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  His sun-emboldened skin color caused his eyes, as blue as the vast sky, to glimmer even more brightly as they gazed out from his wizened face, his thinning gray hair drawn back and tied. Despite his age—he had fought with UN forces in the Korean War—hard work had helped to retain his muscled torso; a figure that suggested an old cowboy all the way down to the revolver shoved in his handmade leather belt and his rugged boots.

  His bright blue eyes followed her troubled gaze, watching as Dr. Adler’s jeep faded into the speckled shadows of the flat-topped thorn trees of the plain.

  “Oh, Mckib,” she breathed, discouraged. “I’ve made a terrible mess of things. Maybe Kash was right; maybe I shouldn’t have come back.”

  “Don’t go blaming yerself.” His odd brogue retained his South African roots mixed with British African, unique to the now displaced families of the early settlers.

  “If you be wanting my opinion,” he went on, “Dr. Adler’s to be faulted. Was unwise to stampede Kash like that, grabbin’ him by the shirt. If Kash hadn’t protected hisself, Adler woulda tried to crack his front teeth.”

  Sable winced. Even if she agreed, she wouldn’t come out and admit it. “They both behaved like schoolboys.”

  “More like a young lion, is Kash.”

  She wouldn’t argue that. “You always defend him, Mckib, and you shouldn’t. Not when he’s bordering on the line between trouble and recklessness.”

  “Be not all Kash’s fault. He’s come home smartened up and with good plans.”

  She glanced at him, wondering, and Mckibber rubbed his fingers across his lips, still staring thoughtfully after Dr. Adler’s jeep.

  “Odd behavior for a professor. Calls himself Doctor of Anthropology. First time I ever seen him not lookin’ like Sherlock Holmes puffin’ his peace pipe.”

  Mckib’s bias toward Kash didn’t surprise Sable. He doted on his nephew. Kash had always been his favorite when growing up, even though the most difficult of the two boys to handle.

  Mckibber had been a famous safari hunter and had taught the two boys priceless secrets. When they were teenagers, Kash and Seth had joined Mckibber in starting up their own hunting and photographic safari business out of Nairobi. The Hallet name had meant something special in the safari world, gaining business from all across Europe and the Far East. Then something had happened.

  Sable never quite knew what it had all been about. Her mother had become ill at that time, and her thoughts were consumed. But she remembered the Nairobi newspapers had spoken of an accident of a wealthy business tycoon on a vacation to bring home a trophy to impress rich friends. The man was killed on the safari. Somehow the Hallet name was blackened, and their license had been revoked. Their guides were faulted for the man’s death, but Seth had insisted he was innocent. Seth had then moved to Tanzania and worked for another safari service while Mckibber had come back to work for Zenobia. But Kash—

  Kash had simply disappeared with no explanation. Then a brief time later she had learned he had gone to South Africa to work and look for his extended family.

  Sable supposed that with Seth now dead, Mckibber would be even more inclined to hold tightly to Kash. She wanted to ask him about Seth, about why Kash had blamed Vince for his death, but the moment didn’t seem right.

  “Kash shouldn’t have come back,” she said quietly. “He let us all down.”

  Mckibber shrugged his casual disagreement. “Depends on how one looks at it. He thinks he had good cause for leaving. And a better cause to come back…I’m thinking he did, too.”

  She looked at him, and Mckibber’s eyes softened. “Even though, if he’d been more a gentleman and less of a brewing storm, he’d have explained how things was between him and you before he took off like that.” He looked at her. “When you told him he didn’t have enough money to marry you, well, you sure needled his pride.”

  “I never told him that,” she insisted, but flushed, remembering back to a scene she’d had with Kash before he left. He may have misunderstood her…. “A brewing storm” his uncle had called him. Well, Kash was still one, she thought.

  Sable dismissed the disturbing memory of his lips on hers and steeled herself against dangerous further involvement. While Mckibber’s defense of Kash was reasonable considering he was his uncle, she was reluctant to excuse him, even if Vince had provoked the physical outburst. The safer route where she was concerned was to sympathize with Vince, even if his response had surprised her.

