Rand's Redemption. Karen Van Der Zee

“So, why are you here, then?”

      “Business.”

      “Oh, I see. Is that why you look so grim? Business is not fun? You don’t enjoy your work?”

      There was a silence as he observed her with wintry eyes. “Not everything in life is fun. But if fun is what drives you, let me assure you that I have none to offer you.”

      Shanna had had little experience being treated with disdain. Hot indignation welled up inside her. The man was offensive, insufferable and infuriating. It was tempting to tell him so, but presenting him with her opinion of him would only give him satisfaction, she was sure. She managed, with admirable control, to keep her cool and not show him the anger heating her blood. Instead, she nodded solemnly at his statement.

      “I figured that one out all by myself,” she said calmly. “You’re no fun at all.” She sighed theatrically, she couldn’t help herself. “I’m afraid you’re a lost cause.”

      “Oh,” he said lazily, “perhaps it depends on whose cause. Not all men are fooled by beauty and charm.”

      His meaning was clear. She had beauty and charm, but he wasn’t fooled by her. The man was an ego maniac. Her stunned mind grasped wildly for an apt reply, failing miserably.

      Rand picked up his plate, offering her a contemptuous look. “Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

      He strode off, leaving her speechless and seething.

      CHAPTER TWO

      THREE days later, sitting on a rock in the bush, peering through her binoculars, Shanna was still seething.

      She’d been trying very hard not to think about Rand Caldwell. It was not easy. Fortunately, baboons proved a great distraction, infinitely more amusing than the hermit man with the cold eyes. She focused the binoculars on the cliffs in the near distance, zeroing in on a tiny baby baboon clinging to its mother’s back, holding on for dear life as she leaped around with the rest of the troop, foraging for food. They were yanking out grasses, digging up roots, peeling fruits. Shanna could not believe she was here, by the cliffs near Kanguli, watching the baboons, as if she had never left.

      She had found the village with its thatch-roofed mud huts, found the old house where she’d lived for four years, a dilapidated colonial settlers’ house abandoned by its English owners at Independence decades before. She’d seen a line of washing—jeans and T-shirts and brightly colored Jockey undershorts with some intriguing designs. A man lived in the house now, a male with a sense of humor, a Peace Corps or VSO volunteer probably, but no one had been at home yesterday, or today.

      And she’d found the baboons. She did not recognize any of the animals, but of course she would not. Too much time had passed. The old ones had died, young ones grown up and new ones born. Also, it might not be the same troop. She ached to come closer, but she knew well enough it was out of the question. They did not know her and it was dangerous.

      She was so entranced in watching the baboons’ activities, that the sound of a car engine startled her. A Land Rover came bumping over the uneven terrain toward the rocks where she was sitting. She trained the binoculars on the dirt-covered vehicle and saw Rand behind the steering wheel. Her heart turned over and she lowered the binoculars in her lap.

      Rand? What was he doing here?

      If fun is what drives you, may I assure you that I have none to offer you. His words flashed through her mind, the outrageous insinuation flooding her with new indignation. Her stomach clenched. Why was he here now, disturbing her peace? Sucking in a fortifying breath, she braced herself.

      The vehicle came to a stop and Rand leaped out. He wore khaki shorts, a shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a battered bush hat. He came toward her with a long-legged stride and as she watched him, her anger whooshed away and all she could do was sit there and look at him, feeling…

      She didn’t know what she was feeling.

      She couldn’t help but notice how much he seemed to fit in the rugged landscape—the strength of his body, his hard, powerful features and the sharp eyes that seemed to miss nothing. He was all male and the sense of it stirred the female inside her. There seemed to be nothing she could do about it. Her mouth went dry and she felt a sense of very elemental attraction, a primitive delight in the male beauty of the man coming toward her.

      She sat motionless as she watched him approach, aware of nothing but him and the racing of her heart, as if everything else between them had fallen away, had never happened.

      “What are you doing here?” she asked, and it came out in a whisper.

      “I was looking for you,” he said, his voice oddly low, as if it was hard to speak.

      I was looking for you.

      A simple sentence, yet it seemed imbued with meaning and it filled her head with light.

      Sudden wild screams blew in on the wind and the fragile spell shattered, bringing back reality with shocking sharpness. Dragging in air, Shanna whipped her head toward the cliffs and automatically brought the binoculars to her eyes. Her hands were trembling.

      One of the male baboons was romancing a female, who was not in the mood and shrieked at him. The male scampered off.

      “What was that?” Rand asked, peering into the distance.

      She lowered the binoculars and took in another fortifying breath. “A female chasing off a male.” The humor hit her as she heard herself say the words and she couldn’t help smiling.

      His expression gave nothing away. He looped his thumbs behind his belt. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice businesslike.

      It was as if those magical moments had never happened.

      Maybe they had not. Maybe the odd awareness, the strange sensation of recognition had only occurred in her imagination, like a dream. Like a fleeting reflection in crystalline water.

      She saw him watching her as she sat there in the grass behind the rocks, her shorts and T-shirt dusty and wrinkled. She’d been here for hours.

      “I’ve been watching the baboons,” she said.

      His brows shot up, his look incredulous. She could well imagine his surprise. The little scene he was witnessing did not fit the image he had of her—a femme fatale dressed in a sexy dress who used her beauty and charm to seduce men in wicked ways. Here she was sitting in the bush, wearing hiking boots, her hair a tangled mess, watching monkeys.

      She gave a half smile. “I like baboons. They’re very smart, very human in many ways.”

      He studied her for a moment, not commenting. “Nick told me you used to live here with your parents.”

      “Yes, I did. We moved here when I was eleven and we were here for four years. My mother was a teacher and she home-schooled me. I spent hours watching baboons.” She’d pretended to be a scientist, like her father, writing her observations in a notebook. Drawing pictures. When she’d learned to recognize the individual animals, distinguish one from the other, she’d give them names—Snoopy, Frisky, Dreamer.

      He looked meaningfully at her binoculars. “With the limited time you have at your disposal, I’d have expected you to be working on your writing, not watching baboons.”

      She felt her hackles rise at his insinuated criticism. She came to her feet, pulled her T-shirt straight and dusted off her shorts. “I spent all day yesterday talking to the women in the village,” she said levelly.

      They remembered her, of course, the girl with hair the color of maize, and it had been wonderful to see the recognition dawn in their dark eyes, see their smiles, hear their laughter. Suddenly she no longer was a stranger. So they’d sat and talked as they drank many glasses of hot, sweet chai—milky, sugary tea. They’d told her of deaths and weddings and births. The girls she had known as a child all had husbands, all had children. They’d wanted to know why she was not