A Hard-Hearted Man Page 7

  With a hand on her shoulder, Ross guided Lilah in through the front door. Her skin was smooth and warm under his fingers, and the silky material of her dress shimmered around her, somehow emphasizing exactly what it concealed.

  Ross was having a hard time keeping his eyes off her. It had been days since he’d seen her, which was intentional on his part. He had stayed away from the archaeologists’ camp, partly to avoid giving Lilah any chance to back out of his plan, but mostly to try to clear his mind of her.

  It hadn’t worked. He’d been having trouble concentrating as he sat at his father’s desk in the Nairobi office, and when his thoughts drifted away from the paperwork in front of him, they came to rest on the image of Lilah that first morning in the guest room. He remembered her sleepy, unguarded eyes, her hair tumbling down over her shoulders, and how her mouth looked as soft and swollen as if someone had been kissing it.

  Earlier that evening, when he’d finally seen her again, he had been rocked by a wave of desire intense enough to demand attention.

  Soon, he thought. He had to be patient, although it was difficult to maintain the faint touch on her shoulder when what he really wanted was to slide his polite, neutrally placed hand down along the curve of her side, tracing the shape of her under his fingers. He could sense that Lilah wasn’t as immune to him as she wanted him to think, and he was disciplined enough to wait until her own desire had reached the critical point.

  Heads immediately began to turn as they entered the room. Ross knew that his own sudden return to Kenya had been of great interest to local society, and the small war developing over the fate of his property was probably keeping the gossips buzzing. The appearance of a lovely but unknown woman on his arm would only spice up the situation.

  Under the pretext of nodding hello to a few acquaintances, Ross scanned the room. Where was Wyatt? His body felt jumpy, alert, as if even the man’s presence behind him could somehow make him prickle like a wary lion. But the large room was crowded, and there was no sign of Wyatt. Yet.

  “Ross Bradford?” A man with a nose which could only belong to the British upper class was approaching them eagerly.

  “Yes,” Ross said. “Have we met?”

  “Sorry, no,” said the man, in a crisp accent that reminded Ross of his first few years at the embassy school in Nairobi before his parents had packed him off to America. “But I know your work, and I’m delighted to meet the man behind ECO. I’m Simon Caldwell, assistant to His Excellency, the Ambassador.”

  He shook Ross’s hand enthusiastically, then hesitated. “I’m terribly sorry about your father.”

  “Thank you,” Ross said. “You knew him?”

  “Somewhat,” Simon Caldwell said. “Not as well as I would have liked. He rather kept to himself.”

  Ross nodded, not surprised to hear that. He saw Simon look inquiringly at Lilah.

  “Dr. Lilah Evans,” Ross said.

  “Hello.” With classic American forthrightness, Lilah stuck out her hand and smiled at Simon. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Delighted,” he said, shaking her hand. “You’re with ECO also, Dr. Evans?”

  “Er...with who?” she said, looking startled. “Eco?”

  “My company,” Ross murmured to her.

  “Oh! No, I’m with the University of Wisconsin. We’re doing archaeological work on the Bradford property.”

  “You don’t say.” Simon raised his eyebrows. “I’d love to hear about it, after I’ve done my duty and greeted everyone. Archaeology has always fascinated me. We Brits have it in our blood, you know.”

  “I’d be glad to tell you about the site,” Lilah said, then stepped forward and touched the consul’s arm. “By the way, would you happen to know anything about government research permits? I’ve applied for one, but I’m a little worried about whether it’ll be approved.”

  Simon Caldwell’s brow wrinkled. “Research permits? Well, we don’t really deal with that. But I’ve heard they’re hard to come by.”

  “I know,” Lilah said, and sighed delicately. “I just wondered if you might have some advice for me.”

  Ross suppressed a groan. He liked to think that any sane man would see through this act in a second, but Simon Caldwell was disappointing him. The consul was gazing down into Lilah’s suddenly wistful hazel eyes with the expression of a man about to volunteer to slay dragons. It was hard to watch.

