Forcing herself not to sigh for the luxuries back home was as useless as trying to keep her thoughts from returning to Tom McCullough.

In his own way, Tom was as forceful as Jamal, but Shara hadn’t resented his attitude, aware that Tom spoke out of concern for her, not out of a desire to control her.

He would have more subtle means of getting his way. A shudder of possibility shook her as her imagination worked overtime. In her country, women had a saying about men—Stillness Cloaks The Tiger Within.

Where Jamal’s inner tiger was a rampaging beast, seldom cloaked, Tom’s, she sensed, was immensely more powerful than that.

What would his tiger be like, once unleashed?

Heir to Danger
Valerie Parv

www.millsandboon.co.uk

VALERIE PARV

With twenty million copies of her books sold, including three Waldenbooks bestsellers, it’s no wonder Valerie Parv is known as Australia’s queen of romance and is the recognized media spokesperson for all things romantic. Valerie is married to her own romantic hero, Paul, a former crocodile hunter in Australia’s tropical north.

These days he’s a cartoonist and the two live in the country’s capital city of Canberra, where both are volunteer zoo guides, sharing their love of animals with visitors from all over the world. Valerie continues to write her page-turning novels because they affirm her belief in love and happy endings. As she says, “Love gives you wings, romance helps you fly.” Keep up with Valerie’s latest releases at www.silromanceauthors.com.

For Lulu, Sunny and Merry with love and appreciation

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Epilogue

Chapter 1

The woman’s scream reverberated around the steep canyon, dragging Tom McCullough’s attention away from the deserted car he’d stopped to investigate. It was one of the old cars used for work around Diamond Downs, but why was it sitting in the middle of nowhere with plenty of gas and no obvious damage?

Tom’s head snapped up. A scream wasn’t a sound he expected to hear on a cattle property in the middle of nowhere, either.

Neither could he ignore it. As a ranger, he was sworn to protect both the unique environment of the untamed Kimberley region of northwestern Australia, and the people who came to marvel at it, from themselves if necessary.

Even as his mind raced through the list of possible threats, from deadly king brown snakes to wild dingoes and man-eating crocodiles, his long legs scaled the cinnamon-colored rock wall that rose like a submarine emerging from an ochre ocean. His feet skidded on the tangle of creepers and tree roots cascading over the jagged, layered rocks.

The difficult terrain made the shriek of terror even more disturbing. This wasn’t a place where the unwary wandered. Usually the only people who made the climb were the Aboriginal custodians of a ceremonial site located among the rocks. He could see the entrance to the narrow gorge now, festooned in greenery.

Surely the scream hadn’t come from the gorge? What would a woman be doing in a place reserved for initiated men only? The scream must have come from somewhere close to the rock enclave rather than inside it, he thought, knowing wishful thinking when he expressed it.

Tom braced himself to find some lost backpacker lying on the ground, staring in bewilderment at a snakebite on her leg or ankle. When his scan of the surroundings revealed nothing, he plunged into the greenery, coming up short at the sight of the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, being held at spear point by a tribal elder with murder in his expression.

“What’s going on, Andy?” he demanded. As well as being one of Tom’s best friends, Andy Wandarra worked as a stock-man on Diamond Downs. In the shadow of the rock wall decorated with ancient paintings, he had shed his veneer of civilization along with everything but a loincloth. Here, he was the upholder of eons of tradition stretching back in an unbroken thread to the dawn of creation, the Dreamtime.

The man brandished the spear at the woman who faced him down with a defiance Tom found admirable if foolhardy. “I found this one looking at the paintings. No woman can see them. The cave spirits say she must be speared in the leg as punishment,” Andy said.

Tom’s blood chilled. The cave spirits were embodied in the eerie figures adorning every surface of the rocks. Wandarra knew them as the creative beings of the Dreaming, makers of the world and everything it contained. According to his people, these spirit beings governed all aspects of human behavior, along with the rituals that were vital for living in harmony with the land.

It was Andy’s responsibility to keep their images in good repair as his forebears had done for thousands of years. Without the benign influence of the spirits, his people believed, the land would dry up and the game would vanish.

“This little-bit woman didn’t mean any harm. She’s not from around here,” Tom said, as if the woman was hardly worth his friend’s notice.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her draw herself up. She didn’t like being described so dismissively, he gathered. If the situation hadn’t been potentially lethal, he would have been amused. In contrast to his six-two, she was a little bit of a thing.

She stood about five-seven and wouldn’t have weighed more than a hundred and twenty pounds wringing wet. Hair as dark as midnight hung halfway down her back. Her skin was the color of milky coffee and her violet gaze locked with his in silent challenge. She definitely wasn’t from around here. Her cream shirt and tailored jeans, even caked in red dust, screamed European designer. The jeans were tucked into calf-hugging leather boots that Tom would bet were worth several months of his salary.

He sighed inwardly. Now he had an explanation for the deserted car, if not for its lovely occupant.

“I didn’t mean to trespass by coming in here,” she said in a cultured voice tinged with an exotic accent.

Tom struggled to place it. Where had he heard that voice before? “I’m Shire Ranger Tom McCullough. Who are you?” he asked quietly.

He detected the slightest hesitation before she said, “My name is Shara.”

Had she been about to say Mrs. Somebody? He knew he’d have been disappointed if she had. No, she’d hesitated as if she wasn’t accustomed to having to explain her identity. Who was she and what the devil was going on?

“This place is off-limits to all women, Shara,” he said. “You’re breaking indigenous law by entering.”

“It wasn’t intentional,” she assured him. “I was merely—driving around. A kangaroo hopped in front of my car and I bumped it very slightly. I didn’t think it was injured but I followed it up here to make sure. When I saw the opening in the rock and the paintings, I decided to take a closer look.”

As a ranger, Tom knew a lie when he heard one. Not about the kangaroo, but what she was doing in the area in the first place. “Driving where?” he asked.

“Just—around.”

There it was, that hesitation again. The growing impatience in Andy’s body language put an end to Tom’s probing. Not even their long friendship would stop the other man from doing his sacred duty, Tom knew.

He looked at the spear held unwaveringly on her. “She didn’t know any better, Andy. Let me take care of this. I’ll see she never makes a mistake like this again.”

The other man’s frown deepened. “You know our laws, Barrak.”

Hearing his clan name used, Tom’s heart sank and with it his hope of salvaging the situation.

To Wandarra’s people, the cave spirits weren’t gods, watching the people from on high. They walked among their people, controlling the natural world. If they were offended, they could turn nature against the people, causing untold misery and hardship. If Andy allowed her to walk away, the clan elders could hunt her down and possibly kill her for defiling the sacred place. Andy would also suffer for his part in the transgression.

Tom was uncomfortably aware of Wandarra waiting. “We’ve known each other long enough that you know some things can’t be handled the traditional way anymore,” he said carefully. He sensed the other man’s resolve, but he had to try. “When someone does wrong, I talk to the wrongdoer, make sure they understand their mistake so they don’t do it again.”

Wandarra shot him a look of anger. “Talk won’t help. This is sacred clan business.” He tapped Tom’s chest hard. “Your business, Barrak.”

“What does he mean, your business? And why does he call you Barrak?” Shara asked. Her voice was thin with fear but held steady, earning his grudging admiration. Whoever she was, she didn’t spook easily.

He grasped the lapels of his khaki uniform shirt and pulled them apart, hearing her breath catch as he revealed a pattern of whorls and cicatrices, the result of long-healed scars cut into his chest.

“The name means white dingo. I’m an honorary member of Wandarra’s clan,” he said.

“But you’re not Aboriginal.”

“Not entirely.” Like many people in the Kimberley, he had a thin trickle of Aboriginal blood in his veins and sometimes wished he had more. It would have been an improvement on the heritage he did have.

As boys, he and Wandarra had been initiated into manhood together. For Andy, it had been a necessary rite of passage. No one had expected Tom to participate, but as teenagers he and Wandarra had been so close, he’d wanted to do everything his friend did. When the elders sent Andy into the desert for three days to survive on his own, existing on what food and water he could find, Tom insisted on undertaking his own survival trek, returning tired, hungry and dehydrated, but triumphant.

His feat had so impressed the elders that they’d agreed to include him in the final initiation rites. His foster father had tried to talk him out of it but Tom had refused to believe Des’s description of the ceremony, thinking the older man meant to scare him out of doing what he wanted to do. When Des realized Tom was determined to undergo the ritual, he had locked the boy in his room.

Tom had slid a sheet of paper under the door, jiggled a pen-knife in the lock until he dislodged the key. When the key dropped onto the paper, he’d pulled them both through to his side and escaped.

By the time he found out that Des hadn’t exaggerated the ordeal ahead, it was too late. Along with Andy and the other boys on the brink of manhood, Tom had forced himself to endure the grueling physical challenges, nightmarish confrontations to test his courage and the agony of having tribal markings carved into his chest. The alternative was to remain forever a boy in his friend’s eyes, and that would have been far worse.

The elders had gone easy on him, he knew now. Andy’s markings were far more extensive than Tom’s own. Nevertheless, he had been a mess, feverish and delusional by the time Des found him and carried him back to the homestead. Without recrimination, Des had tended the cuts on Tom’s chest until they healed into the pattern that now identified him as a man of Wandarra’s clan.

A man with frightening responsibilities.

Shara recognized it in his face, and he saw the color leave her features. “What is this man going to do?” she asked.

“What he must,” Tom said tautly. He saw Andy lift the spear as if testing the weapon’s weight.

Her eyes saucered as she caught the gesture. “You’re as mad as he is. You can’t let him put a spear through me. This is the twenty-first century. There are laws even in the wilderness.”

“Outback Australia has its own laws.”

“And I’m to be punished for my ignorance by being speared?”

To her credit, although her voice faltered, she held herself proudly, her chin lifted.

“It is the traditional penalty,” Tom said, remorse tingeing his tone.

She eyed the insignia on his shirt. “You’re an officer of the law. Can’t you stop this?”

“The outback has more than one kind of law. I try to uphold both kinds, white and traditional.”

Disbelief shadowed her violet eyes. “You really mean to let him do this, don’t you?”

His gut twisted. He had never seen eyes quite that shade before. They were ringed with some dark makeup that made them look huge in her heart-shaped face. He felt as if he was about to kick a puppy. “I have no choice.”

