A Hard-Hearted Man Read online

  Otieno motioned Ross into the room and closed the door behind him. “The archaeologists are here?”

  “The car just pulled up,” Ross said, and tapped the side of the enameled coffeepot on the stove. It was lukewarm, but he poured himself a cup anyway. “They’ll be knocking on the door in a minute. Is this all the coffee? If I have to act like a Bradford, I’ll need more.”

  His friend’s expression was disapproving. “You need a night of good sleep. Sleep is better than coffee.”

  “But coffee is more available than sleep,” Ross said. It was sad but true. The events of the past ten days hadn’t done much for his rest or his peace of mind.

  He leaned against the edge of the counter, listening for the sound of the group at the door, and heard nothing.

  “I’m going to go see what happened to the archaeologists,” he said. “Just to make sure they aren’t out there excavating my yard.”

  The front door was standing open, letting in a pool of tropical sunshine. Through it Ross could see the group outside, huddled into a conference.

  “But you talked to him about it?” one of the two men was saying urgently, and as Ross paused in the doorway, he saw with surprise that the man was speaking to Lilah.

  Less than five minutes from bed to work? Definitely a new record for a female of his acquaintance. She must have bolted into her clothes the moment he left her room.

  The man interrogating her was about thirty, red-haired, with a stubborn chin and a soft body that looked as if it spent too much time behind a desk. “Wouldn’t he discuss it with you?”

  “Yes, we discussed it,” Lilah said. She sounded stoic, as if she expected the worst and was grimly prepared to take it.

  “And? You do know that this sale means that we’ll need a federal permit to work on the land.”

  “I know that, Ted. And we’ll get one, but it’ll take time. I’m going to meet with the director of the Park Bureau, and it’s possible that I can convince him to—”

  “Convince him? Not likely,” Ted said. “You can’t just walk right in and talk someone into bypassing all the rules. Let’s just face the fact that we’ve lost this site.”

  Ross grinned, watching Lilah’s shoulders stiffen. He didn’t have to see her face to know that she suddenly had fire in her eyes. Ted, whoever he was, had just said the wrong thing.

  “I am not going to face any such fact,” Lilah began.

  Ted snorted, ready to argue, and Ross decided it was time to step in.

  “Good morning,” he said briskly, and the conversation halted. Lilah turned quickly to face him. Her hair was damp, as if she’d splashed her face in a rush, and the curling tendrils he’d seen earlier were now tucked firmly behind her ears. Her cheeks were freshly scrubbed, but there was a tense, tired look about her that made Ross wonder if she’d slept any more than he had.

  His eyes moved over her, and he realized that she was wearing one of his shirts. Mama Ruth must have given it to her to replace the one she had torn on the fence. It was a white oxford button-down, and it hung loosely on her slender body, obviously too big. Seeing her wrapped in it sent an unexpected jolt through Ross.

  Lilah must have noticed something in his expression, because there was a sudden rush of color to her cheeks, and she raised her hands, awkwardly smoothing the cloth against her.

  “Mr. Bradford,” said the second man, stepping forward and extending his hand. He was in his fifties, the oldest of the group, and he looked like a rounded, slightly crazed Albert Einstein. Horn-rimmed glasses sat crookedly on his nose, and a shock of gray hair rose from his head at an alarming angle. “I’m Elliot Morris,” he said, shaking Ross’s hand.

  Ross blinked at him, noticing that he was wearing the unlikely combination of brown plaid pants and a blue striped shirt. Both were baggy and comfortably rumpled.

  “And this is Dr. Ted Garvey,” the man continued.

  Ross nodded briefly to Ted, and turned back to Elliot. “I was under the impression that there were more of you.”

  “There are,” Elliot said. “We have three graduate students and our illustrator along, but they stayed behind at the airport to get our equipment through customs.” He raised shaggy eyebrows at Ross. “Though from what I’m hearing, we may not need it after all.”

  In the sudden, expectant silence, Ross glanced at Lilah, who was the only one not watching him. Her gaze was on the ground, and she looked faintly gray.

  “No,” Ross said. “You’ll need it.”

