Discipline Down Under Read online

  “I—”

  “Damn it, stop moving!” His voice was a soft hiss.

  Run. She ought to scramble up and run, but she couldn’t possibly get back to her Land Rover in time to get away. It was too far and his legs looked way too long.

  So she quieted, saying silent prayers and trying to think of magic words to say to convince him not to kill her.

  Too late. All she could do was gasp when he threw the awful weapon, but it missed!

  “Gotcha, ya bloody bugger!”

  The knife had sailed right over her head, and Peg gingerly turned to look at where it lay. It was about three feet over her shoulder and to her left and it had impaled a snake through the head, the body was still writhing in the animal’s death throes.

  Scrambling up, Peg whimpered then caught herself, taking a deep breath. She tried to pull herself together and present a brave front. She was shaky when she said, “Why didn’t you just tell me there was a snake?”

  “Would ya have turned yer head to look?”

  “I… uh…”

  “Ya would have. And Joe Blake would have killed ya.”

  “Joe Blake? Who’s Joe Blake?”

  He reached up to adjust his hat, his voice a little impatient when he replied. “The snake.”

  “You name your snakes?”

  “Blimey, Peggy, ya ask dag questions.”

  Peg was alarmed all over again. Who was this guy, and when would he get into the light so she could see his face? Mostly recovered, she took a step closer and poked him in the chest with a stiff finger. “You know my name! How do you know my name? Who the hell are you?”

  Ignoring her ire, he stepped past her and retrieved his knife, wiping it on his pants before he replaced it in the sheath at the small of his back. When he turned, Peg gasped at the full force of his features in the sunlight slanting through the edges of the trees. He was incredible. Even a three-day scruffy beard did nothing to detract from his high cheekbones and piercing eyes. Those orbs were green as the trees that surrounded him, and staring straight at her. As the silence grew, he finally arched his dark left brow sardonically. It was enough to get Peg back to reality and out of fantasyland.

  “I asked you,” she said, her voice growing stronger, “who are you and how do you know my name?”

  He pointed out beyond the tree line. “If yer done gawping, the way back to yer Rover is that way.”

  Peg stomped her foot, raising a low cloud of leaves and detritus. “No! I demand to know!”

  He laughed. Actually laughed. Peg was so ticked off that she approached him and poked him in the chest again. “You are insufferable. I’m not going anywhere with you!”

  The man reached out and gently disengaged her forefinger from his t-shirted chest. Peg glared. Grinning, he shrugged and moved around her toward the light.

  “You come back here!” She yelled, stomping after him.

  He threw the answer over his shoulder, stalking straight ahead down the path she’d stirred up in passing. “Nope.”

  Peg ran after him, catching up with his long strides after a minute. She grabbed his thick upper arm and tried to jerk him to a halt. He stopped, but she suspected that her tugs had little to do with it. If he wanted to continue, he’d do so despite her obstruction. “Answer me, damn you!”

  “Yer father sent me, Peggy-girl. Said ya were looking for a bush guide. Seems more like ya need a nanny.” With that insult, he continued on his way toward her Rover.

  “Well… well!” Peg sputtered. She’d never met such an obnoxious man before. And her father had sent him? It couldn’t be. Oh, sure she’d agreed to have her father find the next guide, but she never expected a tall, handsome one. Where was the old, weathered, taciturn bush guide she’d expected from her father? “And stop calling me that,” she yelled at his back as he trod away. “My name’s Peg, not Peggy.”

  He turned and gave her a thousand-watt smile, tipping his hat as he walked backward for a few paces and turned away again. “Name’s Tripp Ruf, Peggy. Nice to meet ya.”

  She ran to catch up to him, getting even more angry at having to do so. “You can’t be my guide. You’re awful. You made me miss that shot. You scared away the finch.”

  “You scared away the Gouldy,” he pointed out unhelpfully, “by falling out of the tree.”

  “I did not!”

  He arched that eyebrow at her again, his eyes twinkling.

  “Well, I did fall out of the tree. But you scared the finch before I did.”

  “I’m not a nong, Peggy. I know how to navigate the bush.”

