Rand's Redemption

She could do it. She was, in fact, uniquely qualified to do it.

And so the planning had begun. She had found a publisher who was interested in the project—in actual fact, she’d found two. She’d made a choice, signed a contract and received an advance large enough to make her stay here possible, backed up with the money from her parents’ life insurance policy.

Shanna looked down on the papers and smiled. And here she was, back in Kenya, where her father had begun the journals, and where she would finish the book. In the next few days she’d have to tell Nick that she had decided to stay and was not flying back with him to the States at the end of next week.

She did not want to go back to her apartment where so much reminded her of Sammy. It would be easier to deal with her feelings here, in another environment, doing something interesting. And certainly finishing the book here would be so much easier.

She settled at the desk and switched on her laptop computer. She studied the outline for chapter eight and found the journal entries assigned to it, absorbing the sounds coming from the bush outside through the open window.

Three hours later she came to her feet, stiff and tired, but feeling a great sense of accomplishment. Too keyed up to go to sleep, she quietly slipped out of her room, along the passage to the veranda.

The air was cool and the only light anywhere came from the stars and a half moon. The world was dark and full of sounds—mysterious, frightening. Below in the gorge animals were sleeping, or hunting. It was wild, secret and dangerous out there and she shivered a little.

From the house behind her came footsteps and Rand appeared next to her with a drink in his hand. Her heart made an awkward little leap as she looked at him in the pale moonlight and a thought floated through her mind. Rand was like the gorge below—wild and secret.

And dangerous.

She could sense it, yet not understand it. If he were a threat to her, then why?

It wasn’t physical, she knew that. It was a more subtle danger, more insidious, more devastating. He could hurt her.

She shivered again. What made her think like this?

“You’re up late,” he said evenly.

“I was working. Now I’m too excited to sleep.”

“Excited? Why?”

“I still can’t believe I’m really back here after all these years. In a way I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“To spoil my memories. I was afraid I would be disappointed.”

“And you’re not.”

“No, oh, no! Not in the least.”

A coughing sound came from somewhere in the darkness.

“Leopard,” said Rand, “down in the gorge.”

Leopard.

She hugged herself.

“Cold?” he inquired politely.

She shook her head. “No, just…I don’t know. Overwhelmed, I think. At home I’d hear cats meow or dogs bark. Now, here I am, listening to a leopard.”

They were silent for a while, standing there together listening to the mysterious darkness.

She glanced at his shadowed face. “Did you ever think of settling in the States or England when you were there?” she asked.

“No,” he said shortly. “This is my home. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”

She could well understand it. The place had a hypnotic atmosphere, a magnetic pull. “I imagine it’s too romantic a view, but it seems a wonderful kind of life here.”

He gave a short laugh that held no humor. “Romantic indeed. And naive. Not many people can take this kind of wonderful life for very long.” His voice held a note of disdain. “Most people need the excitement and stimulation of cities and people around them,” he said flatly. “You live in Boston, you must know.”

“Yes, but city life can get very stressful. I like to get away. I often do. I enjoy being with people, but I also like to be by myself.”

“Where do you go to be by yourself?”

“The beach, the woods, the park. I like to walk. It gives me a chance to hear myself think. I rather like my own company at times.”

There was a silence.

She glanced over at him. “Does that sound conceited? That’s not how I mean it.”

He raised his brows fractionally. “How do you mean it then?”

She frowned. “I think…” What she wanted to say was that she was comfortable with herself, with the person she was. She was not afraid of her own feelings or her own thoughts. She had no idea how she was going to say that without sounding over the top.

“You think what?” he urged.

She took a deep breath. Well, she had to finish what she had started. “I’m comfortable with myself,” she said. “I’m not afraid of my own thoughts and feelings.” She didn’t care what he thought.

“And what does that mean?”

She searched for words. It was a strange conversation to be having with him. “I’m quite aware I’m a flawed human being, but I try to live…honestly, to be aware of other people’s feelings and needs, and not to be too judgmental.” That sounded pretty good, but she had to admit that not being judgmental wasn’t easy where it concerned Mr. Caldwell.

“Judgmental?”

“It’s easy to criticize other people, but you can’t tell what’s in someone’s heart, and you don’t always know the reality of someone else’s life.”

“How very noble,” he said, and his voice was coldly mocking. “Is this little speech for my benefit? A less-than-subtle hint perchance?”

His voice chilled her to the bone. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t play the innocent, will you?” He turned and strode back into the house.

Her astonishment overwhelmed even her anger. She had no idea what he had been hinting at. She stood motionless at the veranda railing, staring out into the darkness. Then anger took the upper hand. This was outrageous! This was going too far!

She stormed in after him. “Rand!” she called, and he stopped and turned, hands on his hips. Brows arched sardonically.

“Yes?”