  Lilah’s head snapped up, and if Ross had intended to try for dramatic effect, he would have been pleased by the astonishment on her face.

  “What?” she said, staring at him. “What are you saying? Are you postponing the sale?”

  A flash of raw, wild hope lit her face, and the nakedness of her expression embarrassed Ross.

  “That’s right,” he said briskly.

  Lilah composed herself with visible effort. “I see,” she said. “Well. How interesting. When exactly did you decide this?”

  “Today. I just phoned the Park Bureau. They’re willing to wait six weeks to finalize the sale, so I can give you that long to excavate. After that, the ranch becomes government property.”

  “Six weeks?” Ted Garvey echoed. “You obviously don’t understand what kind of time and work is involved with an excavation like this. Six weeks is barely long enough to get started.”

  “Sorry, but that’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”

  Ted shook his head. “We can’t possibly—”

  “Take it!” Lilah exclaimed. “Of course we’ll take it! Ted, don’t be stupid. Anything could happen in six weeks’ time. If this site turns out to be important, we can use the early success to convince the government to let us stay.”

  Ted scowled. “And if it doesn’t?”

  “It will,” she said, pinning him with a fierce look. “I came here to start an excavation, and that’s what I’m going to do. You make your own decision about whether to stay.”

  “Lilah’s right,” Elliot said. “Take a chance, Ted. You’re not old enough to be stodgy yet.”

  Ted muttered something under his breath.

  “Was that ‘yes, I’ll stay and be a team player?’” Elliot asked.

  “I suppose so,” Ted said grudgingly. “Since I already went to the trouble of flying here.”

  “Ted doesn’t respond well to plane trips,” Elliot explained. “Little peanuts make him cranky.”

  “It’s not the peanuts, it’s the recycled air,” Ted objected. “It gives me a sinus headache.”

  Ross felt a sudden insistent tug on his arm, and looked down to see Lilah beside him. “Okay,” she whispered. “What’s going on? Why are you doing this?”

  He bent his head toward hers. “Are you complaining?”

  “No! But I’m confused. Why this sudden gift of six weeks?”

  “It’s not a gift.”

  She recoiled, looking wary. “What do you mean?”

  “Not now. We can discuss it later, if you really do want the six weeks.”

  “You know I do,” Lilah said slowly. “But I don’t see why—”

  “Later,” he said firmly, and straightened up to address the rest of the group. “So, it’s official. Dr. Evans and I will take care of the paperwork.”

  “Thank you,” Elliot said. “Very much.”

  Ross glanced at Lilah, and succumbed to a wicked urge. “You should thank Dr. Evans,” he said. “She had an...unusual approach to the matter.”

  Lilah’s eyes widened with alarm. And gave a barely perceptible shake of her head, which Ross pretended not to see. Elliot looked enthusiastic. “Lilah? Yes, she can be persuasive, all right. This project has been hers from the start. She’s very dedicated.”

  “Yes,” Ross said. “Very. I would say that she had to climb some fences to get where she is today. Figuratively speaking, of course.”

  “Well,” Lilah said loudly, shooting Ross a glare that could have frozen molten lava, “Just look at
the time. We know how busy you are, Mr. Bradford, so we won’t keep you any longer. We really do need to start setting up camp, so...”

  Ross grinned. “I don’t mind a break. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather come inside for a cup of coffee?”

  Elliot’s eyes widened. “Oh, that sounds—”

  “Nice,” Lilah interrupted, “but we can’t. With only six weeks to work, we’d better get started right away.”

  “You’re sure? Mama Ruth just made some great shortbread cookies.”

  “Cookies?” Elliot said wistfully. “Really?”

  “Later,” Lilah said.

  Ross met her gaze and her lips tightened at the amusement she saw in his eyes.

  “Next time then,” Ross agreed. “I know you’re in a rush. Dr. Evans and I can talk business tonight. We have a few important things to discuss.”

  “Oh yes,” Lilah said, fixing him with a look that promised that his joke would come back to haunt him. “Yes, we definitely do.”

