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

day-to-day engagement. So, yeah, I’m prepared. The work ahead just always feels so overwhelming in the summer. Then somehow the madness all goes smoothly and it’s time to start planning for next year. But that’s the nature of seasonal business. It’s not like I’m a—special snowflake, is that the term?—having to deal with it.”
    “Well, special snowflake or no, it does take a special person in my book to run any business successfully. You have my admiration.”
    He sounded sincere, but I couldn’t trust that he didn’t also mean to caveat his admiration by adding any woman or in Ushindi to his definition of business success. I’d been in the minority in too many business classes at Cape Town University to not know there was still a sharp bias in the world between what men could be expected to do and what women managed to do. Or what could be accomplished in a First World country compared to a Third World one. The funny thing was, the skills needed didn’t change much between gender and location. Bias was always a reflection of the one judging, not the one being judged. And I really wanted to think the best of Mark, but my own bias against First World men was showing.
    I sighed. Sometimes education got in the way of good sense. I was also prone to overthinking. Couldn’t a compliment be just a compliment and not be spurred by any socially engineered motivation? And couldn’t even First World men be sincere? Did life always have to be one big conspiracy?
    Before I could thank Mark, Gus whined, perked his ears, then dashed ahead. The huddle of men and women we found waiting for us on what passed for the front lawn didn’t look to have come for a social visit.
    “ Habari ya asubuhi .” I greeted Mosi, Nuru and the heads of another five families who were part of the plantation cooperative.
    “ Habari ya asubuhi , jumbe, ” Mosi returned, no less genial than he had been last night. But that they were all here en masse and somber-looking meant something else was up—and I had a feeling they knew it was something I wasn’t going to like. “May we speak our minds this beautiful morning?”
    “Of course.” I nodded, even though it wasn’t permission he was asking; he was simply framing his intent in the overly polite way Lentu tribesmen often had.
    “We each have family in Hasa— we are concerned about them and they about us. We are concerned that if Lisha can fall sick to the Subs virus here, that staying on Zahur isn’t safe for our children. There is little work that needs doing now. The fences are up, the coffee grows, our other crops grow, the rains come. While the danger from Subs is here and before harvest, we will go into the city and live there with our families.”
    The breath went out of my body and pressure filled my chest, squeezing my heart as I fought to stay composed. Seven families leaving, along with Jamal’s—that left only two, one a young childless couple and the other a couple whose grown children had gone off in years past to start families of their own. Only four adults. Not that more were needed right now to run the plantation. It was just the idea of losing the community, the children, the activity that gave life to Zahur.
    “Do you really think Hasa is safer right now?” Mark’s challenging tone took me by surprise. I’d almost forgotten he was there. “Have you seen the news? The Subs epidemic has already hit there too, not to mention the rioting over the elections. Trust me, none of that’s going to be over anytime soon. Why would you willingly go to Hasa now?”
    “Precisely because of the troubles,” Mosi said with the patience of a teacher instructing a student. “It is time for families to come together, not be separated.”
    “Then bring your families here!”
    “And where would we get the resources to provide for them? From the city. Where would we go if they get sick with Subs ? To the city. Why not then be in the city?”
    “Wait here,” I told him. If