Free A Stirring from Salem by Sheri Anderson Page A

cash was worth the risk.”
    “Guess so,” Bill said, his mind reeling. His own financial pressures were weighing on him heavily. He wiped his brow.
    “You sure you’re up to this?” Cornelius asked.
    “Absolutely. We have a job to do.”
    Bill nodded to Beauty, who stood waiting for their instructions. Her English was good enough that she served not only as an aide but also as a translator for patients who only knew their native Xhosa or Sotho.
    “Remind them to be patient. We’ll make sure we have time for them all.”
    “I will, Dr. Bill,” she said, smiling. “Thank you.”
    Beauty bowed lightly and went out the front door as the light from the summer sun poured in. As she guided in the first patients, a mother with two small children, Bill could see two top-of-the-line Londolani Rovers pass down the bumpy road toward the game farms.

Because it was midday, the drive to the game farm from Hoedspruit airport was extremely hot. It was the height of South African summer, after all.
    The countryside was also serene and nearly indescribably beautiful. With a climate that often mirrored Tuscany or the Santa Barbara coast in California, the terrain included soft rolling hills, soaring mountains, and dense vegetation due to the unpredictable summer rains. But there were no skyscrapers, electrical wires, telephone lines, or billboards to mar the view. It was nature at its most perfect.
    “Where are all the animals?” Scarlett called to the game ranger, Ben, from her high third-row seat in the Rover.
    While they’d glimpsed an occasional wildebeest, impala, and what might have been zebra through the dense brush, the sightings were minimal.
    “Good question. Anyone want to guess the answer?” the khaki-clad thirty-year-old asked. Though an apprentice ranger, he was one of the most knowledgeable in the Timbavati and liked to encourage his guests to learn.
    “I think it’s because of the heat,” Charley offered. She wasn’t used to being low man on any totem pole, so she had no qualms about speaking up. “They’re buried deep in the mud or the bush.”
    “Exactly! They are where we’d like to be right now. Taking naps in whatever shade they can find,” the khaki-clad ranger offered. “And there’s plenty. That’s why our drives are at sunset or sunrise,” he added.
    “Cool!” Brigitta piped up.
    “The only time it is.” Ben smiled at the flaxen-haired beauty. He liked Brigitta’s youthful enthusiasm.
    Scarlett didn’t. “Wait,” she blurted. “What time is the game ride?”
    “There’s one every night at sunset, but we’ll be shooting in the lodge starting at six so we’re going to miss it. Then there’s dinner so you can get to sleep early. Your call time is 3:00 a.m. for the five-thirty ride,” Charley told her.
    Scarlett fell back in her seat. “And for so much money,” she grumbled.
    The truth was that cover and editorial shoots were not that lucrative in the scheme of things and never had been. They were for the visibility and prestige. True, they could pay upwards of seventy-five thousand dollars, but the modeling megabucks were reserved for endorsements. Bulgari, Christian Dior, Victoria’s Secret. The current and only super-supermodel, Gisele Bündchen, was worth more than one-hundred-fifty million dollars, but that kind of money was rarer than hen’s teeth.
    The Rovers turned down a narrow road and within minutes were in front of the open, thatched-roof main hall where six staff members in African regalia were waiting.
    Vince was first out of the Rover, with Charley scrambling out right behind him.
    “Make sure everyone stays close and heads right into reception,” she instructed Kelly, the assistant assigned to the rest of the creative team.
    As everyone piled out of the Rover, Charley and Vince headed inside.
    Charley was taken aback as she entered. She had been raised by one of the top designers in the world in exquisitely furnished homes in London, Monte Carlo, and Malibu.