LITMIR.BIZ

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of hard work on a clean man.

      RAND SPENT THE ENTIRE morning trying to find an excuse to fire Susan. He watched her every move, searching for some sign of incompetence—a corner that didn’t meet cleanly, a board that had been mismeasured, or holes that weren’t drilled in the exact right places. But he could find no fault in the woman’s work. She knew what she was doing.

      He also looked for signs that this work was too hard for a pregnant woman. But Susan had endless stamina and energy to spare—and she seemed to enjoy her work. She often smiled while she worked, or whistled, or hummed. He liked that she didn’t fill the silence between them with useless prattle.

      She didn’t talk endlessly about her pregnancy the way his sisters had. She didn’t probe into his personal life, but she did show an interest in his work.

      Whether her fascination was genuine or merely polite, it flattered him. Most people groaned and changed the subject.

      By the second day, Rand decided to ask a personal question of his own. She’d been evasive when he’d brought up the subject before, and he hadn’t pressed for more information. Now was a better time.

      “What does your husband do?”

      Susan nearly dropped her screwdriver. He’d evidently startled her. “He’s an engineer,” she answered, recovering her poise quickly, “but he left his job recently…” She shrugged, then returned her attention to the drawer she was building.

      An engineer. Didn’t they make buckets of money? It sounded like maybe he’d been laid off and was unemployed. Surely he hadn’t voluntarily left a decent job when his wife was expecting a baby.

      Clearly Susan didn’t want to talk about her husband, so Rand let it be. He hoped that, whatever her domestic problems were, they weren’t too serious. A new baby brought a lot of stress into a home even under the best conditions—and didn’t he know it. Still, it sounded as if Susan was underappreciated at home, at the very least. Hell, if she was his wife…

      What a completely weird thought. If Susan’s husband had any idea Rand found her so alluring, he’d come over here and flatten Rand.

      That night after she left, the house was incredibly quiet. No crying babies, no feminine chatter, no power tools, not even anyone puttering in the kitchen. Clark had just left for an early date with Dierdre.

      A perfect time to start organizing those books, Rand thought. He and Susan had merely moved stacks from one side of the room to the other, then covered them with plastic.

      Rand returned to the office and peeled back the plastic. He would put the medical texts in one area, organized by subject. Then the journals. He ought to get a file box for those untidy clippings and photocopies. And all those computer printouts—he ought to get a special box for those, too. Then there were the photographs…

      He’d better make a trip to the office supply store. No time like the 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

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