Every Serengeti Sunrise

by Rula Sinara

  my sunshine and rain

  Her pulse beat at the base of her throat and her insides jumped like Masai dancers to the rhythm of their drums. She unbuckled, pulled her knees up and turned to fully face the back window. She didn’t care about anyone else. As far as she was concerned, the only passenger in the van was Haki. He pressed the next sheet to the windshield for her to read.

  Don’t leave

  She wiped her eyes and blinked to clear her vision.

  Marry me.

  * * *

  HAKI COULDN’T BREATHE. No response whatsoever. She wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t moving. Panic rose in his chest. Sweat trickled down his temple. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t let her answer with nothing but silence. He flipped a sheet and wrote, then slapped it to the windshield.

  Honk for yes.

  “What in the heck is going on?” Ben asked. All the cars ahead of them, to the right and left of Jamal’s sedan and just beyond, were honking repeatedly. Passengers were hanging their heads out their windows and clapping. A bunch of men riding in an open back truck were hooting and wolf-whistling.

  “Haki, what were you writing? Everyone out there seems to know but us,” Kamau said.

  Haki kept his eyes on Maddie. She cocked her head at him and cracked a smile. That smile was enough to keep him alive for an eternity.

  Simba pulled up behind them along the passenger drop-off curb at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport. Haki jumped out without answering the guys heckling him in the van. The only person he wanted to talk to was Maddie. She rushed out of her car and he stopped only inches from her. They stood there, taking each other in. He wanting to hold her, kiss her and never let go.

  “I’m sorry for what I put you through,” Haki said.

  “I’m sorry, too.”

  “What you heard me say that night...I was trying to do what was right, but it was so wrong. Not being honest was wrong. You have to know that what happened between us and what I said to you on the lookout when we kissed...that was the truth.”

  She bit her lower lip and a tear spilled from the corner of her eye.

  “I want to believe that. I want to feel that way again.”

  “Believe it. You’re my life, Maddie-girl. I’ve always loved you.”

  “I love you, too. So much that it aches, but I thought—”

  “I know. Neither of us wanted to hurt Pip, but we can’t turn back and we can’t turn our backs on each other. On what we have. Pippa is hurting, but she does understand that part of it. She deserves someone who can love her the way I love you.”

  Maddie pressed her hand to her chest.

  “Is this really happening? Can we make this work?”

  “I adore you. I’ll cherish you the rest of my life if you’ll let me. We have their blessing,” he added, jerking his head toward the guys.

  “I kind of gathered,” she said with a chuckle. “Don’t turn around, but they’re all hanging out of the van. A little embarrassing, but so worth this moment.”

  He stepped closer and took her hands in his.

  “No matter what happened or what we have to deal with in the future, this is right. We’re right. We don’t need words to know that, whatever lies ahead, we’re worth fighting for. I know I had that dream of the place on the hill, but your life is overseas, and if you want me to—”

  “No, Haki. I don’t want you to give that up. I love that dream. I want you to make it come true. I want to be here. To move back and be surrounded by family. I want us to have our own someday.”

  “I want that more than anything. And I promise to always be there for you and to nurture your dreams, too, if you’ll do one more thing.”

  He dropped to one knee and took her hands in his.

  “Maddie Corallis, I want to spend every sunset for the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?”

  “Yes. Absolutely, yes.”

  She pulled him up and he took her face in his hands and kissed her.

  The cheering from the airport crowds faded into the background.

  All that mattered was his Maddie-girl, and that every sunrise for the rest of his life would bring the promise of another day with her. Soul mates. Forever.

  EPILOGUE

  Dear Maddie and Haki,

  I know it’s been a while since you’ve heard from me. I’ve enjoyed spending time touring Spain and am settling in for classes. I even had the chance to catch up with Nick in Mallorca for a day. He and his girlfriend flew up from a project he was working on in Morocco. He said to pass on his congratulations and to say hello to his uncle Mac and aunt Tessa for him.

  Believe it or not, I miss you both. I’m sorry I wasn’t in Kenya for the wedding. I regret not being there, though at the time I didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. I wasn’t ready. I’m sincerely happy for you both. I now realize that this is how everything was meant to be. You’re both important to me and I love you both dearly. I want you happy.

  Change is never easy and for me it was so unexpected that I reacted badly. I’m sorry if I hurt you. But I don’t want either of you to feel sorry...not for me or for what happened. No one should have to apologize for finding the love they were meant to have.

  And I’m grateful that life gave me a chance to spread my wings, so to speak. I’m fine. Actually, I’m better than I’ve ever been. I want you to know that.

  I’ll be back as soon as I finish the program here. Kenya is too much a part of me for me to leave it for too long. When I’m done here, I want to come home and carve out my place there.

