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“So I’ve noticed,” said Shanna. Maybe it wasn’t just her, then. “I just met him this afternoon and he acted as if I’d crawled out of some primordial swamp.”
Lynn put her glass down. “He’s usually civil enough, in his own inimitable enigmatic fashion. But I find it amazing how the women go for that remote composure of his. They seem to find it intriguing.”
“But you don’t?”
Lynn laughed. “Hades, no. It annoys me no end. I like my men to be up front. I like to know what I’m dealing with. Well, more or less.” She grinned. “You’ve met my Charlie?”
Shanna had. Charlie was hard to miss with his red beard and exuberant personality. At this moment he was playing the piano and singing Irish drinking songs.
“Women are always after Rand,” said Lynn. “Slavering practically. Well, he is one handsome hunk, as they say in America, and having that fancy ranch and all that money doesn’t hurt either.”
Shanna could well imagine.
Lynn gave a crooked grin. “The naive idiots. They all think they’re the one who’ll break through his reserve and discover the passion underneath, but so far I don’t believe anyone ever has, not even Marina.” She took a fresh drink from a tray passed around by a handsome African waiter in pristine white. “Frankly, I don’t think there is any passion. I’m beginning to think he’s as unfeeling on the inside as on the outside and that he prefers the company of animals over humans.”
“Who’s Marina?” Shanna couldn’t help herself.
Lynn glanced at Shanna. “She lived with him for over a year. She’s a painter, Australian. One day she’d had enough, packed up and left. She stayed with us for a while. She said she’d had enough of living with someone who kept her at an emotional distance all the time.” Lynn sighed. “It was sad, really, because I think Marina really loved him.” She glanced at her wineglass. “Oh, I never learn,” she moaned. “Shoot me, please.”
“Learn what?” asked Shanna.
“To keep my mouth shut. Two glasses of wine and I lose all my discretion. All I do is talk and spout out whatever comes to mind.” She gave Shanna a pleading look. “I don’t mean to be such a gossip, really. I had no business telling you this, although everyone knows anyway, but…” She shrugged, making a face. “Sorry.”
The party went on. Shanna was standing with a small group of women, talking, when she noticed Rand nearby. He was observing something intently and the expression on his face made her breath catch in her throat. She stared at him, taking in the faint smile that softened his features, the eyes warm with amusement. Her heart made a leap that almost hurt.
She tore her gaze away and glanced in the direction he was looking and felt her own face warming with a smile. The object of his tender gaze was a little Indian girl, four or five years old, dressed up in a tiny party sari, a bright, shimmering affair shot with gold. Kohl circled her large eyes, blusher faintly colored her cheeks and lipstick brightened her lips. She looked like a delicate costume doll, perfect, beautiful—except for the expression in her dark eyes, which were full of very unladylike mischief.
Shanna had no idea why the little girl was at a grown-up party, but there she was, pretty as an exotic butterfly, fluttering among the adults, cooking up something naughty.
Shanna looked back at Rand, feeling a softening inside her, a strange, ephemeral feeling of elation. And then he met her eyes and his face hardened and all the amusement and warmth vanished from his eyes.
Her stomach lurched and she clenched her hands around her glass and turned away, giving her attention again to the Kenyan woman by her side, a doctor working in a maternity clinic.
Sometime later she found Nick standing next to her. “You’re not working, by any chance, are you?” he whispered in her ear.
She laughed and hooked her arm through his. “I’m just talking, enjoying myself.”
He grinned down at her. “You don’t fool me.”
“Women everywhere like talking about their lives, Nick. All I do is listen.” She laughed and then her eyes caught Rand’s cold gaze directed at her and her laughter froze. She let go of Nick’s arm and took a drink from her glass.
“My, that Rand is a cold one,” she said to Nick, and she saw him frown.
“He never was one of the world’s great extroverts, but I have to admit I seem to remember him as more congenial.” Nick shrugged. “It’s been a long time since I saw him last.” He studied her with a sudden gleam in his eyes. “Why don’t you warm him up a little, Shanna? You’re good at loosening people up. Give him some of that irresistible charm of yours.”