  “Come to think of it,” Simon said, “I do have a few friends at the Park Bureau. I’d be glad to put in a good word for you.”

  “Would you?” Lilah’s smile grew as bright as the sun, and the consul blinked, dazzled. “Thank you.”

  Ross was beginning to think that he had enlisted the right person to deal with Jake Wyatt. Ms. Evans was good, all right. He was going to have to be careful to keep himself from getting lost in those lovely eyes. It would serve him to remember that Lilah had an agenda of her own.

  She looked up at him as Simon moved away, and grinned. “How about that?” she said. “Not bad, huh? I surprise myself sometimes.”

  “Well done,” Ross said.

  She chuckled. “Some might call me shameless.”

  “‘Savvy’ would be a better word. The consul could be a useful connection.”

  “Hopefully so,” Lilah said. “I need all the help I can get.”

  “Ross Bradford!”

  A short, square man in his mid-sixties was headed straight for them, wife in tow. They had familiar faces, and he recognized them as friends of his father’s, but he had to struggle for a few uncomfortable seconds to remember their names.

  It was strange, how he slipped into feeling as if he’d never left Kenya, until minor things hit him suddenly with the weight of fifteen years.

  “Well, son,” said the man, Desmond Peters, who Ross recalled was an executive of some sort with a coffee export company. “I hear that you’re trying to unload your family property on the government. They say you’re a big conservation man now. Read all about you in that Newsweek article.”

  “Really,” Ross said, gazing evenly at Peters. There was something in the man’s voice that he didn’t like.

  “I never thought I’d see a Bradford sell the family land, especially to make another national park. Seems to me that we have plenty of parks around here, son. What we need are businesses like ranches to create jobs, and bring in money. Your father knew that.”

  “Actually,” Ross said coolly, “you might be surprised about what brings money and jobs into a country. A bigger park needs more rangers, more administrators, more tour group leaders, more safari drivers, more road maintenance workers...stop me any time.”

  Des Peters’s smile had slipped. “Well, I don’t know about that—”

  “Not to mention that the trickle-down effect of an increased rate of tourism will impact local travel agencies, restaurants, hotels—”

  Peters was flushed with ire and alcohol, and he waved his hand at Ross. “Sure, right, I’ve heard all this before. But do you want to know what I think?”

  Ross raised his eyebrows at the man, suspecting that he was about to hear it regardless of whether he wanted to.

  Peters did not disappoint him. He pointed a beefy finger at Ross and snapped, “I think it’s bull, and I’m not the only one. You’d probably like to take out more than your father’s land, wouldn’t you? I bet you’re trying to figure out a way to really screw up this country by getting rid of all the ranches. Hell, you’d probably like to tell me to get rid of all the coffee fields, too, since they aren’t natural. Let the damn animals have the land back, right? Let’s just make one big national park. Who the hell cares about our jobs?”

  Ross listened to Peters’s outburst with contempt. Why didn’t people realize that letting their emotions run away with them only made them look weak and stupid?

  “I don’t have any immediate plans to destroy Kenya’s coffee industry,” he said dryly. “In fact, I had a good cup of the local brew this morning. Maybe you should return the favor and dro
p by to visit the new reserve.”

  “Not likely,” Peters said, glaring at him. “And I wouldn’t be so sure about that new park, or you’ll be in for a surprise.”

  He turned and stomped off into the crowd. His wife, who had hovered there looking upset, hurried to follow him.

  “What a rude person,” Lilah exclaimed. “Where does he get off descending on you and shoving his half-baked opinion in your face?”

  “Never a dull moment.”

  “You’re not kidding. Has this been happening a lot?”

  Ross shrugged. “Enough to show me that I don’t have a high approval rating in the ranching community.”

  “They’d rather see a huge industrial complex on your property?”

  “Of course. It’s good for business. Wyatt certainly thinks so.”

  “Is he here?”

  That was a good question. It was at just that moment, as if Lilah’s question had made him materialize, that an ebb in the stream of people moving past them revealed Wyatt leaning on the bar across the room, deep in conversation.

