A Wedding in Africa (The Africa Series) (7 page)

That was the cue Themba needed to release his pent-up excitement, and he promptly burst forth with a host of questions. As a result, the drive across to the eastern side of the estate was accompanied by the incessant chatter of one very boisterous five-year-old.

When they got there, the new-born calf had already been wrapped in a blanket and placed in a box in a warm corner of the barn, well away from draughts. She’d been rubbed with wisps of hay to prevent chilling, and her navel had been dressed with tincture of iodine to avoid infection. But she hadn’t started suckling and her mother was still very weak.

‘Have you taken some fresh milk from the dam?’ Tate asked one of the farmhands.

 

‘Yes
sah
. Here is the bucket.’

‘Thanks Joseph. Good work.’ Tate grabbed the pail from the man and put it on the floor beside the calf. He then rolled up his shirt sleeves and dropped on to his haunches beside the ailing infant. ‘Okay. Now push her against the back of the box. That’s it. Steady.
Hamble gashle
. Go easy there. Now put some of the milk into this bowl.’

Joseph poured some of the mother’s precious colostrum-rich milk into a shallow feeding bowl. He handed it to Tate who was now sitting cross legged on the floor, shoulders leaning back against the barn wall.

Lacey gripped Themba’s shoulders as the two of them stood watching the scene with wide-eyed wonder. Themba reached up and took Lacey’s fingers in his own, needing her reassurance that the new-born would survive. Lacey gave them a comforting squeeze, but she couldn’t drag her eyes away from Tate and the calf.

Tate was sweating slightly. His brow was damp and his hair was sticking up in odd angles on top of his head. It didn’t help that he kept running his fingers through it, which left dusty trails across his forehead and gave him a curious warrior-like appearance. Blissfully unaware of just how rugged and wild he now looked, Tate reached out and tenderly drew the bewildered infant towards him, whispering soothing sounds as he did so.

Lacey held her breath. She didn’t know which was more captivating – this gorgeous, hunky man with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his handsome features creased in concentration, or the enchanting new-born calf whose very life depended on the farmer’s skills.

‘Come on sweetheart,’ Tate whispered, dipping his right forefinger into the milk and working it into the calf’s mouth. ‘Nice and easy…. That’s right. Clever girl. Joseph - can you hold her head up? We don’t want her suckling head down. That’s it. Hold her steady, now.’

Gently, Tate waited until he could feel the infant starting to suckle his finger before he withdrew it and guided her head into the bowl of milk. Themba and Lacey stood there, utterly transfixed by the scene, which had rendered even Themba momentarily speechless. Tate looked up at them.

‘Is she going to be all right?’ Lacey whispered, almost afraid to hear the answer.

‘See for yourself,’ Tate replied, gesturing towards the calf with his chin. ‘She’s suckling quite nicely now. We’ll probably have to hand-feed her for a couple of days, but then she’ll be as right as rain and back with her mother. Job done, I reckon!’

Lacey and Themba hugged each other as Tate placed the calf in Joseph’s capable hands and stood up. Tate grinned, clearly chuffed with the outcome of his efforts, and Lacey felt her heart swell with pride.

‘Well done, Tate,’ she said, resisting the urge to hug him.

‘All in a day’s work,’ Tate shrugged, but Lacey could see how much it had meant to him that the youngster had survived. Here was a man who loved animals with a passion. Someone who was ready and willing to work hard to improve their quality of life and understand their ways. And Lacey really admired the man for that.

‘Why was the baby calf so poorly’ Themba asked, skipping alongside them as they walked back to the truck.

‘Because her mummy was sick,’ Tate replied.
‘Did the calf come out of its mummy’s tummy, just like me?’

Tate nodded and opened the passenger door for Themba to scramble up.

‘So what would have happened if my mummy had had a baby calf in her tummy instead of me?’ Themba continued as the adults took their seats on either side of him. ‘Would I be a baby calf instead of a baby boy?’

Tate laughed out loud. ‘No. It doesn’t quite work like that.’ ‘How does it work,
Baba
? How did I get into my mummy’s tummy. I am much too big to fit in there.’

Tate cast a sidelong glance at Lacey who blushed to the roots of her hair. ‘It’s - well, it’s pretty complicated, Themba. It’s a grown-up thing. Maybe you’d be better off asking your mama about that kind of stuff. Listen, I’ve got some toffees in there. I reckon you’ve earned yourself one.’

