It Matters To Me (The Wandering Hearts Book 2) (16 page)

My lip trembles and I am torn between wanting to shake Kenzie wildly for putting me through what she has and wishing more than anything that I knew she was safe and happy.
Happy.
How long had she been unhappy? How could I have not noticed? The war in my mind continues to rage.

What else have I been missing? Did she change her hair and I miss it? Did she start taking cream and sugar in her coffee and I miss that too? Who’s this woman I thought I knew? Has she changed or was it simply that I never saw her for more than I wanted her to be?
I lie there, wondering how trustworthy my memories of Kenzie Crawford are.

J
UMANDA HANDS ME THE KEYS
to the SUV. “Don’t wreck it, boss.”

I laugh, patting him on the shoulder. “I’ll do my best.”

I take a deep breath and turn my gaze to meet Kenzie’s from the back seat. She has been hanging on every word we’ve spoken during the drive. Something inside me stirs when our eyes lock onto one another. I tell myself to ignore the flips my stomach is doing.
She’s attractive, that’s all it is. You’re a grown man, you can handle being near an attractive woman.

Clearing my throat, I say, “You need to conserve batteries on the equipment as much as you possibly can. There won’t be a chance to charge for at least seventy-two hours.”

She nods, and replies, “All the backups are fully charged so we should be good.”

“If you need any translation, Jumanda can help you, understand?” I wait for her affirmation before stepping out of the SUV.

Kenzie follows a moment later, assisting me in relocating the equipment to the cab of the SUV. I see her examining with a distressed glare the huts made of twined sticks and straw.

“We’ll be sleeping in the SUV; that’s why we need to move everything up to the cab,” I explain.

“Together?” The word slips from her mouth, her brows narrow. From her question I can tell the idea of sleeping next to me seems appalling.

I lean in, a bag in each hand. “No worries, princess; I think I can control myself.”

“I didn’t mean—” she starts.

“You’re welcome to sleep in one of the huts, if you prefer. Jumanda’s brother and wife are housing him, but I am sure we can find you somewhere else to sleep if it’s a problem.”

“The truck is fine,” she answers, her voice flat.

“Good, I’m glad it meets your standards,” I bark, quickly realizing I’ve overreacted. I do this a lot. A short temper is one of the things I inherited from my father.

She hands me more of the equipment, her head lowered. “So Jumanda doesn’t live here?”

I shake my head, and decide the best way to deflect the attention from my poor behavior is to change the subject. “Sometimes. He also lives in the city. He works as a translator for his people whenever it’s needed. He is also here to help make sure there is communication between his people and the diamond miners who are infringing on their territory.”

“That’s terrible. Why doesn’t the government do something?”

Aiden laughs, “They are doing something. They’re looking the other way. See them there?” I ask pointing to a group of women and children gathered at the edge of the camp, squatting in the dust, stringing beads together.

“Yeah,” she replies looking in their direction.

I deliver a contemptuous sigh. “The Bushmen have lived in Southern Africa longer than anyone has likely lived on this planet, and now, this is what they’re reduced to. Making trinkets for tourists.”

She shrugs. “They seem to be enjoying themselves.”

“Enjoying the life you’re dealt doesn’t make it fair.”

“Life’s not fair.” Her matter-of-fact reply surprises me.

“Follow me,” I instruct, pushing the door shut. She hesitates, looking back at the cab of the SUV. “Don’t worry, they’re not going to steal anything.”

Sucking in a sharp breath of air she crosses her arms over her chest. “Did I do something to piss you off?”

“What?”

“I know you’re my boss and all, but you’re being a real ass,” she informs me with a stern voice.

I can’t stop myself from grinning. I’m not used to people calling me out for my behavior. To my dismay, I kind of like it. “You’re right.” I offer an apology. “You didn’t do anything wrong; in fact, so far you’ve done a great job. I’m sorry.”

“Good …” she hesitates, “and thank you.”

For some reason, I feel the need to further explain my behavior. “I had a call before we left that put me in a mood.”

“Well, how about you save your contempt for them?” She suggests firmly.

“You’re right, and I’m sorry,” I offer, certain this won’t be the last time I put my foot in my mouth.

She surprises me when she asks, “Everything okay?” Her voice is not defensive. Instead, it’s thick with tenderness and concern. I fight the gut reaction that she’s patronizing me, telling myself perhaps she is just concerned.

“Fine,” I nod, wanting to keep my personal life just that. Besides, most people could never understand the life I come from. The monster I’m constantly fighting that is my father. From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of one of the elder healers. “Ti!ae,” I call out. He spots me and eagerly crosses across the sandy ground, tossing his arms around me. “Jumanda,” I shout motioning him over.

