Live To Tell

He saw Jo’s eyes widen as if she’d heard his unspoken words.

“You don’t have a problem with my taking charge?” she asked.

His shoulders lifted. “Why should I? I’m a sensitive New Age kind of guy.”

“Yeah, right.”

Feigning hurt feelings, Blake’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t believe me.”

“I believe you’ll let me lead when it suits you,” Jo responded.

Keeping the grin off his face, he said, “I might surprise you.”

The skeptical look she gave him only made him want her more. He would take the greatest delight in breaching her journalistic facade to connect with the woman beneath. She’d be all softness, all warmth and all passion. She was an all-or-nothing kind of lady, his kind.

Live To Tell

Valerie Parv

VALERIE PARV

With 20 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 Tracey and Steve, a truly inspirational couple

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

Epilogue

Chapter 1

The disturbing sensation of being watched nagged at Jo Francis. She felt her features tighten as she watched Nigel approach the creek. “This isn’t a good idea. Blake warned us not to camp closer than fifty yards from the creek, and not to get fresh water from the same place every day.”

Nigel shot her a disparaging look. “I’m getting mighty tired of hearing, ‘Blake said…’ every time I want to do something. Maybe you’d rather have him sharing this crazy stunt with you instead of me.”

The words of denial Jo knew he expected from her stalled in her throat. In some ways, she would rather have Blake with her, but not for the reasons Nigel suspected. Living in the Kimberley, one of the world’s last great wildernesses in the far northwest of Western Australia, was proving to be a far greater challenge than she had anticipated, and they’d only been in the outback for three days.

How was she supposed to survive for a month in such a hostile environment, when Nigel thought he knew more than a man who owned the local crocodile farm and had grown up on this land? The bush shelter they were supposed to be moving into tomorrow was barely started because Nigel insisted on doing things his way. Now he was going beyond stubborn all the way to reckless.

“Please be careful,” she implored.

“Blake Stirton isn’t the only man who can handle this stuff,” Nigel threw at her over his shoulder. “Your editor has more faith in me than you do.”

Hearing the censure in his voice, Jo regretted letting Nigel talk his way into sharing this assignment. Nigel was the marketing director at Australian Scene Weekly’s advertising agency and they’d dated until he’d gotten too serious for Jo’s comfort. She knew he was hoping to win her back during the trip, but she was equally determined to convince him that their relationship was over.

Maybe she was out of her mind for thinking she could survive in the wilderness with only the minimum of modern-day amenities, she berated herself silently. Like Nigel Wylie, she’d lived in the city for all of her twenty-six years and had gone camping only on family outings. She’d enjoyed them, but had always been happy to get back to civilization.

Under the harsh outback sun, her fair complexion was a liability, and she was beginning to wish she’d had her long, streaky blond hair cut short before leaving Perth. Even tied in a ponytail, it felt uncomfortably hot and heavy between her shoulder blades.

Her editor, Karen Prentiss, had come up with the idea of sending her feature writer on a survival mission soon after hearing about the discovery of some ancient cave paintings on a cattle property called Diamond Downs in the wilds of the Kimberley region of Western Australia. According to Jo’s research, the property owner, Des Logan, and his late wife had a daughter, Judy, and fostered four sons after they discovered they couldn’t have any more children of their own. The boys were all from problem backgrounds, but Des had managed to straighten them out over time and each was now successful in a different field.

Blake, the oldest of the Logan foster sons, had briefed her and Nigel on what to expect during their stay at Diamond Downs. He owned Sawtooth Park, a crocodile breeding and education center outside Halls Creek, a few miles away.

Thinking of the enormous crocodiles he’d shown them during their orientation, Jo shivered. The scaly throwbacks to the dinosaur era both fascinated and terrified her. She’d taken to heart Blake’s warnings about respecting the wild crocodiles who inhabited the rivers and creeks of Diamond Downs, more than Nigel had done, it seemed.

