style="font-size:15px;"> She blinked. “A raven?”
“Clever, sometimes even deep, but hardly flashy.”
She looked as if his blunt assessment startled her. But then an odd expression came over her face. “I saw a raven once. In a tree. While he was there, he was just another shadow. But when he took wing, and flew into the sunlight, those black feathers flashed green and blue in a way that was more amazing than any peacock’s display, because it was subtle, hidden, and you had to pay attention or you’d miss it.”
At the near poetry of her statement, Ian found himself staring at her. He told himself not to take it personally, she’d only been comparing birds, not people. But still…
“And besides,” she added, “a raven is much more useful than most peacocks.”
“Useful?” His voice sounded almost like that raven’s squawk to his own ears.
“They find things,” she said. “And they are very, very smart.”
He wondered if there was a compliment for him in there, but decided that was reading far too much into a vague conversation. Besides, it didn’t matter. Compliments weren’t something he sought out or needed.
Although one from this woman might be rather pleasant, he admitted.
“You really don’t have to do this whole garden, you know,” he said before he could take that ridiculous train of thought any further. “I’m sure you have lots to do, unpacking and all.”
“I enjoy it,” she said. “And as I said, except for a few pots and planters, there’s not much for me to do over there.”
He suspected the view out her windows of his yard wasn’t the nicest, and that might have something to do with her eagerness, but he chose not to say anything.
“I guess I should have hired a gardener, but I never seemed to have the time to do even that.”
“You do put in some long hours, I noticed.”
Something about what he himself had said suddenly registered. “I…can I pay you for your time, at least?”
The minute the words were out he was afraid they would offend her. Damn, he was no good at even this, a friendly chat between neighbors.
But if she took offense, she hid it behind another smile. “You could find me something cold to drink,” she said.
“I…sure. I think I have some soda or even a beer if you want.”
“Soda’s fine. Whatever you have.”
When he came back, she was working again, and for a moment he just stood there, watching the smooth, easy way she moved. Then she straightened and turned to him, swiping her brow with a gloved hand, leaving a trace of soil on her forehead.
“Thanks,” she said, taking the cold can he held out to her.
He liked that she didn’t apologize for her appearance, as he thought most women would. She was working hard in a garden; she was going to sweat and get dirty. And her casual attitude silently said that if you couldn’t handle that, it was your problem, not hers.
Of course, most women probably wouldn’t look as good as she did doing it, he thought when she took a healthy swig of the drink. And then she rested the cold can against her neck, and he felt a ripple of an odd sort of heat that had nothing to do with the sun.
It was lucky for her Ian Gamble was no party animal, Sam thought as she watched him pacing his office from her lookout window seat. She’d been here for nearly a week now, and he didn’t seem to have any social life at all. She didn’t understand. He was an attractive man. She supposed the frequent usage of historical rather than contemporary analogies she’d noticed might bother some, and some women would find his frequent slides into deep thought, sometimes midconversation, disconcerting. But there had to be someone out there who would find the traits rather endearing. And impressive, given what those slides into thought often produced.
Not, she told herself, that it mattered to her job why he was the way he was. She was curious, that was all.
Just accept it and be grateful that you don’t have to tail him all over town.
She ran the brush through her damp hair once more. If he ran true to form, he was in for the night. Only once had he gone out after he’d arrived home, and since he’d walked she’d been able to follow easily enough. The ice-cream place had been his destination again, and once more she’d had to laugh at his idea of walking distance; it was at least two miles each way. But it was also why he was able to indulge without it showing, she supposed.
But tonight he seemed settled in, so she chanced ten minutes with her blow dryer to finish her hair. Then she returned to her seat and took up the vigil.
When he finally turned out the lights at close to midnight, she stayed put, watching. At one in the morning she added a dark knit cap to her black jeans and sweater and went downstairs. It was time. And she knew he had a meeting in the morning, so it was the right time.
He’d left his car in the driveway, as usual. She wondered why he didn’t use the garage, then guessed with a grin that it probably looked something like his office did, so there wasn’t enough room. Whatever the reason, it was making things easier for her.
It took her under three minutes. She was back inside in five, again watching the house until she was sure he hadn’t heard. Finally she went to bed, with the window still open, knowing she would awaken at the slightest out-of-place noise.
The quiet of a California summer night settled in.
“Damn it,” Ian muttered, slapping the steering wheel of his uncooperative car.
He turned the key again. Nothing. Not even a click to indicate it was thinking about turning over.
He guessed he shouldn’t be surprised. Cars tended to break down on him. Something about forgetting maintenance. He just had better things to do with his time and his mind, that’s all. How could he be expected to keep track of things like oil changes and tire rotations when he was trying to solve this damned adhesion problem?
Maybe he should have taken Josh up on the offer of a Redstone company car. He’d said no because he tended to ding them up, and no matter that Josh had said that didn’t matter, he would be too embarrassed to turn the thing in at the end of the lease period. It would only add to the perception of him as the absentminded professor.
He’d have to call a tow truck. Then he’d—
“Problem?”
His head snapped up. Samantha was standing beside the driver’s side window; he hadn’t even heard her approach. And she was dressed in a sleek navy pantsuit with a long jacket and crisp white blouse that made her look sharp and businesslike, totally unlike the casually dressed woman he was used to seeing. He wondered if she had to have things custom-made for those long legs.
“Won’t start,” he muttered, feeling as if he was stating the obvious.
“Dead battery?”
“Could be,” he said, not wanting to
