Proud Hearts (Wild Hearts Romance Book 2) (10 page)

It’s funny how the mind can dissociate when things are at their worst. As I swung the Rover west, pushing it as fast as I dared over miles of unfamiliar terrain before angling back north in an attempt to beat the oncoming flames, my brain was working overtime, debating which metaphor best described our predicament. Caught between a rock and a hard place? Scylla and Charybdis? The Devil and the deep blue sea? Maybe
cranky lion and veldt fire
didn’t have the same poetic ring to it, but why was I obsessing over the words and not the lion itself, or us, or even the upholstery should Caesar decide to take a few casual swings at it?

“That shark cage would sure come in handy right now.”

I risked a glance off the way ahead to find Chris’ signature sexy grin planted firmly on those sensual lips of his.

“You’re enjoying this?”

The camera was going and Chris had an eye toward the back. A quick peek in the rearview showed me nothing more than the stacks of supplies in the backseat. Further back, Caesar’s mouthy growls as he was waking up had become deep, huffing breaths.

“No so much the getting mauled or crispy crittered parts, but when was the last time you got to rescue a lion?”

“Didn’t you just rescue one yesterday? Isn’t it becoming old hat now?”

“There are some things you can do over and over and the thrill never wears off.”

“Like what?” I knew as soon as I asked I shouldn’t have. But dividing my focus between the veldt, the fire and the lion had me a little rattled. I braced for some lewd reference to bumping bodies in the night.

Damn him. He surprised me again.

“Sunsets. Skydiving. Ride-alongs with pretty camerawomen.” He raised his voice. “Isn’t that right, Caesar? No? He seems to be finding the ride less exciting than me.”

I craned for a better angle in the mirror to see into the cargo hold over the towering stack of supplies in between. “Why? What’s going on?”

“Nothing. He’s settled down. Maybe like one of those babies that falls asleep when it’s driven around.”

“You’re sure he’s okay?” No commotion from back there worried me more than if he were tearing up the seats to get to us.

“Got most of him in the viewfinder. He’s up on his chest looking around. Listening to us—his ears are swiveling. Say something nice to him.”

“Hey munchkin, we’re gonna find your family soon. Hang tight back there. It won’t be long.”

“He definitely heard you. I think he’s smiling. Now, say something nice to me.”

I scrunched my nose at him instead. But by the quick look I caught of his face, I wondered if he meant it. I really hadn’t been generous with the compliments. It wasn’t that he didn’t deserve them; more that I didn’t want to continually feed that ego of his. Today—and yesterday—however, he had truly crossed into the hero realm. He deserved better of me, and if that meant stroking his ego, I could do that. So long as he didn’t demand I stroke anything else of his.

“I bet your trainer would be proud.”

“Demetri? Nah. He’s a beast. When he sees this, he’ll probably growl at me for not wearing a weight belt.”

“Why do you stay with him then?”

“Are you kidding? Do you know how hard it is to find someone willing to give honest criticism to someone like me? Well, someone who isn’t a hater wanting to drag me down into the slime with them. Sure, I love the praise. Heap it on when I’m doing something right. But if I want to get better at something, I need people around me not afraid to point out my mistakes. I may not like it all the time, but I do respect honesty.”

He was quiet a moment, and I thought he was done with the topic. Then, “That’s why I respect
you
.”

I took a deep breath. Smoke billowed still in a long cloud behind us. At some point we’d have to take the chance that we’d gained enough time on the fire and could cross in front of it all the way to its northern point and beyond without it catching us and forcing us even further away from the pride. In a sweeping turn, I headed us north, running parallel to the flames and smoke, holding ground on this track against the advancing line of fire.

The maneuver also provided an excuse for not looking Chris directly in the eye or responding immediately to his honest confession.

Why was it so much easier to deal with Chris the arrogant idol than with Chris the earnest man? The man who respected me for my honesty when I wasn’t even sure I was being honest with myself.

Committed now to the path ahead, I risked a look at Chris. “You did a good thing back there. An honest thing. And I respect
you
for that.”

Respect
. That was an emotion I was comfortable with—an easy emotion to hide behind.

Because the last thing I wanted to acknowledge was that I might be feeling something more than simple respect for this man.

For nearly 15 minutes we raced along. Even with the fans on full and staying well ahead of the thick, black clouds of it, smoked air oozed its tendrils everywhere. My eyes smarted from it, tearing in protection. My nose finally quit fighting the onslaught and stuffed up so I could only breathe through my mouth. What it was doing to my lungs I didn’t know. What I did know was that every pore of me, my hair, my clothes, tents and supplies reeked of a smoke that wouldn’t be easily washed away.

We skirted herds of wildebeests and zebras, swarming before the fire. A dozen ostriches paced us for half a mile. At one point, I had to wait for a herd of fleeing impala, the Rover crawling impatiently forward as they leapt past. How many of theirs had they left behind? How many families wouldn’t make it out? The thought continued to plague me long after we’d gone by them.