A fresh prickle of unease lifted the fine hairs on the back of her neck as she watched him steady himself by grasping the branch of a freshwater mangrove, so he could lean over the still water to fill his canteen. They had fresh water at camp, but Nigel insisted it was colder straight from the creek.

The surroundings were idyllic. Around her, majestic pandanus, paperbarks and eucalypti created a cool oasis. The air was fragrant with the sweet scents of the mangroves, tropical orchids, gardenias and grevilleas. An outcrop of large granite slabs protruded into the water, forming a natural jetty. Blake had pointed out a series of worn cavities in the surface of the rocks where, over centuries, the aboriginal people had crushed grass seeds into paste for food.

He had also warned them that death lurked beneath the deceptively tranquil, lily-strewn water.

Her sense of unease grew. “Please, watch out for—”

“Crocodile!” Nigel shouted at the same moment.

In a blur of movement, an olive-colored torpedo surged out of the water, wolflike dagger teeth snapping shut around Nigel’s canteen with the force of a steel trap. She barely had time to glimpse a great dragon head with horned eyebrows and blazing yellow eyes, before the prehistoric creature sank back into the creek, its powerful serrated tail churning the water to foam.

For a horrified instant, she thought Nigel had been dragged in, as well, until she saw him swing himself into the tangled branches. His grip on the tree must have saved him. “Get away from there,” she screamed.

“What the flaming hell do you think I’m doing?” He pulled himself hand over hand back to shore, while she kept a wary eye on the water. The crocodile was nowhere to be seen, but she could sense its fearsome presence lurking in the depths.

Then Nigel was back on land, sheet-white and shaking, rubbing the back of his neck where the strap from the canteen had etched a furrow. The torn leather dangling from his neck told its own story. Angrily, he jerked the strap off and dashed it to the ground. “Blasted man-eater ought to be shot.”

He spun back in the direction of their camp where Blake had supplied them with a .303 rifle for protection. She grabbed Nigel’s arm, barely halting his progress. “You can’t shoot it. Crocodiles are a protected species.”

“Not if they attack humans,” he spat at her.

“It didn’t attack. You invaded its territory,” she said, as shaken by the near miss as he was. “If you injure it instead of killing it, you could make matters worse.”

His scathing look raked her. “Worse than nearly being dragged under and eaten alive?”

She refrained from repeating Blake’s lesson that crocodiles didn’t eat their prey alive. They rolled you over and over until you drowned, then stowed you in an underwater lair to be eaten once you’d softened sufficiently. The very thought made her sick. She had a feeling Nigel wouldn’t welcome the reminder right now. If he hadn’t had such a firm grip on the tree…

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said softly.

His stare remained wintry. “Are you?”

“Of course I am.”

“Because you care about me, or because you want to get your story?”

“No story is worth a life.”

“No? Then tell your boss what she can do with this assignment.”

She gestured impatiently. “You know why I can’t.”

“Because you need Karen to use her influence with her husband. Isn’t there another way to keep Lauren’s home open that doesn’t involve risking both our necks?”

“None that Karen was prepared to share with me,” Jo said, too shaken to hide her bitterness. Ever since the editor heard about Diamond Downs, she’d had a bee in her bonnet about setting a feature there. Jo would have been happy simply to interview the Logan family, but for some reason, Karen wouldn’t hear of it. “Too predictable for Scene Weekly. Our readers expect an inside story, a sense of being there,” she’d told Jo. That’s when she’d hatched the idea of having Jo live off the land for a month and report on the experience diary-style in each issue.

Nor was Karen above using Jo’s worry about Lauren to gain Jo’s cooperation. “This is the way the world works,” she’d said with a shrug. “You want me to do something for you, you do something for me.”

