Читать книгу Baby By The Book - Kara Lennox, Kara Lennox - Страница 10

“I just need to get my stepladder off the truck so I can finish the measurements,” Susan said.

Rand felt like he’d just been through a tornado. Had he really agreed to let a pregnant woman build his bookcases? But she was damn persuasive. He could see now why Clark had caved in to her—and why he’d acted so guilty and made such a quick escape.

“I’ll carry the ladder,” he said firmly. “Then I’ll climb it for you.”

“That’s not really necessary,” she said with equal firmness. “The ladder isn’t heavy, and I’ve been climbing it since before I could walk.”

“But your equilibrium has changed.”

“I’ve adjusted.”

Rand didn’t argue. He’d learned over the years that arguing with a woman was fruitless. He simply walked outside with her and grabbed the ladder.

“I can get that,” she insisted, standing with her arms folded stubbornly. She stood right in his way, so that he couldn’t slide the ladder out of its rack without physically picking her up and moving her. With a shrug he stepped back and let her slide the ladder off the truck. She didn’t seem to be straining, so he let her carry it, though he was bewildered by her behavior.

His mother had been single through most of his childhood—her second husband hadn’t stuck around much longer than Rand’s own father. So Rand had helped raise his three half sisters and spent most of his formative years as the only male in the family.

But females were still an alien species to him. He’d tried to understand them, really he had. But usually when he engaged them in conversation, they either stared blankly at him or talked a mile a minute about something that made no sense to him.

Even his sisters fell into that category. There just didn’t seem to be a connection between the functioning of the female brain and his own.

He hovered as Susan set up the ladder. “You’re sure you don’t want me to—”

“I can do it,” she said with a confident smile. “I’m only going up two steps. It’s not like I’m scaling the Sears Tower.” And for no good reason, she smiled. That smile totally blew him away. It lit up her whole face, making him wonder what her hair would look like down, free from the no-nonsense ponytail.

Whoa. Rand put the skids on that line of thought. Susan Kilgore was attractive—he’d have to be dead not to notice. But she obviously belonged to another man, so there was no chance of any chemistry between them. Not that he’d want that. He had a book to write, and he wanted no distractions.

Those eyes could distract the Devil himself….

“I’m nearby if you need anything.” He moved closer to his desk, but his work held no interest when another, more alluring view tempted him.

She climbed the ladder sideways so her full stomach didn’t get in the way, and she seemed completely comfortable—no wobbling.

He wished she’d let him help. The idea of building something with this woman, working side by side with her, was oddly appealing.

That was bizarre, he thought as he flipped through a stack of Web pages he’d printed out and stacked them by subject matter. He’d spent a great deal of time with females and had certainly done his share of dating. He appreciated the female form—in all its variations, apparently, given his physical reaction to Susan. But he was always happiest if he could take a woman to a movie or concert where they didn’t have to talk. Even better if they could just cut to the chase and go to bed. Lately he hadn’t even bothered. His liaisons never lasted, and the awkward gropings in the dark that had once satisfied his libido now left him unfulfilled.

He realized he was a dinosaur. Men these days talked to their women. They engaged in deep, meaningful conversations about their relationship, and if they couldn’t, they went to therapy. Even Clark, who’d been the most macho member of the Georgia Tech football team a few years back, often spent hours at a time talking with Deirdre, his girlfriend. When Rand asked Clark what they talked about, Clark just shrugged and said, “Everything under the sun.” And he got a stupid smile on his face.

“Rand?”

He was at her side in an instant. “Is something wrong?”

“I just thought, since you want to help, you could hold the tape measure for me.”

“Oh. Sure.” Their fingers brushed as she handed him her industrial-sized metal tape measure. He kept a wary eye on her while she stretched the tape this way and that and recorded the measurements on a pocket computer.

What was that scent she wore? Vanilla? Peaches? He’d never been very good at telling one girly smell apart from another.

She moved with incredible grace for a pregnant woman. The fact that she was moving at all amazed him. When his sisters had been in their last trimester, they’d hardly been able to make it from the couch to the kitchen.

“I’m not keeping you from something, am I?” Susan asked. “Clark said you were working on some important medical textbook.”

He didn’t really want to talk about his work. The minute he mentioned to a woman what he really did for a living, her eyes glazed over.