  “Ross, I must speak with you,” Otieno said, as the carful of archaeologists pulled away from the house. Ross turned to see his friend standing in the doorway, a frown creasing his normally impassive face.

  Ross smiled briefly. “You overheard. And you’re about to tell me that I’m making a big mistake, right?”

  “No. It is your decision to make.”

  “True,” Ross said. “But you’d still be justified in asking me what the hell I’m doing. I know this caught you by surprise.”

  Otieno shrugged. “I think you must have a good reason to delay the sale.”

  “What qualifies as a good reason? Natural disaster? War? My father’s ghost coming back to haunt me for selling his land?” He sighed. “No. I don’t have a good reason.”

  “This woman, the archaeologist,” Otieno said, then paused.

  “What about her?”

  “She is quite pretty.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” Ross said shortly. “So, what was it you wanted to talk about? I haven’t turned up a copy of the grain invoice yet, so if the supplier is still hounding you, tell them to sit tight.”

  Otieno shook his head. “This is not ranch business. Someone was outside the house last night.”

  “What do you mean? A prowler?”

  “The askari found a man’s footprints by the windows of your bedroom. He saw no one, only the prints, and broken branches on the bushes by the house. Nothing was disturbed.”

  Ross drummed his fingers on the coffee mug, holding back a surge of anger. “Wyatt,” he said. “Damn the bastard. He’s behind this.”

  Even the man’s name left a bad taste in Ross’s mouth. Jake Wyatt was the force behind a group of developers pushing the government to use nearby land, including the western side of the Bradford property, as the site for a major meat-and-hide processing plant. Wyatt was greedy, conscienceless and very well-connected. Ross had learned that hard truth years ago, when he was seventeen and still living at home. He’d stumbled across proof that the rancher was using a cheap, illegal pesticide to dip his cattle, a poison known to cause long-term health problems in the workers exposed to it.

  Angered, Ross had gone straight to the authorities, only to find that Wyatt had the Bureau of Agriculture in his pocket.

  “We’re looking into it,” he was assured, over and over, as nothing happened. It was like slamming up against a wall, and the only thing he’d eventually accomplished was to make his hatred of Jake Wyatt reciprocal.

  The man hadn’t mellowed since. In the past ten days, Ross had seen enough shady maneuvering and foul play to think he’d seen it all.

  “Interesting that we suddenly have a prowler,” he said grimly. “I’d call it coincidental, but I don’t believe in coincidence. Wyatt wants his factory badly, and he’s made it clear that he’ll do whatever it takes to win.”

  Ross’s words hung in the air as the two men gazed at each other. What was Jake Wyatt capable of? It would be foolish to assume any limits, and they both knew it.

  “This time,” Otieno said, “we will teach him to lose.”

  There was steel in the older man’s voice, and Ross nodded, recognizing the same grim determination he felt.

  “I’m glad you’re on my side,” Ross said dryly.

  “Never doubt that.”

  “Never,” Ross said, his throat suddenly tightening. It was true. Otieno Kasu was Ross’s older brother in every respect but blood, and more of a family than Ross’s blood kin had ever been.

  Fifteen years ago, it had been Otieno, not Hugh, who had understood and accepted Ross’s decision to take a wildlife conservation position with the World Bank instead of coming back to Kenya and the ranch. It had been Otieno who answered Ross’s letters when Hugh wouldn’t even acknowledge them, and Otieno who encouraged Ross to start ECO, his own environmental consulting firm.

  Now, as the two men stood silently under the morning sun, Ross was surprised by how right it felt to be home. He had expected to return to Kenya awkwardly, even guiltily—an intruder in his father’s house. How else could it be? He was here to act on the beliefs that had alienated him in the first place. Hugh would be furious to see what he was doing.

  Or would he? Ross had been stunned to learn that his father had left him the ranch. Hugh was neither a fool nor an idealist, and would have known exactly what Ross would do once he owned the property. Was it simply that the old man had had no one else?

  Ross had voiced these questions to Otieno soon after he returned, and the other man had introduced an odd idea.