Karen’s husband, Ron, was the developer whose company wanted to develop the land where Lauren’s home, Hawthorn Lodge, stood. Jo had been Lauren’s surrogate big sister, watching her grow from a shy, introverted girl with a learning disability to the charming young woman she was now. Much of that progress was due to the sheltered environment Lauren shared with seven young people like herself and one understanding set of house parents. Karen knew as well as Jo that Lauren would be lost out in the world, even if Jo took her in. When the home had been extensively remodeled the previous year, Lauren had stopped speaking for over two months, until she adjusted to the changes. Jo hated to think how Lauren might respond if forced to move to a new location.

Nigel read the truth in Jo’s eyes. “You’re not giving up, are you, not even after what just happened?”

Jo wished she could give him the answer she knew he wanted, but she couldn’t. “It was as much our fault as the crocodile’s. We can learn from this and move on,” she said.

“That’s the first true thing you’ve said since we got here. We can learn from this and move on.”

Something in his voice made her blood chill. “I mean together.”

“No, you mean I can learn to do things your way by your rules, as usual.”

“You’re putting words into my mouth.”

“I’m stating facts. Nearly getting eaten makes you see things with crystal clarity. I wanted to do this because I care for you, Jo. I want you to feel the same way about me. But it won’t happen as long as every waking minute is taken up with staying alive.”

“What are you saying?”

“I want you to give this up.”

At the pleading note in his voice, she wavered. Maybe she didn’t have much sense, but giving up wasn’t on her agenda. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said, meaning it.

“You can’t do this by yourself.”

“The Logans are there if I need help.”

“Meaning Blake Stirton, I suppose.”

“Meaning the Logan family. This has nothing to do with Blake.”

Nigel pushed his way toward their camp as if he had difficulty making his limbs obey him. Shock was probably setting in, but he wasn’t about to let her sympathize with him, she saw from his shuttered expression. “Nothing to do with Blake,” he sneered. “So I imagined the way you hung on to his every word?”

“Of course you didn’t. Our survival depends on listening to his advice,” she snapped, tired of defending herself. If Nigel had paid more attention to Blake’s briefing instead of being jealous of the other man, they might not be having this discussion now.

Nigel dragged a pack out of the tent. “Well, not anymore. You can go or stay as you choose. I’ve made my decision.”

He began to stuff clothes and possessions into the pack, making it clear he was serious. She hadn’t doubted it. Nigel always did what he said he’d do. She’d been frankly astonished when he’d volunteered to take part in this experiment. Spontaneous wasn’t in his vocabulary.

She had to try one last time. “You don’t have to leave. I know you had a bad scare and you’re entitled to be rattled.”

He leveled a searing look at her. “Rattled doesn’t begin to describe how it feels to stare death in the face. I’m getting out of here while I still can.”

“I can’t exactly blame you,” she admitted. “I’m sorry I got you into this in the first place.”

He stopped packing long enough to smile fleetingly at her. “I’m sorry, too. I thought we might get back some of the romance we used to have, but it isn’t going to happen, is it?”

“I told you it was over between us long ago,” she reminded him.

He straightened. “You didn’t tell me you were hoping to find some he-man who can swing through trees on a vine and catch your dinner with his bare hands. I’m a bloody good businessman, but that will never be enough for you, will it?”

She couldn’t argue with his assessment of himself. They’d met through the magazine, and she’d been attracted by his good looks and the rapid-fire way his mind worked. “I thought this was about a crocodile attacking you. How did it get to be about us?” she asked.

“You must have known how much I wanted things to work out between us.”

She let a sigh whisper past her lips. “I hoped you would learn something about your own strengths, as well. Isn’t that why people undertake these survival-type challenges?”

“I’ve learned all I needed to. Not only that I don’t want to be around man-eating crocodiles, but that I don’t want to be molded into something I’m not.”

“I never tried to mold you into anything.”

“No? Then why didn’t you listen when I said I thought this project was a bad idea?”

