Frank Brodie had never worked so hard in his life.
For the next few weeks he and Tara settled into a routine that Brodie found particularly punishing, his battered body protesting under the strain of regular 18-hour days.
He was out of bed at six in the morning and frequently didn't crawl in beside Tara until well past midnight, so exhausted that he slept like a dead man beside her, his body sprawled against hers seeking comfort in his dreams.
During his long working day he would do everything from discussing new security systems to getting Joe Petrowski to send out food to work crews all over the island as they constructed luxury homes and wild animal enclosures.
Tara was involved deeply in the construction of the small medical centre, and Dervla Monaghan had decided to accept the offer of work on San Miguel Island, the challenge appealing to her sense of adventure. The excellent salary and offer of a small ranch house along with the job was the clincher. Between them the two women argued with planners and took budgeting plans to Irwin Trubshaw who thrashed out funding details for them.
They soon discovered that Trubshaw was a conscientious and dedicated financial whiz, and Tara was pleasantly surprised when he came up with sources of funding for a state-of-the-art imager for the medical centre, listed in order of contribution amount. Tara realized if they gave Trubshaw a sound reason for something he would pull out all the stops to get it for them. His reasoning for the imager was that Zelle Smith could use the equipment for the 'livestock' and in the end it would save money.
Brodie, however, struggled.
His work was incredibly varied and interesting, and he had to admit he was enjoying himself tremendously, but everything was a sharp learning curve - computers, for instance. He had never had anything to do with computers in his life.
The contraption sat on his desk taunting him with his inadequacies, as he tried to figure out how to turn the thing on. Six hours later, Tara came home to discover Brodie on the point of heaving the wretched machine through the window into the mud of the work-site that had once been the compound. His language was somewhat ripe.
The next day she sat down and taught him the rudiments of computing and Internet access, and Brodie finally managed by the end of the day to send his first ever email. Between them they set up a tiny makeshift office for him in their accommodation unit, and Brodie discovered how to manage his workday from his desk, and life became a little easier.
But slowly things began to take shape. The return of Pieter van Guelder to the island, still a little stiff and sore but eager to get on with his job as Assistant Security Chief, was a boon. On his first morning back, Brodie invited him into his little cramped office for coffee and bagels.
The big South African was wary when Brodie ushered him into the office and waved him into a chair. The tiny room struggled to contain Brodie on his own, but with two big, brawny men trying to find a place to stretch out long legs it became positively uncomfortable. Brodie had to move a pile of paperwork out of the way so he could reach over and pour van Guelder a cup of coffee. Pieter noticed the plate of hot bagels lavished with good local cheese that Joe Petrowski had dropped off, and helped himself to a couple after Brodie handed him a paper plate.
They sat for a few moments, letting the good food and hot coffee relax them. Swallowing a mouthful of bagel, Brodie finally spoke.
"So … how's the shoulder?"
Pieter flexed his wounded shoulder experimentally. He winced.
"Still bloody sore, but getting better. I can do my job, if that's what you're worried about."
Brodie caught the defensive tone in his voice. He shook his head and grinned.
"Nope. Not worried. I know you can do it."
He waited for Pieter's reply, and the big man didn't disappoint him.
"So, Brodie … or should I call you 'Chief'? I hear that's what they call you around here." He cocked an eyebrow at his new boss. "Why choose me?"
"Because you're good at what you do, you're honest to the point of losin' your job over it, and you won't give me crap - you'll tell me the truth, and that's what I'm countin' on more than anything else." Brodie snagged another bagel. "And you can call me Brodie or Frank. The 'Chief' thing was Joe's idea."
Pieter pondered Brodie's reply.
"Okay. I can deal with that. But I hear you asked for me despite Cunningham's objections. He thinks I fucked up, and to tell you the truth I think I fucked up too. I don't want you giving me the job for any other reason that you think I can do it, Brodie - I don't want to owe you over this. It's not my way, you understand?"
"Yeah. I can understand that, and I could tell you I asked for you just so I could rub your nose in the shit - and don't think the idea didn't appeal to me." Brodie gave Pieter his lop-sided grin. "But it's because you know game reserves, you know how they work. All I've done is hunt big game - captive breeding programs ain't exactly been my cup of tea, and now I'm tryin' to understand something I have no experience of. You can keep me right on security and safety measures, and where things can go SNAFU, and all that shit. The rest of it is okay, but this is pretty damn specialized, and I need an expert - and that's you."