“What kind of doctor are you, anyway?” she continued, oblivious to his reticence.

“I’m a dermatologist,” he admitted. Dermatology had to be one of the least glamorous medical disciplines, right up there with urology.

“But I don’t see patients anymore,” he said. “I work strictly in the lab doing research.”

“On what?” she wanted to know.

“Not a cure for cancer or anything so glamorous. I’m studying allergic skin rashes.” Which was where most people’s curiosity came to an abrupt halt—unless they happened to be the victim of a troublesome rash, in which case he got more details about it than he ever cared to know.

Susan didn’t vary from the norm. “Someone’s got to study rashes, I suppose.” She returned her attention to her work.

Another scintillating conversation. Why did he have such a hard time with this? Not that it really mattered. He might be attracted to Susan—and let’s face it, he was, regardless of her state of pregnancy—but she was completely out of reach.

SUSAN ARRIVED AT Rand’s house early the next morning, eager to get to work. As she climbed out of her truck, her stomach seemed suddenly huge to her, straining against her striped overalls. Had she grown overnight? She found herself wishing she could wear one of those cute little Empire-waist maternity dresses she’d seen in the window at a shop downtown. Wearing those breezy floral fabrics, lined with delicate lace, even a woman the size of a small hippopotamus could feel feminine.

In her overalls, Susan just felt fat and ungainly. It hadn’t really bothered her before now.

Rand opened the front door before she could even knock. He wore a pristine white lab coat, open at the front to reveal a blue shirt and silk tie, making Susan more positive than ever that scientists weren’t as nerdy as their stereotypes suggested. And he carried a fragrant cup of coffee, making her despise him.

She wanted coffee, damn it.

“Good morning,” she said. “Is Clark around?”

“Why do you need him?” Rand asked bluntly.

“He promised to help me carry in this lumber and my tools.” She hated having to ask.

“I’ll do it.”

“But you’ll get your nice white coat all dirty.”

“I wear the nice white coat so I don’t get my clothes dirty. That’s what lab coats are for.” He sat his coffee down on the porch railing and flexed his arms above his head.

Holy cow, did he have any idea what he was doing to her already messed-up hormones? The soft blue button-down shirt he wore stretched and strained against his chest, and he seemed oblivious to the stiff northern breeze that blew today, bringing a touch of winter to the Carolinas.

His attitude was hardly cheerful, but Susan wasn’t going to complain. He hadn’t fired her yet.

Rand wouldn’t hear of her carrying anything, even the smaller pieces of wood. Since he was writing the checks, she let him have the last word, but she wasn’t happy about it. She’d promised herself she would never, ever lean on a man again.

Phrases from Gary’s “Dear Jane” letter drifted into her consciousness: clinging vine…dependent…draining all my energy…parasite.

She would be the first to admit she’d been a little crazy when she’d lived with Gary. He’d met her at the hospital just minutes after she’d witnessed her father’s life slip away. She’d been distraught, unsure what to do next, and he’d simply taken her under his wing and made all her decisions for her.

What a relief it had been, after her father’s long illness and the money problems and business problems, to simply let go. Gary had wanted her to depend on him. Falling in love with him had been effortless—how could she not fall in love with a handsome white knight who was right there all the time to slay even her smallest dragons?

Unfortunately, she’d continued to lean on him long after the trauma of losing her father. He’d just made it so damn easy—he’d encouraged it. She thought that was what he wanted, and she wanted more than anything to make him happy after all he’d done for her.

Her devotion had backfired in a big way. She’d had no idea she was driving him crazy. Her first clue was when she’d come home from her doctor’s appointment and found the note.

She’d not seen him again. He’d disappeared like a soap bubble in the wind, completely ignorant of the fact that he would shortly be a father.

“I don’t want to make you late for work,” Susan said to Rand as she trotted after him on his third trip from the truck to the house. “I can take it from here.”

“I think I’ll stay home today. Now might be a good time to get some writing done.”

“While I’m working? I’ll be kicking up sawdust and making a lot of awful noise.”

“I’ve got to at least get the books out of your way so you have enough room to work,” Rand persisted.

Since this was true, she almost let it slide. Then something occurred to her. “You don’t trust me.”

“Of course I trust you,” he said easily as he reclaimed his coffee cup on their final trip.

