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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?”