He grasped her shoulder, noting how fragile her body felt beneath the thin shirt. Feeling the delicate outline of her bones, he amended his assessment of her weight downward by a few pounds. She felt as slender as a child. And she was shaking.

She was putting on a good act, but he felt her trembling like a leaf.

His throat felt dry as he pressed her back against the sandstone wall. “Brace your palms against the rock, and whatever happens, don’t move an inch. Understood?”

The lambent gaze she turned on him was almost his undoing. “Please don’t do this.”

He roughened his tone, not wanting to drag this out. “Understood?”

A ragged breath escaped her full lips, making him feel even more brutal. “Yes.”

“It might help to close your eyes,” he said.

Wandarra made an angry sound of impatience and Tom knew he couldn’t stall any longer. If he didn’t take care of this, the other man would, and it would be far worse for Shara.

Her heart beat so hard Shara thought it would fly out of her chest. Some of her own country’s older customs seemed barbaric to her, but this was a nightmare. First a man in a loincloth had threatened to spear her after finding her looking at the ancient cave paintings. When the ranger had arrived she’d expected him to intervene. Instead he seemed to condone the cruel ritual. What kind of men did this country breed?

Awesome ones, she concluded reluctantly. Primitive they might be, but both men were incredible examples of masculine perfection. Wandarra’s loincloth hid almost nothing of his physical beauty. Tom’s uniform was more concealing, thank goodness, but when he’d ripped open his shirt to reveal the tribal markings, she’d glimpsed solid muscle under the uniform.

Not that it was any help to her now.

Desperately she cast about for a way out, but Wandarra stood between her and the narrow entrance. The other end of the gorge was blocked by collapsed rock and only a shaft of sunlight penetrated the gloom. The walls were too steep to climb.

Could she try to fight her way out using the basic self-defense skills she’d learned as a teenager? The answer was obvious. She might have been able to tackle one man successfully, but not both. She was trapped.

As a student of primitive art, she understood that she’d broken Wandarra’s law and she was prepared to make amends. But dear heaven, not like this.

Panic swirled through her but she resisted by focusing on how much she despised Tom for allowing his friend to act as judge and jury over her.

Her inner tension reached boiling point as Tom said something to Wandarra in an Aboriginal language. Probably deciding the finer points of her fate, she thought as a strange sense of disconnection settled over her, as if her mind was floating away from her body. Why didn’t they just get on with it, she wondered from this new vantage point? Wandarra argued furiously, but Tom held his ground. She saw Wandarra give a grudging nod and back away, hefting the spear.

Then a shadow fell across her, jerking her back to full awareness as Tom stepped between her and the other man.

Finally, she understood.

Tom intended to take the spear meant for her.

“I won’t let you do this,” she said.

“You’re not exactly in a position to stop me.”

A moment ago she’d thought him despicable. Now she could hardly believe he was prepared to endure the penalty that would have been hers. In her own country she had bodyguards whose job was to put themselves in harm’s way for her. But Tom didn’t know who she was. He wasn’t from her country. Yet she couldn’t mistake his intention. His demeanor showed that nothing would dissuade him from following his chosen course.

“Why?” she asked, needing to know this at least.

“The cave spirits must be placated,” he said.

She wondered if he’d deliberately misunderstood her question. “Is there no other way?”

“None,” he stated. “Trust me. This is for the best.”

For her, not for him. She couldn’t let him suffer for her mistake. But moving past him was like trying to shift solid rock. He’d planted himself so she had no space to maneuver. All she could do was hold her breath and wait.

Over her shoulder she saw Wandarra balance the spear lightly in his hand, sunlight glinting off the tip. Tom had told her to brace herself against the rock wall. She was pressing so hard the grit drove itself into her palms but she hardly noticed. Her rubbery legs felt as if they wouldn’t hold her up much longer but she refused to give her nemesis the satisfaction of fainting at his feet.

Everything in her screamed that this couldn’t be happening, but it was.

She closed her eyes and prayed.

Tom fixed his gaze on Wandarra as the other man backed away as far as the limited space allowed. Under traditional law a transgressor was speared in the fleshy part of the thigh, causing maximum pain with minimum physical damage. The punishment was rare now, replaced by modern remedies, but Tom still encountered the occasional incident. He had never dreamed he would face the wrong end of a spear himself, and his insides churned. He was well aware of the damage the weapon could inflict.

Better to him than to the woman behind him.

Wandarra began to chant in his language, telling the spirits of the cave what he was about to do and why, so they knew that a wrong was being righted and they wouldn’t take their wrath out on Wandarra’s people.

The chant ended and Tom braced himself.

He hadn’t counted on the woman’s stubbornness. Instead of staying safely sheltered by his body, she planted her palms in the small of his back and pushed with all her might, knocking him off balance for a crucial instant.

In the same instant, Wandarra let the spear fly.

Recovering his balance, Tom heard her let out the faintest whimper. Swearing profusely, he turned to see the spear jutting from her boot, the point having penetrated her calf. Her knees sagged but she stayed upright, staring in disbelief at the still quivering weapon. The blood had washed out of her face and he suspected her grip on the rock wall was all that held her up.

He whirled on Wandarra. “Enough. This is settled now.” He didn’t drop his gaze until the other man nodded and turned away.

Dropping to one knee beside her, Tom braced his hand on her thigh. Her sharp intake of breath told him she knew what he was about to do. He saw her close her eyes again and pull in a deep breath.

There was no easy way so he made it fast. In a fluid movement he pulled the spear out, hearing her choke back a cry of pain. Tossing the spear aside, he gathered her into his arms. “You stupid woman. Let’s get you out of here.”

Any moment now she would wake up in her curtained bed in Dashara with her personal servants fussing over her, Shara thought. She must have stayed up too late last night working. When she opened her eyes, the handsome stranger who had been willing to take a spear meant for her would be no more than a bizarre dream.

Experimentally she opened her eyes and almost closed them again at the sight of the man cradling her against his chest. Her imagination could never have conjured up such a breathtaking experience.

He was as tall and self-assured as the men of her country, carrying her down the boulder-strewn hillside as if he owned it. He held her effortlessly, her weight no more than an inconvenience. When he’d swung her into his arms, she’d automatically linked her hands around his neck and hung on. Under her fingers, the corded muscles of his neck felt as solid as a tree trunk.

Shadowed by his bushman’s hat, Tom’s eyes and hair were a matching shade of sable. Beneath thick sooty lashes, fine lines framed a hooded gaze, from years spent scanning these far horizons, she assumed. The grim line of his mouth hinted at a disturbing sensuousness.

Close up, the tribal markings on his chest looked even more awesome. What must he have endured to acquire them?

Heat radiated through her, not all of it traceable to her throbbing calf. She knew she was focusing on details to avoid facing the truth. This man she didn’t know had tried to put himself on the line to protect her. By interfering, she’d offended his code of honor, she assumed. But she had her own code, and it precluded letting someone else pay for her mistake.

His hold on her stopped barely short of crushing. She dragged in a deep breath, regretting it almost at once as she was assailed by his musky man scent. This had gone far enough. “You can put me down. I can walk,” she insisted.

His hold didn’t loosen. “No need. We’re almost there.”

She strained to see anything around his daunting bulk, then stopped as the movement brought her into closer contact with his hard body. “Where is there?”

“My vehicle.”

Shifting her weight to one arm, he opened the door of a four-wheel-drive Jeep with the other and eased her onto the front seat, leaving the door open. She closed her eyes for a moment as the stored heat inside the car stole what remained of her breath.

“Are you all right?”

She forced her eyes open. “For someone who was speared, I’m fine. What do you think?”

He retrieved a compact first-aid kit from the back of the vehicle and opened it on the floor at her feet. “If you’d stayed put, you wouldn’t be injured.”

“I couldn’t let you suffer on my account.”

He shrugged this off. “You don’t take orders easily, do you?”

Did he sense that she was more accustomed to giving them? “Your friend Wandarra has his system of justice. I have mine.”

“Well, next time, try not to let it lead you into trouble.” He reached for her damaged boot.

She steeled herself, surprised to see him wince in sympathy when she was unable to suppress a cry. “You wouldn’t have been any better off,” she snapped, angry at herself for feeling so weak. Or was it because of the unwelcome feelings Tom’s touch stirred up? “I suppose you’re so tough that you would have walked away from the experience?”

“The spearing is meant to teach a lesson, not cause undue harm. By moving, you could have been killed.”

His anger suddenly made sense. Something tightened in her stomach, beyond the pain of the injury which she saw was mercifully slight when he pushed back the leg of her jeans.

Slowly her own fury ebbed. “I haven’t thanked you yet for what you tried to do.”

Tom kept his head down. “No thanks needed. You didn’t know what you were getting into.”

She still didn’t, she thought, trying not to flinch when he used a razor blade to slice the leg of her jeans open to just above her knee. She wouldn’t be wearing them again. It came to her that this could be a problem. For the first time in her life, she didn’t have a dozen more pairs where they came from.

As Tom cleaned her injury and wrapped a piece of gauze bandage around it, the touch of his fingers against her heated skin was deft, almost a caress. “Are you a doctor?” she asked.

“In the outback you have to be a bit of everything.” He lifted his head. “That’s the best I can do for now. I’ll take you to Diamond Downs homestead where they’ll do a more thorough job. I have some painkillers on me if you need them.”

“The antiseptic stings a bit, that’s all. I prefer not to cloud my thinking with painkillers.”

He repacked the first-aid kit efficiently. “Pity you didn’t think of that before you blundered into the gorge.”

“You think I don’t know that now? I may be many things, but stupid isn’t usually one of them.”

He rested an arm against the open door of the vehicle, trapping her within the angle of his body. His speculative gaze raked her, sending fresh waves of heat coursing through her.

“You don’t strike me as stupid. Naive, but not stupid.”

“You’re too kind.” She laced her tone with regal sarcasm more reminiscent of her life in Q’aresh than her present situation.

Instead of quailing, as her subjects would have done when she took that tone, Tom gave a sharp laugh. “Why do I get the feeling you expect me to fall at your feet and beg your forgiveness?”

Because part of her did expect it. As the only daughter of the King of Q’aresh, she was accustomed to having her slightest wish obeyed. Here, she had to get used to being treated like everyone else. “You’re imagining things,” she said.

“I don’t think so. You don’t exactly fit in here, do you?”

“Not like Barrak, the white dingo.” She couldn’t help sounding bitter, knowing she was jealous because he so obviously belonged here, while she was the interloper.