  He looked like he could, with those broad shoulders and strong thighs in well-fit jeans. Very strong thighs. Thighs like that… hmmm. “Uh, I don’t care. I won’t have you for a guide.”

  He shrugged, and Peg could see her car a few hundred yards away. The trees were growing sparse; she hadn’t ventured too far in since she knew things could be dangerous. But she’d seen that finch through her binoculars. It was too good an opportunity to pass up.

  After taking a sip of water from the canteen around his neck, he offered the vessel to Peg. She eyed it suspiciously.

  “It’s water. Ya must be thirsty, and I see ya didn’t have sense to bring yer own.”

  Peg bristled. “I have water!”

  They both spoke at once. “It’s in my car!” “It’s in yer car.”

  Flustered, Peg sputtered. “Well, it is.”

  “Lot of good it does ya there.”

  “I could have come out and gotten a drink anytime.”

  He withdrew the canteen. “Suit yerself.”

  Peg licked her lips. They were dry, despite her lipstick. “How do I know it’s just water?”

  Tripp huffed softly. “I just drank from it, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Yer car is only another hundred yards. Wait for yer own water.”

  That hundred yards seemed like a very long way. Peg heard the petulance in her own voice when she held out her hand. “I’ll have some of yours… please.”

  Good-naturedly, he handed her the canteen. “Drink yer fill. I left another in yer Rover.”

  Peg gulped. It was a little warm, but so refreshing. After a minute, she wiped her mouth with her wrist, capped the canteen and handed it back to him.

  They walked along in silence for a few yards. “Say,” she began, “what kind of name is ‘Tripp’? Is that aboriginal or something?”

  He gave her an amused look. “Do I look aboriginal, Peggy?”

  No, he didn’t. He was tanned, but not black. His longish hair was dark brown and straight, not black and curly. He looked as Caucasian as she did. “So what is it?”

  “It’s a nickname. My name is John Emmett Ruf the third. My gramps is John Ruf. My dad is J. Emmett Ruf the second. And because I’m the third, I’m Tripp. Not enough names to go ‘round.”

  Oh. Maybe he was from a well-to-do family like hers. Certainly, many of the well-heeled people she knew did things like add numbers to their names. But if that was the case, why was he here as a bush guide? “Are you sure you’re a guide?”

  “Pretty sure,” he answered succinctly.

  They’d reached her car. “Where’s your car?”

  “My partner’s driving it back to Katherine. We’re taking yer car.”

  The town of Katherine was hours away, and her base of operations. But he’d said ‘we.’ “What do you mean we’re taking my car?”

  “Ya want to use that fancy rig?” he asked, pointing to her camera. She’d almost forgotten the big Nikon was there.

  “Yes, but—”

  “We’ll go to the campsite over at Wombat Rock, make camp there, and set out into the bush tomorrow.”

  “Wait! I didn’t say you were hired. I said you were fired!”

  He got into the driver’s seat of Peg’s brand new rented Land Rover. “Get in,” he told her with a gesture.

  “This is my vehicle, you arrogant turd! I’ll drive.”

  He adjusted the s
eat. “Do ya know where it is?”

  “No… but, if you tell me…”

  “Get in.”

  She glared at him.

  “You’ll behave or else.”

  “Or else my ass.”

  “As a matter of fact…”

  Seeing red with frustration, Peg threw herself into the Rover and buckled up. “I hate you.”

  “Too bad. Yer growin’ on me, that ya are.”

  “Hmph.” There was a long pause in the conversation while Tripp started the car and set out. Picking up her phone, she checked for messages from her friends, and after a few pokes she realized she was getting no reception. She’d encountered the same thing with her other guided trips, but she was compelled to try in each location she visited. You never knew where a cell tower might be found. Frustrated once again, she put her phone back down and focused on her guide problem. She wondered briefly what ‘or else’ meant. Or else he’d quit, probably. Peg couldn’t afford for that to happen. She decided to be a little nicer. “You came out specifically to look for me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “Ya left yer car near a path, and from the path ya left a trail about a mile wide as ya trudged through the forest.”

