by Valerie Parv
Blake quickly put two and two together. “But Jamal doesn’t know that.” He surveyed the devastation. “Did he get what he was looking for?”
“The tape is still with us, until we can find a way to make it playable.”
Tom thrust a hand through his hair. “That may not be our only worry. Shara has a theory about what else they were looking for.” He didn’t voice his own theory about why the destruction was so total. That was between him and Shara.
“I’ve been researching an ancient tribe called the Uru who may have lived on what is now Diamond Downs,” she explained. “Tom thinks their rock art could lead us to your great-grandfather’s diamond mine.”
“When we got to the cottage this morning, a research tape on the Uru that Shara had had with her was gone. If Horvath heard that tape, he’d want to find out why it was so important to us. He probably had this place ransacked hoping to discover more clues,” Tom contributed.
“Is the cottage in the same condition as this?” Blake asked.
Tom felt his mouth thin. “No, this was personal.”
To his credit, his foster brother didn’t ask why, although Tom felt sure he’d made that connection as well.
Blake righted a fallen chair and braced his hands on the back. “Horvath won’t be very happy about us finding a lead to the mine before he can foreclose on Des’s mortgage. My guess is he’ll either try to destroy the evidence of an earlier tribe…”
“Or destroy the witnesses,” Tom finished for him, having reached the same unwelcome conclusion.
Shara frowned. “Others like Tracey Blair have made similar studies.”
“With any luck, Horvath doesn’t know about her. I didn’t even know she’d moved into the town until we met this morning.” Had it only been hours before? It felt more like days. “She should be safe enough, but when the police come to sort this out, I’ll let them know they should keep an eye on her.”
“You can’t stay here tonight,” Blake insisted. “Apart from the mess, you can’t make this place secure in case you’re right about witnesses being inconvenient.”
Shara looked at Tom. “Where will we go?”
Before Tom could answer, Blake smiled at her. “I hope you like crocodiles.”
By the time Tom had called the police, had the damage inspected and given them what little information he could, a couple of hours had passed. Shara was trying ineffectually to restore order in the office when he came in and lifted a bundle of ink-stained files out of her arms. “There’s no point trying to do this tonight. I’ll probably heave the whole lot out and start again.”
“I feel so responsible.”
He touched the back of his hand to her cheek. “We’ve already been through this once. You’re not responsible for Jamal’s cruelty or Horvath’s greed. They’re to blame for this, not you.” He lifted her chin. “I’ll make sure they pay.”
Anger flared in her gaze, eclipsing the despair. “You won’t do it alone.”
He smiled gently. “I’m counting on it.”
Since there was nothing more to be done that night, Tom had accepted Blake’s invitation to spend the night at his crocodile farm. It was the first time Shara had seen crocodiles up close, and she stared in awe as Blake led the way past a pen of what he called subadult breeders.
They looked to be five or six feet long, and she could see several lying in the mud or floating like logs in the pond, only their eyes protruding above the water.
“Normally I’d take you through the gate leading from the car park into my quarters, but I thought you’d like to see my saltwater friends first,” Blake explained.
She was fascinated and repelled all at once. “They look so primitive.”
“They’ve hardly changed since the time of the dinosaurs. They come from the same family, Sauria, and retain lots of prehistoric qualities like the scaly horned tail and back, and a skull as hard as flint,” Blake told her.
“And you make pets of them?”
Tom laughed. “Not if you know what’s good for you. If you start when they’re hatchlings, crocodiles can be conditioned to behave predictably around humans, but they can never be tamed.”
“Then what do you do with them?”
Blake shrugged. “As well as doing research into crocodiles, we breed them and show them to the public.”
“Make handbags and steaks from them,” Tom contributed.
She turned wide eyes to him. “Are you serious?”
“Think of them as a kind of cattle,” he suggested helpfully.
“The man-eating kind,” his foster brother added.
Since she couldn’t tell whether they were teasing her, she fell silent, thinking guiltily of a crocodile-skin handbag and shoes her grandmother owned. There were Nile crocodiles in Q’aresh but they were not farmed and were shy creatures, with a far less fearsome reputation than the Australian saltwater crocodiles.
