Treasure of the Golden Cheetah Read Online Free PDF Page A

conversation.
    Jade watched them join their wives before turning back to Sam. “I am very glad you came tonight, Sam. I’m sorry I presumed it was for selfish gain. Forgive me?”
    “Only if you dance with me.”
    The band hired for this evening’s affair had just finished a set of three fast songs and broke into a slow waltz. Sam had trouble moving his right leg with its heavy wooden prosthesis as rapidly as was required for a fox-trot or two-step, but he managed waltzes well enough. Jade let him lead her onto the dance floor. His ungloved right hand rested lightly just below her shoulder, his touch barely perceptible through her dress and the pocket handkerchief he held to protect the fabric. Jade felt her skin tingle and wished he’d hold her tighter.
    She studied his angular face marked by a prominent nose that grew directly from his brow. It was punctuated by a thin brown mustache. A pair of coffee brown, nearly black eyes drew attention away from the nose and lent balance to his features. His brown hair, close-cropped at the sides, was longer on top and fell from a side part over his right brow. Jade compared it to the actors’ faces and decided Sam’s was the better by far. While not classic like Mr. Hall’s or pretty like the Adonis-faced Mr. Wells’, Sam’s lean, chiseled features bore the stamp of intelligence, honor, and character, which made him far more handsome to her. His eyes especially, which reminded Jade of an African night, could transform his features from boyish devilry to those of a warrior. Looking into them now made her arms tremble ever so slightly.
    She felt the need for conversation. She thought of two or three topics and rejected them all. Talking of the safari would create tension between them; she already knew about his work with Neville on the coffee washer and that he hadn’t flown his plane but once since he’d run low on fuel two weeks ago. Until the local petrol shortage improved, he was grounded. “I hope Mr. Wheeler makes you an offer on your picture,” she said finally. “It would save you an expensive trip home.”
    “I’ll go back to the States soon anyway,” he said. “It’s an election year. You should come with me, since women have the vote now.”
    Jade was about to comment when the sound of breaking glass and cracking wood startled everyone. “What in thunder was that?”
    “Sounds like it came from the other room.”
    They ran from the ballroom into the reception room in time to see Cissy Estes sitting on the floor, her rear end in the rum punch bowl. The serving table’s thin legs had snapped and splayed under her weight when she fell backwards onto it, spilling the bowl as well as several dozen glass punch cups. Cissy blinked stupidly at the gathering crowd, her right hand still holding her glass.
    “I shall complain to the management,” she slurred. “The floor is wet.”
    Most of the guests laughed at her, but the two cameramen, Lloyd Brown and Steve Budendorfer, tried to haul her to her feet. The woman probably only weighed one hundred and fifteen pounds wet, but both these men were slightly built and she was a deadweight. Her shoes kept slipping on the spilled punch, making her legs sprawl at odd angles.
    “I should help, I suppose,” said Sam. “Can’t leave her like that.” He hadn’t gone two steps when Harry Hascombe grabbed Cissy by one arm, yanked her to her feet, then toted her off to a settee to recover.
    “Well, that was certainly exciting,” said Beverly, as she and the others joined Jade and Sam. The rest of the crowd dispersed, most going into the ballroom.
    “Did you convince Mr. Wheeler to buy your books for a picture?” Jade asked Madeline.
    She shook her head. “He was very polite but I don’t think he’s interested. He’s having enough difficulty just getting one movie filmed in Africa and he doesn’t want to try a second. But I didn’t speak with him for very long. He seemed rather concerned about Miss Malta and