Discipline Down Under (2 page)

“Honestly, I’m not sure. She was upset over something in both cases. Look, I’m willing to double your fee. This is very important to her and I want to make sure she gets what she wants, but in a safe way. You come with good recommendations, young man. Lawrence Daton was very pleased with the way you guided his family group. He said you were trustworthy and knowledgeable. I have to say, I’m not one to trust my daughter to just anyone.”

“Thanks,” he said, anticipating the repairs he could do on his bush truck if he got double the going rate. “She’s headstrong?”

“Yes, a bit spoiled. Her mother overindulged her at every turn. I’m a senior geologist at G4Gold Corporation, and a very busy man. I haven’t been as hands-on as I should have been with Peg while she was growing up. A little discipline would have made a difference, I suppose. But, be that as it may, I’d be expecting you to take charge of her and make sure she gets the photos she wants without being eaten by a crocodile.”

Tripp chuckled. “I can make sure she’s not et by a croc. I don’t take any guff, though, Mr. Fisk. I want to make that clear up front. My job is to keep the tourists safe while they’re bushwalking.”

“I know. I assure you, I’ll make it worth your while. Use whatever methods you deem necessary.”

“I… uh…”

“You have full authority.”

So long as she wasn’t too difficult, the hassle would be worth it. “All right, sir. I’ll take the job.”

“Excellent! Her name is Peg, and she’ll be in Katherine tomorrow. She’s about five-foot-two, and slender. Rather petite. She has blond hair and brown eyes. She’ll be staying at the Best Western Pine Tree Hotel. I’ll give you her cell number—”

The girl sounded pretty. Would she be vain as well as spoiled?

“No need for the cell number, sir. The service out here is poor anyway.”

There was a sigh at the other end of the line. “She’ll hate that.”

Tripp was beginning to regret this agreement already.

Chapter Two

The Gouldian finch was hopping from branchlet to branchlet on the big green plum tree, and Peg very nearly had her shot ready. Just an adjustment here, a twist there. She shimmied carefully along the gum tree branch she was observing from, getting farther out toward the leafy edges. Slow movement was necessary; scaring the finch off would be awful after she’d spent so much time following him through the bush. But he was a beauty, with gorgeous color block patches and bright black eyes. The perfect specimen of one of the last Gouldian finches in the wild.

The branch under her began to bow and one of the ever-present flies buzzed under her nose, but Peg steadied her equipment again, and had her finger poised when there was a loud crack and she and the tree limb went tumbling toward the ground six feet below. Landing with a resounding thud on her back, Peg felt her camera thump solidly on her chest, its pointy little edges and corners leaving bruises, no doubt.

Her breath was lost, but after a moment, she gasped. There was a tall shadow between her and the afternoon sunshine. Tall and mobile; tall and wearing a hat. She couldn’t see the man’s face because of the lighting, but she knew it would be dangerous. What was a man doing out here in the bush with her, miles from civilization?

After a moment of looking at her, he bent, reaching down his hand. It was a broad-palmed, tanned hand, work roughened, the nails short and slightly dirty. “Help up?” His Australian accent was common enough, here in Australia, but the timbre of his voice, low, dark, and maybe even a little sexy, gave Peg shivers. She stared at the hand.

“Ya all right, lady?” He could have invited her for tea and she wouldn’t have understood him. He spoke with a thick accent, and the words were clear enough, but his baritone voice and sudden appearance were about all Peg could comprehend at the moment.

Finally, after taking a deep breath, she shook her head, a tendril of blond hair poking her in the eye. She went to reach for the wavy strand, but suddenly the man spoke again, from all the way up there at his full height.

“Don’t move.”

“What?” It was the first she’d spoken to him and her voice came out almost a squeak.

“Don’t bloody move. Don’t even breathe.”

He was reaching for something.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered, fear growing with each passing second. And then she saw the knife. It was a long knife, wide-bladed, and it looked extremely dangerous, with a single sunbeam glinting off the metal blade. “Oh, God. Don’t kill me.”

“Hush, sheila.”

Peg was aware that ‘sheila’ was a common term for woman here, so she didn’t think he’d gotten her name wrong. How could he know her name, after all? They hadn’t set eyes on each other before. And that reminded her that she still hadn’t set eyes on him. She had no idea how to describe her attacker, if he let her live.

