Free A Spear of Summer Grass by Deanna Raybourn

other things. Just keep drinking. I’ve got a flask full of it.”
    She stared up at him, her expression worshipful. “Thank you.”
    I slanted him a look and he smiled over her head at me, then lifted his hat and actually bowed to Dora. “Anytime, miss.”
    A moment later he was sliding into the seat next to me until his thigh touched mine. “Shove over, princess. I’ve got to work the gears.”
    I moved over as far as I could and gave him another sweet smile. “And where is my morning libation?”
    “You’re not hungover,” he pointed out.
    “I’m not hungover,” Dora put in as forcefully as she could. “Ladies do not imbibe to excess. I am merely overtired.”
    “Of course,” Ryder said soothingly. He winked at me and I folded my arms over my chest. Dora had her eyes closed again and was sucking hard on the cup.
    “What did you put in that?” I demanded.
    He leaned a trifle closer than absolutely necessary, his voice low. “Exactly what I said. Pawpaw juice, ginger. And half a bottle of gin.”
    “That’s what got her into this in the first place.”
    He shrugged. “Best cure for a hangover is to get drunk again. Believe me, I wouldn’t do this drive sober if I could help it. She’ll thank me later.”
    “Yes, but will I?”
    His only answer was a laugh and a crash of gears.
    “You are the driver arranged for by that nice Mr. Bates from Government House, aren’t you? I should hate to be abducted and not know it.”
    “You are my passengers. Paying passengers,” he added meaningfully.
    Dodo opened her eyes and reached for her bag. I slapped her hand. “Don’t you dare. Not until he’s seen us safely to Fairlight. He might just dump us in the desert and then where would we be?”
    He flicked me an amused glance. “The desert? Princess, where do you think you are? This isn’t the goddamn Sahara.”
    With that he gunned the engine and we roared off, away from Nairobi and the last vestiges of civilisation.
    * * *
    We drove for a little while in silence as he negotiated the traffic out of Nairobi. It was surprisingly busy—donkey carts and rickshaws jostling with sleek new automobiles and pedestrians laden with bundles of fruits and firewood. He did point out a few of the local landmarks, including the Turf Club and Kilimani Prison and the Japanese brothel, but I didn’t ask questions and Dodo was too busy nursing her “cure.” I stared out the window, watching as the shabby little bungalows that dotted the outskirts of Nairobi fell away. The murram road stretched upwards now, carving its way through the wilderness, a wilderness that hadn’t changed since Eve went dancing in a fig-leaf skirt. The soil was as red as good Georgia clay, and here and there a flat-topped thorn tree shaded the high savannah grasses. As far as the eye could see there was nothing but land and more land, an emptiness so big not even God himself could fill it. The miles rolled away and so did my bad mood, and when the first giraffe strode gracefully into view, I gasped aloud.
    Ryder stopped the vehicle and gestured. “She’s got a foal.” I peered into the brush behind the giraffe and noticed a tiny version, teetering on impossibly long legs as it emerged. The mother turned back with a graceful gesture of the head and gave the little thing a push of encouragement. They came closer to the truck and I saw it wasn’t tiny at all—it was frankly enormous, and Ryder eased down the road, slowly so as not to startle them.
    “Why did we leave?” I demanded. “I would have liked to have watched them.”
    “Second rule of the bush. Never get too close to anything that has offspring.”
    “What’s the first rule?”
    “Food runs. If you don’t want to be food, don’t run.”
    I smiled, expecting him to laugh, but he was deadly serious. His eyes were on the road, and I took the opportunity to study him a little more closely than I had the day before. He had tidied himself up a bit, even if his clothes were