Jason's shoulder throbbed from swinging the ax. He'd been at it since sunrise today, as he had every day for the last four weeks, working frantically beside his men to build a fire break between the good trees and those overrun by fungus. But at least physical strain blocked the mental anguish of seeing his dreams destroyed.
Every day more infected coffee trees, sometimes whole groves, were discovered and had to be isolated and then destroyed. He'd have to sacrifice at least two hundred acres of trees in order to save the rest, and even then there was no way to be sure his efforts would stop the fungus from spreading.
Fungus needed two things in order to grow—a damp, warm environment and plant life to use as a host. It couldn't spread across charred earth, unless, of course, it did so through the air.
Then there was the chance that other trees had already been infected but hadn't been discovered yet, in which case his efforts might well be for naught. The only thing he knew with any certainty was that if he did nothing, he would lose his entire fazenda—everything.
Damn! If only he'd returned from Manaus when he should have. He'd been so preoccupied with Caroline and her treachery that he neglected the fazenda, something he could never afford to do with the jungle lying in wait to regain anything it could of its lost territory.
Wiping his brow with his bare arm, Jason choked on the smoke that filled his lungs. It added to the misery of the sweltering afternoon. A brief shower earlier had done nothing to lessen the oppressive heat. Instead, it had intensified it by adding even more moisture to the already sodden jungle. Three of his men had succumbed to the heat, and he'd taken them to the house to be treated by Caroline.
His mood suddenly grim at the thought of his wife, he attacked his task with renewed vigor. Taking a deep breath, he suppressed the bitterness boiling inside him with a supreme effort. In less charitable moments, he blamed Caroline for his own folly. If not for her, he never would have gone to Manaus in the first place, much less stayed there for two months. But it wasn't her fault, not really. He should have known better than to allow anyone into his life. If he'd learned nothing else, he should have learned that lesson well.
"We need to talk," she'd said that morning.
"Not now, Caroline, I don't have time," he'd told her harshly before fleeing back to the orchards.
After nearly four weeks of allowing him to hide, she was suddenly eager to talk. What had been going through that devious, intelligent brain of hers? Caroline with something on her mind was a daunting prospect.
"Patrao." Ignacio's voice penetrated Jason's thoughts. "What are you doing?"
Jason looked down at the sapling he'd hacked into mulch. Blood roared through his veins, and his chest heaved with suppressed anger.
"It's time to rest. The men are already taking the siesta."
"I suppose you're right." He'd been so preoccupied he hadn't noticed when the men left the orchard to return to their homes for the noon rest.
He waited for Ignacio to walk away, now that he'd delivered his message, but the other man didn't move. He stood nervously by, and Jason sensed that there was more.
"Out with it, Ignacio," he said gruffly.
"The Senhora is here to see you," Ignacio announced.
"Here?" Jason asked in total disbelief. "Where?"
"At the beneficio. I told her to wait there."
"Damn! You should have told her to go back to the house!" Jason groaned, realizing how irrational it was to blame Ignacio for his wife's impetuousness. But if he'd wanted to see her, damn it, he would have gone to the house. How dare she invade his domain.
With a violent curse, Jason hurled the ax, embedding it into the trunk of a nearby tree.
Without a word, he stalked away in the direction of the beneficio where the one person in the world he didn't want to face waited for him. He hadn't set foot inside the house in four weeks, partly because of the frenzy of activity in the orchards, but also because he didn't want to face her and the inevitable recriminations.
He tried to close his mind against the memory of their lovemaking, but it was no use. He thought of it—of her—day and night, especially when he wasn't so exhausted that he fell into an immediate, deep sleep. And when he did manage to drive himself