The Book
Working with elephants in their natural habitat has always been Eric Phillips dream. Getting what he’s always desired introduces him to Tyaan Bouwer, the bush pilot that flies in his supplies, and Eric discovers the allure of South Africa goes beyond the wildlife and the scenery.
But in an area where bushveld prejudices and hatred bleed across the borders, realising their love will be a hard fought battle. Keeping hold of it might just kill them.
| Word Count: | 116,800 |
| Cover Artist: | Meredith Russell |
| Editor: | Erika Orrick |
| ISBN: | 978-1-78564-003-2 |
| Genre: | Contemporary, MM Romance |
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Excerpt
Chapter One
A group of people clustered at the barrier, all jockeying for the best position to hold out their signs and welcome boards. Many of them appeared to be reps, their clipboards and overly made-up complexions giving them away, and Eric let his gaze move quickly past them as he scanned the crowd. He was not in Africa for a safari holiday on one of the game reserves. His stay was of a much more permanent nature.
ERIC PHILIPS.
Before the board boldly proclaiming his name registered with him on more than a subliminal level—enough to make his sweeping search of the crowd falter—Eric was engulfed by one of the tourist parties who had obviously identified their guide by her brightly coloured uniform. Eric stood his ground against the surging bodies and their luggage that bashed awkwardly at his calves and shins.
When the swarm of tourists cleared out from around him, Eric searched out his name once more. There it was, marked clearly on a board under the distinctive Foundation logo: turquoise lettering with paw marks where the Os should have been. A month ago he hadn’t even known this logo existed, yet now he saw it everywhere. It was embroidered on the breast pocket of all his work shirts, on the luggage labels hanging from his holdalls, plastered across every piece of paperwork in his document bag. And most importantly, it had been emblazoned across the front page of the five-year contract he had signed less than a fortnight ago.
Eric flashed a smile at the man holding his name card who nodded in response and waited for Eric to struggle over to the barrier. The man wore a brilliant-white short-sleeved shirt, blinding in contrast to the rich tone of his chestnut brown skin, and a turquoise and beige tie. As Eric got closer, the pattern on the tie morphed unsurprisingly into a repetition of The Foundation’s logo.
“Eric Philips?” Without waiting for a response, the man continued. “Akibo Nakisa. Welcome to Limpopo.”
Dropping one of his bags at his feet, Eric took the hand that was extended out to him. He’d been told he would be met at the airport, but the status of the man collecting him had been unclear. The confident grip implied this man was probably more than just a driver sent to meet Eric from the plane.
As they shook hands, Eric took the opportunity to study his colleague—he hadn’t met many people who worked for The Foundation, just the owner, Mr Cowdrey, and his assistant, really. A welcoming smile flashed a mouthful of white teeth and crinkled the skin around Akibo’s eyes. Or so Eric thought, but the fine lines remained even when the smile lessened, fanning either side of brown eyes that were a shade lighter than Akibo’s skin. All of this was topped off by a short, neat Afro.
“Good flight?” Akibo asked, reaching to take one of Eric’s bags from him.
“Flights,” Eric said. This was the second flight in his journey from London to the north-east of South Africa. “I’m glad to finally be here. I’m exhausted.”
“I’m afraid you haven’t quite finished your journey yet, but I’ll be accompanying you the rest of the way.” Akibo flashed him an apologetic smile before turning and striding toward the sliding doors of the terminal.
Stepping out of the air-conditioned building was like being wrapped in an electric blanket. When he’d left London, it had been damp, a light drizzle had been falling for hours and the sky had been grey and overcast. In contrast, here the sun shone brightly in a clear blue sky and the heat smothered him. Taking his lead from Akibo, he slowed his pace, strolling casually until they stopped at a taxi rank.
Eric glanced around in surprise as his companion flagged down the first cab, ushering Eric into the back before putting his bags in the boot and then sliding in beside him.
“No car?”
“As I said, your journey isn’t quite over. We have a short ride across town before we can start on the next part of your trip.”
Suppressing the urge to groan—all he really wanted was a shower and some rest that didn’t involve sleeping upright—Eric turned his attention to his companion.
“So… you work for The Foundation. Have you been with them for long?” Maybe Akibo could throw some light onto the mysterious Mr Cowdrey.
“About a year or so. Mr Cowdrey’s assistant, Benedict Brookes, approached me while I was working at one of the larger animal reserves.”
