Moonflower

Conservationist, Sophie Kyle, takes up a position on a private
game farm outside Cape Town in the hopes of paying off her student
loans and adding a glowing reference to her resume, while getting
the chance to indulge her passion for wildlife
conservation.

Reuben Manning is a British business tycoon who has bought a
game farm in Africa which he intends to use as a venue to entertain
friends and business associates.

With all the suddenness and intensity of a bushfire, a
powerful attraction ignites between the conservationist and the
tycoon. But their lives are set to play out on opposite sides of
the world. Sophie has only ever wanted to spend her days in the
African bush, while Reuben’s life is corporate London.

As the wild and sensuous bond between the two grows, they must
overcome many obstacles to find common ground or they are doomed,
despite their passion for each other, to spend the rest of their
lives a continent apart
.

MOONFLOWER

Untamed
Safari Series, #2

Leigh
Archer

Tirgearr
Publishing

Author
Copyright: 2015 Leigh Archer

Cover
Art: EJR Digital Art (ejrdigitalart.com)

Editor:
Lucy Felthouse

Proofreader: R.L. McCoy

A
Smashwords Edition

This
ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may
not be resold or given away. If you would like to share this book,
please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re
reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not given to
you for the purpose of review, then please log into the publisher’s
website and purchase your own copy.

Thank you
for respecting our author’s hard work.

This
story is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places,
incidents are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance
to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.

ALL
RIGHTS RESERVED

MOONFLOWER

Leigh
Archer

Chapter
One

Sophie
woke with no grogginess at all, even though it had only just gone
5:30. This morning was all about beginnings for her.

She
brushed her copper hair from face, and stretched beneath the sheet.
The light behind the curtain went from dim to bright as if someone
had turned up a rheostat—a typical start to a mid-summer African
dawn.

Sophie
began her summer job today. And it wasn’t just any job. It was a
plum position as conservationist on a private game reserve two
hours outside the city of Cape Town. A real gem. And an enormous
challenge; exactly what got Sophie’s blood fizzing.

Her
father always told anyone who would listen, his theory about why
adrenaline had such a positive effect on the youngest of his four
children. Sophie’s mother had gone white-water rafting, not knowing
she was pregnant with Sophie at the time, and to this day he was
convinced the experience had affected his daughter’s ability to
cope positively with stress.

Sophie
always added: ‘That, and growing up with three older
brothers.’

Conservation was Sophie’s passion and she now had a wonderful
opportunity to indulge herself. In conservation terms the game farm
she’d be working on was a small one, but it was the first time
she’d be in charge of a wildlife programme, instead of just a
junior team member. The job would allow her to get a head start on
paying back her student loans and, if all went well, she’d be able
to add a solid reference to her résumé.

After an
invigorating shower, she took extra care getting dressed. Being
five feet eleven, Sophie was able to make just about anything
appear elegant, which is why she usually tended not to give a
thought to her appearance. But this morning she wanted to look
professional, confident, in control. At twenty-four, it was not
only gender that was against her; she needed to look as no-nonsense
and mature as she possibly could.

Even
though the employment was for three months only, leaving with a
glowing reference was essential. Jobs working with wildlife were
about as easy to come by as a South African tan, but good positions
attached to research projects were scarce. There was often a lack
of meaningful funding and competition was stiff. It was still a
male-dominated industry.

Despite
the heat, Sophie pulled on a freshly ironed pair of khaki trousers,
a short-sleeved khaki shirt, socks and sturdy hiking boots.
Hovering in front of her tiny mirror, she slathered her face with
block-out, applied a coat of mascara to enhance her green eyes and
added a touch of gloss to her lips. Then she wound her strawberry
blond hair into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. Once she’d
packed her holdall, she headed for the flat’s tiny
kitchen.

From the
looks of things, her flatmate, Sandy, had had a near-fatal case of
the munchies. Sophie and Sandy had been friends since high school.
They’d left home together and gone into residence at university,
then rented the flat two years ago. Sandy might have the habits of
a warthog, but she was the best friend anyone could ask for. Who
cared if Sophie was left spooning peanut butter into her mouth on
the first morning of a new job? There was nothing a few gulps of
hot coffee couldn’t fix.

Just
before 7:30, she stopped to sign in at a stone guard hut and drove
through an impressive pair of wrought-iron gates that heralded the
start of the Labour’s End estate.

The game
farm had been bought by a wealthy Englishman. Sophie hadn’t
realised just how wealthy until she’d gone on the internet. Reuben
Manning was the president of the Consolidated Investment Group
based in London. Something of a financial whizz, having made his
first million at the age of twenty-three. Now at thirty-four he’d
probably lost count of his fortune a long time ago.

