A Spear of Summer Grass - By Deanna Raybourn Page 0,26
second bullet into the same spot. The buffalo sat down heavily on its haunches and flopped forward, coming to rest inches from Ryder’s boot. I crept around the car, one round still in the chamber. I held the gun out to Ryder.
He didn’t take it. “No need. He’s finished,” he told me. We stood watching as the mean, piggy eyes went blank and soft and glassy. I was panting hard, and a trickle of sweat ran down the hollow of my spine, puddling in the curve of my bottom. I put a hand to my forehead and pushed away my fringe, letting the air cool my face. Little beads of perspiration rolled off my neck. I was damp and trembling all over, and my legs had second thoughts about holding me up.
Ryder looked at me closely. “You all right?”
“Yes.” The lie was easy.
He glanced at the stillness of the buffalo. “Damned good shot, princess.” He reached down and dipped a finger into the buffalo’s blood. He pressed the finger to my brow, marking me.
“First African blood,” he said gently. “It’s a hunter’s custom out here.”
He unloaded my Rigby and put the guns away. Dora was weeping quietly into her handkerchief in the car, and he said something consoling to her in soothing tones. Then he came to where I still stood, staring down at the vast emptiness of the buffalo’s corpse.
He took me by the hand and led me to the stream. He took a handkerchief from his pocket, and the sight of that small square of plain linen brought hot tears to my eyes. It ought to have been a Gypsy bandana, filthy and smelling of cheap perfume. But it was as white and clean as any my grandfather carried.
He took off his hat and knelt at the stream. When he bent his head I saw that his hair curled a little at his neck, and the bareness of his neck and the sweetness of that curling hair nearly did me in. He dipped the handkerchief into the stream and passed it over my face, wiping away the blood and the sweat, diluting my tears. “It’s all right, princess,” he said softly.
If I had leaned into him, he would have held me then. But I didn’t lean. I just sat on a rock, letting him clean me. “You’re a fool,” I told him. “You should have shot from cover as well.”
He didn’t say a word. He merely crouched at the stream and washed the blood from the handkerchief, wringing it out until the water ran clear.
“You put yourself between the buffalo and us to give us a chance to get away if it charged,” I accused.
He swivelled on his heels. “That’s my job. The clients’ safety comes first.”
“And if it’s a question of us or you, it must be you?”
He shrugged. “Like I said, that’s the job.”
“It’s a damned stupid way to earn a living.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette case. He extracted two cigarettes and lit them, drawing deeply until the tips glowed hot. He handed one to me and I took it. It wasn’t black and sleek like my Sobranies, but it would do. My hand shook a little, and he pretended not to notice. The cigarette case was slim and silver, sterling from the look of it. A tip from a wealthy client, no doubt. Most likely a woman.
“Why do you do this? Haven’t you any education?” The words were needle-sharp and chosen to prick.
He pulled thoughtfully on his cigarette. “I have as much education as any man needs.”
“Not if you have to risk your life just to haul stupid rich people around to shoot at animals.”
“Well, the rich are the only ones who can afford to pay me.”
He was smiling and I threw the remains of my cigarette at him. He ground it out slowly under his heel and reached a broad hand to help me up. I took it.
“Come on, princess. It’s time to get you on the road.”
I rocked a little on my heels. “I think I’m going to faint.”
“Don’t you dare,” he ordered through gritted teeth.
He made to loop an arm around my waist, but I batted him away. “I can walk on my own, thank you.”
I pushed off and made my wobbly way back to the truck, scrubbing uselessly at the bloody streaks on my white dress and shoes. I looked like a walking wedding night.
Dodo rushed from the truck as I approached. “Delilah! Darling, are you