie continued, "What do you mean, 'tenant'?" She had a sinking feeling in her stomach.

"I mean I've rented this place for two weeks." He looked at her oddly. Why didn't she know that? "This is Hawk's Nest, right?"

"Yes, it is, but..."

"Well, there you go. I rented this from Kate McAllister for the next two weeks..."

"No, I rented this from Nate McAllister for the next month," said Natalie firmly. "And I have a contract to prove it."

"So do I," said the man, looking around him. "It's in the car."

"Mine's right here," said Natalie, triumphantly, as if having her contract in the actual building made her the winner.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

"I guess we've got a bit of a situation here," he said. He looked at his watch and sighed. He walked over to the phone and picked it up.

"It's not hooked up yet," said Natalie. "My name is Natalie Reardon, by the way," she added.

"Howie Dorough," he said absently, pulling his cell phone from his pocket and punching buttons on it. "Damn! There's no signal." He looked around. "I'm in hell," he muttered.

"No, Montana," said Natalie. "I think there was a motel just this side of Big Timber." She floated the suggestion out hopefully. "And then in the morning..."

"No way!" he said brusquely, dashing those hopes. "I've rented this place and I'm staying." There was no way he was leaving it to her, even for one night. And besides, he was not getting back in that car. "Your water's boiling," he said.

Natalie looked over her shoulder. She was hungry. He probably was too. "I'm making spaghetti. Would you like some?"

"That would be great," he said. "I'm starving. The food on the plane was awful and I've been driving for hours."

What a whiner! she thought and then felt slightly guilty. She'd had the same thoughts herself until Ty Harper had come along and rescued her. She pulled the makings for salad out of the fridge. "You said 'Kate McAllister'?"

"Yes, she lives in Orlando. This is her place."

"No, it's Nate's. He must be her brother. He's visiting his sister in Florida."

"That's right. She's a friend of my mother's and she said that Nate hadn't had any renters for awhile. I was looking for some peace and quiet, so she suggested I come here." He looked around. "This is a family place, belonged to their sister. She died a couple of years ago."

"Do you know her name?" asked Natalie.

Howie furrowed his brow. "I don't know her real name. Kate called her Bitsy."

Natalie was disappointed. The woman who designed this cabin didn't have a name like Bitsy.

"She hated being called that, apparently," Howie went on. "She and Kate didn't get along that well."

Natalie felt better. She was already well on her way to hating Kate McAllister for having ruined her first day of peace and quiet by putting this Howie-person in her path, and now to think she had treated her sister this way The sister was assuming mythic proportions in Natalie's head.

She had Howie move the printer box and her computer and she set the table. She offered him a glass of wine and he accepted, offering to open the bottle for her. They carried the wine and their plates to the table and sat down. They began talking at the same time.

"I'm sorry that you came all this way..."

"It's a shame that you came so far..."

"...for nothing. You'll be able to..."

"...only to have to leave..."

"...get your money back..."

"...you'll get a refund, of course..."

"...but I have to stay..."

"...but I have no choice..."

"...because of my job..."

"...it's work-related..."

"...it's important..."

"...it's essential that I get..."

"...I need peace..."

"...peace and quiet..."

"...and quiet..."

And then both together. "I'm a writer."

They stopped.

"What do you write?" asked Howie.

"Mysteries," said Natalie. "What do you write?"

"Songs," he answered.

They stared at each other.

"Have you been published? Should I have heard of you?" Howie asked.

Natalie thought she was offended, but she wasn't sure. "Do you read many mysteries?" she asked.

"They're okay...not my favorite thing to read. Too contrived."

Now she was sure she was offended. "I've published five and I'm working on 'six'. That's why I came here. I have to meet a deadline. And I needed a place with no distractions." An image of Ty Harper flitted across her brain.

"Well, same here," said Howie. He wasn't giving up any ground to her. She was clever, all right, throwing out the 'deadline'. Well, he had deadlines too!

"Have I ever heard of you?" she asked. "I mean, any of your songs."

"What Makes You Different," he said.

She looked at him. What was he asking her?

"It's a song," he said. "'What Makes You Different' is the title."

"Oh, sorry," she said and then shook her head. She'd never heard of it.

"It was on a film soundtrack The Princess Diaries."

"Oh, a teen movie," she said.

Howie thought he was offended. "And um...one called 'How Did I Fall In Love With You?'"

"Long title," she muttered and he knew he was offended.

"And some others...for other artists..." he continued.

Other artists? "You mean you sing them too?"

Howie took a deep breath. "Yes, I'm part of a group." He paused. "The Backstreet Boys."

"I heard they broke up," she said mildly, reaching for the wine bottle. She missed the look of pain that moved across his eyes.

"No, we're only taking a break. For a year or so. We're working on individual projects."

She nodded. Okay. It didn't really matter to her.

He tried to gain the advantage. "I'm making a solo CD and I have to write a couple more songs and work on a few others," he said, stating his case firmly.

"Well, you'll have to do it somewhere else," she said, equally firmly. "Because this is my place for the next month."

"What date did you sign the contract?" he asked.

"What date did you sign yours?" she countered. They stared at each other, neither wanting to tell in case it made them the loser.

"I told you the contract is in the car," said Howie. "Look, can we settle this in the morning? There's two bedrooms here, right?" He tried to look as harmless as possible.

Natalie gave the idea some thought and then she nodded. "My stuff's in here," she said, pointing to her room. "You can have that one," she added. She stood up and went to the linen cupboard. Here's some stuff to make the bed," she said.

"Thanks," he said, opening the door. "It's kinda small," he muttered under his breath. "Well, do you want the bathroom first or...?"

"I have my own," she said, trying again to establish herself as the rightful resident.

"Of course, you do," he said grudgingly. He took the sheets into the bedroom and came back out a moment later. He picked up the dishes from the table and carried them to the sink. Then he grabbed his suitcase and went back into the bedroom.

Like he owns the place, Natalie thought, trying to keep her anger and indignation going. She was going to need it in the morning. He had a bit of an advantage because he knew one of the McAllisters personally, but possession was 9/10s of the law, so they said, and she had got here first!

"Ted Kaczynski," she said out loud.

"Pardon?" Howie had come back into the room.

"Ted Kaczynski." She repeated the name. "The Unabomber. He lived in Montana."

Howie didn't have a clue what she was talking about? Was she afraid of him? "Um...I...um...I don't see any locks on the bedroom doors, but um...I just want to say...you're not in any danger...I mean...I..."

"I'm not worried," said Natalie sarcastically. "After all, you're a Backstreet Boy. That makes you pretty harmless, doesn't it?"

Howie glared at her. "Yeah, and I'm the Sweet One," he added with equal sarcasm. He went into the bedroom and closed the door. A few minutes later, Natalie did the same.