Sophie
hadn’t been able to figure out just how interested he was in the
farm. She wasn’t sure if she would even get to meet him. He had
apparently never set foot on the land and would use it only
periodically to entertain business associates; probably nothing
more than a toy for the tycoon then.

Sophie’s
three month appointment had been made by his farm managers, a
husband and wife team who had employed her purely on the strength
of her résumé and references. A few e-mails had whizzed back and
forth and in no time she’d been hired.

Sophie
was quite happy with the status quo. She really didn’t want to meet
Manning. She had seen what happened to girls who got involved at
university with the sons of wealthy families and she had no taste
for the type. The less she had to do with him, the happier she’d no
doubt be. Give her wildlife and the bush and she was in seventh
heaven, willing to meet any challenge head-on.

The main
house was a white, double-storeyed Cape-French dwelling with
Parisian-grey trimmings, surrounded by blue-grey mountains, lush
green lawns and some pretty impressive formal gardens. Just off to
the right, an ornamental lake blinked in the morning sun. Sophie
parked her car at the end of the drive and climbed out.

She
hadn’t taken more than five steps along the path when a very old
man stepped suddenly in front of her, appearing as if from nowhere.
His hair was woolly and snow-white, and the plains of weathered
skin on his face were the colour and texture of tree bark. He was
painfully thin and stooped; the top of his head only just reaching
Sophie’s chest.

‘
Who are you?’ he demanded, squinting up at her.

‘
I’m Sophie Kyle, the new conservationist.’

‘
Hmm.’ He seemed to think about this for a moment, then, with a
type of resigned annoyance, said, ‘Well, okay. Take this
then.’

With a
magician’s flourish, he produced a white rose from behind his
back.

‘
Oh, how sweet of you!’ she said, taking the rose from him.
‘Thanks.’

‘
Off you go now.’ The old man made a shooing motion with his
hand.

Sophie
couldn’t help grinning as he went tottering off across the
lawn.

She
carried on up the path, climbed the stairs to a wide verandah,
knocked on the door that stood ajar and, when there was no answer,
stepped into an elegant entrance hall.

‘
Hello?’ she called.

‘
Hi. Be with you now,’ a woman’s voice answered from what
looked like a dining room on the left.

‘
Sorry to keep you waiting,’ the woman said moments later as
she came towards Sophie, hand outstretched. ‘We’ve had a hectic
morning. You must be Sophie Kyle. I’m Sara Bosman.’

Sara
Bosman and her husband Rolf were the farm managers. Sara was an
imposing woman in her early fifties, tall and thin with long,
frizzy brown hair worn in a loose bun and skin weathered from
spending much of her time out of doors. ‘I see you’ve been picking
the roses.’

‘
Oh, no! An old man gave it to me. I was coming up the path and
he stepped out in front of me.’

‘
Ah,’ Sara said, looking amused. ‘That must be Mr Solomon, our
gardener. He’s strange, but a sweet old man.’

‘
He seems too old to be a gardener.’

‘
Yes and no. He came with the farm, you see. None of us know
how old he is, but he’s lived here his entire life, I was told. He
has a little cottage out back. Apparently his wife died some time
ago. Mr Manning’s happy to have him stay on. You’d be surprised how
good the old man is with the garden. We get some of the younger men
to help him with the heavy work, but everything he touches seems to
bloom so beautifully. You should be honoured. He doesn’t really
bother with anyone. Not likely to give you the time of day, much
less a rose.’

Sara
looked around her, a little distractedly.

‘
You had breakfast yet, Sophie?’

‘
Ah, yes… Something light.’

‘
Well, I suggest you come through to the dining room and fill
up.’

Peanut butter and bananas be damned
,
Sophie thought, as she followed Sara into the dining room. Grabbing
a plate, she shovelled scrambled eggs, grilled mushrooms and
tomatoes, and two pieces of toast onto it.

‘
Reason why we’re running around like headless fowls is Mr
Manning’s due in tomorrow.’

‘
Bit of a stickler, is he?’ Sophie ventured between
mouthfuls.

‘
Not really,’ Sara said, buttering toast. ‘It’s just that he’s
never been here before. He flew my husband and myself to London to
interview us eight months ago. Had very specific plans of what he
wanted to do with the place, and all our communication since has
been via telephone and e-mail.’

‘
So you want to be sure everything’s as he wants it to
be.’

‘
Exactly. As soon as we’re finished here I’ll take you on a
tour of the house. We’ll get you settled into your quarters, then
introduce you to the rest of the staff. And the wildlife, of
course. Ah, here’s my husband, Rolf.’