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.
What to wear? Shorts? Long slacks? A dress? She picked out a long slim cotton skirt and a white, sleeveless top that exposed nothing below her collar bones. Very demure, she thought and she looked at herself in the mirror and grinned. A little fresh makeup and she was ready.
Rand
