Endangered Page 3

  She stared at the jeep tires sunk deep in the mud. She’d never get out now. She pushed her hat back and glanced about, wondering what to do next. It was miles to the lodge. What she needed now was a tame elephant to pull her out. She thought of Moffet, new grief settling in. Unlike Indian elephants, African elephants did not make good pets. But Moffet had been unusual. She’d been tame enough to be harnessed with a rope. She reminded herself of what wildlife conservationists knew so well, that taming animals in the wild put them at risk. It left them vulnerable and too trusting of humans, who, in many cases, could not be trusted with their God-given responsibility to rule the environment as a treasure.

  Danger, however, was impartial; humans, too, were at risk from the animals, and allowing herself to get stuck in the wilds with evening approaching had been unwise, especially in Old Tukai in the southeastern corner of the Amboseli Game Reserve. For a tourist, a guide was essential to make it through the swamp and woodland with its intricate network of tracks. Sable was far from being a greenhorn tourist, since she’d been born and raised in Kenya as the great-granddaughter of Hiram Dunsmoor, who had settled in what was once called British East Africa. Her knowledge of Amboseli was nearly as keen as that of the Maasai tribe, which worked with the Kajaido District Council to administer the reserve.

  She slipped her sunglasses on and, shading her eyes with her hand, stared across the great expanse of Africa. Would Gran begin to wonder and send someone to look for her? Gran knew she had planned to meet Dr. Adler at Namanga, but it was getting late now, and Gran would surely wonder why they hadn’t arrived yet. Sable had no idea what had happened to Vince, and perhaps her grandmother would assume they had both driven on to see Kate and observe the work at the Maasai medical camp. Kate had assumed the directorship for the family-owned medical relief organization begun by their mother, which was now temporarily set up some miles west of Old Tukai but would soon be moved north toward Samburu.

  Bringing in the supplies, however, would prove difficult, since there was a threat of a renewed outbreak of tribal warfare in that area. The desperate need of thousands only strengthened Sable’s resolve to accomplish the task, in Christ’s name, to those He loved. For His sake she chose to love them.

  She recalled the story of a medical missionary nurse working with the disfigured leprosy victims. As she cleansed and handled the loathsome flesh, an onlooker was horrified and exclaimed, “I wouldn’t do that for any amount of money!”

  “Neither would I,” said the missionary. “But I’ll do it without cost for Jesus who loves them.”

  Unlike her sister, who was a nurse, Sable was actively involved in Bible distribution and evangelism, showing the JESUS film in the native language of the tribes. Her supplies were still in Mombasa. Food, Bibles, and bicycles were to go to the Kenyan missionaries working out of Nairobi with the Maasai. Yet getting into the restricted area depended on whether a hunter-guide could be hired. From what Gran had told her on the telephone, there wasn’t a guide or safari hunter willing to risk the region for the low wages they could pay for his services.

  There was another reason she must get through. Marsabit, in the Northern Frontier District, was the final habitat of the giant-tusked elephants—what remained of them. The poaching had become a nightmare for those who hoped to save them. Now there were the Maasai—another of His handiwork, a far more precious work who needed not only help, but the Light to shine upon their hearts.

  She turned to look behind her. It was a long way back to Namanga and not much closer to the foul camp of Smith and Browning Zoo Animals. If she chose to walk back, which she wouldn’t do to avoid another meeting with Kash, anything could happen to her on foot. She opened the jeep door and removed her revolver from the glove compartment, placing it in her Maasai-made leather belt about her waist, a precious gift from a Maasai evangelist. He was one of the fine young men to whom she would have the joy of giving a bicycle so he could visit his people and present the Scriptures.

  She closed her eyes and prayed silently over her dilemma, confessing her sin in getting angry with Kash and Mr. Browning, but before she had even ended her prayer she heard the sound of an engine and turned hopefully. A Land Rover! Perhaps Gran had sent Mckibber, Kash’s uncle, to locate her.

