Karen Van Der Zee - Midnight Rhythms

“Not necessarily, no,” he said dryly.

He opened the door for her, like a true gentleman, and she disposed of her book bag on the back seat and slid into the passenger seat. She took a big bite from the toast. The cheese was melting and it tasted delicious. Sharp cheddar, she noted. She liked strong flavors—and apparently he did, too, because he must have bought the cheese.

“Why the book bag?” he asked as he sat down, pushed the remote control to open the garage doors and started the engine. “If I may ask.”

With her mouth full of food, it took a moment before she could answer. “I’m going to night school. I don’t have time to come home after work, so I bring my stuff.”

He eased the car out of the garage and down the drive, the door closing behind them automatically. “What are you studying?”

“Business administration.”

He nodded. “Very practical, very marketable,” he commented, his voice level.

She didn’t know why his comment put her on the defensive. He was echoing her own opinion, so why did she feel this way? What was wrong with being practical? With learning skills that were marketable?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Not that it was where she’d dreamed of being, long ago, when she was younger and freer. She’d wanted to be a kindergarten teacher, always. Instead she’d ended up in her grandfather’s furniture business.

Because of Jason.

No, because she’d allowed herself to be manipulated by Jason. A treacherous mixture of anger and regret sneaked up on her. She pushed the feeling aside impatiently and took another bite of the sandwich. It was nice of David to have made her this. Last night he had fed her, too. You do have a bit of a hungry look about you, he’d said. Well, next to his huge frame she didn’t amount to much, and it might be getting less. Her skirts had been a bit loose lately.

She had finished eating by the time they passed by her car, sitting forlornly by the road. It was a ghastly shade of green and was hard to miss. She’d bought it second-hand some years ago and in spite of its lurid color it had done her excellent service, for which she thanked the gods.

“That your car?” he inquired, as if there were much doubt. It was the only unattended vehicle they had passed.

She nodded.

“Interesting color,” he stated.

She gave him a suspicious look and caught the glint of amusement in his eyes. “All I care about is that it’s reliable and doesn’t break down on me every other week.”

“Very practical, aren’t you?”

“Something wrong with that?” she asked with a touch of hauteur, feeling the little defensive devil stirring in her again. She tried not to give it space.

“Certainly not.” He looked straight ahead at the road. “Where’s the gas station?”

“Take a right at the next intersection, then three miles down.”

She couldn’t help looking at his hands as they handled the steering wheel with competence. No rings. He was in his mid-thirties, she guessed, and she wondered if he was married, or had been married, and if he had kids, and why he was staying at the McMillans’ house. Didn’t he have a place to call home? The thoughts came automatically, and she was annoyed with herself for giving them room. She didn’t care about the answers. She didn’t even care why he was staying at the house, only that he was staying there. Because she didn’t want him there. It was disturbing her peace and reeked of trouble.

She had no time for trouble.

She had no time for anything except studying and passing her tests.

“So, what did you do overseas?” she asked, for something to say. Actually, if she were honest, she was a tiny bit curious about it.

“Built a bridge.” He was a civil engineer, he told her, working mostly on foreign contracts, building roads and dams and bridges. He’d just returned from Bolivia, where he’d worked on a construction project building a bridge across one of the tributaries of the Amazon. Before that he’d been to places she wasn’t sure she could find on a map.

It was easy to see him in some exotic, tropical place, bare-chested, with a hard hat on his head, directing a crew of construction workers.

They’d arrived at the gas station and David leaped out of the car before she’d even opened her door.

“I’ll take care of this,” he said, and strode away before she could object. She sat back and shrugged. Okay, let him, she thought. She watched him come out of door with a container, watched him fill it from one of the pumps, having first slid a credit card through the payment machine.

“How much was it?” she asked when he got back in the car.

He waved his hand. “Forget it.”

“No,” she said tightly. “I will not.”

He flashed her a probing look and fished the receipt from the breast pocket of his T-shirt. “Here you go.”

She glanced at it, got the money from her purse and handed it to him. “Thank you for helping me out.”

“You’re welcome,” he said soberly.

There was something about him that was beginning to annoy her. She had this suspicious feeling that he was laughing at her, that for some reason he found her amusing.

Back at her ugly green car, he emptied the container of gas into her tank. She thanked him again for his help, and with a sigh of relief she took off down the road, alone again, oh, bliss, and not even late.

Now, if only he didn’t steal Susan’s car and the contents of the house…

David watched her drive off. He couldn’t remember when he’d last seen a woman looking that tired and vulnerable and so in need of a warm hug. He grinned. Well, he’d given her one, even if it had unintentionally turned out to be more than a hug of the brotherly variety. The instant physical reaction he had experienced at the feel of her body in his arms had surprised even him. He wasn’t exactly eighteen anymore.

She had gorgeous big, expressive eyes and a wonderful mass of naturally curly chestnut hair that tempted touching and stroking. She stirred up his protective instincts, but clearly that wasn’t all.

He sat in the car without moving for a while, surprised by his feelings. Good feelings, healthy feelings. Feelings he hadn’t felt for a long time, and a deep longing suddenly filled his heart.

Then fear rushed in.

He rubbed his face as if to clear his mind and turned the key in the ignition. The engine purred into life. He drove back to the house and went to work, writing an article on managing engineering projects in developing countries, where time was a stretchable commodity, skilled labor was difficult to find and cultural differences imposed unexpected problems. Working for three years in the jungle without losing your mind was no small feat, and he certainly had learned a lot—about himself as well as the job.

Come to think of it, he was tired, too.

Mostly, though, he was tired of being alone.

When Sam arrived home that night after class, she was afraid to look in the direction of the pool in case she saw David in all his unclad glory standing in the moonlight.

She looked anyway; she just couldn’t help herself.

Nothing. Nobody. She let out a sigh, struggled out of the car with her book bag and purse and trekked to the back door and into the house.

Music greeted her, rippling and dancing joyfully through the air. Wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, David sat at the dining room table pounding away at a laptop with impressive speed. The table was strewn with papers and blueprints. His concentration was so intensive it took him a full minute before he noticed her. He grinned at her as his focus cleared.

“Ah, you’ve returned from the world of commerce and academia. How are you?”

“Exhausted.”

He leaped to his feet with an explosion of energy that took her off guard. “How about a swim?” he asked. “And a glass of wine to wind down?”