  “I think your father began to realize,” his friend said, “that it is a great wrong to cast away your family. I think he began to see that at the end of a life, it is not land or business that matters, but umoja.”

  Unity. Connectedness. The Swahili word came easily off Otieno’s tongue, but Ross found it difficult to apply such a concept to his father’s life.

  “That sounds too deep for the Hugh Bradford I knew.”

  “A man can take on different ways as he grows older. He looks at the world around him and at the path he has cut behind him. In some, age does bring wisdom.”

  “If he was changing, why didn’t he contact me? He knew I was writing to you. I would have come back. I would have come...to see him.”

  There was quiet empathy in Otieno’s dark gaze. “Perhaps he thought he had more time.”

  Ross cleared his throat and stared down into his coffee mug. Maybe leaving him the ranch was Hugh’s gesture of acceptance of Ross and his choices. It was hard to imagine, but there was a certain peace in thinking that it might be so.

  At any rate, he had more immediate problems to deal with. This news about the prowler warned him that he might have underestimated Jake Wyatt, which meant that the six-week delay would be more of a risk than he’d expected.

  But he had given Lilah Evans his promise, and he intended to honor it. The plan he had in mind should keep the odds in his favor, but just the same, he was going to have to be careful. Very careful.

  “They’re here,” Elliot said.

  Lilah looked up from the tent stake she was hammering into the rocky ground and squinted up the road. “Already?”

  Sure enough, through the thorny screen of acacia branches, she could make out the dust cloud raised by the rented Land Rover as it chugged down the hill toward them.

  “And to think that you doubted them,” Elliot said airily. “You should know that a professor of my caliber does not train just any average bumbling graduate student. It takes more than a few puny customs officials to hold back my trainees.”

  “Nothing personal, Elliot, but I’ll bet you money that Denise is responsible for this. See? She’s even driving.”

  Denise Johnson, the scientific illustrator, waved at them as she pulled the loaded-down car into camp.

  “I deserve an honorary degree from you people,” she said, jumping down from the front seat. “Do you know how long it took me to talk those bureaucrats into letting your gear through? And do you
think I got any help from this group? No.

  “This one,” she pointed to Peter Lee, who began to look sheepish, “thought it would be a good time to practice the Swahili he learned in his quickie course, so as the customs guy is eying your boxes, Pete says—”

  “I meant to say that we were a group of many people,” Peter interrupted, his ears turning red. “I told you, I thought it would help explain why we had so much stuff.”

  “Right, but he got his nouns mixed up and ended up saying something which translated into ‘we have many guns.’ You can imagine how well that went over.”

  “Oh, dear,” Elliot said sadly.

  “Yeah, no kidding. Fortunately, as soon as we switched back to English, they realized that we were only lousy Swahili speakers, and not terrorists, and let us through. But not until they combed through every inch of your stuff.”

  “I’m glad you made it,” Lilah said, hugging her friend, whose crisp new safari hat topped off a sparkling clean ensemble of khaki shorts and matching shirt. A neatly pressed red bandanna was tied jauntily at her neck. “You look different,” she said, stepping back to take a look at her friend. “But strangely familiar. Wait, I know, you’re Indiana Jones!”

  “No, he’s my cousin. I’m Indiana Johnson.” Denise grinned. “I figured it would help your luck if I looked the part. To tell you the truth, though, I’m not sure I want you to have any luck. If you find nothing at all, then I can just laze around and work on my tan.”

  Lilah had known from the first stages of planning the excavation that she wanted to bring Denise along to work with them. Photography did a poor job of capturing the subtle flaking patterns on stone tools, but a specially trained artist could record that information in a pen-and-ink drawing.

  Peter emerged from the back of the Land Rover, his long arms wrapped around boxes of data sheets. “Where should I put these?”

  “We’ll use the big tent as our lab,” Lilah said, pointing. “You can just pile those on the floor until we set up the tables.”

  She and Elliot exchanged glances, and he stepped closer to her.

  “Do you think,” he said in a low voice, “that we should bother to unpack everything? It might be wiser just to leave some of those boxes alone. Save ourselves the trouble of repacking if we have to go.”