“The name was given to me when I was initiated into Wandarra’s clan. To everyone else, I’m Tom, the shire ranger,” he informed her.

He waited for her to volunteer information about herself. When she remained silent, he shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ll find out who you are one way or another. You’re obviously foreign, but you must have someone I should notify that you’re all right.”

Panic welled inside her. “No, you mustn’t. I mean, there’s no need. I can look after myself.”

His gaze swept her slitted jeans and bandaged calf. “So I see.” He gestured toward the car slewed at an angle a few yards behind his. “I assume you got here in that. Care to tell me what you’re doing with Des Logan’s car? Or is that classified information, too?”

“I’m a guest of Mr. Logan’s.”

Tom’s dark eyebrows swept upward. “Des is my foster father.”

Suddenly she remembered where they’d crossed paths before. Tom’s familiarity had nagged at her. She had met him in the nearby township of Halls Creek when her father brought her with him on a cattle-buying expedition several years before.

Chagrin gripped her. Tom obviously didn’t remember her. Not that she wanted him to. The fewer people who knew her identity, or where she was hiding out, the better. “I simply wanted a safe—that is, a place I could have some time to myself,” she improvised. “Mr. Logan was kind enough to let me stay in the old cottage.”

Tom didn’t miss the hasty correction. Safe from what? “Des told me he had a guest staying out here, but that’s all.”

“Surely he doesn’t have to tell you everything? I understand you don’t live at Diamond Downs now.”

He nodded. “I have my own place outside Halls Creek.”

“What were you doing here?”

His mouth thinned. Then to her dismay, he said, “I’m not answering any more questions until you answer a few of mine, princess.”

Chapter 2

Feeling the color drain from her face, she let her head drop against the leather headrest. What had he called her?

“That does it, I’m getting you back to the homestead.”

She forced her head up. “I don’t feel faint, just…” What? Alone in a strange land? Terrified that she would be caught by her fiancé, Jamal, before she could get evidence of his true nature to her father? If she hadn’t been so distracted with these worries, she would have braked more quickly when the kangaroo leaped across her path. Then she wouldn’t have needed to follow the animal to ensure it wasn’t hurt, and come across the forbidden site.

A lot of ifs, she thought. She bit down hard on her lower lip to control the threatening tears, recognizing them as a product of mild shock. Tom didn’t know who she was. He’d called her princess as a nickname.

“Have you had your tetanus shots?” he asked.

“I’ve had every immunization possible.”

His eyes narrowed. “How long since you’ve eaten something?”

“I—I’m not sure. Breakfast, I think.” She had eaten some crackers and an apple, too unsettled to face anything more.

“That was hours ago. Des should have warned you against setting off alone without water, at the very least.”

“I have food and a water bottle in the car.”

He unscrewed the top of a canteen and handed it to her. As soon as the water spilled down her throat she realized how thirsty she’d been. How hungry she was.

He watched her grimly. “You really are a babe in the woods, aren’t you, princess?”

She lowered the canteen warily. “Why do you call me that?”

“Because of your haughty manner, as if everyone else is a rung or two beneath you on the social ladder.”

It was truer than he knew, at least in Q’aresh. “I’ll try to appear more sociable,” she said as much to herself as to him.

“I recommend it if you want to last long in the outback. And speaking of lasting long, if you run into any more trouble, the first rule of survival is to stay with your vehicle.”

His warning sent a stab of alarm through her. She’d never intended to last long in the outback, as Tom put it, only to eavesdrop on a meeting between Jamal Sayed and some of his cronies aboard the private plane Jamal would take to Australia on an assignment for her father.

She’d planned to leave the plane when it dropped the other men off at a coastal airstrip, but Jamal had caught her taping his conversation, and forced her to accompany him to Australia, telling her father she couldn’t bear being separated from her fiancé for so long.

Before he’d searched her bag, she’d managed to push her taped record of his treasonous meeting into a secret compartment under a seat. With luck, the tape was still on the plane. Her only hope of convincing her father that the man he expected her to marry was a traitor.

When the king had brought Shara with him to the Kimberley eight years before, she had never imagined she would return under such circumstances. Or that she’d find her life depending on the Logan family whom she’d met on that visit.

She was sure that the Logans, and by extension Tom, weren’t involved with Jamal. Shara had remained in touch with Judy Logan after meeting her at Diamond Downs on that first visit. Drawn together as the only teenage girls in the party, they’d discovered a mutual passion for rock art. Shara had been fascinated by the ancient sites in Q’aresh, deciding to set up an exchange program between the traditional artists in Australia and her country as soon as she came of age. Judy had become the scheme’s contact in Australia. Judy had been the logical person for Shara to turn to, although getting away from Jamal at the airport hadn’t been easy.

Claiming a need to visit the ladies’ room, Shara had squeezed out through a tiny window into the open air. By the time Jamal became impatient waiting for her, she’d persuaded a taxi driver to take her to a bank where she’d used her credit card to obtain some Australian currency, then paid the driver to take her to Diamond Downs.

Had it only been two days ago? It felt like an eternity. The seat gave as Tom got into the Jeep. She opened her eyes. He was a lot like his foster father, she thought. Not in looks, since they weren’t related by blood. But in his cool decisiveness. Not domineering, but no pushover, either. Qualities she admired in a man. In Tom.

His foster father had reacted as if having a runaway princess land on his doorstep was an everyday event. A room at the homestead was hers for as long as she wanted. Too risky for them if Jamal traced her to the Logans, she’d argued. In the end she’d agreed to stay at the original cottage some distance from the homestead, and accept Des’s offer of the use of an old work car.

In it she’d been checking out escape routes from the cottage, when she and the kangaroo had their fateful disagreement.

She rubbed her aching calf. “Where are we going?”

Tom gunned the engine. “I’d prefer to take you to a doctor, but since you’ve vetoed that idea, and you evidently don’t want to have me arrested, I’m taking you home where there’s a better medical kit on hand. We can send someone to fetch the car later.”

This time the fluttering in her chest was easier to subdue. “What you’ve done feels fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Looking after stray princesses is part of my job.”

She was getting used to hearing her title used as a nickname, feeling as if it eroded some barrier between them. Australians gave nicknames to people they liked, she recalled her grandmother telling her. And she found the idea of Tom liking her oddly appealing. “Do you come across many of us out here?” she asked.

“Not normally at spear point.”

The concerned tone of his voice pulled at her. He really hadn’t wanted her to get hurt, and tried to save her from greater harm. “I was a fool to go into the gorge without knowing the correct protocol,” she said.

“You couldn’t have known what would happen.”

“I should have. I’ve studied rock art for long enough to understand that traditional people have their own ways of doing things and their own reasons. The taboo on women entering the area has probably existed for hundreds of thousands of years.”

The look he gave her was thoughtful. “Are you always this forgiving?”

She guessed he was referring to her reluctance to press charges against him. “Only when I know I’m in the wrong.”

“Are you really female under those classy clothes?”

She felt the blush all the way to her toes. “Excuse me?”

He looked equally disconcerted, she saw, when she forced herself to meet his heated gaze, as if he’d blundered into territory where he had no business going.

“I mean, I can see that you’re female.” He pushed his bush hat far back on his head, tousling his dark hair. “A man would have to be blind not to. You’re bloody beautiful. I only meant…hell…how many women do you know who’re willing to admit when they’re wrong?”

The awkward compliment warmed her. So he thought she was beautiful, did he? The clumsy words meant more to her than all of Jamal’s eloquent flattery, and were probably far more sincere. “You obviously haven’t heard the women’s rules,” she murmured, letting him off the hook. “Rule one, the woman is always right. Rule two, if the woman is wrong, refer to rule one.”

He gave a theatrical groan. “Don’t let Judy hear you say that. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Judy’s my friend. Perhaps I owe it to her.” Shara was amazed to feel jealousy scraping along her nerves. Was there any romantic interest between him and Des’s daughter? Again she asked herself why she cared.

“She’s okay,” he admitted grudgingly. “When we were kids, she considered it her mission in life to give me as hard a time as possible. Do you have sisters?”

She shook her head. The lack was a source of sorrow to her. “I have one older brother, Sadiq. Our mother died when I was born. We were raised by our grandmother who was born in Australia.” She didn’t add that Noni had crossed swords with their father about almost everything to do with their upbringing. Where his son and heir was concerned, King Awad had won every battle. Not for the first time, Shara wondered if he had done his daughter a favor, letting Noni have her way when it came to raising Shara herself. Would she have found it easier to accept her father’s plans for her if her upbringing had been more conventional?

“Tough break. My mother’s gone, too. I still miss her,” Tom said, interrupting her thoughts.

“Were you very young when she died?”

“Twelve. It should never have happened.” His voice held a rasping quality she had already begun to recognize as emotion, quickly suppressed in the manner of Australian men. She also sensed there was something he wasn’t telling her. It sounded as if his mother had died in an accident. Did he blame himself? This was certainly something she could understand.

“I never knew my mother, but I felt responsible for her death,” she said.

“You didn’t ask to be born. If anyone deserves blame it’s fate, or your father.”

Again she had the uncanny feeling Tom was speaking of his own experience. She didn’t know him well enough to ask, but it didn’t stop her wanting to. “What about brothers?”

“I have three foster brothers. Blake runs the local crocodile farm. Ryan is a jackeroo on a property farther north. We don’t see much of him or Cade, who’s a wildlife photographer for magazines. Judy is the only girl. After she was born, Des and his late wife, Fran, found out they couldn’t have any more children so they became foster parents.”

Shara nodded. “And your real family?”

“They are my real family.”

Taking a hint from his gruff tone, she turned to the scenery jolting past the car window as he steered the heavy vehicle over the corrugated track. Since she wasn’t prepared to open up to him about herself, respecting his privacy was the least she could do.

“Am I keeping you from your work?” she asked.

“I started a couple of weeks’ vacation today. Most days I start work at dawn, before the heat builds up, take a break and catch up on paperwork about now, then finish anything that needs doing when the day cools down.”

“What were you doing out here?”

“Heading to the homestead for dinner with Des and Judy.”

At least she wasn’t dragging him out of his way.

“How long have you been here?” Tom asked.

“Two days. Des said I can stay as long as I like.”

Tom nodded. “He would.”

His gruff tone didn’t disguise his obvious affection for his foster father. “Judy told me he makes a habit of taking in strays,” Shara said.