Eric nodded, remembering the efficient young man he had first met in the elephant house of the zoological park where he’d been working. He’d appeared perfectly at home in among the piles of steaming elephant dung, despite being attired in a suit and tie.
“Apparently they were impressed with my qualifications and my work ethic. I have a business degree and finished top in my class in the animal management course I took when I decided I wanted to work at one of the game parks.”
Akibo’s experience appeared similar to his own, Eric noted absently, but he didn’t offer any contribution to what was currently a one-sided conversation.
“I had an interview with Mr Brookes via Skype, and several days later I had a further interview with Mr Cowdrey. They sent a car for me and I was taken to the airport. He flew in on his private jet, I was taken air-side and we had a chat on board. I could barely call it an interview. I think Benedict had dealt with the important issues, and Mr Cowdrey was just ensuring that he—” Akibo paused and considered his words. Even then, when he spoke, he sounded uncertain that he’d chosen correctly. “—approved of me. He offered me the job, and they flew off again. I didn’t even have to work my notice at the reserve.”
The same thing had happened at the zoo where Eric had been working. Within days he had gone from a recently qualified zoologist studying animal behaviour at an animal park just outside of London to The Foundation’s new elephant behavioural researcher in South Africa. Of course, his experience hadn’t included a trip to a private jet, but he had been invited to visit the headquarters of The Foundation in North Yorkshire.
That trip in itself had been an eye-opening experience. The initial office he had been instructed to arrive at—five storeys of chrome and glass—was little more than a modern-day gate house. It had taken a further ten-minute drive through wooded countryside to reach the ancient stone-turreted structure that housed the reclusive Mr Cowdrey.
“Ah, we’ve arrived.”
Akibo’s voice broke into Eric’s reverie, and he realized with a start that at some point in the journey and his musings, he had closed his eyes. It was possible he’d dropped off into a semi-conscious doze from the heavy feeling behind his eyelids. Blinking himself fully awake, Eric took in the view from the side window.
It appeared they’d arrived at another much smaller airfield, probably private, based on the sheer variety of planes that Eric could see as the taxi bounced over the uneven surface. A motley collection of ramshackle buildings were scattered in front of the chain-link fence in the farthest corner of the field.
Beneath their tyres, the ground smoothed out. Eric glanced out of the window, noticing the grass and mud had been replaced by asphalt, albeit with weeds growing through the cracks in the faded grey surface. They headed at speed toward a silver aircraft, larger than most, the taxi bouncing and skittering as it hit potholes and crevices. The cabbie showed no signs of slowing down, and for one quite long, ridiculous moment, Eric wondered if they were trying to take off. If this run-down car of indeterminate make was about to sprout wings and launch itself into the brilliant blue above them.
With a protesting whine of brake pads on discs or maybe even metal on metal, the car slammed to a halt. The cessation of their journey was unexpected, not just for the passengers but the car as well from the way it shuddered to completion and threw Eric forward in his seat, his shoulder taking a glancing blow off the side window. To his right Akibo muttered something under his breath. Eric couldn’t make out what he was saying, but he doubted it was anything complimentary.
Unperturbed by the discomfort in the rear of his taxi, the cab driver swivelled in his seat and beamed at them. Akibo ignored him, focusing his attention on Eric instead. He gestured to the silver plane Eric had seen from a distance thirty seconds ago and which they were now parked alongside. A freight plane, Eric assumed, since the rear cargo door was open and crates and sacks littered the tarmac between them and the aircraft.
“This is our ride to the research station. You might want to get out and stretch your legs.” Akibo threw a withering glare at the cab driver. “I’ll sort him out and then get your stuff.”
Stepping out of the taxi on unsteady legs, Eric leaned against the side of the vehicle and rested his arms on the roof. The smell of burning rubber and brake discs enveloped the vehicle, searing the inside of his nostrils. He’d hoped the next leg of his journey would be in a better-cared-for vehicle than the taxi had been. This close up, the plane looked… well, old would be the best word to describe it.
As he studied the outer skin of the fuselage for missing rivets and any other manner of unseen defects, a pair of dusty leather boots appeared on the cargo ramp. The measured stride they belonged to was solid and confident, and in no time at all, a man appeared. Tall and tanned, he stooped slightly to avoid any contact with the body of the aircraft, and then grabbing a clipboard from atop a box, he hunkered down in the midst of the crates.