She had a feeling she wasn’t going to get much sleep, staying so close to these primitive monsters. On the other hand, they were a powerful deterrent against a late-night visit by Jamal, Horvath or their men, she thought, liking the idea more.
Blake’s house was in the center of the thirty-acre park, fenced off from it for privacy, with the living room overlooking an area of wetlands Blake explained was used for nesting. Looking out the window, she saw the setting sun glinting off a series of ponds and wondered how many big crocodiles they held.
Blake read the unease in her posture. “Relax, Shara, the house is crocproof. Tom lived here for a couple of years and he still has all his fingers and toes. You tell her, Tom, while I organize a meal.”
Blake left the room, and Tom held out his hands palms down, curling his thumbs out of sight. “See?”
She batted his hands away. “With you, I never know what to believe.”
“Believe this. You’re safe here.”
For how long? she wanted to ask, but rejected the question as unfair. Tom and his family had already done more for her than she had any right to expect. Now it was time to start earning her own way. “Tomorrow, as soon as I can get on the Internet, I’ll start establishing the Uru connection with Diamond Downs.”
Tom leaned forward and kissed her forehead gently, letting his own rest against hers for a moment. “Tomorrow is soon enough to worry about tomorrow. This has been one hell of a day,” he said when he lifted his head.
It had included her masquerading as a schoolboy, appropriating a plane, hoodwinking Jamal and losing her virginity, she cataloged mentally. Without a doubt, the most amazing day of her life.
Apart from the wreckage of Tom’s home, she wouldn’t change a thing, especially the part where he’d made love to her. He’d made the experience so special and memorable that she would treasure it forever.
They could reminisce about it when they were old and gray and surrounded by grandchildren, she thought, knowing better than to speak her mind. Tom would find out soon enough how she intended things to be between them. As soon as they were out of danger.
Blake reappeared and announced that he had steaks “on the barbie”—which she knew by now was short for barbecue—telling them to hurry if they wanted to freshen up before eating.
When they’d arrived he’d shown Shara where she was to sleep. The bathroom was next door. For one giddy moment when Blake had opened a door onto a room containing twin beds, she’d thought she and Tom were to share it, until she was shown the single room opposite. To her chagrin, she’d felt disappointed. What a long way she’d fallen from the gently bred princess of Q’aresh, she mused.
No, not fallen, risen. Tom’s making love to her had lifted her up. She would never feel ashamed of giving herself to him. She’d do it again in a heartbeat, and only prayed they would have the chance.
The sun was setting by the time she joined the men on a covered terrace overlooking the wetlands. She had washed her face and hands, brushed the dust out of her hair and changed into one of the shirts and a pair of pants she’d brought from
the plane. Wanting Tom to look at her as appreciatively as he’d done when they’d made love, she left the top buttons undone and tied the ends of the shirt into a knot at her waist.
Blake was turning steaks on the barbecue, while Tom added dressing to salad vegetables in a bowl. When he saw her his jaw dropped.
She felt a flush start. “I think that’s plenty of oil,” she commented, pleased to be the cause of his distraction.
He jerked the bottle upright, saving the salad from drowning barely in time. “I don’t…I meant…you look…”
“Croc got your tongue?” Blake asked, sounding amused. He’d also given Shara a glance of frank appreciation, but seemed more fascinated by his foster brother’s discomfiture. Shara hoped it meant Tom wasn’t in the habit of becoming tongue-tied at the sight of a woman. Good, she liked being the one to have that effect on him.
“Go to the devil,” Tom muttered, pulling himself together visibly.
“Can’t. Steaks are nearly done,” Blake rejoined.
To her the meat looked like a close cousin to charcoal. “The salad and bread are enough for me,” she said.
A bottle of verdelho labeled as being from the Margaret River wine region near Perth stood uncorked on the redwood table. Shara allowed herself half a glass and was content to let the men drink the rest. Also to let them carry the conversation. In her country, it wasn’t unusual for women to listen quietly while their men settled the world’s affairs, but she knew it was far from the norm in Australia. However, she was too tired to do anything else. Besides, she liked watching Tom.