“Like me and my foster brothers,” he agreed.

Like her, too, she thought with a pang. “Are they all as big as you?” she asked.

Tom slanted a grin at her. “We’re all taller than Des.”

“And you’re all from different families?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t seem to want to elaborate, then surprised her by adding, “My real mother was Irish and my dad’s one-eighth Aboriginal, if you hadn’t already guessed.”

His smooth skin had a tanned look she found disturbingly attractive. “Is it a problem?”

“Not around here. Maybe in the big smoke, the city,” he elaborated for her benefit. “Out here, you’re judged by your actions.”

What did his actions tell her about him? First condoning a barbaric punishment, then being prepared to endure it in her place? More hero than villain, she decided.

Carrying her, his arms had felt strong and supportive. Tending to her leg, his touch had been almost unbearably gentle. And she hadn’t missed the gleam of male response to the shapely calf her torn jeans had revealed. He had made her feel feminine and, yes, beautiful, restoring some of the pride in herself Jamal had threatened to crush.

She found herself warming to Tom, wanting to tell him the truth about herself, but still felt unsure. She knew nothing about him beyond what her instincts told her. Could she trust them?

“You’ve had a pretty poor welcome to the Kimberley,” he said.

He was making amends without knowing it. She put a hand on his arm, feeling the muscles tighten and her pulse skip in response. The temptation to trust became a certainty. “It’s over now.”

Tom wished he could dismiss his part in her injury so readily. Seeing the danger she’d been in, he’d tried his best to protect her, but doubt wracked him. Could he have talked Wandarra into letting her off? Or would Andy’s people have come looking for her later and inflicted worse harm?

According to the outback credo, what was done was done and you moved on. Tom knew he should also be moving on. But something about Shara made him wish the drive to the homestead was twice as long. Her touch on his arm felt like a fresh brand. Amazing that there wasn’t a mark on his skin.

Her skin was the color of milk coffee, satiny and soft in contrast to his own. Scratches marred her skin where she had tracked the kangaroo through the bushes into the gorge, more concerned for the animal’s safety than her own. He felt an un-characteristic urge to kiss them better.

Not sure what impulse drove him, he asked, “What are you afraid of, Shara?”

“What makes you think I’m afraid?”

“Before you thought better of it, you started to say you came here to be safe. Are you running away from something?”

“Not something, someone,” she confessed, sounding relieved by the admission.

“A man?” She nodded. Feeling a surge of jealousy, he asked, “A lover?”

She shrank closer to the car door. “Never. I’d die before I’d let Jamal touch me.”

Not liking the way she shied away from him, Tom said quietly, “You’d better tell me what this is all about.”

“Why? I’m nothing to you.”

He’d been asking himself the same question without coming up with an answer he wanted to hear. “I’m the nearest thing to the law out here for the moment. Maybe I can help.”

She shook her head, black hair tumbling like silk around her face. “You can’t. Jamal is too powerful. He has friends everywhere.”

“Not among my family.”

He had the satisfaction of seeing her uncoil a little, although the screen of hair still hid her expression. The sight whirled him back eight years. As if a door had opened in his mind, he remembered who and what she was. When he’d last seen her, her face had also been screened, but by a scarf crossing under her chin, the fringed ends tossed over her shoulders. The glimpse of beauty he’d gained had fired his imagination for weeks afterward.

Amid the heat and dust, she’d stood out like the rare desert flowers that sprang up only after rain. He’d felt sorry for her, forced to attend her father when she must have been bored witless. Judy had noticed and struck up a conversation, he remembered. If he was right about her, she and Judy had kept in touch ever since.

Only one way to find out. “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?” he asked.

She nodded resignedly. “Eight years ago. A lifetime.”

“Princess,” he said slowly, his changed intonation bringing her head up, her eyes glittering with fear. “No wonder you looked so startled when I called you that. You are a princess. Shara—” he searched his memory “—Najran. Your father, King Awad, buys bloodstock for his breeding program from our neighbors, the Horvaths.”

She buried her face in her hands as memory flooded back. Her father had asked about some new breeding techniques being used in the Kimberley, and Clive Horvath had arranged for them to visit Diamond Downs.

While their entourage was being shown around the cattle yards, a handsome young man had ridden in, commanding Shara’s attention. The dust and heat had been choking but Tom had looked comfortable, happy, even, in the stifling atmosphere. She’d seen his gaze linger on her as he was being presented to her father. Tom wouldn’t have seen much of her face beneath her silk scarf, but she had certainly noticed him.

Des had invited Tom to join them, but he’d murmured his regrets and ridden away. She remembered admiring the easy way he’d melted into the landscape, wishing she could have gone with him, although her father would have been scandalized beyond words. As it was, he’d only allowed her to accompany him to Australia after she’d argued that she would need a broader experience of the world to share with her children one day.

Although the discussions about cattle had been tedious, her imagination had been captured by the beautiful, limitless vistas of the Kimberley. Finding a kindred spirit in Judy had been a high point. Almost making up for the slight she’d felt over Tom’s refusal to stay, Shara thought.

Almost.

From Judy, she’d learned that Diamond Downs covered over a thousand square miles. Now Shara wished it were larger, putting more distance between herself and Jamal.

“Tell me about Jamal,” Tom prompted, as if reading her thoughts.

“I’m promised to him in marriage, but he’s the most corrupt man in my father’s ministry. After he caught me trying to gain proof of his treachery, he forced me to accompany him to Australia. Under our law a wife can’t speak against her husband, so he intends to marry me before we return to Q’aresh.”

“Nice touch,” Tom murmured. “Can’t your father protect you?”

“He has no idea what Jamal is really like. Years ago he saved the life of my brother, the crown prince, putting my father in his debt.”

Tom nodded. “And you’re the payment. I see.”

She wound her fingers together. “I don’t think you do. As soon as Jamal gains access to my titles and dowry, he means to take the throne from my father.”

Tom released a whistling breath. “Have you told the king what you suspect?”

“I tried, but at that point I had no evidence beyond what I’d overheard. He thought I was making it up to get out of the marriage.” She gave a derisive snort. “In my country, a woman’s word—even that of a princess—counts for little against a man’s.”

“What happens if you don’t marry this man?”

She couldn’t suppress a shudder. “My father will keep me locked in the palace until I change my mind.”

“Talk about a rock and a hard place. What are you going to do?”

“Before I was caught, I recorded Jamal talking about his plans. The tape is hidden aboard the private plane that brought us here. I have to stay out of his clutches long enough to get the tape back and send it to my father.”

“Today’s adventure isn’t going to help.”

She straightened her leg, wincing at the pain of reminder. “Probably not, but I’m not going to let it stop me.”

“Do Judy and Des know what you’re embroiled in?”

She inclined her head. “They wanted me to stay with them, but I won’t expose them to more danger than I must.”

“So you exiled yourself to a rustic cottage, intending to take on Jamal all by yourself.”

“If I have to.”

“With respect, Princess, you’re crazy. If this man is as dangerous as you say, he’ll do whatever it takes to stop you getting that evidence to your father.”

Breathing deeply to bring her temper under control, she lifted her chin. “Do you have a better idea?”

“Quite a few, starting with going to the police.”

“They’d want to return me to Q’aresh for my own safety.”

“They could be right.”

“Without the tape, I may as well marry Jamal here and now.”

Tom didn’t approve, she saw, as his frown deepened and he tightened his grip on the wheel. His sense of justice must be offended, she decided. At least he was on her side. Realistically she couldn’t expect any more from him. If she found herself wanting more, it was her problem.

He drummed on the steering wheel. “Can’t the police get a warrant to search the plane?”

“As a member of our government, Jamal has diplomatic immunity.”

“So we find another way to get it.”

Her eyebrow arched. “We?”

He directed a steely gaze her way. “I told Wandarra I’d take responsibility for you, and I meant it. Whatever happens now, Princess, we’re in this together.”

Chapter 3

What had made him decide to get involved with her? he asked himself. The answer was in her fight with Jamal. Tom knew only too well how it felt to be threatened by someone with all the power on their side. At the very least, he wanted to help her even the odds.

Her beauty and courage had nothing to do with his decision.

Although Des’s homestead was over sixty years old, the Australian sense of irony meant it would be forever referred to as new, he told her as they neared it. The house sprawled across a ridge of grassland between river and rain forest, raised on a raft of concrete beyond the reach of the spreading floodwaters that would come with the monsoon rains of the wet season.

From the moment Des and Fran had taken Tom in, their house had felt welcoming. The only solid walls belonged to the bedrooms and bathrooms. The living areas were soaring, open spaces with vaulted ceilings and insect screens for walls. Translucent shutters could be pulled down over the screens to shield the house during the monsoon rains. A deep veranda shaded the house on all sides.

The room he’d first occupied was on this side, with a view of the McKellar Ranges. The gum tree he’d occasionally climbed down after lights-out leaned more toward the house these days, but was good for another hundred years.

Much as he liked his own home at Halls Creek, this house still gave him a sense of homecoming. Scared as he’d been arriving as a foster child, unmanageable as he’d acted toward Des and Fran Logan, he’d felt safe here. Fran had died from appendicitis six years after Tom arrived, but Des had made it clear the family would stay together no matter what. Tom wanted Shara to feel the same sense of security.

Shara watched Tom’s expression soften as they neared his former home. The palace where Shara had grown up was a low, sprawling complex of rooms opening into one another, with the main building at the heart of a cluster of other buildings. While far from palatial, the Logan homestead was also low and rambling, with the same sense of being the focal point of a small community, although her father’s thoroughbreds lived in more luxury than the Australian family. The Logans’ stock horses were corralled in a fenced yard with only basic amenities, but the sound of them whickering to one another as she passed made her feel homesick.

Accustomed to lavishly maintained homes, she was troubled by the signs of neglect visible everywhere on Diamond Downs. However rich Des Logan was in generosity and compassion, money was evidently in short supply. Shara’s heart ached. She hated adding to the strain on his resources. Her private fortune wouldn’t be hers to control until after she married, but one day she would return Des’s generosity, she promised herself.

At the sound of Tom’s car pulling up, Des appeared on the veranda. In his mid-sixties he was still a handsome man, the gray peppering his hair lending him an air of wisdom.

He was a couple of inches shorter than Tom, she saw when they greeted each other, but the older man had a commanding presence. His face was darkly tanned and creased, but she saw welcome and concern in the blue eyes behind his dark-framed glasses.

