Rand's Redemption

He did not respond, but then of course she had not asked a question; she’d merely made a comment, and he certainly didn’t seem inclined to make an effort to keep the conversation going. Perhaps, living alone, he had forgotten how to talk and be sociable.

“Living in such an isolated place must get lonely at times,” she commented. “What do you do for entertainment?”

“Entertainment is not high on my list of priorities. I have a ranch to run.”

And certainly he had no time for anything as frivolous as entertainment, came the automatic thought. “Yes, of course,” she said evenly, “but a person can’t always work. A modest dose of fun now and then is good for the soul.”

He took a swallow of beer and said nothing.

“If you have one,” she added, unable to help herself.

He raised his brows in mild derision, still saying nothing and she was tempted to pour her drink over his handsome head but managed to contain herself.

“Do you?” she asked. “Have a soul?”

“I doubt it,” he said, and there was the merest quiver of his mouth, but she might have imagined it. She wondered what made him smile, laugh. What made him happy.

“What do you enjoy most about your work? What is it that gives you pleasure?”

He raised his brows. “You certainly seem to be preoccupied with fun and joy and pleasure,” he said, his voice sounding as if these were unsavory pastimes no moral person should get involved with.

“Not to mention happiness,” she added, smiling sweetly. “I enjoy my work, I enjoy my friends. I like being happy, and if I may be so blunt, there seems to be a great lack of all that in your disposition.” She came to her feet. “Excuse me, I think my hair needs combing.”

Rand watched her go. Lovely legs, sexy body. She was beautiful, with her blond hair and green eyes and that gorgeous sunny smile. An empty-headed party girl, no doubt. His stomach clenched painfully.

Blond hair and green eyes.

An image floated through his mind, the face of another woman, smiling. The scent of violets. He thought of the twelve-year-old boy lying in bed, trying desperately not to cry because men don’t cry. He thought of promises made and never kept. He squashed the memories forcefully, swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth. It had been years since he’d allowed himself to think of her. It was all in the past, done, over with.

Instead, he thought of Melanie, the way he remembered her, long ago, looking at Nick, hopelessly in love. Her happy face, the love in her eyes. So young and naive, so blind.

There was no denying that Nick had been a true friend to him in his college years in the States. There was also no denying that Nick had been an irrepressible skirt chaser, breaking hearts left, right and center. Rand sighed and rubbed his forehead.

He had warned Melanie, but she had not heeded that warning. Instead of running the other way, she had married him. And now here was Nick, far away from home, with this woman, his niece.

Shanna was in her hotel room, which adjoined Nick’s, and plopped herself down on the big, comfortable bed. It was a gorgeous room, nicely furnished with rattan furniture with cushions upholstered in some bright, tropical fabric, and interesting batik art on the wall.

She stretched out on the bed and let out a deep sigh. She had almost lost her temper with Mr. Rand Caldwell, but not quite.

After she’d returned from the ladies’ room, she’d found Nick back at the table and soon after that they’d left to go back to their hotel, and Rand to the house of friends where he was staying.

His supercilious manner was infuriating, not to mention offensive. For some incomprehensible reason, he did not like her. Or was she just imagining it? Was she paranoid? Certainly not. She’d never been paranoid, so why now? Surely it was not a virus one caught on a plane or from drinking alien water.

She yawned, feeling exhausted. She glanced at the bedside clock. She had two hours before they’d have to leave for the party, enough time for a nap. And tomorrow the Great Adventure would begin in earnest.

A thought suddenly occurred to her. Giving a frustrated groan, she slipped off the bed, opened one of the dresser drawers and took out a thick, padded envelope. It was too big to fit in the small safe in her room and she’d intended to put it in the hotel’s safe but it had been too late last night. And this morning she’d forgotten to take care of it in her eagerness to start exploring the city.

Slipping back into her shoes, she grabbed her purse and key card and left the room. She stood in the elevator and hugged the envelope to her chest, smiling to herself. She would take no risks. The originals were in her safe-deposit box at her bank in Boston and she’d brought a photo copy as well as a copy on disk to use with her laptop.