Blake waved a forkful of meat in the air. “If Shara’s right and the Uru people inhabited Diamond Downs before the present tribes, why haven’t we heard of them before?”
Tom toyed with his wineglass. “Perhaps we have. Remember the cave we played in as kids?”
Blake grinned at Shara. “Tom discovered the cave one day while running away from home after a fight over chores. I was following him at a safe distance, and saw him disappear into what looked like solid rock. Checking it out, I found him in a cave that none of us knew was there.”
“The rock walls of that particular escarpment are honeycombed with them,” Tom said. “After I changed my mind about running away, we kids adopted the cave as our secret hideout. We moved in some old furniture, blankets and supplies and made it a home away from home. I can show you where it is.”
He went inside and came back with a crumpled map of the area, tracing Bowen Creek with his finger to a body of water she remembered seeing when they’d tried to get away from Jamal. “This is Cotton Tree Gorge, with Wolf Lake at the tip. The cave entrance is in this wall, almost directly above a paperbark tree that’s had its trunk cleaved in two by lightning. It’s been a while but I could find the cave with my eyes closed.”
“Remember how Judy tracked us one day and threatened to tell Des if we didn’t let her hang out with us?” Blake said, sounding as excited by the memory as his foster brother. Tom nodded.
“What does this have to do with the Uru people?” she asked, curiosity overcoming some of her torpor.
“The cave roof was decorated with paintings in a style we hadn’t seen before. We didn’t tell anyone in case it was taboo for us to have see them, and they made us stop going there. Then we realized that the paintings were ancient and hadn’t been touched up by the elders like the ones in the gorge, so nobody cared about them,” Tom said.
Her excitement rose. “Or they were done by someone other than the present indigenous people. Someone like the Uru. How soon can we go there?”
Tom held up a hand. “You’re staying right here. Jamal might be staking out the plane, and it isn’t too far from there to the cave. You might be seen.”
She felt an urge to stamp her foot. “I can’t hide here forever. You’ve spent most of your vacation baby-sitting me instead of trying to help your family fight Horvath. Now I want to do something to repay you.”
“There’s no debt and no need for repayment,” Tom said huskily. “That’s not how we do things here.”
She knew what he meant. “According to the code of the outback.”
Blake shifted uncomfortably. “You told her about that?”
“Most of it,” Tom said.
What part hadn’t he shared with her? She told herself it hardly mattered now. He’d told her what was important. “Tom says that under the code, you don’t back down, you don’t give up and you stand by your mates. That’s what I want to do.”
Tom refolded the map. “You’ll get your chance as soon as Jamal is out of the way.”
“He has his own code, too,” she pointed out. “He also doesn’t believe in backing down or giving up.” And he had as much, if not more, to lose than Tom and Blake and their family.
Tom skimmed a hand down her hair, sending a ripple of sensation through her. “But he doesn’t have mates like us.”
No, Jamal didn’t have mates. He had hirelings and those who did his bidding because they were afraid of him. He didn’t have anyone like Tom and his family, who would stand by their mates to the gates of hell and beyond if necessary. It felt good to be included in their company.
But she had learned something else about mates, too. In order to have them, you had to be one. It wasn’t all take and no give. Somehow, she had to show Tom she was a mate to him. If he wouldn’t give her the chance, she’d have to do it her way.
Chapter 16
Next morning, dawn was staining the sky vermilion when Tom joined Blake in the kitchen. Shara’s door had been closed when he’d passed it, so he’d showered and dressed as quietly as he could, and she hadn’t stirred. She needed the rest, he thought. So did he, but images of the wreck of his home had disturbed his sleep. He knew if he got his hands on whoever had done the damage, they’d be suffering some painful damage of their own.
At the breakfast table, he dumped cereal into a bowl and began to slice a banana on top. At the stove, Blake was tossing bacon in a pan.
