She taps her foot. “I can’t read all day. You didn’t really think this kidnapping thing through, did you?”
Cocky little minx. I want to kiss that sassy mouth of hers, bend her over the desk, and make the fantasies taking shape in my mind come true. I should remind her she’s in no position to make demands, but I love that attitude of hers too much. “I’ll get you whatever you want. Name it.”
“Five minutes.”
“What?”
“I’ll be ready in five,” she says before dashing through the doors.
Smiling, I inwardly shake my head at how easily she wraps me around her finger. There’s nothing I won’t do for her. I wasn’t kidding. She only has to name it.
Four minutes later, she bursts into the room, wearing the clothes in which I brought her here. There are wet patches on the T-shirt, and the darker color of the jeans tells me they’re completely wet.
I walk over and trail my hand up her thigh. “Your clothes are wet. You’ll get sick going out like this.”
She chuckles. “They’ll dry quickly on my body.”
I assume she washed them and left them in the bathroom to dry, not outside. Wise move. Otherwise the monkeys would’ve stolen them. The little rascals also like to carry off tablecloths and chair cushions. I make a mental note to do something about Cas’s clothes situation. It’s not an oversight. I’ve just been too busy to attend to the matter yet, and to be honest, I only imagined her naked in my room. Staying locked up in here doesn’t require clothes. Call it an impractical fantasy. What I do know for sure now is that locking her up isn’t an option. She’ll definitely get bored, and boredom isn’t conducive for a healthy mental state or happiness.
Grabbing my jacket, I hold it open for her. She steps into the leather obediently, letting me help her fit the sleeves. I turn her and zip up the jacket. She’s drowning in the garment, and a sudden pang of endearment pierces my heart.
“Come,” I say, making my way to the door.
She beams, moving as fast as her sore ankle allows her to keep up.
At the Jeep, I hand her the same cap and sunglasses from yesterday. I always keep a spare of each on hand. It’s only when she’s safely settled in her seat and sure I’m not going to leave her behind that her earlier elation—if the relief of not having to twiddle your thumbs can be called that—makes place for tension.
I glance at her as I start the engine.
She bites her lip as she contemplates whatever is going through that pretty head of hers, and I can only guess what that is. It has something to do with a small, white pill.
Not in the mood to get on her bad side when we’ve just started out more or less good, I rev the engine and put my foot down on the accelerator, making talking difficult over the noise.
I cross the cattle gate and park inside the fenced outcrop. The fences aren’t there to keep the people in. They’re there to keep the animals out. The minute I cut the engine, she jumps from the Jeep and goes over to the hill from where she has a view of the solar panels. The village is spread out at the foot of the slope.
“Wow,” she says, shading her face with a palm.
I take the toolbox from the back, select what I need, and stop next to her. “The panels are new.” I wave a screwdriver in the direction of the settlement. “They provide a hundred percent of the energy at the lodge and the village. We only keep the old diesel-operated generators for emergencies.”
She scans the horizon from left to right and points at the bigger buildings in the center of a cluster of neat huts with pumpkin creepers and zucchini vines in the backyards. “What are those?”
“A school and clinic.”
She looks at me quickly.
“We’re isolated, and most of the locals who live in the village don’t have cars. Even if they did, they don’t have driver’s licenses. It’s far to walk to town.”
“It’s very quaint.”
“Thank you.” I can’t help the pride in my voice. “The villagers do the upkeeping.”
“But you developed it.”
“As I said, they did most of the work.”
“What about teachers and medicine?”
“There’s a teacher in the village, and I fly supplies like medicine in from South Africa or elsewhere if needed.”
She lets her gaze travel over the fields of maize and sorghum and the cattle grazing in the distance. “They’re obviously prospering when most other people aren’t so lucky.”
I study her. “You’ve been to Zim before?”
“I visited the Falls with my parents when I was in high school. We did a little traveling, enough to know food shortage and poverty are problems on a national scale.”