Brodie discovered he actually liked Pieter van Guelder. The man was honest and when people weren't screwing up he was easy to get along with. Brodie realised with a lurch that many of the problems he had had with van Guelder had been his own making.
"Listen, I've done my own fair share of fucking up - hell, more than my fair share. Just because you did it once doesn't mean you can't do a damn good job, van Guelder. So … you gonna take it?" Brodie waited expectantly.
Pieter van Guelder thought for long moments. He studied Brodie, noticing the air of confidence about the man he hadn't seen before … and there was a serenity in those azure eyes that was new. He thought about Brodie's history, about how he had spent ten long years paying mentally for another man's insanity, the guilt of leaving all those men behind on San Miguel Island eating him alive from the inside out. He had been a down-and-out, reclusive drunk with one helluva bad attitude - very different from the man he saw sitting scrunched up in the corner of a tiny office, bad leg stretched awkwardly over two boxes of free medical samples Tara had stored beside Brodie's desk for security reasons.
Pieter nodded.
"Yeah. I'll take the job. As long as you understand that I won't necessarily agree with you - if you screw up, I'm going to tell you, and to hell with the consequences, boss or not."
Brodie studied him for a second, then leaned forward and stuck out a hand.
"I'm counting on it. Pieter."
Pieter looked at the proffered hand … and shook it. The deal was done.
"All right. That's fair enough." Letting go of Brodie's hand he stood up and stretched the kinks out of his back from sitting in the cramped little chair in the cramped little office. He looked down at Brodie, now gathering up his walking stick and levering himself out of his chair.
"One more question - I hope to hell we're getting bigger offices when all this building work's done. Because I'm leaving right now if I have to share this shoebox with you. No offense, man."
Brodie grunted in agreement.
"You and me both. As far as I know we're getting a security building with - and I quote - 'top of the range furniture and the very best in computer software and security systems'. Unquote."
Pieter grinned.
"Sounds … interesting. Right. Where do you want me to start … Boss."
Brodie winced. 'Chief', and now 'Boss'. What the hell was wrong with these people? Wasn't calling him 'Frank' good enough? But then he caught the mischievous glint in Pieter's eye and snorted. The man was a pain in the ass, that was certain.
"Wiseass. C'mon, I'll show you what a mess this whole place is and introduce you to some of the other sonsabitches I have to deal with." He grinned. "Just you wait until you meet Anal-Retentive Irwin …"
Pieter's expressive eyes widened in puzzlement.
Brodie smirked.
"You have no idea …"
Chuckling softly he led Pieter van Guelder out of the accommodation unit and out into the bedlam that was San Miguel Island.
******************
With Pieter to take some of the load off Brodie's shoulders life became easier, and he found the South African to be conscientious, straightforward and responsible. He found he could spend more time with Tara in the evening and he began to sleep better, knowing Pieter's talent for detail would serve him well - nothing was left out and Pieter made sure all of the plans they made were carried out to the letter.
The enclosures were coming along quickly, and the research centre was now a priority as Cunningham wanted it up and running first - the animals would be a big draw when it came to advertising the holiday homes.
Zelle Smith turned out to be the only fly in the ointment. She thought the mix of wild animals and millionaires to be a bad one, and constantly complained that the game reserve and program should come first - the whole thing was nothing more than a money-spinner, as far as she could see. The first serious run-in was with van Guelder.
Zelle and Pieter had met a week after Pieter had started his job, and they had definitely got off on the wrong foot. He had been asked to bring her from the helicopter down into the compound after a fund-raising trip to Boston, and as soon as Pieter opened his mouth and spoke she bristled, the Afrikaans accent setting her hackles rising instantly. Everything went downhill after that.
Brodie sat and listened to Pieter's reasonable argument that sometimes tourism and publicity did a lot of good, as typified by the success of the Kruger National Park in South Africa and the Jim Corbett Reserve in India. The animals coped with a little interference in return for a safe and natural habitat protected by rangers who shot to kill when it came to poachers. But that protection didn't come cheap, and tourism went a long way towards paying for it.
Zelle would have none of it. In her opinion governments had a duty to protect their rare and endangered wildlife and the animals and birds should not be made to pay their way. Any money from private funding should be used for breeding programs and other similar projects, and to hell with the tourists.
Pieter told her she was a naïve fool.
Zelle told him he was a charlatan, and what else could she expect from a white South African?