She grimaced. “I tried. He’s immune.”
“He keeps looking at you, I’ve noticed.”
“Oh, really? You must be imagining it,” she said lightly. But he hadn’t, and she knew it.
She was standing at the buffet table surveying the food when Rand appeared next to her.
“You’re quite the party girl, aren’t you?” he asked, an unmistakable hint of mockery in his voice.
For a moment she just stared at him. Since when was it a sin to be gregarious and happy, to enjoy being with people? Since when did that make you automatically a shallow or frivolous person? Well, apparently in his mind it did.
She resisted the urge to say something sharp in return. He wasn’t going to goad her, she was determined. Instead, she gave him a cheery smile.
“I’m enjoying myself. That’s all right, isn’t it? I mean, there isn’t something wrong with having fun, is there?”
His mouth twisted and he reached for some of the food and placed it on his plate without answering her.
She tilted her head and made a show of observing him. “You don’t look like you’re having any fun. You ought to work on it a little, you know. Live dangerously. Smile a little. You might just like it.” She couldn’t help taunting him; his arrogant attitude was bringing out the worst in her.
He gave her a stony stare. “I didn’t come here to have fun.”
“That’s a shame,” she said, pseudo-sympathetic. “So, why are you here, then?”
“Business.”
“Oh, I see. Is that why you look so grim? Business is not fun? You don’t enjoy your work?”
There was a silence as he observed her with wintry eyes. “Not everything in life is fun. But if fun is what drives you, let me assure you that I have none to offer you.”
Shanna had had little experience being treated with disdain. Hot indignation welled up inside her. The man was offensive, insufferable and infuriating. It was tempting to tell him so, but presenting him with her opinion of him would only give him satisfaction, she was sure. She managed, with admirable control, to keep her cool and not show him the anger heating her blood. Instead, she nodded solemnly at his statement.
“I figured that one out all by myself,” she said calmly. “You’re no fun at all.” She sighed theatrically, she couldn’t help herself. “I’m afraid you’re a lost cause.”
“Oh,” he said lazily, “perhaps it depends on whose cause. Not all men are fooled by beauty and charm.”
His meaning was clear. She had beauty and charm, but he wasn’t fooled by her. The man was an ego maniac. Her stunned mind grasped wildly for an apt reply, failing miserably.
Rand picked up his plate, offering her a contemptuous look. “Now, if you’ll excuse me?”
He strode off, leaving her speechless and seething.
CHAPTER TWO
THREE days later, sitting on a rock in the bush, peering through her binoculars, Shanna was still seething.
She’d been trying very hard not to think about Rand Caldwell. It was not easy. Fortunately, baboons proved a great distraction, infinitely more amusing than the hermit man with the cold eyes. She focused the binoculars on the cliffs in the near distance, zeroing in on a tiny baby baboon clinging to its mother’s back, holding on for dear life as she leaped around with the rest of the troop, foraging for food. They were yanking out grasses, digging up roots, peeling fruits. Shanna could not believe she was here, by the cliffs near Kanguli, watching the baboons, as if she had never left.
She had found the village with its thatch-roofed mud huts, found the old house where she’d lived for four years, a dilapidated colonial settlers’ house abandoned by its English owners at Independence decades before. She’d seen a line of washing—jeans and T-shirts and brightly colored Jockey undershorts with some intriguing designs. A man lived in the house now, a male with a sense of humor, a Peace Corps or VSO volunteer probably, but no one had been at home yesterday, or today.
And she’d found the baboons. She did not recognize any of the animals, but of course she would not. Too much time had passed. The old ones had died, young ones grown up and new ones born. Also, it might not be the same troop. She ached to come closer, but she knew well enough it was out of the question. They did not know her and it was dangerous.
She was so entranced in watching the baboons’ activities, that the sound of a car engine startled her. A Land Rover came bumping over the uneven terrain toward the rocks where she was sitting. She trained the binoculars on the dirt-covered vehicle and saw Rand behind the steering wheel. Her heart turned over and she lowered the binoculars in her lap.
Rand? What was he doing here?