He was right. She hadn’t listened. She’d been too fixated on satisfying Karen. At least that had been the reason Jo had given herself. Now she wondered if Nigel wasn’t right. Saving Lauren’s home had been Jo’s justification for agreeing to undertake the assignment, but she wasn’t the reason Jo was here. At least not the whole reason. “I’ll miss your help,” she conceded.

He didn’t relent. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.” His tone said he wouldn’t hold out much hope.

The snap of a dry twig outside brought her head up. “Someone’s out there.”

His head swung around. “What now, rampaging buffalo?”

“It sounded more like a footstep.” Perhaps Blake had come to check on their progress. The flood of relief accompanying this thought was something she’d have to think about later.

Right now, she wanted to check on the source of the noise. She flung the tent flap aside and strode out.

“Jo, wait for me. You don’t know what’s out there.”

She got outside in time to see a man disappearing into the bushes. From force of journalistic habit, she noted that he had dark skin, a stocky build and was about her height. He was dressed like the stockmen who worked the cattle on Diamond Downs. “Odd that he didn’t stop to say hello,” she said to Nigel, who’d followed her outside. Everyone they’d met so far had gone out of their way to be friendly.

“He could be from a tribe that doesn’t belong here,” Nigel suggested. “Or maybe he’s wary of strangers.”

“He must have seen or heard the croc attack. Wonder why he didn’t show himself before or try to help.”

“The crocodile could hold some cultural significance for him. We could speculate all day and be none the wiser.”

“You’re right.” Shock at Nigel’s near miss was taking a toll on her, too. The thought of someone spying on them didn’t help. Suddenly, she became aware that she would be on her own once Nigel left. Bile rose in her throat, threatening to choke her. She had to fight the urge to pack up and go with him.

He seemed to sense her ambivalence. “Sure you don’t want to come with me?”

No, she wasn’t sure, but she shook her head. “I can’t.”

Can’t or won’t? his expression asked. Just as well he didn’t voice the question, because she didn’t know what her answer would have been.

“I’ll get one of the men at the Logan homestead to drive me to town and bring the rental car back here for you,” he said.

Impulsively, she wrapped her arms around his neck, stung when he made no move to respond. What did she expect? “Thanks for giving it your best shot,” she said.

His mouth found hers, hot and hard, the way he knew she liked to be kissed. Normally the touch would have ignited her passion; now, there was only deep regret for what might have been. She kissed him back out of that regret.

A cough made her spring back. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

The laconic tone made her blood boil. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to be sure the crocodile didn’t snap off anything vital,” Blake drawled. Another man followed Blake into the clearing. For a moment, she thought it was the man who’d been watching them from the bushes until she realized that this man was taller and had a lighter complexion. The only thing Blake and his companion had in common with the spy was the khaki shirt, pants and battered Akubra hat that seemed to be the uniform for outback males. She couldn’t help noticing how ruggedly appealing it looked on Blake.

“One of the stockmen was across the river when he heard a commotion and saw the crocodile attacking. Evidently, it was greatly exaggerated.” Blake spoke softly to his companion. The other man nodded and moved off toward the water hole. Looking for the crocodile, she assumed. She was about to mention the man she’d glimpsed moments after the event, but Nigel spoke first.

“There was an attack all right, Stirton.” Nigel’s tone was the classic one of alpha male meeting another of his kind in his territory. The fact that he’d been about to relinquish that territory didn’t matter for the moment. Instinct won out.

Jo resisted the urge to step between them, struck again by how much at home Blake was in this environment. He could take care of himself. “Nigel was getting water from the creek when a crocodile lunged out of the water at him,” she said.

“Luckily it only snapped off my canteen, not my head,” Nigel contributed.

Blake frowned. “From the look of you, it was a close call. If you want my advice…”

Nigel gestured dismissively. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

Jo felt the beginnings of a headache. “Nigel, please. Blake’s only trying to help.”

“If he wants to help, he or his stockman will grab the rifle and blast that man-eating monster out of the water before someone gets killed.”