The promise of sweets may have distracted young Themba from the miracles of reproduction, but it didn’t help quell the fire in Lacey’s stomach. She knew that Tate felt it, too, by the way his hand gripped the steering wheel and he gnawed at his bottom lip. The tension between them was palpable, and even Themba’s animated chatter couldn’t relieve it.

Themba ran off to tell his mother about the day’s events the minute they got back to the house. Tate and Lacey made their way to their rooms at the side of the building. Just as they got there, Tate stopped dead in his tracks and inspected his grubby T-shirt with dismay.

‘Hell! Just look at the state of me. I’d better get myself cleaned up pronto. I’m amazed you could even bring yourself to sit next to me in the truck.’ Unthinkingly, Tate tore open the buttons from his shirt and shrugged it off before slinging it over the wall of the outdoor shower.

At the sight of that hard torso gleaming in the sun, Lacey almost swooned. She’d been struggling to control her emotions on the journey back, but now here he was standing right in front of her, half-naked, and completely irresistible. Inadvertently, her gaze took in the well defined pack of solid stomach muscles, the light mat of curling chest hair, and the fine line of hair running down from his navel to the top of his jeans.

Lacey gulped and hurriedly averted her eyes. ‘Well, I did keep the window wide open,’ she joked in a bid to lighten the mood. ‘And I was fully prepared to frog-march you into that shower if I had to!’

Tate grinned. ‘You’re not so pristine yourself, missy. You’ve got dust on your cheeks.’

He reached out to brush it away and Lacey felt a jolt of electricity sear through her veins when his fingers touched her skin. Instinctively, she tilted her head to meet his caress, and she heard him draw a long, deep breath.

Tate didn’t really know why he suddenly felt the urge to touch her. Maybe it was because she looked so damn beautiful standing there. All he knew was that he wanted to wrap his arms around those tantalising curves and feel her body pressed up close against his. The skin on her cheek felt soft, like satin, when he touched it, and his body hardened involuntarily. God, but he wanted this woman. Needed her.

But he knew that he couldn’t have her. Shouldn’t even
want
her. She was engaged to be married, for God’s sake, to some bloke down in Cape Town. So what the hell was he doing even
thinking
such things? He must be out of his mind to be playing around with a woman like Lacey Van der Zyl.

It was madness. Sheer madness. And it had to stop!

Abruptly, he pulled his hand back and turned away. ‘Look, I’d better grab a shower and clean up. I’ve got to drive into town later. Do you want to come?’

Lacey struggled to recover her composure. She’d caught a glimpse of that icy look in Tate’s eyes just before he’d snatched his hand away. Had he recognised the naked desire in her eyes? Felt the heat in her body? If so, what on earth must he think of her? A woman who was engaged to another man. What did she think of herself, come to that? Suddenly, she was overwhelmed by a surge of unwelcome emotions.

Regret? Guilt? Humiliation? Perhaps all three? It was impossible say. All she knew was that Tate Maddox spelled trouble. And she didn’t need any trouble in her life. Her future was neatly mapped out for her. And nothing, not even a man like Tate Maddox, could be allowed to derail those carefully laid plans.

‘I’d rather stay here. I’ve got loads of work to catch up on,’ she said, angry with herself for being so weak and stupid. ‘We’ve both got a big stake in this magazine article. I have to get it right. That’s why I’m here. Remember?’

Oh, Tate remembered all right. The magazine had to come first. That’s what it was all about, wasn’t it? Getting a good story that would sell the magazine and make everyone loads of money. And who better to achieve that than a sophisticated city girl like Lacey Van der Zyl?

So, given that he understood all that, what the hell was happening to him? Why couldn’t he get the woman out of his head? Hadn’t he learned his lesson after all this time? Was he really going to risk letting it start all over again?

The answer had to be an emphatic “No!” and, with that thought in mind, Tate resolved to call Tilly when he got back from town and accept her party invitation. Why, he might even take Lacey with him in case Tilly got the wrong idea. He knew that Tilly had feelings for him, and he didn’t want to lead her on, so taking Lacey along might confirm that he wasn’t looking for anything serious. He liked things just the way they were – friendly, casual, and with no strings attached.