If fun is what drives you, may I assure you that I have none to offer you. His words flashed through her mind, the outrageous insinuation flooding her with new indignation. Her stomach clenched. Why was he here now, disturbing her peace? Sucking in a fortifying breath, she braced herself.
The vehicle came to a stop and Rand leaped out. He wore khaki shorts, a shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a battered bush hat. He came toward her with a long-legged stride and as she watched him, her anger whooshed away and all she could do was sit there and look at him, feeling…
She didn’t know what she was feeling.
She couldn’t help but notice how much he seemed to fit in the rugged landscape—the strength of his body, his hard, powerful features and the sharp eyes that seemed to miss nothing. He was all male and the sense of it stirred the female inside her. There seemed to be nothing she could do about it. Her mouth went dry and she felt a sense of very elemental attraction, a primitive delight in the male beauty of the man coming toward her.
She sat motionless as she watched him approach, aware of nothing but him and the racing of her heart, as if everything else between them had fallen away, had never happened.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, and it came out in a whisper.
“I was looking for you,” he said, his voice oddly low, as if it was hard to speak.
I was looking for you.
A simple sentence, yet it seemed imbued with meaning and it filled her head with light.
Sudden wild screams blew in on the wind and the fragile spell shattered, bringing back reality with shocking sharpness. Dragging in air, Shanna whipped her head toward the cliffs and automatically brought the binoculars to her eyes. Her hands were trembling.
One of the male baboons was romancing a female, who was not in the mood and shrieked at him. The male scampered off.
“What was that?” Rand asked, peering into the distance.
She lowered the binoculars and took in another fortifying breath. “A female chasing off a male.” The humor hit her as she heard herself say the words and she couldn’t help smiling.
His expression gave nothing away. He looped his thumbs behind his belt. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice businesslike.
It was as if those magical moments had never happened.
Maybe they had not. Maybe the odd awareness, the strange sensation of recognition had only occurred in her imagination, like a dream. Like a fleeting reflection in crystalline water.
She saw him watching her as she sat there in the grass behind the rocks, her shorts and T-shirt dusty and wrinkled. She’d been here for hours.
“I’ve been watching the baboons,” she said.
His brows shot up, his look incredulous. She could well imagine his surprise. The little scene he was witnessing did not fit the image he had of her—a femme fatale dressed in a sexy dress who used her beauty and charm to seduce men in wicked ways. Here she was sitting in the bush, wearing hiking boots, her hair a tangled mess, watching monkeys.
She gave a half smile. “I like baboons. They’re very smart, very human in many ways.”
He studied her for a moment, not commenting. “Nick told me you used to live here with your parents.”
“Yes, I did. We moved here when I was eleven and we were here for four years. My mother was a teacher and she home-schooled me. I spent hours watching baboons.” She’d pretended to be a scientist, like her father, writing her observations in a notebook. Drawing pictures. When she’d learned to recognize the individual animals, distinguish one from the other, she’d give them names—Snoopy, Frisky, Dreamer.
He looked meaningfully at her binoculars. “With the limited time you have at your disposal, I’d have expected you to be working on your writing, not watching baboons.”
She felt her hackles rise at his insinuated criticism. She came to her feet, pulled her T-shirt straight and dusted off her shorts. “I spent all day yesterday talking to the women in the village,” she said levelly.
They remembered her, of course, the girl with hair the color of maize, and it had been wonderful to see the recognition dawn in their dark eyes, see their smiles, hear their laughter. Suddenly she no longer was a stranger. So they’d sat and talked as they drank many glasses of hot, sweet chai—milky, sugary tea. They’d told her of deaths and weddings and births. The girls she had known as a child all had husbands, all had children. They’d wanted to know why she was not yet married, did not have babies.
It had been difficult to explain, so far away from the context of her life at home. Yes, she’d been in love, had wanted to be married, but how did you explain that the man you loved did not want to have children? That you had hoped over the years that he would change his mind, and that he had not? That eventually the distance between you had grown and you knew that the only way out for both of you was to break off the relationship.