  She was bewildered by the almost spoiled and pouting behavior of Dr. Adler, since it was foreign to everything she remembered about him in Nairobi and Toronto. He’d always been the restrained, intelligent, pipe-smoking doctor of lanky good looks, willing to sacrifice for the wildlife causes she and her father embraced. And more recently he’d taken an active role in international protection of tribal lands from careless oil and mineral development.

  “It doesn’t matter now what happened two years ago between me and Kash. The past is over. I’ve my own cause for being home, and Kash has nothing to do with it.”

  Mckibber looked at her with quiet eyes that suggested he understood. “Knowing Kash, he had something to prove, maybe to hisself. You’ve a right to be mad at him—but don’t forget it was Vince who bellied up his fists first. I’ve been around him enough to know he isn’t as saintly as he likes to put on.”

  “So Kash told me.”

  “And he was out of place talking down to you like that. You’re worth both of ‘em, if you ask me.”

  She smiled wearily. “You always have a way of cheering me up. I’ve missed you and Father so much!” She put her arms around him, and as he patted her head awkwardly, she allowed herself to release her uncertainty for the first time.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she sighed. “Kash—he’s so mean and unfair! This is his fault.”

  “You’re right there. I wonder if he knows just what a can of worms he opened up. He’s been determined to detour you from going to Samburu since he knew what you were coming back to do.”

  “He can’t stop me, Mckib. I’ve got to go. It’s a cause I believe in.”

  “I think you got a real problem on your hands this time, since Kash knows he made a mistake two years ago.”

  “Oh no, he doesn’t—he’s against Vince, is all. And I don’t know what to do.”

  “You’ll find the way, little one. You’re just like your mother was. She knew where to turn for answers when the way was clouded with confusion. There was a time when she almost didn’t marry yer father. Just don’t let either one of them fellas intimidate you. You do what God tells you. If Kash has his way he’ll swoop you away to his own dreams. And Dr. Adler…well, he’s more subtle. Maybe that means even more trouble in the future. Things are odd-like round here since Skyler left and Dr. Adler’s come.”

  Odd? she wondered. She raised her head tiredly and looked into the age-wise eyes, smiling wanly. “The trouble with you, Mckib, is you’re prejudiced in favor of your nephew.”

  “No secret there. Come on, what we both need is a good cup of Kenya coffee. Zenobia’s probably standin’ on the porch waitin’ for us. Wait till she hears ‘bout what happened between Vince and Kash!” He shook his head. “She can’t make up her mind about those two—and right now it looks like neither has the advantage.”

  Sable looked at him in surprise as they got into the jeep. “I’m astounded anyone could rival Kash for Zenobia’s favor.” She closed the door, and he started the engine and pulled away.

  His smile was gone. Does it have anything to do with the death of Seth? she wondered, and for the first time her concerns brought a chill of fear. Kash had blamed Vince, which made no sense.

  There was so much to ask Mckibber, but she felt she could endure no more for one afternoon. Downcast in mood and physically drained, she anticipated a cool, fragrant bath once she arrived at the lodge and a cup of Zenobia’s fresh, strong coffee, grown by local African planters.

  Mckibber, too, was musing over thoughts tha
t must have troubled him. “Have you got the supplies for Samburu unloaded all right?”

  She had left them in the crates at the Dunsmoor warehouse on the wharf at Mombasa. “I’m expecting them in another day or so. As soon as Father arrives, they’ll be ready for us to truck to Samburu.”

  He looked at her. “Hate to be the one to tell you, but Zenobia wants you to know before you arrive. He’s not coming. A message from Isiolo says he’s gone off in elephant country again on research. No one’s seen him.”

  So Kash had been right. What was her father up to?

  “What about a guide to bring us to Samburu? My father mentioned having hired someone out of Tanzania.”

  Mckibber bypassed the reference to her father. “I’m trying to locate one now. With fighting ‘bout to start up near the border with Somalia, finding a guide worth his salt is hard to come by. An’ I’m too old,” he said flatly. “I’d ne’er make it.”

  Sable smiled. “I’d trust you anywhere. I suppose Vince, too, is trying to find someone?”

  He looked at her, then back to the road. “He is, but after that debacle when he was in Tanzania, there isn’t many who’d hire on under him. Too much risk involved.”

