present. And Clark thought he procrastinated. Hah!
WHEN SUSAN ARRIVED the next morning, she was surprised to find a host of different colored file boxes, accordion files, folders, dividers. Rand sat at his roll-top desk, unwrapping packages of colored pens, self-sticking notepads of various sizes, reams of computer paper.
“Looks like you wiped out the office supply store.”
He looked up. “Oh, hi. I just thought the organizing would go better if I had the proper tools.”
“Uh-huh. I’m sure you’re right.”
“Now don’t you start on me. Clark says I’m procrastinating again. I tried to explain to him that it was the same thing as trying to cook a gourmet dinner for twelve without all the ingredients and the right cookware. Or like you building a bookshelf without the right woods and tools. You can’t just jump into these things half-cocked.”
Susan picked up a small piece of wood and started hand sanding a sharp corner. “Of course not,” she said soothingly. “Out of curiosity, how long have you been researching?”
“Oh, I don’t know. A couple of years.”
“So, how does that work? Does someone pay you to do the research?”
“I have a grant from the National Institutes of Health and Harvard Medical School.”
“Do you have a deadline or something?”
“Actually, I was supposed to have a draft to committee by the end of this month, but I’ve gotten a deadline extension.” He flipped on his computer. “I wonder if I need a new word processing program.”
What he needed, Susan thought, was a kick in the butt to make him start working. But it was none of her business. “I’m getting ready to make sawdust. You probably want to turn off the computer and cover it.”
“Oh, right. I was going to start working on my introduction, but I guess that can wait.”
“You could take one of those new legal pads and sit outside to write,” she suggested.
“Good idea.” Rand puttered around his desk, selecting a pad and the right pen. But somehow he never got out of the office. He kept finding little things to do, small ways to help Susan. Before she knew it, Clark was calling them to lunch.
Susan felt ridiculous, sitting in the formal dining room in her dusty overalls, eating with real china and silver. But she couldn’t argue with the food. Clark managed to make a simple chicken salad into a work of gastronomic art. Even the pile of potato chips on her plate were an exotic, multicolored affair. Left to her own devices, she probably would have made do with a cheese sandwich.
“Do you eat like this every day?” she couldn’t help asking Rand. “If Clark was cooking for me, I’d be big as a—never mind.”
Her face heated, especially when she noticed Rand looking determinedly down at his plate, fighting a smile.
“Oh, go ahead and say what you’re thinking,” she groused. “I’m already as big as a house.”
“Just a small house,” Rand said.
Clark, who was just sitting down to join them, stared at Rand. “Did you just make a joke?” Then he looked at Susan. “I think he made a joke, don’t you? Let’s see, the last time that happened was nineteen—”
“Oh, knock it off,” Rand said. “Susan’s going to think I’m an ogre.”
“He’s not an ogre,” Clark hastened to say. “He’s just been acting like one ever since Alicia and Dougy moved out.”
Susan’s ears pricked up. She had gathered Rand wasn’t married. Had his marriage recently broken up?
“My sister and her son,” Rand clarified. “Don’t listen to Clark. I’ve been all sweetness and light. After eight years, all of my sisters are financially independent of me and I finally have the place to myself. Alicia just moved in with her fiancé, and I couldn’t be happier.”
Personally, Susan thought living in a house this size all by yourself, or even with Clark, would be a waste. This was a house meant for families. She wondered why Rand had chosen to be alone. He didn’t seem antisocial. Had he been badly hurt by a woman?
RAND WANTED TO WORK on his book, he really did. But he found it difficult to concentrate with Susan in the same room. He found himself staring at her, fascinated. Although at first he’d thought her hands unattractive, after he’d spent hours watching them gripping a power tool or running lightly over a piece of wood to check the smoothness of its grain, he completely changed his mind. He couldn’t recall ever being attracted to strength and manual dexterity in a woman, but he couldn’t deny he enjoyed those things about Susan Kilgore—in a very visceral way.
Of course, he would never let on that he was even mildly attracted to her. She obviously had no use for him.
The rest of the week passed without incident. Susan made steady progress on the bookshelves, and Rand started to feel almost comfortable around her. She didn’t demand from him the incomprehensible things other women wanted. He wasn’t required to show interest in subjects that bored him. She did not expect him to solve her problems. He didn’t have to spend money on her, other than what was contracted. She certainly had no designs on his body, thank God.
She was…nonthreatening. Food for his fantasies, and nothing more.
But the fantasies—those were wild. Sometimes he couldn’t help remembering her scent, or thinking about what her hair would feel like tickling his chest, or other, more earthy things. This wasn’t the sort of pointless activity he normally engaged in—especially regarding a woman who was claimed by another man in so obvious a way. But he seemed helpless to stop the alluring thoughts.
On Monday morning, however, she arrived at his house in an inexplicably hellacious mood. She cursed at the wood, at her tools, at herself for being clumsy. She ordered him out of the room twice, but he managed to wander back in.
He should have gone into the lab, since he was getting nothing accomplished at home. But he’d promised Alicia he would baby-sit Dougy this morning while she went on a job interview, and she was due to arrive any time.
“Is there anything I can do?” he asked Susan mildly.
“Just stay out of my way.” Then she dropped her hammer and doubled over in pain.
Chapter Three
No, it couldn’t be, Susan thought as she knelt clutching her abdomen.
“Susan!”
Rand was at her side in an instant. “Don’t stop breathing. That’s it, relax…. Is this what I think it is?”
“It can’t be,” Susan said when she could talk. The pain subsided after a few seconds, almost as if it had never been there. “It’s three weeks early!”
“Okay, don’t panic,” Rand said soothingly. “Does it—three weeks? I thought you said you were—”
“I,