Shanna still thought of Tom at times, although it had been three years since she had seen him last. They had parted friends, yet the breakup had been terribly painful. Still, now, years later, Shanna knew she had made the right decision. All she had to do was think of Sammy and know.
She did not tell the village women any of this. They would never believe her. A man who wanted no children? They would not believe such a person could exist.
“I haven’t found the right man,” she’d said, which was the truth. And yes, of course, she wanted a husband. Of course she wanted children. And of course at twenty-seven she was very, very old… She smiled now at the memory.
“I expect you used to live in the house?” Rand asked, gesturing at the village behind him.
She nodded. “Yes. No water, no electricity. Huge fire-places. I loved it.”
“Are you staying with Bengt?”
“Bengt? No. Is he the one who lives in the house now?”
“Yes. He’s a Swedish volunteer.”
“I haven’t met him yet. I’m staying at the Rhino Lodge, in Nyahururu.” It was a small hotel in a nearby town, not fancy, but clean and comfortable, and it served her purposes fine.
“Not exactly the Hilton.”
His superior attitude irked her, the presumption that coping in anything less than a five-star hotel was not among her talents.
She gritted her teeth. “No, it isn’t, but it’s perfectly adequate. And what business is it of yours where I stay, may I ask?”
He shrugged. “Just making conversation,” he said casually.
Conversation my foot, she thought. “Why are you here?” she demanded, feeling her control slip a notch. She raked her hair away from her face. “Haven’t you got something better to do? Herd some cattle, hunt some wounded buffalo?”
“Yes, indeed.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and considered her coolly. “I’ve considered your request. You can come to the ranch and talk to the workers.”
She stared at him, too surprised to think of something intelligent to say.
“We have an interesting tribal mix,” he went on, “in case you’re looking for variety—Pokot, Luo, Meru, Turkana.”
“You didn’t think it would be useful.” Suspicion colored her voice.
He shrugged again. “I changed my mind.”
He’d changed his mind, just like that. She wasn’t stupid, but looking at his face, she knew that Mr. Rand Caldwell wasn’t going to elaborate and that asking would be futile.
He glanced at his watch. “Nick rang this morning and asked me to send you a message. He said something came up and he won’t be able to make that trip to Mombasa with you this weekend. He said you were planning to drive back to Nairobi on Friday.”
She pushed her hair away from her face. “That’s what the plan was. It doesn’t matter. Maybe we can go next week.”
His face tightened. “You can come to the ranch. You might find the accommodations more comfortable.”
She studied his hard, unsmiling face. “Are you inviting me to stay with you?”
“Yes,” he said brusquely.
Something was wrong. Something was going on and she had absolutely no idea what it was. The man did not like her, yet he was asking her to be his guest. He thought what she was doing was ludicrous, yet now he was helping her.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked. It sure wasn’t because he was interested in her work.
His face was expressionless, but something flickered briefly in his eyes. “Nick is concerned about you,” he said flatly.
She knew he was. Had he asked Rand to take her in? She did not cherish that thought, as if she were some poor lonely waif who needed looking after.
Still, she had the uncanny feeling that that was not the only reason behind Rand’s invitation. She stared at him and bit her lip, wondering. No matter what his motivation was, the invitation was interesting.
Here was an opportunity to enter the den of the lion so to speak, and find out more about Rand Caldwell.
Find out more about him? Now why was she thinking that? Why would she even want to find out more about him?
Because the man intrigued her. She wanted to know what lay behind that cold, hostile front. An image flashed through her mind. Rand’s smiling face as he looked at the little Indian girl dressed up in her party sari.
There was more to him than met the eye.
She straightened and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “I’d love to stay at your ranch if it will make Nick feel better, and I’m happy to have the opportunity to talk to the women.” She smiled politely. “I appreciate your offer.”
Again the slight narrowing of his eyes, the flicker of wariness, as if he didn’t trust her. What had she done to illicit this negativity from him?
“When would be a good time for me to come?” she asked.
“Anytime.” He gave her directions in short, clipped sentences. “I won’t be back at the house until tea time, but they’ll know to expect you.”
“Thank you.”
He stared at her for a moment longer, his eyes unreadable, then he turned without a word and marched across the uneven ground toward his Land Rover. She watched him go, feeling an odd mixture of excitement and trepidation.