  Maddie, my mom told me you decided to practice law at your firm’s sister office in Nairobi. I’m so glad. This way, when you two bless us all with mini Hak-mans and mini Maddies—hint, hint—Auntie Pippa can babysit. I promise I won’t teach them to hang upside down from trees. Well, no promises, but I’ll guard them like a mama elephant when they’re in my care. Promise.

  Sending hugs. Spread them around to everyone. Tell my brother to stay out of trouble. See you when I find time to get away.

  Love always,

  Pippa

  * * * * *

  Catch up on previous titles in Rula Sinara’s FROM KENYA, WITH LOVE series with

  THE PROMISE OF RAIN,

  AFTER THE SILENCE

  and THROUGH THE STORM.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from HIS BABY DILEMMA by Catherine Lanigan.

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  His Baby Dilemma

  by Catherine Lanigan

  PROLOGUE

  Fifteen months ago

  GRUMBLING AT HER travel-weary reflection in her palm-sized mirror, Grace Railton used a cotton swab to clean away the mascara smudges under her eyes. Jet lag. No sleep and a seven-hour time difference between Paris and Indian Lake are not your friends, Grace. She peered into the mirror. Nope. Not by a long shot.

  “Next stop—Indian Lake. Indian Lake!” the conductor announced as he trundled down the crowded aisle.

  Grace inhaled—for courage or stamina, she didn’t know. Almost there.

  “Indian Lake!” the conductor shouted again as he passed Grace’s seat.

  Grace reached out to touch his sleeve. “Excuse me, would it be possible to get some help with my bags when we stop? I’ve been traveling for nearly fourteen hours and—”

  “Not my job,” he barked back and started to move away.

  Grace gripped his sleeve. “Sir. I’m most happy to pay for the service and I—”

  “We don’t take tips.” He peered at her, taking in her clothing. “You’re not from around here.”

  “I just flew in from Paris.”

  “Let me guess. You’re the one with the huge bags blocking the exit?” He glared at her.

  Grace wasn’t about to be shut down. “I only need help off the train.”

  He continued to glower at her. Hard.

  “Thirty dollars?”

  “I’ll meet you by the door.” He looked down at her high-heeled boots. “Think you can manage the steps in those things?”

  “I’ll be fine,” she assured him with a bright smile.

  Grace wasn’t sure if the man was angling for more money or if he was criticizing her apparel. Either way, she’d gotten what she wanted out of the bargain. Her bags were overloaded and overweight—and for good reason. She would be staying in Indian Lake for over a month, helping her Aunt Louise at The Louise House ice-cream shop while she recovered from back surgery.

  Aunt Louise’s request was one that Grace wouldn’t have dreamed of declining. Louise was the only family Grace had left. Grace’s father, Jim Railton, had died when she was very young and her mother, Amanda, had died the day after Grace’s high-school graduation.

  However, Aunt Louise was always a prominent part of Grace’s life and all of Grace’s happy childhood memories featured Aunt Louise’s quirky presence.

  Louise had always treated Grace as the daughter she never had, and because Grace had dreamed of a career in fashion design, Louise had insisted that only Parsons, one of the best design schools in the country, was good enough for her talented niece. Grace had already saved nearly half the tuition from her Junior Miss Illinois and Miss Teen Illinois pageant winnings. Since Grace had grown up in fashionable, urban Chicago, the competition for the crown was stiff, but her determination and talents had bloomed early. Louise had generously offered to cover the rest. Once she graduated, Grace had diligently sent Louise a check every month, though she’d never asked to be repaid. Grace was no longer in financial debt to her aunt, but she wasn’t sure she could ever repay the kindness and support Louise had given her over the years. Helping her at the ice-cream shop was merely a drop in the bucket.

  The train rumbled past a riot of autumn-bronzed trees and rolling farmland, golden now with harvested corn shocks and soybeans. The land was serene and lush with abundance, and Grace realized she’d never quite felt the same about any other place. Not even the South of France, with its vineyards, cobblestone streets and outdoor cafés, held the allure for her that Indian Lake did.

  Odd, it’s taken so long for me to return here.

  The last time she’d been in Indian Lake she’d been two months shy of her sixteenth birthday. Her mother had still been alive. Grace had been the first runner-up in the Miss Teen Illinois contest. After winning the crown for Junior Miss Illinois in prior years, Grace was blindsided by her near miss. She’d been certain she would win. Her piano performance was impeccable. The gowns she’d designed and that her mother had helped her make were perfection. She’d delivered answers to the judges’ questions with insight and flawless diction. She should have won. But she hadn’t.

  That summer was a turning point in her life. After that summer, Grace had altered her goal of becoming a model and directed her ambition toward fashion design. It had been a summer for growing up. That much was certain.

  Grace ran her palm over the lapels of her jacket, making certain they lay flat.