It would also show Lacey that he hadn’t been flirting with her just then. He respected the fact that she was engaged to be married. And, as far as he was concerned, he was happily hooked up with his old pal, Tilly, for the time being. He wasn’t looking for love. But even if he was, he certainly wouldn’t go looking for it with another man’s fiancée. He wasn’t in the business of splitting people up and breaking hearts. He knew from past experience just how painful that could be.

CHAPTER FIVE

Lacey was pleased with her day’s work and felt she’d earned her short break in the garden. Tate was still in town, so there was no chance of her bumping into him and embarrassing herself all over again. She wanted to
die
when she recalled her eager response to his innocent touch. If he’d had even half a notion of how she’d reacted to his gesture, he’d have laughed in his boots at such nonsense. She was acting like a hormonal teenager, rather than a woman who was about to be married.

Anxiously, she fiddled with the expensive engagement ring that Mortimer had presented her with. It was from the De Beers collection and featured three large princess-cut diamonds in their signature platinum setting. It had cost a bomb, and Lacey hadn’t wanted to say that it was just a tad too showy for her liking. She would have preferred something more discreet. But she didn’t want to appear ungrateful, so she’d politely accepted it, together with the admiring glances it drew from anyone and everyone who saw it.

She wandered along one of Matshana’s wooden pathways, bordered by fragrant frangipani and English Heritage roses specially imported from the UK. Fire finches, blue waxbills and bronze mannikins squabbled amongst themselves for crumbs on the bird table, watched half-heartedly by two very lazy dogs who were way too sleepy to care about the antics of a few silly birds.

Their doleful eyes followed Lacey as she ambled past, but it was too hot for them to raise their heads from their front paws. They were visibly relieved when she took a seat on the bench under the jacaranda, so they didn’t have to move from their comfy positions to follow her. As soon as she was settled, they stretched out fully on their sides with deep, contented sighs.

The minute Lacey sat down, her cell phone rang. It was Mortimer calling from Cape Town. Lacey stared at the caller ID for a moment, then took a deep breath before answering the call.

‘What took you?’ Mortimer’s voice was clearly irritated. ‘I was just about to ring off.’

 

‘Sorry. I couldn’t find my phone. How are things down there? How’s Dad?’

 

‘He’s fine. We’re all fine. More importantly, how’s it going up there? What’s he like – Maddox?’

 

Lacey watched the birds playing on the bird table. ‘He’s okay. Nice enough.’

 

‘
Nice
!’ Mortimer spluttered. ‘
Nice
! What kind of word is that? You’re supposed to be a
writer
! “Nice” isn’t going to pull in many readers.’ ‘You’re right. Sorry. Actually, he’s a lot more complicated than that. It’s hard to work him out.’

‘Well, that’s what you’re there for, Lacey. Our readers want to know
exactly
what makes Tate Maddox tick. They don’t
do
“complicated”, okay? So, what does he look like? Good looking? Average? Ugly?’

‘He’s okay. Average to good looking, maybe. Dark hair. The photographer up here’s going to email you the shots. You can judge for yourself.’

Mortimer grunted and Lacey could almost picture his eyes rolling in frustration. She knew she wasn’t being very helpful, but she found it impossible to talk to Mortimer about Tate Maddox. And she certainly couldn’t trust herself to describe what Tate really looked like! She wasn’t even sure Mortimer would actually want to hear the truth - that she was staying with the most devastatingly gorgeous, sexy man she’d ever met. She’d leave it to the readers to see that for themselves. Much safer!

‘What’s the place like - Matshana? I’ve checked it out on Google Earth. It’s absolutely vast.’

‘It’s also absolutely beautiful, Mortimer. It truly is the most magical place I’ve ever seen. If you could see it, you’d love it. The people here are wonderful, and we’ve got glorious views of the Sabie River with wild hippo and zebras and amazing birds. It’s wonderful, Mortimer. Words simply can’t describe it. I’ve never been anywhere like it before.’

‘Well you better find words to describe it, sweetheart. That’s what we’re paying you for - to write about it – remember? You’re the one who wanted to be a writer, and now you’re telling me you can’t find the words to describe the place. I reckon you’d better leave the writing to the professionals in future. You’re going to have your hands full pretty soon, looking after our home and all the baby Schuttes we’ll be introducing into the Van der Zyl empire. Imagine that, Lacey - my son, a Schutte, heading up the Van der Zyl publishing house. How amazing would that be?’