“You don’t. You’re going to keep an eye on me and make sure I don’t mess up.”

“Not true. I need a day off.”

“Then take the day off! Go to the zoo or something.”

He didn’t go away. He lurked, he hovered, he tried to help her lift pieces of wood that a butterfly could have carried off.

“Did it ever occur to you,” she asked, “that I might enjoy the feeling of accomplishment I get from doing a job on my own?”

“You won’t like the feeling of a strained back,” he said. “You pull something out of whack now, you might not be able to pick up your own baby.”

All right, so he had a point. Though she was always careful—her father had suffered with numerous back problems and she didn’t want to end up like that—she should be taking extra precautions at this time. She let him pick up the blasted board and hold it in place.

After a while, it became easier to just let him do what he wanted. She would never get this job done if she argued with him every step of the way.

Besides, she sort of liked looking at him, especially later in the day when his sleeves were rolled up and his hair mussed, and she could detect the slight odor of hard work on a clean man.

RAND SPENT THE ENTIRE morning trying to find an excuse to fire Susan. He watched her every move, searching for some sign of incompetence—a corner that didn’t meet cleanly, a board that had been mismeasured, or holes that weren’t drilled in the exact right places. But he could find no fault in the woman’s work. She knew what she was doing.

He also looked for signs that this work was too hard for a pregnant woman. But Susan had endless stamina and energy to spare—and she seemed to enjoy her work. She often smiled while she worked, or whistled, or hummed. He liked that she didn’t fill the silence between them with useless prattle.

She didn’t talk endlessly about her pregnancy the way his sisters had. She didn’t probe into his personal life, but she did show an interest in his work.

Whether her fascination was genuine or merely polite, it flattered him. Most people groaned and changed the subject.

By the second day, Rand decided to ask a personal question of his own. She’d been evasive when he’d brought up the subject before, and he hadn’t pressed for more information. Now was a better time.

“What does your husband do?”

Susan nearly dropped her screwdriver. He’d evidently startled her. “He’s an engineer,” she answered, recovering her poise quickly, “but he left his job recently…” She shrugged, then returned her attention to the drawer she was building.

An engineer. Didn’t they make buckets of money? It sounded like maybe he’d been laid off and was unemployed. Surely he hadn’t voluntarily left a decent job when his wife was expecting a baby.

Clearly Susan didn’t want to talk about her husband, so Rand let it be. He hoped that, whatever her domestic problems were, they weren’t too serious. A new baby brought a lot of stress into a home even under the best conditions—and didn’t he know it. Still, it sounded as if Susan was underappreciated at home, at the very least. Hell, if she was his wife…

What a completely weird thought. If Susan’s husband had any idea Rand found her so alluring, he’d come over here and flatten Rand.

That night after she left, the house was incredibly quiet. No crying babies, no feminine chatter, no power tools, not even anyone puttering in the kitchen. Clark had just left for an early date with Dierdre.

A perfect time to start organizing those books, Rand thought. He and Susan had merely moved stacks from one side of the room to the other, then covered them with plastic.

Rand returned to the office and peeled back the plastic. He would put the medical texts in one area, organized by subject. Then the journals. He ought to get a file box for those untidy clippings and photocopies. And all those computer printouts—he ought to get a special box for those, too. Then there were the photographs…

He’d better make a trip to the office supply store. No time like the present. And Clark thought he procrastinated. Hah!

WHEN SUSAN ARRIVED the next morning, she was surprised to find a host of different colored file boxes, accordion files, folders, dividers. Rand sat at his roll-top desk, unwrapping packages of colored pens, self-sticking notepads of various sizes, reams of computer paper.

“Looks like you wiped out the office supply store.”

He looked up. “Oh, hi. I just thought the organizing would go better if I had the proper tools.”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure you’re right.”

“Now don’t you start on me. Clark says I’m procrastinating again. I tried to explain to him that it was the same thing as trying to cook a gourmet dinner for twelve without all the ingredients and the right cookware. Or like you building a bookshelf without the right woods and tools. You can’t just jump into these things half-cocked.”

Susan picked up a small piece of wood and started hand sanding a sharp corner. “Of course not,” she said soothingly. “Out of curiosity, how long have you been researching?”

“Oh, I don’t know. A couple of years.”