  Lilah sensed Ross’s sudden tension and clutched his arm. “Do you see him? Where is he?”

  “Over there, by the bar,” Ross said, taking her by the shoulder just as she turned to look, and trying to walk her in the opposite direction.

  Typically, she balked. “That’s all the way across the room. He can’t possibly tell that I’m looking at him. I just want to see—”

  “Not now. There are too many people watching. If you start staring at him, they’ll notice. Just follow me for a minute.”

  “Okay,” she grumbled.

  He guided her over to the far wall, against the heavy wine-colored window drapes.

  “Is this where I get my strategic intelligence briefing?” Lilah asked.

  “Your what?”

  “You know, when the secret agent gets the rundown on her mission. You’re supposed to give me stuff now, like a very tiny microphone disguised as an earring, and a stiletto knife I can tuck into my garter.”

  “Are you wearing a garter?” Her long bare legs gave no indication of it.

  “No. That’s a problem. If you were better at picking your spies, you wouldn’t have chosen a discount archaeologist, and you could have gotten someone who owns garters. Your loss.”

  “For someone who had to be dragged here kicking and screaming, you’re adapting well.”

  Lilah looked evenly at him. “We made a deal. I agreed to do this, and I will.”

  Ross didn’t buy her matter-of-fact tone. The edge to her voice revealed that she was more nervous than she was letting on. Her tough-kid facade was oddly endearing, making him wonder if he’d done the right thing by forcing her into this.

  “Wyatt is on the right end of the bar, wearing a gray jacket,” he said. “He’s Australian, so you should be able to pick out an accent. If you walk over there, ask for a drink and look slightly lost. He’s likely to start a conversation with you.”

  “Piece of cake. I’m on my way.”

  He caught her by the arm. “Wait a minute.”

  Having her poised to go in search of Wyatt made Ross suddenly, unexpectedly, anxious. In the car, he had told her more about the rancher, but did she truly understand what kind of man he was? Was it wrong or even foolish to involve her in this?

  Lilah was gazing up at him, her hazel eyes seeming oddly vulnerable. Ross knew that she was tougher than she appeared, but still...

  “Be careful,” he said finally. “I don’t want you to be nervous, but this is serious. He’s smart. Don’t underestimate him.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll see you around.”

  She flashed Ross a smile and mingled into the flow of the crowd, but he frowned as he watched her disappear. Lilah was smart enough to sense for herself that Wyatt was a dangerous man and to act accordingly, but just the same, Ross knew that he would be keeping a discreet eye on what was happening.

  This wouldn’t be so tough, Lilah reassured herself as she approached the bar. All she had to do was strike up a conversation with this Jake Wyatt person. If nothing came of it, Ross would just have to find himself a more experienced spy.

  “What can I get you?” the bartender asked as she squeezed in at the end of the bar.

  “White wine, please—” Lilah began, furtively glancing sideways, only to discover with a flash of alarm that Wyatt and his friend were picking up their drinks, preparing to go.

  Lilah turned to watch as they moved away from the bar. Great, what now? She hadn’t even had a chance to take a good look at Jake, and now he and his companion were merging into the crowd, about to vanish.

  “If you want wine,” the bartender said, “the waiters have a good chardonnay.”

  One such waiter, balancing a tray of glasses, was moving through the crowd not far from where Jake had just been, and Lilah suddenly had an idea. It even seemed like a good one, but she was short on time to consider it.

  “Perfect,” she said to the bartender, and dove back into the crowd.

  She wormed her way along the path Jake had taken. He and his friend were walking slowly, talking as they moved through the throngs of people, and Lilah was able to get near them in a matter of minutes. She was pleased to see that the wine-carrying waiter was also circulating close by. It looked as if his path would take him into the perfect position in just moments...and there he was! It was now or never.

  Lilah squeezed out in front of her protective screen of bodies and descended on the waiter, declaring loudly, “Chardonnay? How wonderful!”

