Randall. Luckily North seemed willing to take him under his wing. Dave, who fancied himself as a wit, had taken a marked dislike to Randall, and had a stream of barbed remarks always at the ready.
Randall countered this by becoming more and more British. Nothing Dave said ever seemed to get under his skin. He would merely look at the hand from under languid eyelids, smile insufferably, and murmur, “I say, old bean-no really-”
It reduced North and Olly to fits, and it drove Dave wild.
Once Randall had casually mentioned that Gabe had taught him to use a rope. Dave had promptly challenged him to a contest and Randall had agreed before she could stop him.
“Dave’s the best for miles,” she told Randall urgently. “There’s no way you’re going to beat him.”
Randall had given her that strange look from under his eyelids and murmured, “There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”
At first she thought this was just bravado. Randall’s roping skills could hardly be described as skills at all. What had possessed him to put them on display?
Dave’s mouth was twisted into a mean little smile, and he gave his braying laugh. “Guess it ain’t like being in the Household Cavalry,” he said gleefully.
“I’ll just have to practice,” Randall said meekly. “Let’s try again.”
He whirled the loop high and wide and it floated down to settle perfectly over Dave’s shoulders, pinioning his upper arms.
“Hey!”
“I say, I’m most awfully sorry. I’ll have it off you in just a jiffy.” Randall tugged at the line, apparently overcome by confusion.
“You’re just pulling it tighter,” Dave bawled.
“Oh dear, yes I am-if you’ll only keep still-”
“Let me go, you idiot!”
There were more snickers, but this time at Dave’s expense. Olly chortled openly, North grinned and Claire made choking noises.
At last Dave was freed. He glared malevolently at Randall. “You did that on purpose,” he raged. “You made a fool outa me.”
“My dear fellow, I wouldn’t try to improve on nature.”
“You-”
“Cut it out, both of you,” Claire said, barely smothering her laughter. “Come in and have something to eat.”
Luckily, Frank arrived just then, back from an errand in town, and in the introductions the moment passed.
But it wasn’t forgotten. Randall guessed that Dave could be a bad enemy, and he would have to watch his back.
Claire was beginning to realize that there was more than one type of man. There was the kind she’d always known out here, brash, up-front, rawly macho. And there was the kind who deflected an enemy with cool irony, endured quietly, but never yielded an inch, the kind whose apparent mildness covered steel. Randall’s kind.
He was a gentleman. Before this she’d never defined the word for herself, but the night he’d seen her half-naked might never have been for all the use he made of it. There were no sly hints, no attempts to make her uncomfortable with the memory. It was a delicacy of feeling that would have made the others hoot with derision, had they known.
But they didn’t know, and must never know. It would remain their secret, hers and Randall’s.
The discovery that they shared a secret alarmed her. It was a step toward an intimacy she didn’t want. She was very firm in her own mind about that.
But then, being human and contrary, she began to wonder if Randall’s gentlemanly restraint actually covered indifference. From there it was a short step to feeling offended. How dare he act as though it hadn’t happened!
She caught herself watching him. She tried not to, but her eyes refused to be controlled. They persisted in drifting toward him when they should have been elsewhere. They noted every inch of his big, graceful body, the outline of his thigh muscles against his jeans, the thickness of his neck and heavy shoulder muscles, the suggestion of power in his most careless movement.
That evening she came into the kitchen and found Randall helping Susan with the washing up she understood something else about him. He didn’t need to trumpet his masculinity because everything about him was so unmistakably male that his confidence came from deep within. The others could laugh if they liked. He would merely shrug.
“Go to bed, you must be tired,” she told Susan, gently edging her away from the sink and taking her place.
And Susan went like a lamb, concealing her smile. She knew what was what without needing it spelled out.
There were still plenty of dishes to wash, and in handing them to Randall to be dried Claire found their fingers touching more often than not. She could have simply placed the plates in the rack, but this didn’t seem to occur to her.
“You must be tired too,” Randall said gently. “You run this place, do a share of the housework and still come out working with us every day.”
“Trying to get me to stay at home?” she asked at once.
“Hey, don’t be so prickly. How about changing the routine and showing me some of the district?”
She concentrated on the sink. “North can show you. I’ll give him the day off.”
“I rather think Gabe would expect you to do the honors.”
Trapped, she thought dizzily. Forced to spend a day alone with him. She bent over the sink lest her happiness show in her face.
Next day they set out in the truck, headed for the little town of Marmot where Claire needed to pick up some supplies.
Marmot consisted of Main Street and little else. There was a drug store, a post office, a grocery, a meat locker, a hardware store and welding shop, an implement dealer, a few bars, a cafe, and a place that sold one of everything because that was all there was room for. Randall, accustomed to tiny English villages, was instantly at home.
The weather had improved. Snow still lay on the ground, but the sun was out and everywhere had a bright and cheerful appearance.
They went from store to store, collecting goods and introducing Randall. Everywhere there was the little start of amazement as people saw his face. When everything was loaded onto the truck Randall said casually, “I think I’ll let you treat me to a coffee.”
They found a little place, and she bought them both coffee and pie. When they were seated he realized how little he’d seen of her. This was the first time they’d been alone since the night he tended her, and he wondered if she was avoiding him.
How much did she remember from that night, and how did she remember it? In his fever of longing had he done something unforgivable?
She looked up quickly, met his eye and looked away. A soft, pink blush glowed in her cheeks, and the conviction grew on Randall that whatever he’d done it hadn’t been unforgivable.
A middle-aged man, called Joe, hovered, wanting to know if everything was okay. It was the third time he’d done this, so Randall lifted his head to give the man a good view of his face.