Oh, Dad, she said silently, I’ll get it done! I’ll make you proud! Her eyes blurred suddenly and she swallowed hard. She was going to do what she had planned for some time now, and she was going to do it right here in Kenya. Pressing the envelope even tighter against her, she blinked back her tears, feeling an odd mixture of both sadness and joy.

Nick would not be happy when she told him she intended to stay in the country on her own. He felt protective of her, which was nice, but she was twenty-seven and she knew what she wanted and he and Melanie did not need to worry about her anymore. She was going to be fine.

The elevator door opened and she stepped into the massive lobby with its potted palms and crystal chandeliers and exotic artwork. All very comfortable, very luxurious. Tomorrow she would be out driving in the country, see the lush green hills planted with tea and coffee, the flat bush, the tall giraffes, the leaping gazelles. Excitement tickled her blood and she could hardly wait.

After the envelope had been safely tucked away, she went straight back to her room, stripped off her clothes and took a quick shower in the sumptuous bathroom. Draped in a cotton robe provided by the hotel, she collapsed on the bed and fell asleep almost instantly.

It was not a restful slumber. She dreamed that she was back in Kanguli and the house was gone. All the huts were empty and there were no people. She called out for her father but he did not come, and then Rand appeared out of nowhere and stood there looking at her with his cold eyes, saying nothing. It was so awful that she could not stand it and broke into tears. Don’t look at me like that! she sobbed. Why are you looking at me like that? But he merely lifted a sardonic brow and gave no answer. I want to know where my father is! she cried. I have to tell him something!

Your father is dead, he said, and you can’t stay here. You have no business being here. And then there was the sound of drums coming from the village and suddenly she was awake.

It wasn’t the sound of drums she’d heard, she realized, but Nick knocking on the door connecting their two rooms.

“Shanna? Are you awake?”

Shivering, she hugged herself. “Yes, yes, I am.” She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. She had forty minutes. “I’ll get ready.”

She dressed in a simple silk dress of deep cobalt blue. It was slim-fitting and discreetly sexy. As she examined herself in the mirror, the image of Rand flitted through her head and a small shiver of apprehension ran down her back. She shook it away impatiently.

With more vigor than necessary, she brushed out her hair. She was not going to let the man ruin her good time. She intended to enjoy the evening. If he did not like her, it was his problem, not hers.

She left her hair loose, put in long earrings, and stepped into high heels. Straightening her shoulders, she lifted her chin and grinned at her reflection in the mirror. “Go for it, girl,” she said out loud, and knocked on the connecting door.

Nick was ready to go.

“Stunning,” he said and grinned at her.

“Thank you, suh,” she drawled and smiled back at him. Secretly she had to admit to herself that she was glad she didn’t have to face Rand by herself.

The man in question looked devastatingly handsome in his dark trousers and white jacket and her heart skittered crazily when she saw him enter the hotel lobby just as she and Nick emerged from the elevator. She willed herself to be calm, putting a little zip in her step as they crossed the lobby to meet him. She offered him a sunny smile which found no answer in his implacable face.

His frosty-blue gaze slipped over her from head to toe and he gave a tight little nod in greeting. “Ready?” he asked.

They left the lobby to find his car. It was a dusty Land Rover, a rugged vehicle that looked as if it was not used to an easy life.

“I apologize for the inferior transportation,” Rand said, sounding like he didn’t give a hoot.

She smiled brightly. “No problem.” She wondered if she’d manage to get a smile from him tonight. His face looked like he didn’t do a lot of smiling. How could you not smile owning your own piece of paradise in this gorgeous country?

Like a gentleman, he held the door open for her and she slipped in the passenger seat in front. Whatever his attitude, his manners were all there, which was reassuring. Nick got into the back. The interior looked clean enough apart from the dried-up reddish dirt on the floor where muddy boots had tracked it in.

The party was held at a large, beautiful house at the outskirts of Nairobi, the private home of Lynn and Charlie Comstock, people on the faculty of the university that had invited Nick to do his lectures.

Lynn Comstock was an interesting person of mixed Italian and English descent who had lived all her life in Kenya. She had very dark hair, dancing silvery-gray eyes and a lively face. She asked about Shanna’s work, and after several questions turned suddenly around, surveyed the guests and waved Rand over.

“Rand! Shanna’s been telling me about an article she’s writing about…”

“I know,” he said. “She told me.”