  Nervous habit, she groused to herself and dropped her hands. She’d worked hard on the design she was wearing. Her fingers traveled over the wool fabric she’d snagged at a bargain price from Johnstons of Elgin. The cashmere was from Nepal, but Grace believed the Scots knew how to weave it best. As comforting as her black jacket and slim skirt were, she was anxious.

  She leaned her head against the hard seat and exhaled. She had to calm down.

  “You coming back home?” the man across from her asked.

  Grace had been so deep in thought, she’d barely noticed anyone else on the train at all.

  “Yes. No. Yes,” she replied, looking at him. Attractive was an understatement. He was tall and trim in his well-tailored black business suit, white cotton shirt and conservative tie. The clothes were not expensive, off the rack. He had a good eye for putting himself together and watching his budget. She liked that.

  His blue eyes danced and a wave of thick chestnut hair fell over his forehead.

  “Can’t decide, huh? Think you’ll get off when we stop?” He smiled broadly.

  He was observant. She had to give him that.

  Grace couldn’t hold back her own smile. She was used to men striking up conversations with her in cafés. Trains. Airplanes. She’d worn a rhinestone crown since she was ten, and didn’t give it up until she was fifteen. Sometimes she thought men could still see the glimmer, even though the glamour and floodlights had faded for her long ago.

  He leaned forward. Just a bit. Not so much that the gesture cut through her personal space. “Dylan Hawks.” He extended his hand and she took it.

  “Hawks? I know that name. Are you related to Isabelle Hawks?” she asked.

  “My sister,” he said, lifting his chin proudly. “She’s why I’m home for the weekend. Her bridal shower.”

  “How nice.” Grace swallowed hard. She limited thoughts of brides to design projects, never imagining herself in that role. “I’m Grace Railton, by the way.”

  “Pleasure.” He smiled and then continued. “It’s a big couples’ thing at our friend’s house. Mrs. Beabots.”

  Grace’s spirits lightened. “I know her very well. She was practically my mentor.”

  “Mentor?”

  “It’s a long story,” Grace replied. After high school, Grace had left for New York and entered Parsons School of Design. While her friends went to parties, she drew, created and studied. When they went to Florida for Spring Break, she wrangled appointments with fashion house assistants and design team members. Over large lattes—which she bought for them—Grace picked their brains and soaked up information. In the summers, she took part-time internships on Seventh Avenue. She hadn’t cared how menial the job; she’d only wanted to learn. Like striving for one of her pageant crowns, she had to be the best.

  She’d graduated at the top of her class and landed a summer internship at Tom Ford. Grace knew that the very best designers worked in Paris, and she’d believed that until she had a chance to prove her talent in the biggest and toughest arena in the world, she’d never be happy.

  Aunt Louise had told Grace of Mrs. Beabots’s former life in Paris, where she had “done something” at Chanel, though no one in town was certain what, since Mrs. Beabots was as tight-lipped, as Louise put it, as the seal on a coffin. Grace had gotten
to know Mrs. Beabots during her visits to Indian Lake in high school. Grace had taken an instant liking to the older woman and they shared an admiration for beautifully made clothes. Mrs. Beabots had eventually suggested Grace sketch the dresses she envisioned and send them to her. Grace did precisely that. Throughout high school and college, Grace had corresponded with Mrs. Beabots, sending drawings and photos of her designs. Grace had pleaded with her her aunt to enlist Mrs. Beabots’s help in making connections in Paris, and by that autumn after her college graduation, Grace was on a plane headed to Paris as an assistant to an assistant at Jean Paul Gaultier. Grace’s penchant for perfectionism had gotten her noticed within weeks and she had been challenging herself ever since. Now she was an independent designer with her own team, hoping they would be “brought on” to a top couture house. Under an iconic umbrella, they would have respect, clout and the freedom to create their own line of clothing and accessories, with Grace’s name and logo stamped on every ensemble. They would have security and respect. Fortunately, up to this point, her designs had sold enough to keep them all afloat. Barely.

  No question about it. If not for Mrs. Beabots, Grace would not be anywhere near where she was now.

  “So are you here for the party as well? Odd we haven’t met. I would remember you...” Despite racing through his questions, Dylan spoke with a dash of charm that was so light most would miss it. Grace did not.

  “What a nice thing to say. Thank you. But no, I’m not invited to the party, though I knew Isabelle years ago.” She paused, her mind floating back to that summer, when all of Sarah Jensen’s friends hung out together. Barbecues. Slumber parties. Pool parties... Grace wrenched her thoughts back to the present. “Actually, I’m helping my Aunt Louise. Perhaps you know her. Louise Railton?”

  He snapped his fingers. “The Louise House! An Indian Lake institution.”

  Grace flashed him a grin. “I’ll tell her you said so.”