  “I did not leave a trail. I was quiet, stealthy. I really wanted to get a shot of that finch.” Even to her own ears, she sounded like she was pouting. “You ruined my day.”

  “So sorry, luv. Ya needed to be fetched, so I fetched ya.”

  “Hm.”

  He grinned at her and then turned back to the road. “There are other birds. Lots of them.”

  “Gouldian finches are rare in the wild.”

  “Yeah, but I can name ya a dozen species that are equally rare, living in the bush.”

  That sounded hopeful. Maybe she could do this after all. “I love birds. You really can show me where they nest?”

  “Sure. I know the birds around here well. They’re a specialty of mine.”

  That was cool. “Okay. You’re hired.”

  Chuckling, he shifted gears and continued to drive.

  The road was rutted, made of reddish dirt and small rocks. The plain they were traveling was lush and green. They passed the edges of the forest and traveled toward the southern rocky hills. Peg couldn’t resist showing off a little. “Sedimentary rock formations,” she said, sparing him a quick glance to see if he was impressed. If he was, he wasn’t showing it.

  “That’s right. How’d ya know?”

  “I was a geology major at Colorado State University.”

  “You’re a geologist?”

  That’s where showing off fell rather short. “Er… no, not exactly.”

  This time, he looked over at her for a moment. “How does ‘not exactly’ work?”

  “I kinda dropped out.” Feeling a need to explain herself, she hurried on. “There was too much science. I don’t know why we had to know all the chemicals that went into the rocks. Isn’t it enough to be able to identify them?”

  “Guess not. Ya might ask yer father about that. He’s the geologist.”

  “I asked him. He said something or other about valuable minerals and yada yada yada.”

  Tripp’s lips turned up in a smile. “Yada, yada, yada, eh?”

  Crossing her arms over her chest, Peg stared straight ahead. He didn’t have to make fun of her. She’d explained herself. No one understood her.

  “So after uni, what did ya do?”

  “I went on to another school. That was the one where I majored in women’s studies.”

  He chuckled again, the annoying man. “How did that go?”

  Should she admit that she dropped out because there were no men to date? “I just didn’t like it.”

  “No available men.”

  How did he know? Was he psychic or something? “I dunno. Maybe. Anyway, I tried art history at Wesleyan.”

  “Ah. That must’ve suited ya better.”

  Not really. “There was a lot of history.”

  “Ya might have considered that when ya majored in art history. Sounds like you’ve been a busy girl.”

  “I’m not a girl. I’m a woman.”

  “Of course ya are. Yer what? Twenty-one?”

  “Twenty, but that doesn’t matter! How old are you?”

  “Twenty-six.”

  “You’re not so much older than me. Shall I call you a boy?”

  “Touché.”

  That was satisfying. Peg smiled. “Where is this campsite? And what’s that popping noise? Do we have a flat?”

  Now he was frowning. “Not a flat. Sounds like gunfire. Get down in the seat.”

  “Gun shots? Out here? No one’s shooting at us.”

  “They might not be shooting at us, but stray bullets kill just as easily as intentional shots. Get down!”

  There was more gunfire, coming closer now.

  Peg got her binoculars from behind her seat, unbuckled and opened the sun roof. “I’m going to look!”

  Tripp tugged on her arm, then her knee as she stood up and balanced on the cushy seat and the console in the middle of the compartment. “Get down, damn it! Ya want to get shot, woman?”

  “I won’t get shot.” She stuck her head out the sunroof and looked around with her binoculars. A little way away, there was a Jeep with a guy standing in the back, balancing a rifle on the roll bar. He was shooting away from her Rover, toward a mob of kangaroos. As she watched, one went down in a mist of red. Peg nearly gagged. “There’s a guy shooting kangaroos!” she shouted.

  Tripp yelled at her to get down again, and this time, he pulled hard enough on her knee to get her to lower herself back onto her seat. They drove up to where the guy was shooting, carefully parking behind him and away from his targets. “I’m going to have a Captain Cook. Ya stay here,” Tripp told her.