I dodged a rhino that appeared out of nowhere.

Further on, a pair of cheetahs loped by, all grace and spotted beauty—and obviously bone-weary from their flight.

How far had they come?

How far did they still have to go before they’d be safe?

I could only imagine the ultimate toll.

Our rumbling tires scared up a flock of guinea fowl, the heavy birds scattering at darting runs, with a handful winging up in panic. I wondered if they knew the flames were closing in. That if they hadn’t yet had the sense to start their escape, that it was already too late for them. Too heavy, too slow, unable to fly far, even less able to fly high, they were doomed.

“So much life out here on the run today,” I despaired, “yet the veldt has never felt more dead.”

Chris’ hand on my shoulder was unexpected. A touch of comfort and understanding. A welcome touch. I covered his fingers with mine.

“How’s our cub doing?”

“Lying there, just looking around. Amazingly calm, I’d say. Whatever was in that tranquilizer I could use some of it myself.”

“You and me both.” I returned my left hand to the steering wheel, taking up its death grip again as I navigated around a copse of thorn trees, then veered as a warthog charged straight into our path.

My body was tight with concentration as I blew out a lungful of probably toxic air. How much longer could I keep this up without running us into some hidden ditch or colliding with a panicking beast? One miscalculation now and the flames would have us.

Chris squeezed my shoulder. “Easy. You’ve got this.”

I let his strength and his assurance flow through me, let it steady me as I drove on.

Finally the flames thinned, then disappeared, and I felt confident enough to turn us east again.

Two more miles and a herd of eland with their striped shoulders and stately horns later, I braked us to an easy stop. I didn’t think I was shaking before, but I definitely was now.

“Well, this is stupid.” Embarrassing really.

“Adrenaline withdrawal,” Chris said. “Don’t apologize. Your cells are in after-shock. You couldn’t stop it if you wanted to. Ride it out.”

“You’re an expert on this why?”

There was that incredibly seductive grin again. “I got that same lecture from a bear wrangler in Montana after tracking a grizzly on horseback for half a day.”

“Why was the grizzly riding a horse?”

“It…wha—? Oh.” Chris rolled his eyes.

I smirked back at him, the momentary break in tension exactly what my body needed to calm its shakes. Half-seriously, I asked, “How would your bear wrangler track down a pride of lions, with or without a horse?”

Chris gave my shoulder another encouraging squeeze. “Probably the same way you’re going to.”

From the cargo bay, Caesar
whuffed
his agreement. He seemed to know we were trying to help him; otherwise, where was that level of trust he was displaying coming from? Granted, I had been a constant in his life, filming him and his sister almost from the moment they were born eight months ago. He trusted me enough to eat and sleep while I was near. Enough to venture up within a few feet of me, coming so close once that his just-tufting tail had brushed along the back of my knee.

That was a far cry, though, from being bundled unceremoniously into the back of a van, hurt and without family support of any kind, and being asked to believe his best interests were at heart.

Then again, maybe because everything about this experience was so far out of his realm of familiarity, so overwhelming, that the only choice he had was to trust. That, or go mad. My heart still tugged at the devastation he must have felt watching his family abandon him. Knowing without Chris here I would have done the same to him. Not because I didn’t care—because the pride was the whole of my heart—not even because I’d have been operating under the video journalist’s own prime directive of non-interference, but because I physically didn’t have the ability to carry him out by myself.

Without Chris, I would have abandoned him twice—once to the leopard, once to the fire.

I didn’t deserve the trust he was showing me now.

Or the trust Chris encouraged me to shoulder.

They both seemed to think I was something that every decision I’d made lately was proving I wasn’t: competent.

Hell, without the pressure of escaping the fire on me and I could think more clearly about the cub’s predicament, I realized I didn’t even know how we were going to get him out of the SUV without hurting him further.

For now, despite all of Chris’ kind shoulder-squeezing, I was paralyzed, with no clue what to do next.

To our south, the line of fire snaked off still to the west, leaving an expanse of blackened veldtland. Here at the edge, all was quiet—the animals lucky enough to escape had all fled beyond the point where we sat. And the slower, burrowing beasts wouldn’t emerge till the land had cooled appreciably more.

“How about we find a place to set up camp?” Chris suggested. “We can’t just drive around forever hoping to stumble onto the pride. At least we’ll know wherever we are, the cub won’t be running off. Not for a while anyway. If we don’t find the pride today, or even tomorrow, it’ll be okay.” Cupping his hand under my chin, he turned my face his way. “
We’ll
be okay.”

I nodded, emboldened by Chris’ assurances, his utter confidence.

Realizing that Chris’ trust—Caesar’s trust—didn’t weaken me.

It made me strong.