If Des was surprised to see her with Tom, he didn’t show it. He looked more alarmed when he saw Shara limping and Tom dragging out a substantial medical kit. From her interactions with Judy, Shara knew you had to be equipped to treat almost any medical emergency yourself in the outback.

“Should I put in a call to the flying doctor?” Des asked as he took them inside.

Tom intercepted Shara’s panicked look. “Not yet. Shara wants me to take care of it.”

Judy appeared in the kitchen doorway, drying her hands on a towel. She took in the situation at a glance. “Let me. I’m the one with paramedic training.”

As a pilot she would be, Shara thought. Des’s daughter had inherited his perceptive blue eyes, but her coloring was lighter, perhaps from her mother’s side. She was about Shara’s height, with short blond hair, a trim figure and muscular legs shown off by denim cutoffs.

Shara didn’t miss the reluctance with which Tom handed her into Judy’s care, but refused to read anything into it.

Judy took her into the huge, airy bathroom and sat her down on a chair before opening the kit at her feet. “What happened to your leg?”

“I hurt myself while scrambling around a gorge looking at some cave paintings. Tom took care of me,” she said, wondering if he would tell them the rest.

Judy frowned. “Men! Did it occur to Sir Galahad that he might have rolled up your jeans instead of ruining them.”

“He did what he thought was right,” Shara said, referring to more than the clothes.

“He usually does,” Judy agreed, her hands busy. She frowned. “This doesn’t have anything to do with your friend Jamal, does it?”

“I haven’t seen or heard from him since I moved into the cottage.”

“But you expect to.”

She flinched as much at the prospect as at Judy’s ministrations. “He’s not a man who gives up easily.” Like Tom, came the unbidden thought, although Jamal’s motives were purely selfish. “I can’t stay much longer. I’m putting you all in danger from him.”

Judy finished fastening a bandage around Shara’s calf. “You’re not going anywhere just yet. Tom did a good job. The wound is clean and doesn’t need stitches, but it will take a few days to heal.”

She closed the kit and stood up to wash her hands. “You’ll stay to dinner tonight, at least?”

Royal reserve gripped Shara. “I can’t in this condition.”

Understanding lit Judy’s gaze. “Come with me. I’m sure something of mine will fit you.”

Shara felt color seep into her cheeks. “As soon as I’m able, I’ll repay you for all your kindness.”

“Put Jamal out of commission, and your happiness will be payment enough.”

Des waited until the two women disappeared into the bathroom, then turned to Tom. “What really happened out there?”

Tom kept his face blank. “That’s between Shara and me.”

Des glowered. “Look, son, my heart might be defective but my brain isn’t. I won’t be wrapped in cotton wool just because of what some fool doctor told you.”

“He told you the same thing he told me. Too much stress can kill you.”

The older man’s eyes narrowed. “And a transplant won’t?”

“The success rate—”

“Requires some other poor soul to die to give me a chance at life,” Des interrupted, “so I can hardly feel happy about it. Not that there’s any hurry to decide. The doctor reckons my age puts me well down the priority list.”

Judy, Tom and their foster brothers had all tried to convince Des that if he was given a chance at life, he should grab it with both hands. He was still far from convinced. At the thought of being without him, Tom felt a reaction as if someone had kicked him in the gut.

“You sure Shara wasn’t trying to outrun her intended?” Des persisted.

Another kick, this time a little lower down. “What makes you ask?”

“One of Judy’s colleagues told her he flew Jamal’s retinue and a ton of baggage out to the Horvath place yesterday.”

“Jamal came to Australia by private plane. He can’t have been happy leaving his flash plane at Halls Creek airport because Horvath’s runway can’t handle a decent-size aircraft,” Tom said, betraying how much he already knew of Shara’s situation.

Des’s eyebrow lifted, but he let it go. “I told Clive he should do something about that apology for an airstrip. He never listened. Now it’s too late.”

The sadness in Des’s voice betrayed how much he still missed his friend and neighbor. They’d known each other for most of their lives, until Clive was bucked off a horse and killed five months before.

“I don’t suppose Max Horvath will upgrade the airstrip,” Tom commented.

Des’s face twisted. “Max isn’t half the man Clive was. No wonder his father disowned him.”

“I didn’t know he had.”

“He meant to, but changing his will was another thing he never got around to doing.”

Something in his foster father’s voice alerted Tom. “So?”

Des hesitated then said quietly, “You may as well know. Max now holds a mortgage over Diamond Downs.”

“You never mentioned a mortgage before.”

“It was a private arrangement between Clive and me when the medical bills started piling up and the income fell off, to be forgiven in his will.”

“But if he never changed it…”

“Max isn’t likely to. He reckons I convinced his old man to stay on instead of moving into a retirement home. Can you imagine Clive Horvath in a retirement home?”

Tom’s gesture swept the question aside. “How much are we talking about?”

Des named a sum that pulled an oath out of Tom. It was more than he and his foster brothers could put together in a hurry. “You should have told us things were that bad,” he chided.

“You boys have had enough struggle in your lives. I’m supposed to ease your way not complicate it.”

“You haven’t. If Max starts pressuring you for the money…”

“He’s already started.”

“Refer him to Blake or me. It may take time but we’ll find a way to repay him.”

Des shook his head. “He doesn’t want repayment. He wants this land so he can look for my grandpa’s diamond mine.”

Tom and the others had grown up with the legend of Jack Logan’s rich find. The trouble was, Jack had disappeared before revealing the location to anyone. Andy Wandarra’s people were said to know the secret but believed Jack’s spirit haunted the site and refused to speak of it. “Assuming the mine really exists, how does Max expect to find it?” Tom asked.

Des popped the top on a can of beer, ignoring Tom’s automatic frown of disapproval. “Eddy Gilgai works for him now.”

Eddy was a cousin of Andy Wandarra’s and had been on Diamond Downs’s payroll until he was caught stealing. He’d been cautioned several times, including by Tom. When the thieving didn’t stop, Des had no choice but to terminate his employment. Even then, he could have remained on the land, but the clan elders had banished him. Later Tom learned that Eddy had been seeing girls from his clan who were taboo to him under the complex laws governing relationships. “If anyone knows the location and would violate the site, it would be Eddy,” Tom agreed, mentally adding another worry to his growing list. “One problem at a time. Let’s hope Max and Jamal keep each other occupied until Shara’s leg heals.”

Des took a swallow of his beer. “Clive had a contract to supply cattle to King Awad of Q’aresh. As the new owner, Max won’t have any choice but to deliver on it.”

Tom massaged his chin between thumb and finger. “You have to wonder why the king sent someone his daughter warned him wasn’t trustworthy.”

“Maybe that’s why he did it.”

“To get Jamal out of the way, you mean?”

Des nodded. “He couldn’t have known Jamal would drag Shara along with him.”

Thinking of the tape hidden aboard the plane, Tom said, “We have to keep him from finding out she’s here.”

“It won’t be easy. You know how fast news travels in the outback?”

“Only too well.” As a boy, Tom had been the subject of enough gossip to last him a lifetime. Even today, stares occasionally followed his progress down the main street of Halls Creek and murmured voices told each other, “That’s the man who’s father…” His arctic look silenced them at least until he was out of earshot, when no doubt the rest of the story would be poured into eager ears. Gossiping was human nature, but he thought they should have found something else to talk about by now. Evidently they hadn’t.

Tom was right. On Diamond Downs, Shara stuck out like a sore thumb. An idea began to form in his mind of how he could help her, and make amends for hurting her at the same time. He reached for a can of beer and took a thoughtful drink.

“You’re very kind, but I can’t take your things,” Shara insisted as Judy dragged an assortment of clothes out of her closet and dumped them on the bed.

The other woman planted her hands on her hips. “Your clothes are out of reach aboard the plane. You’re going to need a few things to see you through this.”

Her friend was right, but Shara didn’t like admitting it, even to herself.

Judy frowned. “I understand pride. When Tom first came to us, he was a walking mass of it. So stiff-necked, you couldn’t say a word to him without offending him. If he could learn to bend, surely you can, too?”

“I don’t think he bent very far.”

Judy grimaced. “It didn’t take you long to work that out. What happened between you two in that cave?”

Half in and half out of her jeans, Shara tensed. “He took care of me, nothing more.”

Judy made a face. “He must be losing his touch.”

Shara didn’t ask her to elaborate. If by “his touch” Judy meant he was charming to women, Shara had already worked that out for herself. Their first meeting might have been far from romantic, but she couldn’t deny his power-house effect on her. Her grandmother would say he turned her on.

No amount of telling herself she was adrift and vulnerable made any difference. Whatever his true background, he exuded an air of assurance that marked him as a leader, tripping every female hormone she possessed without even trying. She didn’t intend to do anything about it, but she was woman enough to feel the impact.

Careful of her injury, she pulled the ruined jeans off and dropped them on the floor. The black pair Judy proffered were tighter than those Shara normally wore and sat low on her narrow hips. When she zipped them up they fit as if molded to her.

Shara lifted a filmy white top over her head. It settled like a cloud over her shoulders, the soft material drifting down to outline her breasts. The cowl neckline revealed the deep cleft between them. In her country, she would never have worn such revealing clothes. Could she overcome years of conditioning and dress as Judy did so naturally? Yes, she decided with a defiant glance in the mirror. For better or worse she was in Australia. She would do as the Australian women did.

Wanting to earn Tom’s admiration had nothing to do with her decision.

“Take that outfit with you, it looks great,” Judy urged. “You can have the other stuff, too.”

“Won’t you need them yourself?”

Judy glanced at her well-filled closet. “What for?”

Thinking of Tom, Shara said, “To please the man in your life.”

“I’d rather dress to please myself. Besides, there’s no one on the horizon at the moment. At least, there was. But he doesn’t seem all that interested.”

“And you’re—what do you call it?—holding a candle for him?”

“A torch,” Judy amended. She shook herself like a puppy shedding water. “He’ll either come back or he won’t. Dad’s my priority at the moment.”

Shara shot her a look of concern. “Your father is ill?”

“He has a serious heart problem. The only cure is a transplant.”

Thinking of the run-down state of the buildings, Shara asked, “Forgive me for asking, but is money the problem?”