  She watched hopefully as it came into view, tearing down the track. Sable shouted and waved her hat, but of course the driver couldn’t possibly hear her. Swiftly she climbed into the jeep and leaned on the horn with a loud and plaintive call of distress.

  The vehicle slowed, then the driver, surmising what had happened to her jeep, backed up and turned onto the smaller track that was seasonally in use beside the lake.

  “Thank you, Lord.” Sable grabbed her bag from the seat beside her and, smiling, started to get out, glancing in the rearview mirror. As the driver walked around the front of his vehicle, her breath caught and her eyes narrowed. Kash!

  She sat there looking in the mirror, debating whether she wished to get out or not—as if she had a choice in the matter. And Kash waited patiently for her decision as though he had all the time in the world, leaning against the side of the Land Rover, arms folded.

  Sable got out of the jeep and stood there, bag in hand, not quite knowing what she actually expected him to do about her dilemma, or whether she even wanted to be obligated to him. After their emotional confrontation back at the trailer camp, his smile was the last thing she had expected. So he wanted to make a truce. She didn’t know why, but it brought great relief. She hadn’t wanted their first meeting after two years to be so emotionally intense. Their last confrontation had been seared on her mind as they separated in the throes of misunderstanding and frustration.

  “Now, this is a sight to remember,” he called. “The independent Sable Dunsmoor, daughter of the internationally known wildlife conservationist Skyler Dunsmoor, naive enough in the ways of Africa to get herself stuck in the mud! And after I lectured you at least ten times when we were growing up to never drive a jeep into a riverbed.”

  She winced, her feminine pride needled by his amusement, and something else…the sound of his voice when in a pleasant mood stirred too many deep and hurtful memories. Nevertheless, she managed a rueful smile. “And I suppose you’re just going to stand there enjoying my failure?”

  His smile remained. “Why not? There’s no use both of us getting muddy.”

  “As you wish,” Sable said with a casualness she didn’t feel. “I don’t need any help anyway.”

  “Aptly spoken by the brave Miz Dunsmoor.”

  “If you say ‘Miz’ one more time—”

  “I’ll cheer you on as you inch your way across.”

  “But I do need a lift to Gran’s place.”

  “I wouldn’t think of leaving you for the hippos.” He reached onto his seat and removed a camera.

  “What are you doing!”

  “I can’t resist. I want to catch you playing in the mud. The last time, as I recall, you were a little girl making mud pies for me and Seth.”

  She flushed, remembering. Seth was his older brother by five years. She started across the gluelike mud, and he deliberately held the camera on her as he lounged against the Land Rover.

  “Did anyone ever tell you what a mean-spirited hyena you are?” she called.

  “Yes, lots of times. I remember when you used to call me something nicer….”

  Sable’s boot wouldn’t lift from the sucking mud, and she lost her balance and fell backward, holding in her cry of humiliation.

  “Ah—perfect,” he said and snapped the shutter, not once but several times, and she heard him laugh, then toss the camera onto the seat. He smiled. “This is for blackmail.”

  It was bad enough that he’d come back, crashing the emotional barrier she had placed around her life, but now she had to be embarrassed as well.

  “Ah, the bitter dregs of life. You’ve had more than your share of tragedy recently, haven’t you?”

  Yes, and you’re part of it, she could have said, bu
t that sort of remark would never play well with Kash, and she would be displaying a crybaby attitude. She had already blown their first meeting by raging at him as both judge and jury.

  “Shall I take pity and rescue you?” came the mild invitation. “If I don’t, you might be there until the new rains.”

  “Come near, and I’ll see you dragged down to the wallow!”

  “Ah! Sweet vengeance. But I can’t resist such a fun challenge.”

  “I mean it.”

  “I’m sure you do. That’s the fun part.”

  “I thought you had a migraine!”

  “Maybe a good mud bath would ease my pain and frustration. What do you think?”

