Sandra exhaled a deep breath and swiped the back of her hand across her damp forehead. Damn, housecleaning was hard work, she thought, but at last she was finished. The interior of the cabin virtually sparkled as a result of her concentrated efforts of yesterday afternoon and all of today. Going into the now-gleaming kitchen, she crossed to the fridge for a diet cola. She was sweaty. She was thirsty. She was hungry. And, boy, was she tired. Was Cameron Wolfe worth her feverish flurry of activity? Sandra asked herself, dropping limply onto a lemon-scented, polished chair. Damned right he was! Laughing to and at herself, she downed the last of the cola and heaved her wilting body from the chair. Tomorrow. Cameron should—would—be arriving in less than twenty-four hours. An anticipatory chill invaded her body.