The road passed through small villages, patches of green forest and cultivated shambas. Women worked in the maize fields and herds of goats and cattle roamed the land. Shanna drove with the car windows open, wanting to feel the air on her skin, smell the sun-warmed land. She’d be covered in red dust by the time she arrived at the ranch, but she didn’t care.
Why had Rand invited her? A man who was said to live almost like a recluse. Just because of Nick? Maybe going to this isolated ranch was not such a bright idea. After all, he had made it quite clear that he was not positively inclined toward her. It was not difficult to call up the image of his arctic eyes, his hard face. Even in the heat of the afternoon it made her shiver.
She kept on driving. The wind had freed a strand of hair. It was whipping annoyingly around her face and she tucked it behind her ear. Well, what was life without taking risks?
Finally, she saw the gate, and the huge sign reading Caldwell Ranching Co. The askari guarding the gate looked impressive—a tall, muscular man, wearing a uniform and carrying a gun.
“Jambo,” she greeted him and he gave her a friendly grin, returning the greeting. The bwana was expecting her, he informed her.
It was many miles yet to the house and she looked around carefully, aware now that she was on Caldwell land, a piece of private Africa with rolling hills and virgin forests, gorges and plains.
With increasing excitement she took in everything—the colors of the land, the herd of swift-footed Thompson gazelles, a giraffe in the distance, feeding off a tree. At night, lions hunted here and hyenas skulked around looking for leftovers.
As she reached the gorge, a deep rocky crevice, she saw the house, perched on the edge and for a moment she held her breath. It was built of rough stone and wood and other natural materials. It had a thatch roof and seemed to be part of its rugged surroundings—unpretentious yet magnificent. It was the most wonderful living place she had ever seen and she slowly expelled her breath. A lush, flourishing flower garden sprawled in front of the house, greeting her with a blaze of color.
Paradise. The thought came automatically, and it made her smile. Certainly she should be safe in Paradise.
She stopped the car and dogs came leaping out of nowhere, barking, wagging tails. There were three of them, and she considered them carefully for a moment. They were excited but friendly, she decided, and opened the car door. A tall, dignified African dressed in white emerged from the house, silenced the dogs and greeted her with a smile. His name was Kamau and he had been expecting her.
She was shown to an airy room with a view of the mountains. It was simply furnished and had a brightly colored bedspread and a soft, white sheepskin rug on the polished wooden floor. A small desk stood against one wall, obviously put there for her use. A bowl of fresh flowers adorned the dressing table; not a welcoming gesture initiated by Rand, she was sure.
Her luggage was brought in from the car, and after Kamau had left, she took off her hiking boots and socks and sat on the bed, contemplating her next course of action.
A sound made her turn around and Rand was standing in the door, which she had left open. Her heart made a silly little leap. He looked dusty and tired and she could already see the dark shadow of his beard.
“You have arrived,” he stated.
“Yes. This is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.” She glanced at the spectacular view and she couldn’t help smiling and feeling warmth and joy spread through her at the sight of all that beauty. “Thank you for inviting me.”
He nodded, and his gaze left her face and traveled to the pile of suitcases and bags in the middle of the room.
“That’s rather a lot of luggage for two weeks,” he commented mildly.
She laughed. “I wanted to be sure to be covered for all eventualities.” That was one explanation. The other one was that she wasn’t staying for two weeks.
He arched one dark brow. “How many eventualities were you expecting?”
She grinned. “I’m very adventurous. Lots, I hope.”
The hard line of his jaw was indication that he didn’t think much of her reply. She felt herself begin to tense.
“Tea on the veranda in half an hour,” he announced. “Through the arched door at the end of the passage,” he added, and turned away.
Half an hour. Enough time for a quick shower and some clean clothes.
She had her own bathroom, spacious and charming with a rustic stone floor and gleaming white fixtures. More fresh flowers on a small rattan table, along with a basket of small soaps and other toiletries. Somebody here knew how to make a guest feel comfortable. She showered, washed her hair and dried it with her blow-dryer.