She saw Blake’s jaw tighten. Nigel was reacting out of shock and she could hardly blame him, but attacking a man who’d come to help them wasn’t the answer.

“The crocodile isn’t responsible for human stupidity,” Blake said. “And Andy Wandarra is a tribal elder, so you’ll show some respect.”

She winced, wishing he had chosen his words more tactfully. She had a feeling tact wasn’t Blake Stirton’s strong suit.

Nigel wasn’t a small man but Blake was half a head taller, with a cowboy’s rangy build, most of which looked to be solid muscle. He stood with his feet apart, at home in the bush, although she imagined he’d look equally good wearing black tie in a ballroom. Longish hair the color of antique brass, turned up slightly at the collar, gave him a bad-boy aura. His warm hazel eyes were deep-set and creases radiating from them suggested he spent a lot of time staring across vast distances. Right now, his gaze was narrowed on Nigel, and what she saw in his expression wasn’t approval.

She hoped Nigel’s adrenaline-charged state wouldn’t drive him to challenge Blake physically. No amount of loyalty to Nigel could convince her he was a match for Blake in a fight.

Nigel balled his hands into fists. “When the truth about this experience comes out, we’ll see who your readers think is stupid, won’t we, Jo?”

Blake fixed her with a glare that could have melted stone. She was proud of not quailing beneath his scrutiny, but it took some effort. “We were warned not to get water from the same place every day,” she said with scrupulous fairness.

A glimmer of something like surprise flashed in Blake’s hazel gaze. She didn’t like the answering shiver that shook her.

“Crocs are cunning creatures. They wait and watch until they judge they can grab an easy meal,” Blake said in a tone that suggested that this explanation was part of a much-repeated lecture. “You might get away with it the first or second time, but try it a third and you’re history.”

He illustrated the point by extending his arms and crashing his hands together like the jaws of a crocodile, and she saw Nigel flinch.

Instinctively, she moved closer to offer the comfort of her nearness, but he remained coldly aloof. His pride was stung, she thought in amazement. Not only by his brush with death, but by the fact that Blake was right and he was wrong.

“Are you okay?” she asked, pitching her voice low.

Wrong question, she saw as Nigel’s jaw hardened. “I’m fine for someone who was almost eaten.”

“Maybe you should see a doctor,” Blake suggested. “One of our people can drive you to Halls Creek.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me that the sight of a dead crocodile won’t fix. If you can’t handle it, I’ll do something about it myself.”

Nigel turned toward the tent but in a move so fast she barely registered it, Blake put himself between Nigel and the equipment. “There are penalties for killing protected species out here.”

Halted in his tracks, Nigel curled his lip into a sneer. “Oh, yeah. Your brother is a ranger, isn’t he? Between you, you’ve got the Kimberley sewn up. If one Logan doesn’t get me, the other will. Oh, I forgot. You’re not Logans, either of you. You’re a bunch of mongrels Des Logan took in and tried to civilize, without much success evidently.”

Blake didn’t move. “You’re going the right way to get yourself thrown off this land, Wylie.”

“He doesn’t mean it. It’s the shock of the attack.”

Both men turned hard glares on her, but Jo wasn’t about to back down. This was her show, whether Nigel accepted it or not. She needed this assignment. From her research into Des Logan’s situation, he suffered from a heart complaint and was having trouble keeping Diamond Downs going. The discovery of the ancient rock art on the land had started to bring in tourist dollars, but he also needed the substantial fee her magazine was paying to use the site.

Without quite knowing how she knew, she saw the knowledge reflected in Blake’s gaze. He shifted his attention to her. The ferocity of it sent shafts of heat through her, surprisingly difficult to ignore. “I’ll overlook the personal insults this time.” His tone made it clear there would be no second chance. “I still think this is a damn fool stunt. If you were really surviving, you wouldn’t have so many frills. You have no business coming to the outback for the titillation of a few magazine readers.”