  “Stay away!”

  He shrugged. “Far be it from me to play gallant knight when the damsel in distress bluntly refuses. Then go ahead. Struggle on your own. You always did insist on it.”

  She always did insist. Was that true?

  He leaned back again against the Land Rover. “I should’ve brought more film. What do you think our magnificent Dr. Adler would pay for these?”

  “Anything for money?” came the quiet but meaningful question.

  He sobered. “Now, I thought you knew me better than that. No, not anything…and I didn’t shoot Moffet.”

  She found her heart desperately wishing to believe him, perhaps too desperately, because there was still something inside her that wanted to believe that the Kash Hallet she had previously known still existed. The wistful sound of his voice brought her a pang as he said thoughtfully to himself, “I loved that elephant…Moffet and her silly half-gone ear….”

  Sable blinked hard. There was no mistaking the tone of those words. Kash did remember the better days of their youth, the wildlife projects they had worked closely together on, the long safari journeys with her father and Mckibber, the campfires, the Kenya moon, the—

  No, she thought, forcing herself to stop the merry-go-round of memories.

  He snatched up the camera again. “Vince will appreciate such rare vintage photos of his fiancee.”

  His voice held nothing. So he knew about the upcoming engagement. Was that the reason he had attacked Vince’s character back at the trailer camp? He had never liked him. Then again, why should Kash care who she became engaged to?

  He didn’t—he was just trying to avoid thinking of the elephant, she told herself. Sable snatched up her muddied bag. She figured he was concentrating on the camera in order to forget. She knew him well in some ways, yet overall he remained a stranger.

  She pulled her suitcase from the back of the jeep, and this time more carefully, Sable made her way toward the road. When she reached the Land Rover, he said smoothly, “You’ll get mud on my seat.”

  That did it! Throwing her suitcase on the ground, she turned swiftly, words bubbling to her lips, but they died there. He’d removed his sunglasses, and she was unprepared for the onslaught of confusing feelings that flooded her soul as his cobalt blue eyes held hers, all casualness melting away.

  He reached his hand and gently stroked the looped braid at the back of her neck. This gentle move took her off guard, for it was the last expression of his emotion that she would have expected.

  “Sable—”

  She turned away, vulnerable, shaking her head, her fingers gripping her handbag. She closed her eyes. “Oh, Kash, why did you come back?” she asked weakly. “Why didn’t you stay away!”

  A breath escaped him, as though resigned to her rejection, and he leaned back against the vehicle, again looking up toward the sky. The absolute silence of the reserve held them both prisoner. Somewhere a bird screeched, and there followed a distant trumpeting of an elephant.

  “Unlike Vince, I was born and raised here, remember?”

  “Yes, I remember,” she half accused. “I also remember how you chose to walk away—from everything.”

  “Not everything.” He reached over and took her hand, prying it open and disclosing the stain of rich mud drying on her palms. “Unlike Vince, who doesn’t really care about Kenya, you and I are both attached to this earth. We were born and raised here, and we belong to this land.” He smiled. “But we British have the prickly end of things this time. Our families have a history of two hundred years in this piece of East Africa, and for once we know what it’s like to be the rejected race, the unwanted outsiders. We fell in love with a country that isn’t ours, and we can’t have it! It’s rather maddening, isn’t it? We’re not the lords of the earth now, but strangers and pilgrims. We can’t own land here.”

  His words hurt, for he was right. And she did understand. Sable thought of the Dunsmoor ranch that had ceased to exist in the days of her grandparents and of the Hallet land now owned and operated by members of the Kikuyu tribe working for the government.

  He rubbed his thumb over her palm where the mud was caked and dried, and while she was aware of his touch, it wasn’t at all clear that he was aware of her. Rather, Kash seemed to be contemplating the soil, for he touched it almost longingly.

