Proud Hearts (Wild Hearts Romance Book 2) (4 page)

Reena had slipped a mic between us, so I asked, “Why are you out here with the lions? Surely they’ve been studied and filmed and cataloged to death over the past 50 years. At least since the Adamses and Elsa and
Born Free
. You’re getting grant money, so someone somewhere thinks there’s some educational value still to discover. What are you after?”

“It’s important to get as many snapshots as possible over time to get, first, a true picture of a species or a culture and, second, to understand what new trends there might be in, say, migratory behavior or hunting that might point to environmental concerns for the rest of us. You couldn’t stay in a college house in Haight-Ashbury in the 60s and declare that’s what all Californians were like then or continue to be like today. We’ll never be done studying other species any more than we’ll ever be done studying ourselves.”

All I knew when we left the pride that evening and returned to camp, was that I wasn’t close to done studying these lions—or Dee.

As early as I was up the next morning, Chris was up right alongside me.

“I want to leave out by 5:30 tomorrow,” I had told them the night before as we finished up our ready meal entrees and I was passing around fresh mangoes for dessert.

As jet-lagged as they still were, any hour I named would be less than desirable, but Gary was determined to be contentious regardless.

“If you want us out that early just to watch those lions sleep even more…”

“Right, because my grant money is to prove my thesis
let sleeping lions lie
.”

“Care to share your itinerary, then?” Chris sounded only slightly less contentious than Gary.

“Anyone think to ask why those lions were so content to lie around?” I preferred to think it was the teacher in me that enjoyed their baffled expressions and not that I felt the need to prove my worth—no, my superiority, if I was honest—to them. But who was I fooling? “Anyone care to guess?”

Chris’ Hollywood-blue eyes narrowed as he stared out over the remnants of our dinner. It was fascinating to watch the changes in them as he thought through the riddle. Watching, I knew the exact moment he lit on the answer.

“They had fed recently.”

I nodded. “High insulin levels. They were still digesting their last meal. Like the nap after Thanksgiving Dinner. Or an afternoon siesta after a big lunch. They weren’t hungry today. But they will be soon. I know their behaviors well enough to know they’ll be on the hunt tomorrow, and that they’ll be on the move in the morning down to the
dambo
—it’s like a seasonal pond or swampland—where the herds hang out. Assuming we can time everything right, you
might
get a handful of opportunities to film them hunting while you’re here. But if you’d rather sleep instead…” I shrugged pointedly at Gary.

Even at 4 o’clock in the morning, Chris managed to look photo-perfect—nearly naked save for those nylon shorts, his dark blond hair sporting just the right amount of tousling, every move one of confidence and grace. Next to that social perfection, I felt self-conscious and ungainly. Which irritated the heck out of me because I usually had a healthy attitude about all things me. Sure, alone with the lions I was comfortable about my body, mainly because I rarely thought about how I looked or sounded or moved for the days, sometimes weeks, at a time when there was no other human around to see me—to judge me. Before now, though, I hadn’t been this awkward and insecure in social situations. Maybe because pre-lions I had been in-practice socially, interacting with people daily, most of whom had my same interests and goals.

But I had been removed from those personal interactions for a few months now. Emails and texting and Facebook conversations didn’t really substitute for direct human contact. I was out-of-practice, insecure and making a bitch of myself because I was desperate to get approval and respect from these three of society’s beautiful people.

The sad part was that I knew what I was doing and why, that I detested both my need for that approval and my behavior to get it—and yet I couldn’t stop myself from feeling or trying. It was like the real me on the inside was watching this fake me on the outside heading for a train wreck, and no matter how much I yelled, the train just kept coming.

The cocky grin Chris flashed at me in the lamplight simultaneously made my skin crawl and sent an electric shiver through me. And when he winked at me right before stretching his arms wide, emphasizing the breadth of those shoulders and the perfect sculpting of that magnificent chest, I couldn’t decide which I wanted to do more: slap that arrogance right out of him or throw down with him and let him take me however he wanted me.

Which action I would have followed through on was moot, though, when Reena emerged from her tent, camera in hand, filming eye candy for Chris Corsair fans, while Gary, once again, sat under the rolled-up flap of his tent, watching me watching Chris.

It took an act of will to tear my attention from Chris’ beauty ritual, especially knowing some of the upcoming exercises, but this whole situation was unhealthy. Pouring a cup of the coffee I’d just brewed, I clipped my .38 to my belt and went for a walk, timing it so Chris would be done by the time I got back.

He gave me a funny look when I returned. If he wasn’t a skilled actor, I would have said he looked hurt.

Damn it. Why was Dee ignoring me so infuriating? It couldn’t be as simple as wanting most what I couldn’t have.
I
wasn’t that simple. And if I was consciously debating whether it could be that or not, then it couldn’t be I was subconsciously harboring that behavior, could it? Of course not. There had to be something more there.

I stared at her across breakfast trying to figure it out.

