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
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