LITMIR.BIZ

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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

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