Pieter growled in return that he couldn't expect anything else from a closeted, spoiled woman from New York whose sole experience with wild animals was in a cozy, air-conditioned artificial zoo habitat. She probably wouldn't last five minutes on the veldt, and that she should examine her own attitude towards people too, considering she had immediately jumped to conclusions and expected Pieter to call her a kaffir as soon as he spoke. Just because he was a South African, he snarled, didn't make him a bigot.
Zelle called him a buffoon, and slammed the door to Brodie's minuscule office on the way out.
Pieter scowled at Brodie.
"That woman has a log-sized chip on her shoulder, Boss. "
Brodie thought privately that Zelle had had it coming to her.
"Yep - she's a handful all right. But we have to work with her, Pieter, there's no getting around it, so you'll just have to deal with it, okay?"
Pieter had sighed and nodded, then headed off to take out his ire on a recalcitrant bunch of labourers who were loath to dig the rhino moat to the required depth.
But Zelle and Pieter were at loggerheads more often than not, and Brodie knew something would have to give sooner or later, although neither of them let their animosity interfere with their work. Zelle sat at night in her rectangular accommodation unit and worked away at getting the research centre into gear, as the building was almost finished and the enclosures were coming along nicely. Boots the fruit bat dangled happily from his perch and chittered at visitors, most of them stopping to give the creature a scratch which sent Boots into paroxysms of delight.
In fact Brodie was happy at the way things were going. The last of the baboons had been cleared out so crews could work in safety, the building work was coming along a treat, and the security systems were being installed to his satisfaction. He reckoned he was now entitled to a day off.
He went home that night happy, limping from the car pool with the loyal Moron at his heels, and trudged into the small living room. Tara was already home, tired and ready to slump on the sofa for the rest of the night. She set fresh coffee on the table and looked up as Brodie walked in through the door.
"Hey …"
Brodie smiled at her wearily and leaned down to kiss her.
"Hey yourself. You had supper?"
Tara nodded. She had eaten at the chow wagon earlier, not knowing when Brodie would be home. She looked up at him, seeing how exhausted he was, and smiled in sympathy. He was working too hard and he desperately needed a day off, and she had organised her own work schedule to spend the day with him. In bed, if need be.
Brodie decided a shower would be just the thing to ease his aching muscles and went into the bathroom, turning on the water in the capacious shower. The accommodation units did have one advantage - the bathrooms were roomy and comfortable, and Tara had done her best to make it warm and welcoming. He dug out a couple of big towels and stripped, his game leg and back protesting at the effort of bending. Jeez, he was gettin' too old for all this shit …
Stepping into the shower he let the powerful jet of hot water hit his chest and he couldn't contain a groan of pleasure, and he stood for long moments, just revelling in the relaxing heat. He was aware for a moment of a change in temperature as the bathroom door opened and closed, and he grinned as he heard the whisper of clothing being removed. The shower door slid open and shut … and he felt small hands creep around from behind him and begin to stroke his chest.
"Hi, handsome." Tara's voice was sultry.
"You talkin' to me?" Brodie closed his eyes in pleasure.
"I don't see any other handsome men in here, do you?" Her hands started a swirling motion over his pectoral muscles.
"Just checkin'. Feels good …"
Brodie stood still as Tara squeezed some shower gel onto her hands and began to soap his tired body, her breasts brushing his back as she worked. She slicked soap over his broad shoulders and down his arms, the big man moving slightly to allow her access. She knew how much he enjoyed her attention, and she gently kneaded the muscles of his back, working her way slowly down to his buttocks and hips, getting great pleasure out of soaping his flanks and belly next.
As she slowly rubbed his flat, muscular belly she heard the short hitch in his breath as she brushed the soft curls at his groin in passing, and knew instinctively he was very aroused. But she didn't touch his arousal, and worked past it to gently wash his thighs. She was particularly careful around his terribly scarred leg, and Brodie had to brace himself against the wall of the shower as he hissed in pain, although Tara was as gentle as she could possibly be. When he was tired his leg hurt dreadfully, and he was tired most of the time these days. But he wasn't prepared for what she did next.
Sliding her hands upwards she began a soft, insistent circular motion on his inner thighs, and he looked down to see her crouching beside him, her hands working closer … closer … yes … oh God, yes …
Tara cupped the fullness of his testes and kneaded gently.
Brodie groaned loudly. He leaned back, allowing the hot jets of water to play over both of their bodies, transported into heaven by Tara's long fingers. He grunted softly as one of her hands finally found its way to his penis, now erect and straining away from his belly.