  “When was Vince in Tanzania? What debacle?”

  He shrugged, as though he’d said too much, and changed the subject. “I woulda met you in Mombasa myself, ‘cept a mite of trouble cropped up at the lodge. Took longer than we thought to take care of it, and I’m not sure it’s cleared up yet. Zenobia’s upset.”

  “Not a safari accident? Gran told me about a group of New York photographers who stayed out after sunset and encountered a lion.” She chuckled. “They landed wonderful photos, she said.”

  Mckibber was not smiling. “No, nothing so fine as that. Vince’s find yesterday made her near sick. And next week’s the big international conference she’s hosting for the conservationists, so between everything that’s happened recently she’s pretty depressed.”

  The mention of trouble overshadowed any excitement over the long-awaited wildlife conference, her first in three years. “What did Vince find?” Sable asked uneasily, watching him.

  “More poaching, this time ‘round the sanctuary. It’s not just a tragedy for the animals, but Zenobia—you know how she loves ‘em. It’s an embarrassment, since she’s left in charge now that Skyler’s away.”

  More poaching! The thought made her stomach knot. “I thought you and Vince were helping Gran.”

  “We are, but you know your grandmother. She holds everything dear, like it’s her failure if something goes wrong. She’s sensitive ‘bout her age now, and Vince don’t help. Oh, he’s supportive enough, but he’s always encouraging her to retire and leave the business to him.”

  Mckibber’s frown convinced Sable of what he was thinking about Vince, that he wasn’t the most qualified to perform as a game warden in her father’s absence.

  “With doctors of renown comin’ to talk on how they can protect the animals, having poaching going on under her nose is galling.”

  “What was it this time?” she asked quietly, not sure she wanted to know.

  “The white rhino.”

  “Oh no….”

  “Yep. Vince found it. There isn’t another in Amboseli. Maybe a few near Lake Manyara in Tanzania. It’s got Zenobia all upset. She felt responsible for that particular rhino. She was here when they trucked it in two years ago.”

  Sable told him about Moffet and the black rhino that Kash had found.

  “Skyler better get back soon” was all he said. “I do my best, as does Zenobia. And Kash’s been holding more than his own since he came a few months ago. But something’s going on round here that’s bigger than the best of us. Maybe this conference can figure out what to do about the poachers. Just wish I could get my hands on them hunters when they’re at it! Trouble is, the slimy rats gets away—they shoot them machine guns at us while we’re fighting back with revolvers.”

  His steely eyes hardened with affirmation. “Nothing taken but the horn on the white one. Zenobia said she should have kept it in her sight even if it meant trailing it day and night. The animal was left to rot! She had a baby, too. Vince hopes something can be done to save it.”

  Sable sank dejectedly into the worn seat. Poaching would soon force many of the great created in East Africa into extinction. “I wish we could catch them,” she murmured.

  “There’s a bounty on the poachers now—your grandmother’s raised it, but …” He paused and glanced at her. “Vince is upset about it.”

  She looked at him, surprised. “Vince is upset?”

  “Says she’s pret’ near hocking the Dunsmoor shipping line at Mombasa to raise money. That’s your inheritance, he says.”

  She picked up the tension in his voice whenever he mentioned Vince Adler. Like Kash, Mckibber had never gotten along with him, and now that her father had left Vince in charge of the lodge, she sensed the strain between the men had grown more pronounced. Mckibber didn’t believe Vince was sensitive enough to know what was really going on with the animals.

  He’d be interested to hear that Kash agreed with him. Perhaps he already knew what Kash thought, since the two had been close while Kash and Seth grew up on the private game sanctuary. She wanted to ask him about the death of Seth and why Kash blamed Vince, but she doubted if Mckibber could give an answer without overly defending Kash. She’d wait to ask Zenobia.

  “‘Course,” he said, “even if Zenobia did hock the shipping, it’s no one’s business but yours and hers, seeing as how it’s being left to you.”

  Sable didn’t take the bait and ignored his watchful eye. She glanced about casually. “Did Vince learn anything about the death of the white rhino?”

  “No. And Zenobia wasn’t happy. She insisted he try to find out if the Maasai saw any illegal hunters about in the last few days, but I’m guessing he won’t learn anything.”