I still didn’t have an answer when we packed into the Range Rover and struck off, the anticipation of a hunt infusing us with a building excitement we each tried to temper in our own way.

We rolled slowly past where we’d turned off to park the SUV yesterday just as the sky began to brighten. Another mile further on and we broke out of the brush to an incredible sight. The peep of sun over the eastern hills highlighted an expansive vista—a large swale of wetlands, half-dry in this heat but with large pockets of standing water, teeming with herds of zebra and water buffalo and varieties of antelope I couldn’t name.

“How close can we get?” Reena asked, her handheld already whirring away.

“Close,” Dee assured her. “But the herds will be here every morning. The lions won’t.”

“Where are they?” Dumb question. I didn’t need Dee’s eye roll to tell me that.

Still, she humored me. “We were on that escarpment yesterday”—she pointed back the way we’d come, to the northwest—“so probably somewhere between here and there right now. If we spot them, we might not have time to focus up the tripods. Depends on how close they are and how much time they take getting here.”

Reena nodded her understanding.

Dee’s instincts were dead on. Within 15 minutes, she pointed a few dozen yards to our right. “Sheba.” Then, “Portia…and her cubs!” Something had amped up Dee’s excitement.

“That’s good, right?” I asked as she and Gary set out the dual tripods while Reena kept track of the lionesses with her handheld.

“It means Portia is teaching the cubs to hunt. They might just watch today, or they might get a chance at the kill themselves.” She grinned, her face flushed, as beautiful as the African vista. “This is new for me too!”

She and Reena manned their tripods, Reena tossing her digital handheld to Gary. He framed me in front of the camerawomen, switching on the mic.

“Insulin levels have dropped since the last time they hunted,” I stage-whispered for effect, “and pangs of hunger are driving the lions to hunt again. Wait!” I looked off to the right, then turned back to the camera. “Portia has brought her cubs. Will she be teaching them to hunt today? Let’s watch.” I raised up the binoculars leashed around my neck and Gary switched off mic and camera.

I could feel Dee’s scowl from behind her lens. She didn’t like to be reminded we were here to entertain not educate.

With my part done, I was free to watch the hunt. The cubs indeed were getting the chance to participate. Pure gold for the episode. They targeted an antelope herd—Lesser Kudus, Dee called them; bigger than the springboks we saw driving in the day before yesterday, but not so large as some of the other antelopes here, and nowhere near the size of the large wildebeests Dee pointed out grazing further on.

The female cub, Cleopatra—Cleo, as Dee referred more familiarly to her—rushed the herd first, the kudus squealing in alarm and springing away. Cleo lunged for the kudu that sprang last, but it twisted away from her, and she missed, unable to anticipate its feint or respond quickly enough to it, caught by surprise as she was. A novice mistake, as Dee told us.

Sulking, Cleo dropped back with her aunt and mother while Caesar took his turn. He stalked up close, but the herd was wary now. Making his rush, he lunged, catching a paw around a kudu neck. He hung for the briefest moment, but the attempt was just short and he fell back, his claw leaving deep gashes in the kudu but missing the kill.

Beside me, Gary was breathing fast and loud.

“Knock it off. You’ll hyperventilate.” My admonishment didn’t have much of an effect, but I couldn’t worry about him now as I waited to see what the lionesses would do next.

They stalked up on the herd again. This time both cubs hung back to watch as Portia and Sheba, their tag-team action nailed, gave chase. Sheba picked out one of the kudu from the herd, forcing it toward Portia. One finely calculated leap and Portia grabbed the kudu’s neck between her powerful forelegs and wrenched the unfortunate beast down.

“Oh no, no. No. I can’t watch this,” Gary panted.

Whether it was from broken vertebrae or the jaws clamped around its windpipe to suffocate it, the kudu thrashed a couple of times, then went still, half-hidden from us in the tall grass. Portia backed away.

From further behind where the cubs waited, Brutus and Nana strolled up to the kill like the royalty they were to feast first on the tastiest bits before the lionesses who’d made the kill joined them. Only then were the cubs allowed up.

By then, bald-headed vultures were already alighting, hopping on the ground nearby, waiting for the lions to eat their fill and leave.

“Give me 30 feet,” Reena called to me. “And wear a mic.”

I popped the Bluetooth clip-on to my collar, then struck out across the grass toward the feeding lions, Reena’s camera following me.

“What the—?”

Dee swearing behind me was something I trusted to Gary to handle. Right now my full attention had to be on the lions and the camera. Stopping about midway out, close enough that Brutus and his harem paused their eating as I approached but not close enough to fluster the vultures, I turned halfway back around so I didn’t take my eyes off the lions but so I could address my future audience directly.

“These cubs learned two vital lessons today: first, the importance of teamwork, and second, that it takes three things to be a successful lion—practice, practice, practice.”

Impatience got the better of one of the hungry vultures. It dodged in, wings flapping to distract the big cats and escaped with a gobbet of meat to enjoy. I watched the little drama, then turned back to the camera with a grin. “Oh, and a third lesson—never take your eyes off your lunch.”

