She glanced down at his hands holding his beer glass. They were big and brown and strong. Capable, competent hands. It would be interesting to see him in action on the ranch.
He looked at her suddenly, as if he realized that she’d been studying him. For a moment their eyes locked. The cool disdain in his face was unsettling. Why was he looking at her like that?
She heard Nick talking about her, telling Rand that she was writing an article for a university publication.
“And you’re here to do research?” Rand asked politely.
“Yes,” she said. This was partially the truth, if not the whole truth.
“And you happened to come out at the same time as Nick?” he asked levelly.
She nodded. “My schedule was flexible, so I made it fit his.”
“And what are you going to write about?” His tone indicated he couldn’t care less.
“I’m doing a piece on Kenyan women, how their lives have changed in the last generation, their position in the family, the society and the workforce.”
One dark brow cocked. “Really?” His voice was heavy with sarcasm.
She groaned inwardly, knowing full well what he was thinking. He thought she was here for two weeks. The idea of writing a well-researched article of that nature in two weeks, being fresh in a foreign country, was laughable.
Only, she wasn’t a stranger to the country, and she wasn’t staying for two weeks—not if her plans worked out, and she was determined that they should. However, she could not set Mr. Rand Caldwell straight because Nick didn’t know about her intentions yet. She didn’t want to worry him.
Rand was looking at her, narrow-eyed, contemplating no doubt if she were merely acting like a fool, or, in actual fact, was one.
Nick patted her hand and drew his tall body out of the chair. “I need to make a phone call. Can I trust you two alone for a few minutes?”
Shanna rolled her eyes at him and he grinned.
Left alone with Rand, Shanna was well aware of a certain disconcerting electricity in the air between them. For a reason she couldn’t begin to understand, this man did not like her. Perhaps it was best to simply ignore the vibes he was sending out and pretend she had no idea. Well, she didn’t. At least not why he seemed to be so chilly toward her.
“I understand there is a lot of wild game on your property,” she said, “and you’re very involved in conservation.”
He took a swallow of beer. “Yes.” His voice was curt and impatient.
“I saw the article they did on your work at the ranch last year,” she went on. “Why did you decide to allow your place to be used for research?”
“Because I think it is important,” he said, as if he were talking to a dim-witted child. She let it pass, trying to remember what else had been in the article. It had mentioned the house which was built on the edge of a wild and rocky gorge. Magnificent views, dramatic scenery, the report had said, and the photos had been dramatic indeed. She’d love to see the place.
She took a drink from her juice and a thought occurred to her. It was rather a brave thought, she had to admit, but why not take a risk? She had nothing to lose.
“You have a big place,” she stated. “Do you have women employees, farm workers?”
“Yes.” He reached for his glass.
“I wonder if I could visit some time and talk to the women. If it wouldn’t be an inconvenience, of course.”
“I doubt it will be helpful,” he said with barely restrained condescension.
“I think it might be.” She produced a smile. “And of course, if you know other women who would be willing to talk to me, I would appreciate your help.”
His eyes narrowed slightly and he was silent for a moment. She had confused him with her appeal. He was emitting hostile vibrations and he had expected to receive the same in return. Instead, she was appealing to his gentleman instincts and asking for help.
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes probing hers. “I’ll let you know.” His tone of voice indicated that she might as well forget the whole idea.
She smiled. She was determined to stay civil and keep her dignity. “Thank you. It’s important I talk to as many different kinds of women as possible to get a balanced impression.”
“And you think you can accomplish that in two weeks?”
She shrugged. “I’ve done extensive research.”
“I see,” he said in a tone that indicated he doubted it very much.
She pretended not to notice his animosity. The best defense was no defense at all.
They sat in silence, and she watched the people around her.
“Nick told me you were born in Kenya, that you grew up here,” she said after a while, making another effort at civilized conversation, “and that the ranch has been in your family since your grandfather came to Kenya from England in the early twenties.”
His mouth tightened. “Yes.”
She leaned forward in her chair. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to…pry. I’m just trying to make conversation.” She smiled again, but it was taking quite an effort.
“Naturally.” He radiated cold dislike.
It was amazing. What was the matter with this man? She hadn’t asked anything that wasn’t printed in the article. She leaned back in her chair and decided to get away from the personal.
“It’s wonderful to be here. I’m looking forward to the party tonight, meeting people.”
She was quite comfortable with her own company, but now and again she enjoyed parties and other get-togethers where she had the opportunity to meet interesting people, learn new things.
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.