“I—”

“Damn it, stop moving!” His voice was a soft hiss.

Run. She ought to scramble up and run, but she couldn’t possibly get back to her Land Rover in time to get away. It was too far and his legs looked way too long.

So she quieted, saying silent prayers and trying to think of magic words to say to convince him not to kill her.

Too late. All she could do was gasp when he threw the awful weapon, but it missed!

“Gotcha, ya bloody bugger!”

The knife had sailed right over her head, and Peg gingerly turned to look at where it lay. It was about three feet over her shoulder and to her left and it had impaled a snake through the head, the body was still writhing in the animal’s death throes.

Scrambling up, Peg whimpered then caught herself, taking a deep breath. She tried to pull herself together and present a brave front. She was shaky when she said, “Why didn’t you just
tell
me there was a snake?”

“Would ya have turned yer head to look?”

“I… uh…”

“Ya would have. And Joe Blake would have killed ya.”

“Joe Blake? Who’s Joe Blake?”

He reached up to adjust his hat, his voice a little impatient when he replied. “The snake.”

“You name your snakes?”

“Blimey, Peggy, ya ask
dag
questions.”

Peg was alarmed all over again. Who was this guy, and when would he get into the light so she could see his face? Mostly recovered, she took a step closer and poked him in the chest with a stiff finger. “You know my name! How do you know my name? Who the hell are you?”

Ignoring her ire, he stepped past her and retrieved his knife, wiping it on his pants before he replaced it in the sheath at the small of his back. When he turned, Peg gasped at the full force of his features in the sunlight slanting through the edges of the trees. He was incredible. Even a three-day scruffy beard did nothing to detract from his high cheekbones and piercing eyes. Those orbs were green as the trees that surrounded him, and staring straight at her. As the silence grew, he finally arched his dark left brow sardonically. It was enough to get Peg back to reality and out of fantasyland.

“I asked you,” she said, her voice growing stronger, “who are you and how do you know my name?”

He pointed out beyond the tree line. “If yer done gawping, the way back to yer Rover is that way.”

Peg stomped her foot, raising a low cloud of leaves and detritus. “No! I demand to know!”

He laughed. Actually laughed. Peg was so ticked off that she approached him and poked him in the chest again. “You are insufferable. I’m not going anywhere with you!”

The man reached out and gently disengaged her forefinger from his t-shirted chest. Peg glared. Grinning, he shrugged and moved around her toward the light.

“You come back here!” She yelled, stomping after him.

He threw the answer over his shoulder, stalking straight ahead down the path she’d stirred up in passing. “Nope.”

Peg ran after him, catching up with his long strides after a minute. She grabbed his thick upper arm and tried to jerk him to a halt. He stopped, but she suspected that her tugs had little to do with it. If he wanted to continue, he’d do so despite her obstruction. “Answer me, damn you!”

“Yer father sent me, Peggy-girl. Said ya were looking for a bush guide. Seems more like ya need a nanny.” With that insult, he continued on his way toward her Rover.

“Well… well!” Peg sputtered. She’d never met such an obnoxious man before. And her father had sent him? It couldn’t be. Oh, sure she’d agreed to have her father find the next guide, but she never expected a tall, handsome one. Where was the old, weathered, taciturn bush guide she’d expected from her father? “And stop calling me that,” she yelled at his back as he trod away. “My name’s Peg, not
Peggy
.”

He turned and gave her a thousand-watt smile, tipping his hat as he walked backward for a few paces and turned away again. “Name’s Tripp Ruf, Peggy. Nice to meet ya.”

She ran to catch up to him, getting even more angry at having to do so. “You can’t be my guide. You’re awful. You made me miss that shot. You scared away the finch.”

“
You
scared away the Gouldy,” he pointed out unhelpfully, “by falling out of the tree.”

“I did not!”

He arched that eyebrow at her again, his eyes twinkling.

“Well, I did fall out of the tree. But you scared the finch before I did.”

“I’m not a
nong
, Peggy. I know how to navigate the bush.”

He looked like he could, with those broad shoulders and strong thighs in well-fit jeans. Very strong thighs. Thighs like that… hmmm. “Uh, I don’t care. I won’t have you for a guide.”