As Eric watched, the man studied the labels and then made a mark on the paperwork attached to the clipboard. Blond hair peeked out from under his hat, fanning out on the collar of his shirt. At no point did he acknowledge the existence of the car, even though he couldn’t have failed to have heard its arrival.
Irrationally annoyed by the well-built blond and his off-putting manner, Eric pushed himself off the car and sauntered round to the other side of the vehicle, closer to the man who was busying himself with his work and ignoring Eric.
His shadow fell across the crates and the bowed head of the— Could this be the pilot? Eric could see no other people near the aircraft. The blond raised his head, a frown pulling the skin tight between his eyebrows.
The man’s gaze settled on Eric briefly before flicking over to the taxi. When he returned to look over Eric once more, the skin of his forehead had smoothed out, but still the man didn’t smile. He nodded in acknowledgement, just once, short and curt, and then dipped his head back to his work and turned slightly away from Eric. With the stranger squatting in the dust, Eric towered above him, the position giving him the perfect view of broad shoulders and a solid frame that Eric couldn’t resist studying.
Abruptly, the man stood and cleared his throat. He dropped the clipboard onto a nearby box, throwing a curious glance in Eric’s direction, and then disappeared back up the ramp. Eric blinked, self-conscious at having been caught blatantly staring, and ruffled a hand through his short dark hair. His embarrassment wasn’t sufficient to keep him from trailing after the man, though, stopping just short of following him into the aircraft to stand near the ramp in the shade of the fuselage.
Preparing to ask the stranger his name, Eric opened his mouth to speak, when he was interrupted by a doleful bleat. Startled, he glanced over his shoulder, scanning the airfield expecting to find signs of a wayward sheep. The forlorn stuttering cry came again, and Eric whipped back round, suspiciously eyeing a crate that was securely strapped to the internal wall of the plane.
“Goat,” said the pilot—Eric had decided that’s what he was—as he came back down the ramp.
The deep timbre of that one word surprised Eric. It was rough and low, with an unfamiliar accent Eric’s subconscious demanded to hear more of. That wasn’t likely to happen, though, because the pilot was already surveying his cargo with his back to Eric. He bent to hoist a crate into his arms, leaving Eric to stare dry-mouthed at the enticing pull of khaki for several seconds. Then the pilot straightened and carried the crate into the plane.
Eric wondered if he should offer to help, but despite the ease with which the crate had been hefted into the air, Eric thought they would probably be too heavy and he didn’t want to make a fool of himself. Not in front of this man.
The blond wore the almost obligatory light khaki bush clothes similar to his own uniform The Foundation had provided. Eric hadn’t noticed a logo on his shirt, but he could hope. If this man worked for The Foundation, Eric could at least enjoy the view, since it was unlikely he was gay. He hadn’t even looked twice at Eric. Not that Eric considered himself drop-dead gorgeous or anything, but he was used to getting his fair share of interest back home in England.
Eric caught a glimpse of Akibo gesticulating wildly at the cab driver. His holdalls were piled at Akibo’s feet, Eric noticed thankfully. At least if the altercation didn’t go well and the cab driver took off, he wouldn’t abscond with Eric’s luggage.
The hollow echo of footfalls on the ramp drew Eric’s attention back to the pilot. Tiredness was pulling on Eric’s nerves, leaving him out of sorts, and the lack of conversation was doing nothing to ease his irritability.
Taking the bull by the horns, Eric graced the pilot with the brightest smile he could muster. “So, do you work for The Foundation too?”
“No.” The man’s stride didn’t even falter as he continued toward the next crate.
Not chatty, then. Downright rude, in fact.
The firm slap of a hand on his back caught him just off centre, almost pitching him forward, and Akibo’s fingers curled over his shoulder and squeezed.
“I see you’ve met Tyaan. Tyaan Bouwer. He’s the local freight pilot. He’ll run your supplies into the research station every week.”
It was almost as if the pilot finally saw Eric as anything other than an annoyance for the first time. Tyaan stepped toward him, straightening to his full height, and Eric resisted the urge to check out the breadth of his chest, instead raising his gaze the few inches’ difference in their height to meet Tyaan’s eyes head-on.
“Tyaan, this is Eric. Eric Philips. He’s the new researcher out at olifant velde.” Akibo turned back to Eric. “That’s the local name for your part of the reserve. It means elephant fields.”