“Partly, but throwing yourself on your father’s mercy won’t help, so don’t even think about it. In this country everyone has access to medical care through the public hospital system. And Tom and the boys can come up with whatever Dad needs if he’s treated privately. But they can’t guarantee that Diamond Downs will be here when he recovers.”

Shara stilled in front of the mirror. “How can land not be here?”

“Max Horvath owns the property bordering ours. He wants control of our land and he won’t rest until he gets it.”

“I know the name. Horvath has supplied bloodstock to my father for many years. I understood he is a good man.”

“Clive Horvath was a good man, one of Dad’s oldest friends. But he died five months ago in a riding accident. His son, Max, is a different kettle of fish.”

Ignoring the confusing metaphor, Shara said, “He doesn’t have enough land of his own?”

Judy perched on a corner of the bed and folded her arms. “Oh, he does, but he isn’t interested in raising cattle. Too much like hard work. According to legend, my great grandfather, Jack Logan, found a fortune in diamonds on our property. Max wants the diamonds.”

Hearing the scorn in Judy’s voice, Shara said, “You don’t think the legend is true?”

Judy shook her head. “When I was a kid, I did. But the only evidence we have is the journal entry Jack left about a fabulous new diamond mine he was going back to explore. He disappeared before telling anyone where the mine was. The local Aboriginal elders are said to know the location but they won’t go near it.”

“Why not?”

“They say the place is haunted by Jack who supposedly died at the site of his discovery. All I know is his body was never found, and the aboriginal people working here clam up if the diamonds are mentioned. Now Max wants them, and it’s my fault.”

Judy held out a pearl silk top. “Try this on, it’s more your color than mine.”

Reluctant to spoil Judy’s obvious enjoyment, Shara shimmied out of the white top and into the second one. She stood patiently while Judy gathered the loose folds and knotted them at Shara’s waist, exposing a good inch of midriff. “How can Max’s actions be your fault?” she asked.

“Max wanted to marry me and I turned him down. He thinks I was poisoned against him by his father. Max can’t see that his attitude is what turns me off.”

“Not to mention the torch you’re carrying for this other man,” Shara said.

“Right.” Judy stood up. “You should wear that. It looks better on you than on me. I have too much up front to do it justice.”

Shara thought Judy was being unnecessarily modest about her appearance, as she said, “I wish I could help you and your family. You’re being too kind.”

Ignoring Shara’s protests, Judy scooped the white top into a plastic carrier bag, adding a pair of camel moleskins and a sweater. “Don’t worry about us. The boys won’t let Max stand over Dad. We were going to ask Tom to go over and talk with Max this afternoon.”

Shara shifted uneasily. “Instead, he got held up on my account.”

Judy grinned. “Max isn’t going anywhere. And when Tom sees how you’re dressed, I don’t think he’ll have too many regrets.”

Shara’s hands fisted uneasily in the silky fabric. “Perhaps it’s better if I don’t distract him.”

“Relax, I’m joking. In any case, Tom’s bombproof when it comes to women.”

A sharp sensation gripped Shara. She wasn’t interested in romance. Her life was already complicated enough without it. Yet the thought that Tom might be involved with another woman had a staggering impact on her.

She had spent only a few hours in his company. How could she feel anything toward him, far less this stomach-twisting dislike of an unknown woman?

She masked her reaction with a polite smile. “Is he engaged to be married?”

“Good grief, no. By bombproof, I meant he doesn’t want a lasting relationship.”

The relief that washed through Shara was tempered by curiosity. “Why not?”

“It’s Tom’s story. I’ll let him tell you himself when he’s ready.”

If he was ready, Shara interpreted. She took a last look at herself in the mirror. She looked almost Australian. Only her dusky complexion and kohl-rimmed eyes hinted at eastern mystique. The combination was startling she saw, and unwillingly pictured Tom’s reaction. Not that she wanted to have an effect on him.

Even so, his reaction was hardly the one she’d expected. When she and Judy rejoined the men, Tom’s voice trailed off and his eyes went cold as he stood to acknowledge her. “That isn’t going to help,” he stated.

At least Shara wasn’t alone in feeling puzzled. Des and Judy looked equally baffled. “I think she looks fabulous, don’t you, Dad?” the young woman asked.

“Like a magazine cover girl,” Des agreed.

“You may as well serve her up to Prince Jamal on toast,” Tom snapped.

A chill frosted Shara’s spine. “He can’t have found me already?”

“Not yet, but he’s staying with a neighbor, Max Horvath,” Tom stated. “Looking like that, you’ll be the talk of the area. Word will get back to him so fast your head will spin.”

Shara shivered. Her head was already spinning, partly with the awareness of her own foolishness. She had let herself feel safe at Diamond Downs, when nowhere was safe from a man like Jamal. Trying on Judy’s clothes, she had been so carried away anticipating Tom’s reaction, that she had forgotten who and what she was.

She was a princess on the run, and it was only a matter of time before Jamal found her and forced her to return to Q’aresh as his bride. Her brief taste of freedom would be over before she had brushed the traditional bridal rice and rose petals out of her hair.

And if Jamal used her to usurp her father’s throne, the consequences for her homeland would be disastrous.

Chapter 4

“Remind me again why I let you talk me into helping you on my vacation?” Tom said as he followed Blake into an enclosure containing a twelve-foot female crocodile his foster brother wanted to introduce to a male.

It wasn’t Tom’s first experience of handling big crocs. He had helped Blake to set up Sawtooth Park as a tourist and research venture. Tom still had shares in the park. They’d worked together until Tom decided that he preferred a career as a shire ranger. Not out of fear of the man-eaters, as Blake joshed Tom, but because spending his life hip deep in mud had turned out to have limited appeal.

Blake reveled in the life. At just over six feet, Blake was as tall as Tom, with hazel eyes, longish brassy-gold hair and a cowboy’s rangy build that belied his muscular strength.

Today, Tom welcomed the dirty, dangerous work and he wouldn’t be surprised if Blake had guessed as much before asking for his help. Finding out about the mortgage Max Horvath held over Diamond Downs had given him nothing but a colossal headache.

Shara’s refusal to stay with Des and Judy at the homestead wasn’t helping either.

The woman had as much of a death wish as Blake, Tom decided. Learning that Prince Jamal was so close by should have spooked her, but no, she had to prove she wasn’t afraid of her would-be fiancé, insisting on being driven back to the old cottage. Thinking of her alone there had kept Tom awake for a good part of the last two nights since the dinner with Des.

How long would it be before Jamal found out she was on Diamond Downs land? Staying with Des and Judy, she had some protection. On her own in the middle of nowhere, she had none.

Not that it was any concern of his, Tom assured himself. She might be a sloe-eyed beauty with more fire than most women he knew, but it didn’t mean he wanted to get any more involved with her problems. Driving by the old cottage and keeping an eye on her from a discreet distance yesterday was part of his job as a ranger, nothing personal.

Now all he had to do was convince his raging hormones.

Because worrying about her wasn’t all he’d done while lying awake long into the night. Part of the time was spent imagining her small, firm body pressed against him. In her own clothes, she’d looked every inch a princess, regal and untouchable. In Judy’s clothes, showing off that tantalizing flash of café au lait midriff, she’d made his mouth water.

Fear shot through him, and not because he stood within feet of an unseen crocodile. That kind of fear he could handle. The prospect of a serious relationship alarmed him much more. And in spite of his personal history, he wanted to be close to Shara.

Her pride, boldness and insistence on living her life her way no matter what the cost sent his blood pressure soaring higher than her beauty did, and that was fast enough.

In a matter of hours she’d slipped well and truly under his skin where she had no business being. No woman had. Leaving her alone at the old cottage had taken almost more grit than he possessed. Everything in him had urged him to follow her inside.

Maybe he should hope that Jamal would whisk her back to their magic kingdom, then she’d stop filling Tom’s thoughts.

He felt a sensation like a punch in his midsection, momentarily grabbing his breath. He didn’t like the idea of her returning to Q’aresh as Jamal’s bride. As anybody’s bride. Except maybe—

No, he halted the thought in its tracks. With his background, he wasn’t in the marriage market now or ever. The more attracted he was to Shara, the more reason he had to keep his distance, emotionally and physically.

Nobody said he had to enjoy it.

Blake turned from studying the muddy water. “You’re here because you’d rather wrestle an amorous crocodile than try to convince Max Horvath that the diamonds he’s so anxious to possess exist only in legend.”

Tom shot his foster brother a look that said “smart-ass.” But Blake was right. “Andy Wandarra has always said the mine is real and the elders of his clan knows how to locate it. Only the spirit of our great-grandfather keeps them from revealing the secret. If it’s true, Eddy Gilgai might be able to lead Horvath to the place.”

Blake used a long pole to probe among the reeds at the water’s edge. “Max must have promised him a lot to get him to betray his clan. Shows how strongly Max believes in the legend.”

Tom kept a wary eye on the deceptively still waters. “If he didn’t, he would have sold out right after his father died. This way he gets to stay in the area and keep looking.” He made a sound of annoyance. “He has a law degree. Why can’t he use it to fleece rich clients instead of harassing a sick man?”

Blake ventured ankle deep into the mud. Without turning, he said, “Max likes the idea of being a wealthy landowner. The trouble is, he has too much land and not enough wealth.”

“When did you get your psychology degree?” Tom’s tone was grudging but his foster brother’s assessment of their neighbor sounded valid. Max Horvath had never liked the demanding life of a cattleman. He and his father had fallen out because the younger man hadn’t wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps. He’d been more interested in making money, but even law hadn’t made it as fast as Max liked to spend it. “If there really is a mine, why wasn’t it located long before this?”

“You know the taboos as well as I do,” Blake said.

“Yeah, yeah. Great-grandfather’s spirit haunts the place. That might have worked on the tribal people, but not on some of the current generation, like Eddy. Unless there’s nothing to be found.”

“Is that why you stopped looking?”

Blake’s casual question didn’t fool Tom. As boys, he and his foster brothers and Judy had talked about finding the mine and becoming rich beyond their wildest dreams. As Tom grew older, the dream had never completely died, although it had been pushed aside in favor of more grown-up pursuits.

“I stopped because I had more pressing things to do. What about you?” he asked Blake.

Before Blake could respond, the pool exploded into a mass of leathery scales and snapping jaws. Although he’d expected this, Tom’s heart slammed against his ribs and he stepped back instinctively.