As I switched the mic off, Reena waved me back with a hurried hand. Something was up.

Suddenly Brutus’ head reared up, his nose high, casting for scent. He
whuffed
, a sound of irritation.

I took another step back. He growled.

Another step.

He swung his head and growled again.

Two more steps. Only 20 more to go.

Sheba was on alert now too. I didn’t know if she had hackles to raise, but by her posture they would be if she did. Growling, she padded around in a circle.

Two more steps.

The rest of the pride was clearly agitated now.

It sunk in at last that I wasn’t the target. They knew I was there and weren’t making eye contact, or even looking my way.

And then I saw why.

A pack of dogs stalked into view.

No, not dogs. This was Africa. What I first took for spotted dogs now showed themselves to be some mutant-looking thing, like a hybrid cross between a coyote and a cheetah, with rounded ears and mouths that were all teeth. And the sound they were making was something between a choked chirp and a yip that resolved itself into a frustrated, high-pitched demonic laugh that couldn’t have been coming from these creatures…but was.

Hyenas.

With the lions distracted, my retreat was steady and confident now. Dignified. I hoped either Reena or Dee was following my progress, but both cameras were turned on the hyenas as they circled closer to the lions and their kill.

“Surely they aren’t going to challenge the lions.” There were eight hyenas by my count, each between half and three-quarters the weight of the cubs. Surprisingly large for what I’d imagined a hyena to be. Still, a challenge would be either very brave or very stupid. And I suspected nothing survived for long out here by being stupid.

“No,” Dee said. “If there were only one or two lions, maybe. Just the cubs, certainly. With six lions they’re going for the annoyance factor. Imagine a group of kids around the dinner table asking, ‘Are you done yet? Are you done yet? Are you done yet?’ repeatedly. They’ll make pests of themselves until the lions finally reach the point when they’re full enough and the hyenas annoying enough that hanging around isn’t worth it.”

“Why don’t the lions do something?”

“Like attack? Takes too much energy when it’s not life-threatening. I have seen the lions take a swipe or two at hyenas that got a little too close, and even seen a half-hearted chase or two, but no real fights. A pack of hyenas against a single lion, though, I’m betting on the hyenas. They can be mean little devils.”

For another 30 minutes the lions fed, putting up with the ever-escalating squabbling from the hyenas. Finally, as fascinating as it was to watch, even I was reaching my tolerance point. Using binoculars, I could see the lions had done a lot of damage to the carcass, taking it down nearly to the bones. Portia tugged at a hindquarter that still had some meat on it and dragged it with her when the lions finally left the table to go back home.

“Her doggy bag.” Dee grinned. “She’s had to bring something home for the cubs for the last few months. I guess that’s going to be a hard habit to break.”

The pride had only begun to troop off when the hyenas fell over the leftovers, snapping at the vultures that closed in with them. Already another circle of scavengers—kites and meerkats and badgers and more—was beginning to form.

“And after them, tonight, the smaller vermin and lizards will come, and after them all the insects. Nothing of that kudu will go to waste,” Dee pointed out.

“Fine to say if you aren’t the kudu,” Gary piped in. “That was horrible.”

I knew Dee held little love for Gary, so when she faced him, I expected plenty of snark at the worst and a Lion King lecture about the circle of life at best. Damn if the woman didn’t still have a surprise up her short, tanned-arm-baring sleeve.

“When I saw my first kill like that live and up close, I threw up,” she confided. “It’s all about herd and family out here. I barely knew the pride, and the cubs weren’t born yet. All I could think about was the zebra mare. How fair was it that she had survived four, five, maybe six years, only to be grazing peacefully one minute and attacked and killed the next? Did she have a foal or a sister or a mother who would mourn her? Who would be traumatized by watching her die so violently? She’d be a meal for a couple of days and then she’d be gone, the animals who’d feasted on her would be hungry all over again, and then there’d be no more memory of her.

“After a while, I started rationalizing it, then became inured to it, until I rarely think about it now because my bond with the lions and their needs has become so great. Or until someone like you comes along and reminds me that every life has meaning and every death is a sad tragedy for herd or family.

“It
is
horrible. Because the rules we’re forced to play by are horrible. And the consequences for not playing by the rules more horrible yet. If I could fix it so there was no more death and no more tears, would I? Or could it be we only grow through pain and fear? If you have the answer, let me know. Out here, we just have to accept that what is, is, and choose a side to be most sympathetic to—predator or prey.”

Good on Reena—there was a live mic capturing all of this. Mary and Jermaine back at the studio would surely be able to edit some sound bytes into the final cut. It was fortunate our location scouts had found Dee, someone both articulate and photogenic, who wasn’t bothered by the cameras and who came across as natural and real. All in all, this episode was shaping up better than I first feared.

I only wished my relationship with Dee was going as well. Why did some people have to be so complicated?