“Howzit.” Tyaan stuck out his hand. Eric extended his own automatically, and Tyaan pressed their palms together, enveloping Eric’s fingers in warmth. He gave Eric’s hand a short, sharp shake before releasing him from the firm grip. “The elephant man, hey?”
Eric smiled. “I know I’m no oil painting, but I hope I’m not that bad.”
Tyaan’s top-to-toe appraisal was so fleeting that Eric thought he’d imagined it. An expression skittered across the pilot’s face. Interest, curiosity—Eric wasn’t sure. It manifested itself as a bright spark in his eyes and the faint quirk of his lips, as if he were biting the inside of his cheek. The look vanished before Eric could really work out what it meant, but the amber-coloured eyes still seemed to hold a welcome within them.
“Tyaan’s a man of few words, but you won’t find a finer bush pilot. He’s reliable too. He’ll never leave you wanting.”
Wanting. Despite the pilot’s brusque manner, Eric wasn’t surprised he already wanted to press Tyaan up against the shiny metal body of his plane.
“I’m going up front,” Akibo said, blissfully unaware of the thoughts rampaging through Eric’s head. At least Eric hoped that was the case, since he followed that statement with “Coming, Eric?”
In his dreams, maybe.
“It’s hot enough to fry boerewors in there.” Tyaan shifted his attention away from Eric and addressed Akibo. “Leave the doors open. I’ll only be a few more minutes.”
Eric eyed the pile of sacks sitting in the dirt. More like half an hour. Tyaan’s shoulder and back muscles shifted beneath his shirt as he hefted a sack onto his shoulder and took another one in each hand. The tendons flexed and released in his bare forearms from where he grasped the corners of the sacks tightly.
“Eric?”
Realising he was being spoken to, Eric dragged his attention from the large vein that was running up from Tyaan’s wrist to elbow. “No, I’ll stay out here for a moment. Not used to the heat yet.”
Akibo nodded and, shifting his document bag to the other shoulder, headed toward the front of the plane, leaving Eric with the pilot and an awkward silence.
When Tyaan completed several trips into the plane and the silence had stretched on beyond what Eric could bear—although Tyaan didn’t appear bothered by it—Eric groped for something to say. He waited until Tyaan reached the top of the ramp, not wanting to startle him with his latest pile of precariously balanced sacks.
“It’s an unusual name.” Then Eric added as an afterthought, “Tyaan.”
Blithering idiot! As if the man didn’t know his own name.
Tyaan lowered the sack from his shoulder and placed it with the others. The pile outside the plane was already half the size it had been. Maybe the pilot had been right in his estimate. He pushed his hat back, swiped his arm across his brow and looked at Eric as if he’d just asked him whether he preferred to top or bottom.
“It’s Afrikaans.”
“Oh. So, do you speak Afrikaans?” A worrying thought started gnawing at Eric. “Do they speak it in the town?”
“Sure. I had to, my grandfather refused to speak English. Most people speak English with the odd word thrown in. You’ll get used to it.”
Tyaan returned to his sacks, the conversation obviously over. But Eric wasn’t ready to give up. He liked that gravel-edged sound that emanated from Tyaan’s lips. He could almost see the vibration beneath pale bristles on the pilot’s throat and itched to place his fingers there to feel the movement.
“I like your plane.” Eric cast his gaze over the large silver plane he was standing next to. “Looks like the one in that Indiana Jones movie. You know, the one where they fall out of the plane in the life raft. Temple of Doom, that’s the one…”
His voice trailed off as he became aware that Tyaan had stopped hefting sacks and was just staring, hands on his hips, his expression open and amused.
“It’s not that old. That movie was set in 1935. This is a de Havilland DHC-4 Caribou. They didn’t start making these until 1958…”
So that was how to get the reticent man talking, Eric realised as he allowed the low rumble to drift over him in a reassuring array of facts and figures. Get him on the subject of his plane. There was no question this aircraft was loved and well cared-for and Eric no longer had any qualms about climbing aboard.
“…but you don’t really want to know all that. I’m just boring you.”
“No.” I could listen to you talk all day long. “It’s fascinating.”
Evidently Tyaan had run out of words. He shrugged and turned his attention back to his cargo. “It’s old, but you’re safe in my hands. I promise you that.”
Eric didn’t doubt it; he just hoped one day he might get the chance to find out.
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