  What did that mean? There was no way she was going to be left behind; that much she knew. “Hell I will!”

  Growling, her guide got out of the car. The Rover started beeping after a few seconds, to alert them that he’d left the door open.

  Peg hurried out of the car, following Tripp up to where the shooter was perched. “G’day, mate,” Tripp called to the man.

  The shooting stopped as the man turned around to face them. He was a fit man, with a weathered, craggy face. He looked to be about forty-five years old. His hat was battered, and shaded his brow, but the setting sun showed him clearly enough. There was sweat under his armpits, staining his khaki, short-sleeved shirt.

  “G’day,” he said cautiously.

  “Ya know,” Tripp told him, his voice steady, “it’s illegal to be shooting roos here.”

  The shooter stiffened defensively. “Bloody buggers have been eating my sheep graze. I’m trying to scare them away.”

  Tripp arched a dark brow and Peg could see his jaw tighten. “Why don’t ya come down and we’ll talk about it?”

  “Who are you to be giving me a gobful? Go mind yer own business or I’ll give ya a bunch of fives.” He turned back to the mob and started shooting again. His aim was off this time, and it did nothing but scatter the animals.

  “Come down, or I’ll come up after ya.”

  Peg’s eyes widened. Was Tripp going to actually physically stop the man?

  Warning ignored, Tripp proceeded to the Jeep and climbed up behind the man, grabbing him by the back of his collar and dragging him down off the truck bed. A few shots got fired in the air.

  “Hey! Bugger off!” The guy was struggling, the rifle still in one hand.

  “Drop the gun,” Tripp ordered.

  “I’ll give ya a knuckle sandwich, I will!”

  “Drop. The. Gun.” Tripp, a much bigger man, was actually shaking the sheep farmer.

  Finally, the fellow broke loose. He immediately turned and pointed the gun at Tripp and Peg. Tripp didn’t move, but Peg ran to the Rover and huddled behind a door, looking up through the window cautiously.

  The incessant door beeping made everything
more difficult to hear, but Peg didn’t dare close the door.

  “Bug out,” Tripp told the guy. “And I won’t clean yer clock.”

  “I’ve got the gun here, mate,” the man replied confidently.

  “Not for long.” With that, Tripp lunged to one side and came up, pushing the rifle away toward the open plain. A shot was fired, but soon Tripp had the upper hand, taking the rifle and throwing it a few yards away. They scuffled, throwing punches, each man having his share for a minute. Tripp landed a hard uppercut and the other man rocked back, losing his footing, and falling to the ground, where he moaned. Reaching down, Tripp took hold of the man’s shirt and lifted his torso up a few inches. “Take off or I’ll tie ya up and feed ya to the crocs.”

  “Okay! Okay. No need to take this blue any further. Gimme my rifle and I’ll be off.”

  “Sure.”

  The man stood and dusted himself off, looking resentfully at Tripp. Tripp picked up the bolt action rifle, pulled out unused bullets, jammed in a stick and broke the wood off. Peg heard it snap firmly. He slammed the bolt back in and the stick was lost, stuck in the barrel. “Here’s yer gun, mate.”

  “You’re a drongo, ya are,” the older man said. “I won’t forget this.”

  “Good. Don’t shoot anymore roos or I’ll have the rangers on ya.”

  Grabbing his rifle, the fellow stalked away, got in his Jeep and lit out, throwing dirt clods in his wake.

  Tripp visibly relaxed, and rubbed his right hand knuckles. Peg came out from behind the door. “Are you okay?”

  Nodding, Tripp gestured toward the interior of the Rover. “Never better.”

  Peg could see his red knuckles, but she didn’t say anything. If he wanted to be macho, she was hardly going to complain. He’d saved their lives from stray bullets, as well as the lives of the kangaroos from more calculated shots. But Tripp didn’t immediately get into the car. Instead, he cautiously approached the mob of roos, who moved away from him and left him with their dead companion. Tripp did something to the dead kangaroo—Peg couldn’t quite see what—and then stood and came back to the Rover.

  “What were you doing?” she asked as he settled in behind the wheel.