The Swinging R Ranch. Debbi Rawlins
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Lydia laughed. She had a very pretty laugh, Scott noted absently. She didn’t use it often enough.
“I think it’s all this Valentine’s Day foolishness,” she murmured, glancing expressively around the restaurant at all the hearts-lace-and-cupids decorations. “I’m hoping Larissa will ease up when this sappy, greeting-card event is behind us.”
Struck by the comment, he agreed. “That’s probably what’s making Heather so determined right now. Everywhere you look, all you see is hearts and flowers and stuff, and it’s been that way for weeks. It’s no wonder she thinks everyone else should be as obsessed by romance as she is.”
Lydia nodded in agreement, making her brown, smoothly bobbed hair sway around her chin. She sipped her coffee, apparently deciding she’d made her point about the contagious pervasiveness of the Valentine’s Day fever.
Since the personal conversation had been going so well to that point, fueled by their mutual frustration with their sisters’ matchmaking efforts, Scott risked carrying it further. Now was his chance to get to know more about Lydia—just to satisfy his natural curiosity about her, of course, he assured himself. “So you aren’t interested in hooking up at the moment, either?”
“If by ‘hooking up,’ you mean getting seriously involved with someone, the answer is no, not now. I’m working toward my doctorate degree, which I should receive in May. I’m looking for a full professorship for the fall, and I have résumés at universities in several other states. There are several research projects I want to complete during the next few years to keep my career on target. The last couple of men I dated grew very impatient with my focus on my work, but I’m just not interested in changing anything for now.”
“Sounds a lot like my career agenda. We really do have a lot in common, don’t we?” he asked, reaching out to pat her hand companionably with his.
Looking suddenly flustered, Lydia pulled her hand away and picked up her fork again. “Matchmaking sisters and workaholic tendencies? It’s not exactly a lot.”
That probably was all they had in common, Scott silently conceded. But even those similarities made it easier to consider her a friend, if only on a casual basis.
Apparently deciding they’d shared enough personal information, Lydia turned the conversation back to their usual subject. “Did you have any more questions about the polymerase chain reaction technique?”
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll think of several more questions eventually. I just can’t come up with any at the moment.”
“Feel free to ask any time. And I’ll get you a copy of that laboratory contamination article I told you about.”
“I’d appreciate it.” They had met at the restaurant after work, so Scott walked Lydia to her car when they finished. “Thanks again, Lydia. You answered a lot of questions for me tonight. And thank you for listening to me whine about my sister, as well.”
Smiling, she quipped, “For a meal I don’t have to cook myself, I’ll gladly talk about DNA and matchmaking sisters anytime.”
He chuckled and opened her car door for her. “Drive carefully on your way home. I’ll be stopping by my office, so I won’t be following you.”
Clucking her tongue in exaggerated disapproval, Lydia shook a finger at him. “You work too hard. You should listen to your sister and let her introduce you to a nice girl.”
Scott laughed and tapped her chin lightly with his knuckles. “With friends like you…”
Looking rather pleased with herself, Lydia climbed into her car. Scott was smiling when he watched her drive away. Interesting woman, he thought.
He was glad they had become friends.
Two days later, Lydia walked slowly into her apartment, her arms loaded with a huge stack of papers she had to read by the next day. It was already past 8:00 p.m., and she hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. Too tired to cook, she had stopped at a drive-through restaurant for a grilled chicken salad and a bread stick; the fast-food bag was balanced precariously on top of her pile of “homework.”
Kicking off her shoes, she deposited her load on the coffee table and decided to change before eating and working. It was going to be a long evening, she thought, moving toward the bedroom. Might as well get comfortable.
The message light blinked on the answering machine connected to her bedroom extension. She pushed the play button, then pulled off her jacket and skirt while the tape rewound.
“Professor McKinley, it’s Connie Redman,” a woman’s voice said from the machine. “I’m calling to remind you of the Women in Science meeting next Tuesday at 7:00 p.m. It should be a really good meeting, so we hope to see you there.”
“I’ll be there, Connie,” Lydia murmured in response to the perky admonition, her own voice muffled by the cotton T-shirt she pulled over her head.
The next message played as she climbed into a pair of comfortably loose drawstring pants. “Lydia, it’s George. I hope you haven’t forgotten that you agreed to fill in for me at the seminar next week. You’ll be speaking from one until three. Let me know if there’s anything you need.”
“Thank you, George,” she said, wrinkling her nose at his vaguely patronizing tone. “I’m sure I can handle it.”
After a pause and a hang-up beep, another voice came through the speaker. “Lyddie?”
Lydia groaned as she bent to pull on thick, fuzzy socks. This voice required no identification.
“You’re still not home?” Larissa’s tone was heavy with disapproval. “It’s after six. Honestly, sis, you have to stop working all the time. The reason I’m calling is that there’s going to be a great Valentine’s Day party next weekend. It’s a dance and silent auction, to raise money for the new neonatal wing at Metro General. I’ve donated a couple of my paintings, so of course I have to be there. And I would love it if you were there, too. I know this great guy, Gary—he’s a new friend of Charlie’s. He’s really sweet. I think you’d like him. Give me a call if you’re interested, okay? Better yet, let’s just assume you are interested. I’ll set everything up and call you back in a little while, okay? It’ll be great.”
“Don’t you dare!” Lydia snapped at the machine as if her sister could hear. “How many times must I tell you I’m not interested in—” The telephone rang before she could finish the exasperated question. Already certain whom she’d hear on the other end, she snatched up the receiver, hunger and weariness fraying her composure. “Larissa, do not set me up for a blind date, do you understand? I won’t go.”
“I don’t blame you,” a man’s voice said in response. “That’s exactly what I said to my sister.”
“Scott?” she said after a momentary hesitation in which she placed the voice.
“Yes. I hope you aren’t disappointed that it isn’t your sister.”
“Not at all. I’m not very happy with my sister just now.”
“Which brings me to the reason I called you—”
“My sister?”
“No. Mine.”
“I don’t understand,” Lydia said, sinking to sit on the side of her bed.
“I just had another frustrating conversation with Heather. I swear this Valentine’s Day fever is warping her mind. She’s determined to set me up with a date for a hospital fund-raiser she and her fiancé are attending next weekend.”
“Is it a dance and silent auction for the new neonatal wing, by any chance?”
“Yes, that’s the one. Are you going?”
“A couple of my sister’s paintings are being auctioned. She wants me to be there—and she just happens to know a