He shrugged, and Peg could see her car a few hundred yards away. The trees were growing sparse; she hadn’t ventured too far in since she knew things could be dangerous. But she’d seen that finch through her binoculars. It was too good an opportunity to pass up.

After taking a sip of water from the canteen around his neck, he offered the vessel to Peg. She eyed it suspiciously.

“It’s water. Ya must be thirsty, and I see ya didn’t have sense to bring yer own.”

Peg bristled. “I have water!”

They both spoke at once. “It’s in my car!” “It’s in yer car.”

Flustered, Peg sputtered. “Well, it is.”

“Lot of good it does ya there.”

“I could have come out and gotten a drink anytime.”

He withdrew the canteen. “Suit yerself.”

Peg licked her lips. They were dry, despite her lipstick. “How do I know it’s just water?”

Tripp huffed softly. “I just drank from it, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but…”

“Yer car is only another hundred yards. Wait for yer own water.”

That hundred yards seemed like a very long way. Peg heard the petulance in her own voice when she held out her hand. “I’ll have some of yours… please.”

Good-naturedly, he handed her the canteen. “Drink yer fill. I left another in yer Rover.”

Peg gulped. It was a little warm, but so refreshing. After a minute, she wiped her mouth with her wrist, capped the canteen and handed it back to him.

They walked along in silence for a few yards. “Say,” she began, “what kind of name is ‘Tripp’? Is that aboriginal or something?”

He gave her an amused look. “Do I
look
aboriginal, Peggy?”

No, he didn’t. He was tanned, but not black. His longish hair was dark brown and straight, not black and curly. He looked as Caucasian as she did. “So what is it?”

“It’s a nickname. My name is John Emmett Ruf the third. My gramps is John Ruf. My dad is J. Emmett Ruf the second. And because I’m the third, I’m Tripp. Not enough names to go ‘round.”

Oh. Maybe he was from a well-to-do family like hers. Certainly, many of the well-heeled people she knew did things like add numbers to their names. But if that was the case, why was he here as a bush guide? “Are you sure you’re a guide?”

“Pretty sure,” he answered succinctly.

They’d reached her car. “Where’s your car?”

“My partner’s driving it back to Katherine. We’re taking yer car.”

The town of Katherine was hours away, and her base of operations. But he’d said ‘we.’ “What do you mean
we’re
taking my car?”

“Ya want to use that fancy rig?” he asked, pointing to her camera. She’d almost forgotten the big Nikon was there.

“Yes, but—”

“We’ll go to the campsite over at Wombat Rock, make camp there, and set out into the bush tomorrow.”

“Wait! I didn’t say you were hired. I said you were fired!”

He got into the driver’s seat of Peg’s brand new rented Land Rover. “Get in,” he told her with a gesture.

“This is
my
vehicle, you arrogant turd! I’ll drive.”

He adjusted the seat. “Do ya know where it is?”

“No… but, if you tell me…”

“Get in.”

She glared at him.

“You’ll behave or else.”

“Or else my ass.”

“As a matter of fact…”

Seeing red with frustration, Peg threw herself into the Rover and buckled up. “I hate you.”

“Too bad. Yer growin’ on me, that ya are.”

“Hmph.” There was a long pause in the conversation while Tripp started the car and set out. Picking up her phone, she checked for messages from her friends, and after a few pokes she realized she was getting no reception. She’d encountered the same thing with her other guided trips, but she was compelled to try in each location she visited. You never knew where a cell tower might be found. Frustrated once again, she put her phone back down and focused on her guide problem. She wondered briefly what ‘or else’ meant. Or else he’d quit, probably. Peg couldn’t afford for that to happen. She decided to be a little nicer. “You came out specifically to look for me?”

“Yeah.”

“How did you find me?”

“Ya left yer car near a path, and from the path ya left a trail about a mile wide as ya trudged through the forest.”

“I did not leave a trail. I was quiet, stealthy. I really wanted to get a shot of that finch.” Even to her own ears, she sounded like she was pouting. “You ruined my day.”

“So sorry, luv. Ya needed to be fetched, so I fetched ya.”

“Hm.”

He grinned at her and then turned back to the road. “There are other birds. Lots of them.”