“So, how does that work? Does someone pay you to do the research?”

“I have a grant from the National Institutes of Health and Harvard Medical School.”

“Do you have a deadline or something?”

“Actually, I was supposed to have a draft to committee by the end of this month, but I’ve gotten a deadline extension.” He flipped on his computer. “I wonder if I need a new word processing program.”

What he needed, Susan thought, was a kick in the butt to make him start working. But it was none of her business. “I’m getting ready to make sawdust. You probably want to turn off the computer and cover it.”

“Oh, right. I was going to start working on my introduction, but I guess that can wait.”

“You could take one of those new legal pads and sit outside to write,” she suggested.

“Good idea.” Rand puttered around his desk, selecting a pad and the right pen. But somehow he never got out of the office. He kept finding little things to do, small ways to help Susan. Before she knew it, Clark was calling them to lunch.

Susan felt ridiculous, sitting in the formal dining room in her dusty overalls, eating with real china and silver. But she couldn’t argue with the food. Clark managed to make a simple chicken salad into a work of gastronomic art. Even the pile of potato chips on her plate were an exotic, multicolored affair. Left to her own devices, she probably would have made do with a cheese sandwich.

“Do you eat like this every day?” she couldn’t help asking Rand. “If Clark was cooking for me, I’d be big as a—never mind.”

Her face heated, especially when she noticed Rand looking determinedly down at his plate, fighting a smile.

“Oh, go ahead and say what you’re thinking,” she groused. “I’m already as big as a house.”

“Just a small house,” Rand said.

Clark, who was just sitting down to join them, stared at Rand. “Did you just make a joke?” Then he looked at Susan. “I think he made a joke, don’t you? Let’s see, the last time that happened was nineteen—”

“Oh, knock it off,” Rand said. “Susan’s going to think I’m an ogre.”

“He’s not an ogre,” Clark hastened to say. “He’s just been acting like one ever since Alicia and Dougy moved out.”

Susan’s ears pricked up. She had gathered Rand wasn’t married. Had his marriage recently broken up?

“My sister and her son,” Rand clarified. “Don’t listen to Clark. I’ve been all sweetness and light. After eight years, all of my sisters are financially independent of me and I finally have the place to myself. Alicia just moved in with her fiancé, and I couldn’t be happier.”

Personally, Susan thought living in a house this size all by yourself, or even with Clark, would be a waste. This was a house meant for families. She wondered why Rand had chosen to be alone. He didn’t seem antisocial. Had he been badly hurt by a woman?

RAND WANTED TO WORK on his book, he really did. But he found it difficult to concentrate with Susan in the same room. He found himself staring at her, fascinated. Although at first he’d thought her hands unattractive, after he’d spent hours watching them gripping a power tool or running lightly over a piece of wood to check the smoothness of its grain, he completely changed his mind. He couldn’t recall ever being attracted to strength and manual dexterity in a woman, but he couldn’t deny he enjoyed those things about Susan Kilgore—in a very visceral way.

Of course, he would never let on that he was even mildly attracted to her. She obviously had no use for him.

The rest of the week passed without incident. Susan made steady progress on the bookshelves, and Rand started to feel almost comfortable around her. She didn’t demand from him the incomprehensible things other women wanted. He wasn’t required to show interest in subjects that bored him. She did not expect him to solve her problems. He didn’t have to spend money on her, other than what was contracted. She certainly had no designs on his body, thank God.

She was…nonthreatening. Food for his fantasies, and nothing more.

But the fantasies—those were wild. Sometimes he couldn’t help remembering her scent, or thinking about what her hair would feel like tickling his chest, or other, more earthy things. This wasn’t the sort of pointless activity he normally engaged in—especially regarding a woman who was claimed by another man in so obvious a way. But he seemed helpless to stop the alluring thoughts.

On Monday morning, however, she arrived at his house in an inexplicably hellacious mood. She cursed at the wood, at her tools, at herself for being clumsy. She ordered him out of the room twice, but he managed to wander back in.

He should have gone into the lab, since he was getting nothing accomplished at home. But he’d promised Alicia he would baby-sit Dougy this morning while she went on a job interview, and she was due to arrive any time.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked Susan mildly.

“Just stay out of my way.” Then she dropped her hammer and doubled over in pain.