  She looked at the side of his hard brown face. “You mean the Maasai won’t talk to him?”

  “They’d talk. That’s not what I’m meaning.”

  She hesitated to probe any further, fearing he meant to cast further shadow on Vince. Enough suspicion had been aired for one day. What Sable wanted was clear, unbiased answers.

  ****

  The sun was getting ready to set, and the sky reflected a handful of rose pink clouds. There’d been little rain during the past month, and the track that led to the gaming lodge was thick with well-traveled dust. As the jeep brought them through the gate, Sable sat staring ahead at the familiar sights of the now government-owned game sanctuary of a thousand acres. There were enormous sun-drenched plains where herds of zebra, gazelle, and wildebeest roamed at will under the blue cloud shadows that drifted by as idly as sailing ships on a summer sea. It was wonderful to be home again. As for Kash, she would avoid him, and she would yet prove to Dr. Vince Adler that she could perform her duties as professionally as anyone, including her sister, Kate. The past with Kash was over. She would not think of it.

  Sable looked about with satisfaction, and Mckibber, too, had lapsed into the same silence that suggested he was drinking it in. Long before Sable had been born, the land was settled by the Dunsmoor family from Melbourne. They had developed the land into a successful sheep ranch. Then, with the Mau Mau uprising in the 1950s—or the “Emergency,” as England had called it—East Africa had gained independence and Kenya had been born a nation in 1963. Its first president, Jomo Kenyatta, had then begun what he called the “Kenyanization” of the land, which simply meant that all nontribal Kenyans who would not become citizens must give up their plantations, shops, and businesses to non-white Africans. Her grandparents had willingly given up their British citizenship to become citizens of the new Kenya, but in the end it didn’t matter; they had been forced to give up the ranch.

  “I earned what I have honestly enough,” her grandfather had complained. “The Dunsmoors have been here for over a hundred years. This land lay waste until the colonizers turned it
into what it is today. If it belonged to anyone it belonged to the Maasai, and they didn’t resist us when we came. Now the Kikuyu,” he had said of Jomo Kenyatta’s tribe, “have taken it away from the Maasai and the Europeans.”

  Somehow her grandfather had arranged between the British and Kenyan governments to turn the sheep ranch into a game sanctuary, working to reestablish native wildlife, with the Dunsmoors remaining to manage the new reserve and tourist lodge for the government. The president’s close advisers had agreed under the condition that the ranch name be changed from “Dunsmoor” to “Kenyatta.”

  Her grandfather had reluctantly agreed, for it was said that Jomo Kenyatta had been the leader of the Mau Mau rebels, although he denied it and the British could never prove it.

  In the end, there’d been no choice for her grandfather. The Dunsmoor ranch, first begun in the 1880s producing some of the finest Merino wool in East Africa, had become a game sanctuary renamed “Kenyatta.” The sheep had been sent to market, with the selling price going to the government, supposedly to help the Kikuyu tribe. Her grandfather had managed to survive financially, since foreign investment was permitted in businesses, especially in Nairobi and Mombasa, and he’d been able to invest in a shipping business in Mombasa. Giving up the ranch had been a grief to her grandfather and Zenobia, but they had managed to live a good life together in Kenya for a decade more, and he’d even been buried on the land beside his parents.

  According to Zenobia, her son, Skyler, had adjusted readily to the new calling of wildlife preservation, and Sable had been happily born and raised contentedly at the old Dunsmoor family house. The house had changed, of course. There were new additions of hotel-like guest rooms, a dining room, an enormous game-viewing veranda near the water hole, where safari enthusiasts could sit in comfort while sipping tea or cool refreshments and watch the animals come in the evening to drink. Kenyatta was now one of the best-loved game-viewing lodges and a photographers’ paradise.

  Although government owned, the lodge was maintained largely through private funding from international conservation groups. Sable grew up meeting many well-known conservationists who came to the lodge from all over the world to meet with her father and hold conferences among themselves on new ways to preserve Old Africa from being destroyed by the new. And Skyler Dunsmoor was considered by respected international conservationists to be one of the foremost experts on elephant preservation in this part of East Africa.