Tara looked up at him, the water streaming over taut muscles, powerful body looming over her as he reacted to her touch. Smiling to herself she leaned forward and took the tip of him in her mouth.
"Jesus!"
The breath exploded from him at the exquisite sensation. Her hands left him and began to stroke his quivering flanks and her mouth … dear God, what her mouth was doing to him … His hips thrust involuntarily and one of his hands tangled in her wet hair as she urged him on, Tara tasting the first slip of moisture from him as he became even more aroused.
But suddenly her touch was gone and he groaned with the loss. What the hell was she doing?
"My turn." Tara stood up and lifted his hand to her breast, and Brodie regained his breath and began to soap her glorious body, the ache in his loins almost unbearable.
He slowly soaped her breasts and belly, and pulling her to him he began on her back, Tara feeling the nudge of his manhood against her. Standing a little on tiptoe she parted her thighs, allowing his penis to settle between them, both of them groaning at the sensation. Brodie's hands slid down to her hips and clasped her to him as he washed her beautiful body, the friction of the soft skin of her thighs on his heated manhood driving him crazy. He wanted to lift her, wanted to lower her onto him and push her against the wall and thrust and thrust and -
"Frank … Frank, love … I think we should go to bed, don't you?" Her voice was a breathless, needy whisper.
Brodie knew making love to her here in the shower was impossible - his leg wouldn't stand the strain. So letting go of her he switched off the water and they both eased from the shower, and towelled each other's bodies dry slowly, lingering over thighs and loins. The rough-soft texture of the towel on his arousal almost drove Brodie to climax then and there as Tara dried his trembling body, but he gritted his teeth. He wanted to be inside her when he came, he wanted to spill himself in her so much it hurt.
Dry and needing to get into bed they wandered, kissing and nuzzling, from the bathroom into the bedroom, Brodie shutting the door behind him to stop Moron wandering in to watch, as was his wont. The dog was curious as to what his two humans got up to, and Brodie hated an audience. It just made Tara laugh. Either way, it ruined the moment.
They tumbled onto the bed, breathless with need for each other, and Brodie turned Tara instantly onto her back. Long fingers stroked urgently over her body and down to her flanks, and hot kisses rained on her soft skin. He nuzzled down her neck to her breast, suckling the turgid nipple and laving it with his tongue. Tara arched against him, wanting more, her heady gasps telling him how pleasurable his attentions were. He moved lower, mouth insistent, and when he parted her thighs and kissed the satin inner skin she cried out. He kissed her soft curls, damp from the shower and her own arousal, and parted the nether lips of her most secret place with trembling fingers. The first touch of his tongue there sent her wild. Tara clutched at his hair, urging him on with soft cries and bucking her hips, needing more … so much more … and he obliged readily. He suckled and nursed and teased, setting up a soft growl that resonated through her like silent music. He played her body like a musical instrument, and she was lost to the sensations.
But now he had to be inside her. His penis was so hard it ached, and his hand strayed to stroke the rigid flesh, smoothing the pearled semen on the tip into the velvet skin. Brodie gave her one more soft, ecstatic kiss and straightened, kneeling between her legs. Tara watched with luminous eyes as he lifted her knees to part them wider and helped him shift a cushion beneath her hips to make his access easier.
He looked magnificent. Broad-shouldered, the drift of soft hair on his chest still slightly damp, she followed the line of hair down to his groin and watched as he stroked his arousal, hips moving slightly in concert. For a moment she wanted to see him finish like that, see the seed spurt from him onto her belly … but she couldn't. She wanted him inside her and she wanted him to finish in her depths.
"Now, Frank … I want you now …"
With a soft groan he leaned over her and gently nudged against her soft entrance, now slick with need for him. Looking down into luminescent dark eyes he saw the love Tara had for him, and he felt her legs lift and tighten around his hips.
He thrust deeply, sinking into the warmth and muscular wetness of his woman, Tara arching upwards at his welcome invasion of her body. Her hands slid down his back to his buttocks and urged him to move, her voice needful and throaty with desire.
Brodie realised this was the first time he had managed to make love to her the way he wanted, lying between her thighs, moving against her body and sending her spiralling into ecstasy. His leg protested a little as he began to move, but he didn't care - the pleasure of lying on her glorious body, sending her to climax as he drove into her thrilled him, and he groaned with pleasure as he slid in and out of her slick channel.
All too soon Tara cried out and buried her head in his shoulder as she convulsed around him, hands and body clutching at his, her shuddering whimpers spurring him to thrust harder, his engorged member now bunting against her cervix. The sensation drove him wild.
