Noble Hearts (Wild Hearts Romance Book 3) by Phoenix Sullivan

off. Intellect didn’t make him any harsher as a husband and father, and emotion didn’t make him any less effective as a businessman. Tell me something—why are you here? In Ushindi?”
    “Because it’s where I was sent. I told Doctors MD I had no preference as to location.”
    “Were you required to sign up with them?”
    “No. They’re a volunteer organization.”
    “And you volunteered, why?”
    “The timing was right. I don’t have my own practice yet. Although it’s been recommended that I might be better suited for research. I was planning on coming to a decision about that while I was here.”
    “That tells me why you volunteered now , but not why you volunteered in the first place.”
    “I agree with the work they’re doing and wanted to be a part of that.”
    “Why?”
    “Because…” It finally dawned on him what I was trying to get him to say. He sighed. “Because I care.”
    “Spoken like a true Tin Man.” I smiled. “It’s not that you don’t have a heart. I think it’s that you’re too afraid for some reason to admit that you do. Maybe because you’re afraid of it being broken.”
    “’Better a broken heart than a dead one.’” He repeated my words back to me, slowly and thoughtfully. He didn’t sound convinced, but at least he seemed to be giving them genuine consideration.
    My own heart lurched. Mark had already weaseled his way into it. Sex or no, when he left next week, he was going to be taking a chunk of it with him.
    How much breaking, I wondered, could any heart endure?

CHAPTER 12

KAYLA
     
    We stayed in the clearing with Tamu and Nyota until mid-morning when they became more interested in grazing than in being with us.
    “How long before they’re weaned?” Mark asked.
    “In the wild, it’s usually however long a mother will tolerate them for or until the next baby comes along.”
    “Not unlike humans,” Mark observed. “The only difference is a human mom who can’t bear another minute of her nursing child will blame the decision to wean them on information from the Internet or books.”
    “I’ve seen zebra mothers with no other offspring nurse their babies along for two or three years when eight or nine months is the usual. Nyota could probably survive weaning now. Tamu in another three months, although that’s going to be pushing it. Certainly by mid-October I’ll start them on it in earnest. For my own schedule, I need them weaned before harvest. Come November, I won’t have time to sleep much less look after them. One toddler gorilla will be my limit then.”
    We picked up the empties, and Mark held out his hand to Jengo, who took it very gravely, like a child trusting his hand to an adult who isn’t family.
    “So are you telling me you actually work?” Mark grinned away what could have been an insult as we started back to the house.
    I wrinkled my nose at him. “Growing season’s quiet. It’s mainly making sure we don’t lose too much of the crop to birds or bushbucks or okapis. I also keep up with suppliers and producers and market prices, which takes up about an hour a day. Come harvest, though, I’ll have to find and hire and house a couple of dozen migrant workers and coordinate transport to the washing plant. Then there’s ongoing price negotiations, security and supplies to stay on top of. And this year”—I sniffed back the sudden gush of tears that threatened, remembering my deep loss—“will be the first year I’ll have to do it all on my own.”
    “Are you ready?” There was genuine concern in the question.
    I shook myself. “Sorry. That was some self-pity melodrama. I’ll actually have my foreman, Jamal, and permanent staff like Mosi and Nuru to help manage the temporary workers and the housing. That’s assuming they all come back after…” Another round of tears had to be pushed back. “Baba was pretty much absent last year trying to cope with Mama’s death. I could really only rely on him for advice, not the