“It’s been too long, my friend. How are things?” I ask, looking at Ti!ae, waiting for Jumanda to translate. Through him, we discuss the boys and girls who have now entered into the shaman apprenticeship. Despite the hardships I know they face on a daily basis from their local government, Ti!ae only discusses the positive things that have occurred within the tribe, such as the marriages that have taken place since I was here the last time. His optimism is always a fresh and welcome change for me.

I introduce him to Kenzie. He excitedly welcomes her, just as he did to me all those years ago on my first trip to Africa. Ti!ae’s attention is pulled away by a mother concerned about her child’s cough.

Kenzie and I walk, I show her the places where the men construct bows and the simplistic yet effective traps. The place where soon she will likely witness a healing dance, if she’s lucky. As we reach the end of the camp, I notice an expression on her face that I don’t recognize.

“A little overwhelming isn’t it?” I ask.

She nods, but still says nothing.

“You’re quiet,” I remark, worried she may still be upset from my short behavior earlier.

She shrugs her shoulders, then releases, delivering a lingering blink. “I just never really thought about much outside of Chicago, if that makes any sense.”

“That makes perfect sense,” I assure her. “People see a glimpse of this life on TV, but it doesn’t make it real.”

I can’t help watching her as she takes in the scene unfolding before her.

“How often do you come here?” she asks me.

“I try to book some sort of job that will get me out here at least once a year,” I answer.

“Really?” She seems surprised.

“It wasn’t that long ago that the government evicted the Bushmen off of their land. As a photographer, I feel like if I can even shine the smallest light on the injustices they face, then I need to.”

“Evicted for what?”

“Greed, what else?” I grimace, my voice dripping with cynicism.

She tilts her head. A smile climbs across her face.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Look at the way they are with their children,” she answers, her gaze never breaking from the cluster of children gathered around two of the hunters and a mother. My eyes move back to her, fixed on the way her eyebrows lift in a bright and childlike way. She looks so pure and innocent. I have to remind myself that people from our world are far from innocent. She has some sort of agenda— I’ve learned that much in my twenty-seven years on this earth. Looking at her now, though, it’s hard to see what it might be.

“They’re probably the warmest people I’ve ever met in my life,” I add.

“I can’t imagine anyone wanting to do them harm.”

I smile at her naive innocence. “Between the Hoodia frenzy and the introduction of the diamond mines, it’s a daily struggle for them just to continue with their way of life.”

“They don’t seem to bother anyone,” she remarks.

“They’re viewed as a nuisance. When the evictions were ruled unlawful, they began arresting them when they would go out on a hunt, claiming they were poaching.”

“That’s terrible. They can’t just do that, can they?” she gasps.

Kitten never cared to even travel out to the bush with me, let alone to listen to the struggles the people faced. Kenzie’s outrage is obvious, and I find it intriguing.

“They’ve regained the right to hunt, but the restrictions are so numerous, it makes it difficult. It’s a real struggle for the ones who remain in the reserve here.”

“I don’t understand how the government can get away with this,” she cries in disgust.

“Because the people in the western world want their weight loss drugs and oversized diamonds.”

“That’s insane.”

“Do you know where the diamonds in your jewelry come from?” I realize as soon as the question leaves my lips that it sounds accusatory.

For the first time, her gaze breaks away from the camp and focuses on me. Her stare narrows, and she steps uncomfortably close to me. “I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, but I am not a spoiled little rich girl. I don’t own any diamonds. My family has always worked their asses off just to keep food on our table, so before you judge other people, you might want to get to know them.”

She doesn’t wait for me to respond, turning and walking away from me, toward a group of women who are stringing small beads onto twine. I think of chasing after, apologizing … again. I reconsider, deciding things are better this way. As long as she hates me, I’m not tempted to kiss her.

Much to my surprise, Kenzie takes a seat in the dust, among the gathering of Bushmen women and children and with only her smile and body language manages to communicate with them that she wishes to help. She’s fascinating. Without even speaking the same language she somehow has them laughing.

Jumanda approaches me with a grin plastered across his face from ear to ear. This is often an expression he has.

“What’s that look for?” I ask.

“You like her,” he says matter-of-factly.

“She’s my employee,” I remind him.

He smiles wider and nods. “You like her.”

My lips curve as I open my mouth in response. “She’s interesting, that’s all.”

“You’re going to marry that lady.”

I laugh. “If you say so, Jumanda.” Even if I knew Jumanda was completely wrong about my relationship with Kenzie and where it’s headed, I couldn’t deny that there was something special about her. Her story was simple— she was searching for herself. But the Kenzie I was getting to know wasn’t so simple.