Blake was ready. On the end of the pole was a catching rope that he looped expertly over the crocodile’s top jaw, settling it behind the strong back teeth before pulling it tight. His muscles bulged with the effort of keeping the rope taut as he hauled the creature out onto the bank.

Tom dodged the thrashing tail that could snap a man’s legs off, and waited for the right moment before throwing himself on the crocodile’s back, using brute strength to restrain the animal until it had expended its initial burst of energy. His job was to control the massive head while Blake draped a wet sack over its eyes, the darkness meant to have a calming effect.

Under him he felt the powerful saurian try to launch itself into the death roll crocodiles used to drown their prey. He kept his elbows locked and jammed against his sides, his splayed fingers gripping the torpedo-shaped body as he fought the movement. If he was tossed off before Blake got the croc’s massive jaws tied, they were both in trouble.

A croc could snap its jaws shut like a steel trap, but had little muscle strength to force them open, Tom knew. With Blake’s rope wound around its snout, the crocodile couldn’t do much damage.

He stayed put while Blake tied the animal’s back legs, before jumping clear and expelling a huge breath of relief. “I hope lover boy in the next pen is up to handling this lady. She’s got plenty of fight in her.”

“Delilah,” Blake supplied, looking at the crocodile with what Tom thought was almost fatherly pride. “I caught her near Three Rivers Crossing after she developed a taste for cattle. Don’t worry, Hambone can handle her. He’s sixteen feet of pure crocodile testosterone.”

Tom slanted his eyebrows upward. “Hambone? Let me guess, he likes wild pigs.”

“His favorite food.” Blake bent over the trussed crocodile, checking to ensure all was well. “Come on, Delilah. Time for your blind date.”

Tom rolled the crocodile toward himself to let Blake slide a carrying board under the animal, then they hefted it between them to the next pen. By the time they’d followed the catching routine in reverse and Delilah was splashing her way into Hambone’s pond, Tom was soaked in mud and perspiration.

“I need to get more exercise,” he said, rotating his arm at the shoulder and grimacing with pain as he saw the sixteen-foot Hambone surface and make his first courtship moves.

“You need to get more of something,” Blake countered wryly. His head jerked toward the fence between them and the new couple. “Even a crocodile with a brain the size of a pea knows it’s not meant to be a solo act.”

“You think I should set something up with Delilah?”

Blake looked at the male crocodile arching his tail and head out of the water, and setting the water dancing with shivers from his powerful body, a ritual designed to arouse the female’s mating instincts. “She’s already spoken for. I was thinking of someone from your own species.”

Tom rotated the other arm the female croc had almost jerked out of its socket. “You wouldn’t have anyone specific in mind?”

Blake looked studiedly casual. “I don’t know. You seemed taken enough with a certain Middle Eastern princess.”

“She’s a stunning looker. I may not be involved with anyone right now, but I’m not dead.”

“Then the interest Judy detected at Des’s place the other night was purely academic?”

Tom kept his gaze averted but felt himself redden. Of his three foster brothers, Blake knew him the best. Soon after Tom joined the Logan family, Blake had managed to get through to him when nobody else could. Tom didn’t exactly endorse taking your new brother out to the woodshed and fighting him until he agreed to communicate, but it had worked. Tom had learned that he wasn’t the center of the universe. Nor was he such a bad apple that nobody would want to bother with him.

He owed Blake a lot, but some things weren’t meant to be shared. “Purely academic,” he insisted.

Blake nodded. “Like Tonia Winters.”

“Tonia was a mistake. A man’s entitled to one.”

“One? What about Susan and Jemma? You’re starting to look like a rolling stone, brother.”

“And you’re starting to sound like Judy. ‘When are you going to settle down? When are you going to get married?’”

His falsetto imitation of their foster sister didn’t deter Blake. “Tonia and Susan I can understand. They were only marking time until they could get away from the Kimberley to the bright lights. But what was with you and Jemma? She shared your interests and your lifestyle. You could have had a good thing going with her.”

“She was the one who ended it,” Tom stated flatly, his tone suggesting an end to this line of discussion.

Blake propped a booted foot on a crossbeam of the enclosure fence. “Her decision wouldn’t have had something to do with your real dad?”

Tom whirled on Blake, fists raised before he realized what he was doing. An icy sensation shafted through him as he studied his clenched hands before lowering them slowly. Over the years they’d had this conversation several times in different forms. It always pushed his buttons, and for the same reason. “If you must know, I was in love with her. When I told her, she said I scared her. She was afraid that if we got too involved, I could blow up and hurt her the way my father did my mother.”

“Did you give her a reason to think you might?”

“She said it was in my manner. What the blazes is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you probably came across to her the way you’re doing now, as if you’d like to take somebody apart with your bare hands,” Blake suggested.

“Then she was right to leave.”

Blake shook his head. “If she hadn’t known your background, she wouldn’t have read so much into it. You’re not the violent type, Tom. You could have slugged me just now but you didn’t.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t if I’m provoked far enough. My dad never meant to hit my mother and he always felt like a louse afterward. But sorry didn’t mend her bruises or broken bones. Any more than it could bring her back to life the day he used a knife instead of his fists.”

Blake watched the crocodile courtship ritual for a few minutes before saying quietly, “By now I know it doesn’t help to remind you that you’re not your father. But I’ll say it again anyway. You’re different. I’ve seen you risk your neck to rescue idiots who should know better than to cross a river in flood in an ordinary car. I’ve been around when you nursed sick animals for half the night, and suffered when they didn’t make it despite your best efforts. None of that suggests you’ll wind up in a prison cell for killing someone.”

Tom felt his features harden. “Jemma left me because she was afraid of what I might do. Can you guarantee she wasn’t right? Unless you can, there’s no point having this discussion. I won’t put any woman at risk of my mother’s fate.”

“Not even a woman you really care about?”

“Especially a woman I care about.”

Blake slapped him on the shoulder. “If you don’t get cleaned up, the problem will solve itself. No woman wants a man who smells as rank as you do right now.”

Tom wrinkled his nose, well aware of the fishy odor of crocodile clinging to him. “News for you, brother, that’s not a smell, it’s an echo. Race you to the shower.”

A short time later he was clean, wearing the change of clothes he’d brought with him and already tasting the beer Blake was opening, when his cell phone rang. He dug the muddied and battered object out of its holster. “McCullough.”

He ended the call as Blake placed two cans of Foster’s on the table. “Trouble?”

Tom gave his beer a regretful glance. “That was Judy. She was flying over Cotton Tree Gorge on the way back to the homestead airstrip when she spotted a truck heading for the old cottage. It belongs to Max Horvath.”

A slight sound outside made Shara almost drop the battered copper kettle she was filling to make coffee. From the window she saw a kangaroo leap away into the scrub. She told herself she had to stop jumping at every sound, but it was hard not to when Jamal was so close by. He wouldn’t leave her alone until she was his wife and couldn’t get in the way of his ambitions.

He needed to own things to prove his worth to himself. Palaces or people made no difference. First he would own her in marriage, then he would go after her country. Then a neighboring country. Every new conquest would sate his insecurity but only for a limited time.

She frowned, remembering a personal assistant Jamal had hired two years before. The young woman, Amira, had been fresh from the country, extraordinarily beautiful and naive. Shara had assumed the woman hadn’t been hired for her office skills.

Shara had no way of knowing what went on within the walls of Jamal’s apartments, but gradually Amira’s vivacious beauty had waned. She became painfully thin and edgy, shadows darkening her lovely hazel eyes. The fearful glances she gave Jamal were enough to tell Shara the reason. He had taken the young woman as his mistress and had mistreated her when the novelty wore off. The doctor Shara had ordered to check on Amira had diagnosed overwork, and sent her home to her province. Jamal had a new assistant the next day.

Shara felt her jaw firm. There was no way she would let any man bend her to his will until her inner fire was quenched and her spirit broken. Under Q’aresh’s ancient laws, a man could physically discipline the women in his household if they betrayed him in some way. Women had the same right, but their strengths were rarely equal, so it was inevitably the woman who suffered at the hands of the man. No matter that the law was rarely used these days. It had never been repealed and Jamal took every advantage of the fact. When she had petitioned her father to change the law he had readily agreed, but always there were more pressing concerns. Nothing had changed.

No matter, she was in Australia now, she told herself. For the moment she was free.

Ironic laughter bubbled up inside her. If she was so free, how come she was hiding out in a rustic old cottage in the middle of nowhere, spooning the tasteless powder the Logans called coffee into a thick ceramic mug? In her apartments at her father’s palace, servants would be doing this, and the heavenly aroma of real coffee would envelope her before she took her first sip out of a china cup so fine it was practically translucent.

Stop it, she ordered herself. When she had dealt with Jamal, she could return home to her good coffee and her own fine china. They were trifles. Her thoughts were a disservice to the kindness Des Logan and his family had extended to her.

Stirring two spoonfuls of sugar into the steaming coffee to disguise the taste, she carried the mug to the couch where a ceiling fan churned the air, making little impact on the stifling afternoon heat.

Forcing herself not to sigh for the air-conditioning back home was as useless as trying to convince herself the coffee was delicious. Or keeping her thoughts from returning to Tom McCullough.

“You can’t stay there by yourself,” he’d insisted when she’d asked him to drive her to the cottage after dinner with his foster father.

In his own way Tom was as forceful as Jamal, but she hadn’t resented his attitude, aware that Tom spoke out of concern for her, not out of a desire to control her.

He would have more subtle means of getting his own way. A shudder of possibility shook her as her imagination worked overtime. In her country, women had a saying about men—stillness cloaks the tiger within. Where Jamal’s inner tiger was a rampaging beast, seldom cloaked, Tom’s was leashed but, she sensed, immensely more powerful for that.

What would his tiger be like, once unleashed?

She rubbed her calf absently, having had a glimpse when his friend threw the spear at her. Only a slight ache reminded her of where the point had penetrated her flesh. A lesser man would have allowed Wandarra to punish her, and she would have suffered more as a result. Tom’s bold action had saved her. A desert warrior indeed.

Irritated with herself for letting him dominate her thoughts, she reached for her notebook. In case she was unable to retrieve the tape of Jamal’s meeting, she had decided to reconstruct what she could remember. The task would take her mind off everything, including Tom.

On impulse she got up again and fetched the loaded rifle he had left with her when he couldn’t persuade her to remain at the homestead. She had assured him she knew how to use a firearm, having been taught to shoot in Q’aresh, although she had never targeted a living creature. Wasn’t sure she’d be able to. But she felt better having the weapon near at hand.