“Still risking your arteries?” Tom joked.
“My arteries, my business. You’re a fine one to talk about risk.”
“Because I don’t want to wrangle crocodiles for a living?”
“Because you can’t see what’s right under your nose. Shara’s in love with you.”
Tom almost sliced his finger instead of the banana. “She’s scared and confused. Her whole life’s been turned upside down. I’ve been there for her. You’re mistaking Stockholm syndrome for love.”
Blake flipped toast out of the toaster and piled it on top of the bacon. He brought the plate to the table and sat down opposite Tom. “Stockholm syndrome is what happens when hostages start sympathizing with their captors. I don’t see you holding Shara at gunpoint, but I do see her making goo-goo eyes at you whenever she thinks you aren’t looking.”
“You’ve been around prehistoric animals too long. They’ve reduced your perceptions of human need to food, shelter and procreation.”
Blake picked up a piece of bacon and stripped the rind off it with his teeth. “We’ll get to procreation in a minute. You know the saying, ‘First comes love, then comes marriage.’”
Tom suppressed a pang. “Judy chanted it at us often enough when we were kids, before we’d bonded as brothers and sisters. She thought one of us should marry her when we grew up. Love and marriage have nothing to do with Shara and me.”
Blake’s eyes gleamed. “So you agree there is a ‘Shara and you’?”
“So what? It doesn’t mean you’re going to be best man any time soon,” Tom said.
Blake grinned. “I can wait.”
“Hope you’re prepared for a long one.”
“I’m a patient man. And you have to agree, she’s worth it.”
This time Tom couldn’t think of a single reason to argue. “She’s pretty special. It doesn’t mean I’m in love with her,” he added quickly.
Blake made a sandwich of his toast and bacon and bit into it appreciatively. Around a mouthful he sai
d, “I don’t recall saying anything about you. I was talking about Shara’s feelings. Does she know what a basket case you are?”
Inside, Tom was slowly coming to the boil, but he kept his tone mild. “How’d you like to have that sandwich rammed down your throat?”
“So she does know?”
“Horvath blurted out my life story in her hearing in town yesterday when he thought she was a work-experience kid.”
Blake’s eyebrow lifted. “So she knows about your dad being in prison. And she’s still hanging around with you. Hmm.”
“What’s ‘hmm’ supposed to mean?”
“It means I’ll start dusting off my tuxedo.”
Tom concentrated on eating, refusing to be provoked any further. Even if his foster brother was right, and Shara did have feelings for him, it didn’t mean anything could come of them. In the first place, she was vulnerable right now. And in the second, nothing had changed for Tom. Bad blood still ran in his veins. One woman he’d cared about had already left him, saying she couldn’t be sure that normal anger wouldn’t erupt into violence. Since he wouldn’t know the answer until a crunch came, he’d agreed, figuring she was safer apart from him. He wasn’t sure he could let Shara go so readily. He only knew he had to, for her own safety.
He glanced at the clock. “Do you think I should wake her?”
Blake made smooching noises. “There’s always the traditional way, with a kiss.”
Tom got up and put his breakfast things into the sink, thinking of how much he’d enjoy kissing Shara awake. He imagined her long lashes slowly lifting over eyes fogged with sleep, her glorious hair fanned across the pillow. First he’d kiss her forehead, then her full lips. Thinking of yesterday aboard the plane, his groin tightened at what he’d want to do next.
He settled for getting another cup out of the cupboard and pouring coffee into it to take to her. “Your love life isn’t exactly the stuff of movies right now,” he flung at Blake.
“I’m keeping my options open.”
That made two of them, Tom thought on an inward sigh. Like himself, Blake’s start in life hadn’t predisposed him to close relationships. As a baby, his foster brother had been left on someone’s doorstep and taken in by strangers. Not surprisingly, he’d run wild and finally come into Des Logan’s care, where Blake had done a more spectacular job of straightening himself out than anyone in authority had expected. Knowing him, Tom hadn’t been as surprised. Whatever Blake set his mind to do, he would achieve, whatever the cost.
