Discipline Down Under (3 page)

“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.

“Checking for a
joey
. If there was a baby in the roo’s pouch, we’d have to do something about it. But there wasn’t.”

“Oh. I’m glad there wasn’t a…
joey
.”

He started the engine and turned the car back to the road. “Me, too, luv. Me, too.” Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of the conversation. “Dingoes will take care of the remains the way nature intended, despite that bloody idiot. Now, time to deal with ya getting yerself in trouble.”

“Trouble?”

“I told ya to take cover and ya didn’t mind me. That sheep man was dangerous, and ya didn’t heed my warning.”

“I didn’t get hurt.”

He looked over at her for a moment. “Not because ya did the smart thing, Peggy. When we’re out here in the bush, ya have to listen to what I say and do what yer told. This isn’t… where are ya from?”

“Colorado.”

“This isn’t Colorado. I’m the authority here, where yer concerned.”

It wasn’t fair to hold mischance against her. She didn’t know every single danger. Although, she guessed that was the problem. Maybe she’d do better to follow his instructions. But she’d read up on Australia before she followed her father here, and it wasn’t like she had no bush experience. She’d gotten enough of that with her two previous guides. She knew what was dangerous… mostly. Enough, anyway. And the shooting guy, well, he was an aberration. It wouldn’t happen again. That seemed like the tack to take. “Nothing is going to happen to me. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

Tripp arched an eyebrow, but didn’t look away from the road. He was quiet for a long time. Peg wondered what he was contemplating so intently. “I think a spanking is in order.”

“A what? You can’t be serious. I’m not going to let you spank me!”

“Ya need a guide and yer father thought I’d be the best choice. He’s paying for this. Do you think he’s going to want to pay for another guide if I quit? You’ll end up with a plane ticket right back to Perth. I’d say yer between a rock and a hard spanking, Peggy.”

Annoying as he was, she realized she was stuck with him, and had to find a way to live with him. And in truth, he had saved her life twice in one day, and she kinda trusted him. “Look, Tripp, we can work this out. I’m sorry I didn’t mind.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough. Ya need to be punished and taught a lesson, or you’ll just go doin’ dangerous things again.”

“I don’t need a lesson! I’ve learned.”

“I disagree.”

“Oh, you are insufferable. I hate you.”

“You’ll take the spanking to keep me, though.”

“Do you spank all your clients?”

“As a matter of fact, I never have.” He speared her with a quick but potent glance. “I’ll make an exception for ya.”

Peg sighed. The whole day was such a mess. Only recently, her mother had threatened a spanking, her father had told her she needed more discipline, and Darren-the-guide had implied as much as well. “If you were my daughter…” Darren had said. Maybe he’d meant, “If you were my daughter, I’d—” How would he say it? “If ya were my daughter, ya’d learn caution by the seat of yer pants.” Yes, that would be how he’d say it, the old curmudgeon. Fortunately, she didn’t have to deal with him anymore. Unfortunately, Tripp didn’t seem a whole lot better.

Except that he was handsome, even kinda sexy, in his pushy way. Maybe the spanking would be sensual. That happened with some couples, right? Of course, they were hardly a pair. Her one boyfriend hadn’t been into any of that BDSM stuff, and she’d been too shy to mention any interest after reading that poorly written, but wildly popular book about it. Apparently,
her
inner goddess wasn’t that adventurous.

Tripp might have more interest in kinky things, but it still seemed presumptuous of him to suggest it.

“If I tell on you, you’ll get in trouble.”

“Have it yer way, Peggy. Yer father is holding the cards as far as I’m concerned. He said I was to take charge of ya. He gave me complete authority. When I was a boy, the way to prevent further misbehavior was a good, old-fashioned spanking. I’d have to say, you’ve needed one for a long time.”

“I have not!”

His look said she’d confirmed his pronouncement.

There was silence between them as they drove to the rocky outcropping. There was a billabong there, full of cool greenish-blue water, with grassy verges around. It was quite inviting, even though the stifling heat of the day had abated as the sun sank toward the horizon. The rocks nearby were big, up-thrust crags with clear lines of sedimentation, and a stand of acacia trees, dark with shadows, was nearby.

“Are there rock paintings here?”

“Not here,” he responded. “I can show ya some.”

“Yes, please.”

“First things first.” The door closed behind him as he went around to the back of the vehicle. Nearly magically, two backpacks appeared, with things hanging off the sides from carabiners. Although one looked fairly heavy, Tripp carried both packs easily. “I’ll pitch a tent, and ya put yer bedroll inside.”

There was a fire pit carefully formed in the middle of the campsite, with cold ashes from the last camper’s visit. Peg wondered briefly about the sanity of sleeping outdoors. She’d been staying in a motel in Katherine, traveling two hours each way every day to get out to the bush with her guides. Wouldn’t wild animals come looking for them? “Are there crocodiles in this water?”

“No. It’s mineral water and the river is east of here, not close enough to encourage them. You’ll be safe.”

Peg wasn’t so sure. Who was going to protect her from
him
? “Um… should I gather wood?”

“Do ya know how?”

“No. Not really.”

“I’ve got some charcoal. Better than depleting the mulch. We’re good. Go sit on that rock.”

Approaching the rock with some concern, Peg looked around for snakes or spiders, and saw nothing alarming. There was a marmot-like thing way up in a crevice, but it didn’t look dangerous. She sat on the rock and watched Tripp erect the two-man tent fluidly. It gave her an opportunity to admire his thick muscles bunching, but he wasn’t a weightlifter type. Those muscles were formed by outdoorsy stuff, and his arms were deeply tanned, speckled with a light coat of fine dark hair. Once the tent was ready, he gestured toward it. “Yer bedroll is the red one. Put it in the tent, and then come out here and lower yer shorts.”