it so green down there? The rains have barely started.”
“The crater has springs that keep it watered year-round. The animals living there don’t have to migrate during the dry season.”
“Will we see animals today?” Her voice held a childlike anticipation. Once Megan had resigned herself to going, she’d flung herself into the spirit of the safari. Despite his hidden agenda, and his long-nurtured distrust of her, Cal found himself enjoying, even sharing, her enthusiasm.
“That depends,” he replied. “Harris Archibald, our guide, will be meeting the plane with our vehicle. Where we go will be mostly up to him. You’ll enjoy Harris—at least, I hope you will. He’s a relic of the old days, a real character. Be prepared—he’s missing an arm and he’ll tell you a dozen different stories about how he lost it. I’ve no idea which version is true.”
He’d been lucky to hire Harris for this outing, Cal reflected. The old man usually guided trophy hunters, and his talent for it had him in high demand. But when Cal had called on him in Arusha, Harris had just had a client cancel. He’d been glad for the work, even though shepherding a photo safari had meant changing the arrangements he’d already made.
The old rogue swilled liquor, swore like a pirate and had been through four wives; but when it came to scouting game, he had the instincts of a bloodhound. There was no doubt he’d give Cal his money’s worth.
“Will we be sleeping in tents tonight?” Megan asked as the plane veered away from the crater toward the open plain.
“You sound like a little girl on her first camping trip.” Cal squelched the impulse to reach out and squeeze her shoulder. She seemed in high spirits this afternoon, but he sensed the frailty beneath her cheerful facade. Or was that an act? He’d have to remember to be on his guard against her. This was a woman used to wrapping men around her little finger.
“Wait and see,” he said. “I want you to be surprised.”
And she would be, he vowed. By the end of the next ten days, Megan would be well rested, well fed, well ravished and trusting enough to tell him anything.
* * *
The plane touched down on an airstrip that was little more than a game trail through the long grass. Cal swung to the ground, then reached up for Megan. Using his hand for balance, she climbed onto the low-mounted wing and jumped lightly to earth.
A cool wind, smelling of rain, teased her hair and ruffled the long grass. Far to the west, sooty clouds boiled over the horizon. Lightning flickered in the distant sky. Megan counted the seconds before the faint growl of thunder reached her ears. The rain was still several miles away, but it appeared to be moving fast. Their personal gear had been unloaded and the plane was turning around to take off ahead of the storm. If no one showed up to meet them, she and Cal would be left in the middle of nowhere with no shelter to protect them from the weather or the wildlife.
But there was no way she’d let Cal know how nervous she was. Glancing over her shoulder, she flashed him a smile. “So our big adventure begins.”
He wasn’t fooled by her bravado. “Don’t worry, Harris will be here,” he said. “The old boy hasn’t lost a client yet.”
As if his words were prophetic, Megan saw a mottled tan shape approaching in the distance. Lumbering closer, it materialized into a mud-spattered heavy-duty Land Rover with open sides and a canvas top. There were two men in the front seat—a tall African driver and a stockier figure in khakis and a pith helmet.
Waving to the pair in the Land Rover, the pilot gunned his engine. The little plane droned down the makeshift runway, cleared the ground and soared into the darkening sky.
Cal hefted the duffel bags and strode toward the vehicle, where he tossed the gear in the back, keeping hold only of the case he had told Megan held the binoculars and cameras. Once the bags were arranged, he opened the door for Megan to climb into the rear seat. The driver gazed politely ahead, but their aging guide turned around to give Megan a look that could have gotten him slapped if he’d been a generation younger.
The man reminded Megan of an aging Ernest Hemingway, with battered features that would have been handsome in his youth. His bristling eyebrows and scruffy gray beard showed lingering traces of russet. His blue eyes held a secretive twinkle that put Megan at ease.
“I’ll be damned, Cal.” He spoke with a trace of lower-class British accent. “You told me you were bringing a lady friend, but you didn’t tell me how classy she was. Now I’ll have to be on my best behavior.”
Cal settled himself on the backseat. “Megan, my friend Harris Archibald needs no introduction,” he said. “Harris, this is Ms. Megan Cardston.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Archibald.” Megan extended her hand, then noticed, to her embarrassment, the pinned-up right sleeve of his khaki shirt.
He chuckled and accepted her handshake from the left. “You can call me Harris. I don’t hold much with formality.”
“But I’m holding you to your remark about being on your best behavior, Harris,” Cal said.
“Oh, you needn’t worry on that account. I’ve long since learned my lesson about fooling around with the client’s womenfolk. See this?” He nodded toward the stump of his arm, which appeared to have been severed just above the elbow. “Jealous husband with a big gun and a bad aim.”
Cal rolled his eyes heavenward. Remembering what he’d told her about Harris’s stories, Megan suppressed a smile. “And our driver?” she asked. “Are you going to introduce him?”
Harris looked slightly startled, as if most clients tended to ignore the African staff. “Gideon,” he said. “Gideon Mkaba. We’ll be in good hands with him.”
“Hujambo, Gideon.” Megan extended her hand over the back of the seat.
“Sijambo.” The driver smiled and shook her hand.
“So where are we going, Harris?” Cal broke the beat of awkward silence.
The guide grinned. “Thought you’d never ask! Elephant! Whole bloody herd of ’em down by the riverbed. We were scouting ’em when we saw your plane.”
As the engine coughed to a rumbling start, lightning cracked across the sky with a deafening boom. The roiling clouds let loose a gush of water that deluged down on the vehicle’s canvas top. Wind blew the rain sideways, dousing the passengers.
“Move it, Gideon!” Harris shouted above the storm. “They won’t be there forever!”
“But it’s raining!” Megan protested, shivering in her wet clothes.
Twisting in the front seat, Harris shot her a devilish grin. “Excuse me, miss, but the elephants don’t bloody care!”
Four
By the time they came within sight of the riverbed, Cal had managed to clamber into the back of the jouncing Land Rover and find Megan’s duffel among the gear. Pulling out her rain poncho, he reached over the seat, tugged it past her head and worked it down around her shivering body. It was too late to keep her dry, but at least the plastic sheeting would act as a windbreaker and help keep her warm.
As