His head sank to the hollow of her neck as her climax washed through her and his body pounded helplessly into her depths, hips flexing strongly with each long, powerful thrust, and his voice was incoherent with delight.
The tightening began in his belly, heralding his orgasm, and his testes lay snug against her ready to expel his seed into Tara's still-shuddering body. One more … just … just one more thrust …
And his back arched as his muffled shout of pleasure billowed against the skin of Tara's shoulder. She held him tight, feeling his hips grind against her pelvis as he came, glorying in the hot spurt of his semen as he emptied himself to distraction in her body. She loved the last, spasmodic thrusts of his hips, his muscles trembling with the strain as the thick milky fluid streamed into her body and she whispered loving words to him. He held her beneath him as he finished, the last drops of his seed spilling into her depths, and his voice came, husky with desire.
"I love you, Tara … I love you so much … please … stay with me … I love you …"
For a long while afterwards they lay still, still joined, Brodie reluctant to leave the warmth of her body. She held him close and kissed his face, easing him into dreamless sleep as she cradled him in her arms. She stroked back the damp curls on his brow and felt his body shift, his softened member still deep inside her.
"Shhh, now … stay … be still and get some rest … I love you too, Frank Brodie … with all my heart … go to sleep … "
And the moonlight washed over them through the small bedroom window, gilding their sated bodies with silver.
********************
The banging on the door woke Brodie with a start, the big man disorientated for a second. Unwrapping Tara's arms from around his chest he struggled into boxers and a pair of jeans and padded to the door where someone was busy trying to pulverise the wood from the hinges.
He passed Moron lying stretched out sound asleep on the sofa. Brodie grunted
in disgust.
"Some watchdog you are …"
Moron opened an eye lazily and decided it wasn't worth the trouble wagging his tail. He went back to sleep.
Brodie opened the door to an agitated Pieter van Guelder waving a piece of paper at him.
"Sorry, Boss - I know it's your day off but I just got this."
Brodie knew Pieter wouldn't have disturbed him unless it was important, so he ushered the big man in and began to make coffee. Tara wandered through from the bedroom in a dressing gown, yawning, and took the filters out of Brodie's hands.
"Morning, Pieter … what's up?" She shoved Brodie in Pieter's direction and took over the coffee machine, knowing Brodie's coffee was strong enough to strip paint from walls.
Pieter sat himself down on a chair well away from Moron - he still didn't trust the animal, although Moron generally wagged his tail at the big South African these days. He heaved a sigh of disgust and handed Brodie the paper.
"I got this ten minutes ago - Cunninham's office patched all relevant emails through to me for the day, and this was the first one up. The man's bloody crazy."
Brodie read the email … and his eyes widened.
"What the hell does he think he's doing?? We're not ready for this! The damn enclosure's not even finished!"
Tara's ears pricked up.
"Enclosure? For what?"
Brodie looked at her in disbelief.
"Rhinos. The crazy sonofabitch is sending us three Black Rhinos."
Tara grinned.
"Wow! This is great! When? Where have they come from?"
Pieter shook his head.
"Two weeks. We have two weeks, Tara. Nowhere near enough time. They're coming from two different zoos; the cows are coming from the Czech Republic, from one of those zoos badly damaged in the war. They're having trouble keeping them and Cunningham said he would take them on. But they're not the problem. It's the bull that's the big deal here."
Tara looked confused, and Brodie scowled.
"He's captive-bred, which sounds great - but he's coming from Afghanistan. He belonged to some crazy private collector out there who kept him just to show off to his powerful government pals, but when the Taliban took over … well, let's say the beast's had years of living hell. He's been tortured and beaten, and when the Taliban were defeated, the authorities thought it would be a good idea to destroy him. But his old keepers intervened and pleaded for them to keep him alive. So he's been looking for a new home - and that's here, on the island. Apparently, he has 'temperament problems'."
"In other words, he's nuts." Pieter looked dejected. "That bloody woman's going to go crazy when she hears about this."
Brodie had to grin despite his annoyance at Cunningham. 'That bloody woman' was Pieter's description of Zelle Smith.
"Yeah, well, I suppose we'd better go tell her."
Tara looked at the two men in front of her. They looked so woebegone she had to burst out laughing.
*******************
Twenty minutes later they told Zelle Smith that a deranged Black rhino bull would be delivered to San Miguel island in precisely two weeks.
Pieter was right.
Zelle Smith went absolutely crazy.
*******************