Midnight Rhythms

“Oh, nothing. Just a general statement.” Her voice was breezy. She stood up again. “Let’s find your mother and see if she’ll invite me to dinner.”

He came to his feet as well and put an arm around her shoulders. “You’re invited, Tara.”

It was a pleasant evening. David enjoyed being with his parents, sitting at the familiar table, eating good food, and Tara, irrepressibly cheery, was always good company.

After dinner he excused himself for a few minutes to make a phone call. He dialed the number and a moment later Samantha picked up. She had no classes today, he knew, and she was home.

“Hi, it’s David,” he said.

A short silence. “Hi. Why are you calling?”

“To check up on you.”

“Check up on me?” Her tone of voice indicated she was not pleased with that news.

“To see if you’re home.” He grinned into the mouthpiece.

“Where else would I be?”

“By the side of the road, out of gas, or with a breakdown.”

“Very funny.”

“Not funny, because I’m all the way here and I couldn’t come and rescue you.”

“I don’t need any rescuing,” she said coolly.

“Good. I’m glad. Then I won’t keep you. Goodnight, Samantha.”

“Goodnight, David.”

He put the phone down. He didn’t like that old rattletrap of a car of hers, but she was home safe and sound. He went to the sitting room where the after-dinner coffee and liqueurs were served.

“How long will you be in the country this time?” his father wanted to know.

“For the rest of the summer.” He told them about a project in Mexico in the fall, and that he was building himself a cabin in the woods on a piece of property Susan and Andrew had sold him. It was clear this was news to them and the family grapevine had failed.

“You’re building a cabin?” Tara asked, wide-eyed.

“With my own bare hands,” he said with a grin.

Silence reigned. His mother stared at him. Tara stared at him. His father stared at him. “I thought you’d outgrown that by the time you turned twelve,” his father said finally.

David laughed. Building forts, tree houses and huts in the woods had been fun when he’d been a kid. It would be fun now, as an adult. It appealed to the pioneer in him.

“I think I’ll enjoy it. Using a hammer, saws, nails, elbow grease.” He picked up his coffee cup and smiled at the perplexed faces around the room.

His father gave a long-suffering sigh and closed his eyes briefly. “And I keep hoping you’ll turn out normal eventually.”

David laughed. “Give it up, Dad,” he said.

Sam was in the kitchen cleaning up spilled orange juice when David came home the next evening. She’d only just come home herself, had dropped her bag, kicked off her shoes, grabbed the juice from the fridge and promptly dropped the carton.

He came striding through the door, wearing a different suit, equally impressive. He radiated power and energy, looking as if he’d conquered the world, or at least a piece of it. And here she was, barefoot, clutching a mop like a true Cinderella. Late in the day as it was, he still looked dynamic and…well…gorgeous. So gorgeous, in fact, that her breath caught in her throat and her heart skipped a beat at seeing all this male splendor.

Then she saw his smile, and the familiar gleam in his brown eyes. “Don’t look so awestruck, Sam. It’s just a suit.”

Of course it wasn’t just the suit. Thousands of men could wear that suit and not look the way he did. The suit only accentuated what was already part of David—she just hadn’t seen it before, at least not displayed in this way. She gathered her composure and gave him a breezy smile.

“Well, you look quite impressive to a simple country girl like me.”

He waved his hand. “It’s just packaging. Underneath I’m just a simple construction worker.”

Oh, sure. She laughed. “That’s a relief.”

“Why are you mopping the floor at this hour of the day?” he asked.

“I spilled orange juice. The carton slipped right out of my hand.”

“Maybe you weren’t supposed to have orange juice. How about a brandy? Or a glass of wine? I’ll slip into something comfortable and you can tell me about your day.” He said this with a straight face, but his eyes were laughing.

“I’ve got to study.”

“It’s past ten.”

“I know it’s past ten,” she said irritably. “Believe me, I know.” Every part of her body knew, including her brain.

“All right,” he said calmly, “I’ll see you in the morning, then.” He picked up his overnight bag and briefcase and strode down the hall to his room.

He changed into shorts and T-shirt and ambled back to the kitchen, where he kept his own bottle of whiskey for convenience’s sake. The wet bar was elsewhere in the house, well-stocked.

He found Samantha sitting at the kitchen table, staring at a bowl of fruit.

“I thought you had to study.” Her book bag lay on the floor, untouched.

“I do. I just can’t make myself.”

She looked tired. “Go to bed, then.”

“I think maybe I’ll have that glass of wine you mentioned.”

He took the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc out of the fridge and poured her a glass, then had himself a whiskey. He sat down at the table with her.

“So, how was your day?” he asked.

She took a sip of the wine. “I don’t want to talk about it. Tell me about yours.”

“I had a good day, two good days. Visited with my parents, took care of a little business problem, and that’s about it.”