Diamond Legacy. Monica McCabe

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “Fit as a fiddle!” she declared. “And strong as an ox.”

      “A perk of living at the clinic.” Letta pulled a banana chip from her pocket and handed it to the monkey. “She’s friends with the entire staff, knows more about the workings of Katanga than most people here.”

      Roz swung down off the table and, for the remainder of the morning, Miranda and Jason became acquainted with a host of animals, either permanent resident, or like Estelle, destined for zoo life. Some were rescues, too wounded or domesticated to release back to the wild, others were part of a herd-thinning or relocation program. As morning pushed toward noon, Miranda grew more impressed with Katanga’s progressive stance on protection and care of African wildlife.

      And not just in Botswana. She learned their extensive network reached as far north as Kenya and as far south as Cape Town. The potential, the overwhelming necessity of the work they did, filled her with awe. Dad had often spoke of the continent’s need for animal and environmental conservation. She’d studied and read about the challenges, but until she’d finally seen Africa with her own eyes, she’d never really understood. Katanga was a shining example of success and possibility. How she envied those who were a fixed part of such vital efforts.

      A low growl from a cheetah distracted her, and she slowly approached a pen. A resentful cat in its prime glared at her. She lifted the chart hanging on the cage just as Jason walked over and interrupted.

      “Letta offered lunch and I’m hungry,” he stated.

      “You’re always hungry,” she replied.

      “And you’re so obsessed you’d forget to eat if I weren’t here to remind you.” Jason grabbed the chart from her hands and hung it back in place.

      “Hey! I want to look—”

      “At a menu somewhere,” Jason finished for her. “Let’s go.”

      He steered them toward the door, and she would’ve argued, but lunch did sound nice. So did a chance to explore further. They hadn’t seen much more than the Oasis Pool and clinic since they’d arrived.

      Quickly leaving behind the quiet sanctuary of the veterinary wing, they headed straight toward the Grand Rotunda, where an unholy racket grew in decibels the closer they got. Laughter and shrieks of school-aged children greeted them, cleverly disguised surround-sound speakers pumped out wilderness sounds and animal calls, and frazzled employees struggled to maintain control of the chaos.

      “There are three main wings,” Letta shouted over the din. “The Okavango holds the clinics.” She pointed as they zigzagged across the Rotunda. “The Kalahari has administrative offices, and Chobe has all the classrooms and learning centers.”

      “And wait until you see the stables,” she declared as they followed a group of school kids toward a busy cafeteria. “We’ve a special one just for giraffes. Twelve-foot doors.”

      She stopped in front of a café and pointed up at a bright green neon sign that read Atjar. “It’s a South African mango relish. Ready to eat?”

      “I’m always ready, sweetheart,” Jason replied with a wink. “Just say the word.”

      Letta’s mouth opened in a little O of surprise, and she glanced inquiringly at Miranda.

      “Ignore him,” Miranda replied. “He’s a natural born flirt.”

      “Says the woman whose love life is nonexistent,” he shot back in defense.

      Miranda glared at her assistant, but he shrugged and turned back to their guide. “Life is short, Letta. You gotta enjoy the ride.”

      “How about we just enjoy lunch?” Miranda opened the door and waved them inside.

      They followed stenciled paw prints on the floor to a chalk menu board hanging above a cashier station, and stared up at the day’s offerings. Letta helped them decide, suggesting Frikkadels for Jason, little hamburgers lightly seasoned with nutmeg, and for Miranda the Bobotie, a hot beef pie similar to English shepherd’s pie. Then they moved over to the drink line, filled up, and landed at a corner table near the exit.

      “There’s another, smaller, cafeteria toward the back of the building,” Letta explained, “and an employee lounge upstairs in the administrative offices. But this one is my favorite.”

      It was easy to see why. Native drums softly entertained diners while jungle scenes decorated the walls. It was spacious, colorful, and best of all, had fast service. They’d barely settled in when their food arrived. Enticing aromas wafted up and they dug in.

      “Heaven,” Jason declared after his first mouthful. He reached across the table and forked up a helping of Miranda’s steaming pie. “Oh, Lord,” he mumbled around the bite. “They know how to cook in these parts.”

      When he eyed the fresh baked soetkoekies, a spice and wine cookie, Miranda slid them out of his reach. “USA or Africa, it’s all the same. Dessert is after lunch.”

      He laughed and accepted a roasted potato wedge from Letta. “So tell us,” he asked her, “are you from Gaborone?”

      She shook her head. “I grew up in Karatu, a Maasai village near Lake Manyara in Tanzania.”

      “How’d you end up here?” Miranda asked.

      Letta absently stirred her soup. “Cattle are wealth to the Maasai and my father has many. He also has many daughters and no son to care of the herd. So he sent me to the university. They hope I will bring veterinary skill home to the village.”

      “Is that what you want?” Jason asked with his usual blunt curiosity.

      “I am honor bound. This year is all I need to complete my studies before returning home. I just need to get through Katanga’s program.”

      “You will,” Jason stated confidently. “You’re a natural.”

      “Not everyone thinks so.”

      “I don’t understand why,” Miranda said. “It’s easy to see you love what you’re doing. It shows in everything you do.”

      Letta’s gaze slid away. “Perhaps, but this is my third residency location. I’ve been shuffled from one clinic to another.”

      Jason’s fork froze mid-air. “Whatever for?”

      “I’m a jinx.” Letta lowered her soup spoon and sat back in her chair. “Catastrophe follows me.”

      “Total nonsense,” Miranda scoffed. “No one is jinxed.” Except maybe herself. That could explain the perpetual disaster that was her love life. It wasn’t a dedication to her job, bad decisions, or lack of emotional commitment. There was a curse.

      “I am unlucky,” Letta argued. “At my first clinic, a Jeep lost its brakes and I demolished a building. Three months later, I burnt a storage shed to a crisp with a faulty lantern and a bale of hay.”

      “You can’t be blamed for equipment failure,” Miranda reasoned.

      “At the second clinic,” Letta continued, “an aviary collapsed СКАЧАТЬ