  It worked like a brilliantly choreographed dance. In one swooping move, Lilah plucked a long-stemmed glass from the tray, thanked the waiter brightly, turned as if to leave, and collided head-on with the arm of Jake Wyatt.

  Score, an inner voice crowed triumphantly as she found herself holding an empty glass and staring at Wyatt’s now-soaked coat sleeve.

  Lilah was so amazed that it had actually worked that she had no trouble assuming a shocked expression.

  “Oh my goodness,” she gasped, clutching his arm and gazing contritely into a pair of piercing blue eyes. “I’m so terribly sorry. I didn’t even realize you were there!”

  “Don’t apologize,” Wyatt said, as the waiter came to the rescue with a handful of paper napkins.

  Lilah was relieved to hear an unmistakable Australian accent, indicating that she had indeed drenched the right man. He appeared to be in his late fifties, a powerfully built man shorter than Ross, but as thickly muscled as a boxer. His face was darkly tanned, and deeply lined. He could be considered handsome, in a battered sort of way, but a certain pale-lashed hardness about his azure eyes gave them a sharp, snakelike look.

  “In fact,” Wyatt continued, “It was my fault. I stepped right in your way, Miss...?”

  “Evans. Lilah Evans,” she said, and bit back a laugh. It had sounded too much like “Bond. James Bond.”

  “Well, Miss Evans, there’s no damage done.” Jake removed his jacket and tossed it to the waiter. “Here, have this cleaned up.”

  “You see?” he said, showing Lilah his shirtsleeve, which was only spotted with wine. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “If you insist on feeling guilty, come outside and keep me company while my shirt dries. I’m Jake Wyatt, and I know we haven’t met.”

  “That sounds lovely, Mr. Wyatt,” Lilah said. “I could use a little fresh air.”

  A quartet was playing outside on the lit terrace, and a few couples were dancing. The canopy of stars had been entirely covered over in the past hour by low-hanging, ominous clouds that had quietly rolled in overhead. The breeze brought a faint scent of ozone to her nose, and thunder murmured in the distance.

  “I’d have thought the rainy season would be over by now,” Jake said, and shrugged. “Keeps the watering holes high, at least.”

  “You’re a rancher?”

  “Biggest ranch in the area. About an hour’s drive southwest of the city.” />
  He slid a patio chair out from a small candlelit table. “Have a seat.”

  “Southwest?” Lilah said innocently. “Why, you must be near where I’m staying. Do you know the Bradford ranch?”

  His hard eyes narrowed and locked onto her face. “I certainly do. What are you doing there?”

  “Working. I’m running an archaeological dig.”

  Wyatt was still staring at her. “You’re one of the archaeologists.”

  “You’ve already heard about us?” Lilah forced a laugh. “I can’t believe it. We haven’t been here very long.”

  “I make it my business to hear about things. Are you a friend of Ross Bradford?”

  “Not at all,” Lilah said, hoping that she sounded convincing. “I was a friend of his father’s. I didn’t hear a thing about Ross’s plans to sell the land until I arrived last week. He finally agreed to a delay, but—”

  “Six weeks,” Jake said thoughtfully. “So, you were responsible for that. Interesting.”

  “The original plan was to work there for over a year. Ross was completely unreasonable about it, so you can imagine how I feel about his park project.”

  Lilah was surprised at how difficult it was to inject hostility into her voice. A week ago, she would have said those words to Jake Wyatt and meant them, but now it was hard to gather up her original animosity.

  “I’ve had my own...conflicts...with Ross,” Jake said. “But I thought he was gone for good. He left Kenya fifteen years ago, you know, and hasn’t been back until now.”

  This was startling news to Lilah. “What happened?”

  “A falling-out with his father. Everyone thought he’d been disowned.” Jake’s mouth tightened. “It would have made my life easier if he had been.”

  This sounded promising. “What do you mean?”

  But Jake shook his head and stood up, suggesting that they dance.

  “I’m afraid I’m not very good at this,” Lilah warned him.