  “Maybe we’re both destined to love what we can’t own,” she said quietly, but she had more on her heart than Kenya, and while his dark head was bent, her eyes misted, following the handsome and chiseled line of his jaw. Suddenly she remembered what she had programmed herself to forget—his warm lips on hers, the strength of his embrace. She remembered with a vividness that left her weak.

  “Too many Hallets have been killed here to forget,” he said. “Like Abel, their blood calls from the ground. My grandparents by the Mau Mau, an uncle in the war, and …”

  But Kash didn’t go on. He looked at her, all the fire gone from his eyes now. In its place a calm determination settled in his gaze as he grew reflective. He released her hand and by so doing seemed to also release any claim to her emotions, leaving her unexpectedly disconnected.

  “I came back for several reasons. This is where I belong, and I’m staying this time. One way or another.”

  Sable stared at her hand, aware that with his touch withdrawn it felt as empty and aching as her heart.

  Yes, she thought with an unemotional resignation that matched his, Kash belongs to Africa, not to anyone or anything else. Like the great Serengeti Plain and the animals that roamed it—free, but always in danger of drought, hunger, savage death, fire, wind, and storm.

  Sable turned her head and looked toward Mount Kilimanjaro as the golden sun crowned it with a mysterious, untamable glory.

  A silent interlude passed before he opened the door.

  “Never mind the mud,” he said with a smile in his voice.

  She slid onto the leather seat, weary now, worn by the onslaught that had played on her soul.

  Kash tossed her suitcase into the back. “I’ll send someone to fetch the jeep.” Walking around to the driver’s side, he got in and started the motor.

  She noticed that he frowned, his lashes narrowing, and she remembered that he wasn’t well and that his head must be causing a good deal of pain.

  “Did the aspirin help?” she asked meekly, feeling guilty when she recalled her motive in giving them to Mr. Browning.

  He cocked his head and looked at her.

  Of course the aspirin hadn’t been strong enough to ease the pain. She looked away. “I’m sorry. Want me to drive?”

  “And get my Land Rover in the same mess you got the jeep?”

  She turned to protest and saw a smile as he started to drive.

  In a brief time they had left Lake Amboseli behind and were on the track in the direction of the gaming lodge.

  “You’re wrong about Vince,” she said, no accusation in her voice. She was growing more curious about the reason for his remarks.

  “You’re the expert where he’s concerned.”

  There was more to those casual words beneath the surface. “I know him better than you, but where Dr. Adler’s concerned no one is an expert.”

  “Granted, he’s a deep thinker. Too profound for us poor commoners.”

  She refused to take the
casual bait.

  He looked at her. “Are you sure his noble passions aren’t prompted by some New Age philosophy?”

  She looked at him, shocked. “New Age? He’s a Christian. Vince will also help my father at the elephant camp in Samburu. I wish you wouldn’t attack him. I’m going to marry him,” she said boldly, for self-preservation.

  He looked at her, and a ghost of a smile was on his lips. “Are you?”

  It unnerved her, and she turned abruptly to stare ahead.

  “I’m curious about this sudden warmhearted devotion to Dr. Adler.”

  “It isn’t sudden,” she said with confidence.

  “Two years ago you were in love with me. Now you’re going to marry him. I call that sudden.”

  “Your conceit is unbearable. You think all you need do is show up again after all this time, and that will change my opinion of Vince. It isn’t quite as reckless as you want to make it sound. Two years is a long time to not hear from someone who simply walked out of my life.”

  “I didn’t ‘walk out’ of your life. I was waiting for you to grow up a little. And your opinion of him will change fast enough when you know him better. If not, you’ll make the biggest mistake of your life.”

  “And, of course, you know all about Vince’s character.”

  “I know enough about him,” he insisted quietly. “Vince isn’t what he pretends.”

  She stared ahead. “You never liked him,” she accused.

  He shot her a narrowing glance. “He’s old enough to be your father.”

  “He’s thirty-eight,” she corrected airily, “not old at all.”