How long would she have to endure this hunted existence? If Judy’s prediction proved true and their neighbor gained control of this land, Diamond Downs might not provide a sanctuary for much longer. What would she do then? What would all of the Logans do?

Their connection with this place evidently ran as deep as hers to her native country. She wished there was something she could do to help them.

Some time later she closed the notebook with a feeling of dissatisfaction. She had a reasonably clear account of the plans Jamal and his cronies had talked about, but it still wasn’t enough to convince her father. To do that she had to get hold of the tape hidden aboard the plane. Easier said than done, she was sure.

Taking a sip of now-tepid coffee, she lifted her chin. Where there was a will, there was a way, as her Australian-born grandmother had told her often enough.

A fierce longing for her grandmother gripped Shara. In spite of her love of Australia, Noni was fiercely loyal to her adopted country. But having her close by even for a short time would have made the cottage feel more like home to Shara.

The sound of a car pulling up outside made her pulse spike. Jamal? If it was him, he was in for a shock. She hadn’t come this far to let him win now. Dragging the rifle across her knees, she aimed it at the door and waited.

When the door creaked open and a bulky male shape filled the opening, she lifted the rifle. “Take one step closer and I’ll shoot.”

Chapter 5

“I’d rather you didn’t,” said a husky voice.

“Tom?”

He lowered the hands he’d raised to shoulder height and came to take the gun from her. He had to pry it from her tense fingers. “You would have used it, wouldn’t you?”

She nodded, blinking hard, letting anger chase away tears. “You’d better believe it. Why didn’t you call out to let me know it was you?”

“Everything was so quiet that I thought you must be resting.” Or gone, he’d thought but didn’t add. His heart had started to race at this possibility.

She massaged her eyes as if they were tired. When she lowered her hands, he saw the fear in her liquid gaze. He eased on the safety catch and propped the rifle against the couch before grasping her hands and bringing her to her feet. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

A tremor shook her. “I thought you were Jamal.”

“If you’re this worried about what he might do, why insist on staying here alone?”

She looked away. “Haven’t you ever wanted to prove something to yourself?”

He pressed one finger under her chin, making her look at him. “You got yourself out of a bad situation that could only have gotten worse. What else do you need to prove?”

“That I’m not a total coward.”

Her husky voice purred through him, warm as molasses. With her hands trapped in his and less than a heatbeat of space between them, his breathing caught. Under different circumstances, he’d have accepted the invitation of her parted lips without hesitation.

Feeling another tremor ripple through her strengthened his resistance, for now anyway. A man could resist temptation only so long. He looked pointedly at the rifle. “You’re not a coward. In another second you’d have put a bullet in me.”

She tossed her head, spilling a river of raven strands over his fingers. “Anyone can be brave with a gun in their hands. Forcing my father to listen to my concerns about Jamal would have shown greater courage.”

“Without proof, you’d only have gotten yourself locked up in the palace for the rest of your life.” His tone rejected the waste.

“It might not have been forever.”

“The other night you said the king meant to lock you away until you agreed to his marriage plans for you. Parole hardly sounds likely.”

Her sigh whispered between them. “No, it doesn’t. But this isn’t freedom, either.”

Her bleak tone made Tom remember a time, many years ago, when he’d felt as if his life was over, too. With his mother dead and his father in prison for her murder, he hadn’t been able to imagine drawing a whole breath again. The muscles used for smiling and laughing had frozen forever, or so he’d believed.

He suspected Shara was staring into a similar abyss now.

Without thinking, he bent his head and brushed his lips over hers. The kiss was meant as reassurance, to tell her she wasn’t alone and that somebody cared. The somebody being him.

She steadied herself by placing her hands on his waist, accepting the touch of his mouth without returning the pressure.

As a result, the kiss was chaste, brotherly and completely one-sided. But the contact sent liquid fire searing along his veins. He made an effort to even his breathing, and took a step back. Her hands dropped away but she didn’t move. “We have to get you out of here,” he said, annoyed with himself for delaying. The arousal he felt told him the time hadn’t been wasted, but that was beside the point.

She ran her tongue over her lips as if tasting him, oblivious to the effect the small gesture had on him. “I can’t keep running away.”

“From the air, Judy spotted one of Horvath’s cars heading this way. It’s likely to arrive any minute.”

Her face paled. “Was Jamal in the vehicle?”

“No way to tell, so let’s assume the answer is yes.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m not running from him.”

“Oh, yes you are. I’m not risking him bundling you into a private plane and taking you back to Q’aresh against your will.” The prospect shook her, he saw, as well it should. From her description of Jamal, the man was capable of abduction—or worse.

Still, her head came up. “You can’t force me to do as you say.”

He got a glimpse of the royal princess in her determined stance and outthrust chin. She was magnificent. He could imagine her in a palace, giving orders to a bevy of servants. He slanted her a smile that his foster sister would have read as a warning and been off before he could blink. Not having Judy’s understanding of him, Shara foolishly stood her ground.

Not for long.

“Put me down, you peasant,” she yelled, drumming her fists against his back as he tossed her over his shoulder. “You’re hurting my injured leg.”

Hit right in the conscience, he almost complied until he remembered that she hadn’t so much as limped since he arrived. “Nice try,” he said.

“I’ll have you thrown in jail, publicly flogged, maybe both.”

Having her small, nicely rounded rear pressing against his cheek was punishment enough, since he couldn’t do anything about it. Except enjoy it, a not unreasonable benefit, considering he was trying to save her life. If his palm lingered on her firm flesh longer than strictly necessary, he could hardly be blamed.

With his free hand he restrained her flailing legs before her drumming feet bruised his ribs beyond repair. “Not in Australia you won’t. In my country we’re equals, Princess.”

“Never.” Like the female crocodile, her struggles weakened as her initial energy was spent, but Tom maintained his hold. Where was a wet sack when he needed one?

As he picked up the rifle, he diverted himself by imagining her trussed up on a carrying board and being delivered to him for what Blake had called a blind date. Bad idea, Tom decided when his internal temperature immediately soared.

Dismissing the fantasy, he also snagged a leather satchel from a table near the door. “Is everything you’re likely to need in here? Squirm once for yes, twice for no.”

Her violent lunge almost took out his eye. “Yes, damn you. What about the rest of my things?”

“They’ll have to wait until the coast is clear. It’s nearly an hour since Judy called. Jamal—if it is him—must be practically on the doorstep.”

“Then put me down and I’ll walk to the car.”

“No time.” Certainly not to argue with her over the proper time for heroism. He carried her outside, kicking the door shut behind them. Dumping her and the bag on the back seat of the Jeep, he closed the door and jumped into the driving seat, placing the rifle near his feet. Before she could react, he activated the central locking system and the tires spat gravel as he floored the accelerator.

Pinned down by the sudden acceleration, Shara struggled to right herself. Her eyes glared fire at him as she clung to the back of the seat.

“Fasten your seat belt,” he said over his shoulder. “This is going to be a rough ride.”

“Any more orders?” she snapped, but he heard a metallic click as she complied.

He ignored her murderous tone. “Not right now, but if Jamal shows up, be ready to duck out of sight when I tell you to.”

“Of course, Master,” she said, the words dripping sarcasm. “Anything you say, Master.”

He grinned. “Keep it up, I could get to like the sound of it.”

As he’d anticipated, her mouth snapped shut, but not for long. “You’re the most heartless, insensitive, uncivilized…”

“Peasant?” he reminded her helpfully.

“Barbarian. In my country, no one manhandles me without my permission and lives.”

He deliberately chose to misunderstand. “What does it take to get permission to manhandle you?”

The rabbit punch she delivered to the back of his neck almost ran them off the road. “Do that again and I’ll tie your hands,” he cautioned, fighting to keep the Jeep on the rutted surface. It wasn’t much smoother than the ditches on either side, but at least they wouldn’t get bogged in the talcum powder-like dust known locally as bulldust.

“What am I supposed to do, let you treat me however you will?” she demanded.

If he did that, she wouldn’t be alone in the back seat, he thought, feeling an instant, powerful surge of response. “You’re supposed to let me do my job,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Which includes getting women stabbed with spears, assaulting them and then carrying them off?”

The Jeep bounced off a tree root the thickness of his arm and he winced as her head lashed around. He didn’t dare slow down. “In some traditional cultures, a start like that would have us practically married.”

She’d stopped complaining about the rough treatment, fixated on their conversation, as he’d intended. “I don’t consider any of this amusing.”

“And you think I do? I’m not the one with a murderous fiancé on my tail.”

“You have only my word that he means to harm me,” she said. “For all you know, I could be shirking my royal obligations by avoiding this marriage.”

Seeing her pale face reflected in the mirror, he doubted it. “No one goes to this much trouble to avoid doing their duty.”

“Thank you,” she said simply.

“For what?”

“Trusting me. Believing me when my own father wouldn’t.”

“Maybe he would have been convinced if you’d had more evidence against Jamal.”

He saw her shake her head. “You and your family required no evidence before you were prepared to help me.”

“Code of the outback,” he said, wrenching the wheel to avoid another tree root snaking across the road.

She grabbed the back of the seat. “What?”

“Something my foster brothers and sister made up when we were kids. Under the code of the outback, you don’t back down, you don’t give up and you stand by your mates.” Blake had also insisted on a clause that said “no mushy stuff,” to keep Judy in line, but Tom didn’t think Shara would appreciate that. Besides, his attitude toward women had changed since then. He might not want a permanent relationship, but mushy stuff was definitely on the agenda.

He caught the first glimmer of a smile. “Do you consider me one of your—mates?”

The word sounded foreign on her tongue, but deliciously so. “Anyone who turns to us for help is a mate, so long as they’re innocent of any crime.”

“Is it a crime to want to live your life your own way?”

“Not in this country.”

“Then I’m innocent.”

She meant of any wrongdoing, but Tom had a feeling the description fitted her in every way. No amount of royal pigheadedness could completely disguise her fear of the fate Jamal had in store for her and her country. The ache in Tom’s bruised ribs was easier to tolerate suddenly. It was nothing compared to what she must be going through.

“Are we going to the homestead?” she asked.

“Too obvious.”

“Then where? Oh, no, not to your place.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her in the mirror. “What’s the problem? Not good enough for a princess?”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.