Midnight Rhythms. Karen Van Der Zee
fine, Mother, don’t worry about a thing.”
He found his father in his study, a cigar in one hand and a whiskey in the other, both strictly against doctor’s orders. He was a handsome man with compelling dark eyes and a commanding presence.
“So tell me about your meeting with Sanchez,” his father said after David had poured himself a drink.
“Nothing but a misunderstanding blown out of all proportions. It’s all straightened out and he’ll drop the suit. We’ll need to accommodate him on a few points, but I don’t think it presents a problem.”
His father was pleased with the news, asked for further details and commended David on the way he had handled the affair. “You’re sure you don’t want to join us now that you’re back in the country?” he asked. It was almost a rhetorical question by now, posed whenever the occasion presented itself. The answer had always been no, as it was again today.
The intercom buzzed. “David, Tara is here to see you,” his mother’s voice announced. “She’s in the sitting room.”
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
Having finished his business with his father, David went in search of Tara.
She was sitting in a chair and leaped to her feet when he entered the room, her glossy black hair swinging loose around her shoulders. He had not seen her for a long time, but she was as gorgeous as ever.
He smiled at her. “Hello, Tara.”
“David!” She hugged him. “How’s my favorite cousin?”
He grinned at her. “I’m fine. How about you?”
“Oh, I’m all right.” She stepped back from him and looked him over. “Wow, a suit. You don’t look like you’ve just come out of the jungle.”
“It’s been a few days.”
She sat back down in her chair, crossing her long legs. “Did you manage to get that humongous bridge built?”
He sat down. “Yes, I did.” Against all odds. Every possible complication had presented itself. Still, in the end he’d left the country with the job completed.
“Of course you did.” Tara laughed. “Why did I even ask the question? What David McMillan starts, David McMillan finishes.”
“You make it sound like a character flaw,” he said dryly.
“No, I’m just jealous. You’re so disgustingly competent. I always screw everything up.”
An odd tone of voice, setting off a ripple of alarm in him. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing. Just a general statement.” Her voice was breezy. She stood up again. “Let’s find your mother and see if she’ll invite me to dinner.”
He came to his feet as well and put an arm around her shoulders. “You’re invited, Tara.”
It was a pleasant evening. David enjoyed being with his parents, sitting at the familiar table, eating good food, and Tara, irrepressibly cheery, was always good company.
After dinner he excused himself for a few minutes to make a phone call. He dialed the number and a moment later Samantha picked up. She had no classes today, he knew, and she was home.
“Hi, it’s David,” he said.
A short silence. “Hi. Why are you calling?”
“To check up on you.”
“Check up on me?” Her tone of voice indicated she was not pleased with that news.
“To see if you’re home.” He grinned into the mouthpiece.
“Where else would I be?”
“By the side of the road, out of gas, or with a breakdown.”
“Very funny.”
“Not funny, because I’m all the way here and I couldn’t come and rescue you.”
“I don’t need any rescuing,” she said coolly.
“Good. I’m glad. Then I won’t keep you. Goodnight, Samantha.”
“Goodnight, David.”
He put the phone down. He didn’t like that old rattletrap of a car of hers, but she was home safe and sound. He went to the sitting room where the after-dinner coffee and liqueurs were served.
“How long will you be in the country this time?” his father wanted to know.
“For the rest of the summer.” He told them about a project in Mexico in the fall, and that he was building himself a cabin in the woods on a piece of property Susan and Andrew had sold him. It was clear this was news to them and the family grapevine had failed.
“You’re building a cabin?” Tara asked, wide-eyed.
“With my own bare hands,” he said with a grin.
Silence reigned. His mother stared at him. Tara stared at him. His father stared at him. “I thought you’d outgrown that by the time you turned twelve,” his father said finally.
David laughed. Building forts, tree houses and huts in the woods had been fun when he’d been a kid. It would be fun now, as an adult. It appealed to the pioneer in him.
“I think I’ll enjoy it. Using a hammer, saws, nails, elbow grease.” He picked up his coffee cup and smiled at the perplexed faces around the room.
His father gave a long-suffering sigh and closed his eyes briefly. “And I keep hoping you’ll turn out normal eventually.”
David laughed. “Give it up, Dad,” he said.
Sam was in the kitchen cleaning up spilled orange juice when David came home the next evening. She’d only just come home herself, had dropped her bag, kicked off her shoes, grabbed the juice from the fridge and promptly dropped the carton.
He came striding through the door, wearing a different suit, equally impressive. He radiated power and energy, looking as if he’d conquered the world, or at least a piece of it. And here she was, barefoot, clutching a mop like a true Cinderella. Late in the day as it was, he still looked dynamic and…well…gorgeous. So gorgeous, in fact, that her breath caught in her throat and her heart skipped a beat at seeing all this male splendor.
Then she saw his smile, and the familiar gleam in his brown eyes. “Don’t look so awestruck, Sam. It’s just a suit.”
Of course it wasn’t just the suit. Thousands of men could wear that suit and not look the way he did. The suit only accentuated what was already part of David—she just hadn’t seen it before, at least not displayed in this way. She gathered her composure and gave him a breezy smile.
“Well, you look quite impressive to a simple country girl like me.”
He waved his hand. “It’s just packaging. Underneath I’m just a simple construction worker.”
Oh, sure. She laughed. “That’s a relief.”
“Why are you mopping the floor at this hour of the day?” he asked.
“I spilled orange juice. The carton slipped right out of my hand.”
“Maybe you weren’t supposed to have orange juice. How about a brandy? Or a glass of wine? I’ll slip into something comfortable and you can tell me about your day.” He said this with a straight face, but his eyes were laughing.
“I’ve got to study.”
“It’s past ten.”
“I know it’s past ten,” she said irritably. “Believe me, I know.” Every part of her body knew, including her brain.
“All right,” he said calmly, “I’ll see you in the morning, then.” He picked