The Sheikh Who Stole Her: Sheikh Seduction / The Untamed Sheikh / Desert King, Doctor Daddy. Dana Marton
some yellowing grass. The breeze blew garbage around them, and he swore.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, alarmed.
He gestured, his anger giving him extra strength. “People who dump their refuse in the desert. It chokes what few plants live here. When they die, the sand takes over. The desert becomes even hotter, with less rain. See?” He pointed. “We are in an indentation here. In the rainy season, water will gather and create a watering hole. The Bedu will come, unaware of the garbage rotting under it, and let their animals drink. There’ll be disease.”
She had her arms around him from behind, and now hugged him a little tighter. “When I researched MMPOIL’s Web site, I saw that part about the desert preservation project.”
“Yeah, that went over well.” If he had any extra energy he would have laughed. “The Middle East is still a far cry from California, as far as environmental awareness goes.” But he was working on it. He’d seen both good and bad things while he had lived in the U.S. He was working on bringing the former into his own country as much as he could.
They rode on silently for a while.
He was getting weaker as time passed, and hating it. Abandoning appearances, he finally let his body lean against the camel’s hump, barely able to support himself. He needed to preserve what little strength he had left.
“Why did they torture you?” she asked.
“They think I have the previous king’s gold, because I’m his half brother and sheik of the tribe.”
“And you don’t?”
“There is no gold. Majid amassed a fortune, but he wasted it as fast as he stole it. He spent insane amounts on luxuries, on building his army, on bribing people inside the country and out.”
“So it’s a myth?”
“It’s becoming a legend. Even some people in our own tribe believe it. Majid used to hand money out to them to ensure their loyalty. They miss that. Some think I have access to vast treasures, and I’m just too greedy and want it for myself.”
Loyalty disappeared faster than a drop of water in the desert when speculation about a secret hoard of gold bars and other treasures became the focus of conversation. That’s why he saw Sara’s loyalty as the true treasure and felt humbled that she would give it to him.
“But don’t they see that you don’t spend like the old king?” she was asking from behind him, her body pressed against his, her arms around his waist, anchoring him to the saddle.
“When I came back, I sold some of my family’s assets and used the money to help my people, because they were in dire need. Some other well-to-do businessmen in the tribe didn’t look favorably on this, probably thought that if I was helping, they might be expected to help, as well.”
“They resented you for it.”
“They figured if I had enough to hand out, then I must have whole fortunes. Then later, when I couldn’t give any more without jeopardizing the businesses that are our future, they spread the rumor that I grew greedy and was keeping the rest.”
“It’s insane.”
“And people outside the tribe believed the rumors very easily. Majid stole from them. They want to think that the money still exists someplace, and that they might someday get it back.”
Tariq closed his eyes against the throbbing in his temples. “I receive at least a couple of petitions for restitution weekly. People hated me on sight for being Majid’s half brother. He was the bloodiest king in recent history. Now they hate me even more, for supposedly keeping their money.”
He clamped his mouth shut. He hadn’t meant to let all his frustrations come out like that, but there was something about Sara that drew confidences, even from a man who didn’t give his trust easily.
The horizon swam before his eyes.
He was fading fast. He had to do something.
He had to get the camel close enough to water so the animal could sense it and head there on its own. Camels could smell water from miles away, a trait developed over millennia of evolution. They were made for the desert. Tariq would take Sara as far as he could, then trust her to the dromedary.
“If I fall asleep, just follow the clouds,” he said, doing his best not to sound as weak as he felt. He didn’t want to worry her. Truth was, he was on the verge of passing out. His peripheral vision narrowed; the buzzing in his ears intensified ….
“FOLLOW THE CLOUDS,” Sara muttered to herself two hours later.
Great advice. Except that there were no stinking clouds!
Woozy from the sun, she’d let go of the reins a long time ago and given up any pretense of directing the camel. Instead, she concentrated on keeping Tariq in the saddle and forcing water between his lips at regular intervals.
Seeing him, a big, powerful man, defenseless like this was scary. She didn’t want to think about the possibility of him not making it. She would get him to his tribe somehow. Even the nomads had cell phones and cars these days. They could take him to the nearest hospital.
She kept that in mind as she searched the skies. When she felt exhausted enough that she began worrying about falling asleep and tumbling from the saddle, she talked to keep herself awake.
“I was pretty young when my mom died. Sometimes her face flashes into my mind, clear as anything. But sometimes I can’t remember what she looked like. I hate that. But I had a great dad. You would have liked him. You’re a lot like him.” Brave, strong, doing the right thing, focused on building a future, but never forgetting the people he was responsible for.”
She went on talking about her family and the people at the company for a while.
“I’m addicted to romance novels and action flicks.” She moved on to the next topic when she had exhausted the first. “I know some people think that’s mindless entertainment. Their loss, as far as I’m concerned. It’s not like being addicted to nicotine. I like happy endings.” She wondered if this adventure was going to have one.
Heat radiated from above, as well as from the sand. It felt like noon in hell, but her sense of time said it probably wasn’t even eleven yet.
An eternity seemed to pass before she spotted a small gossamer cloud in the distance, sitting low in the sky. “Hey, they do exist,” she muttered.
She didn’t have to angle the camel toward it. The animal moved in that direction of its own volition, picking up speed. She held tighter to Tariq. If he fell out of the saddle, she didn’t think she could get him back in. If the camel waited for them, which she doubted. The animal seemed pretty intent on reaching some invisible point on the horizon.
When she first made out the dark line on the sand, she thought it to be a Bedu camp. But as she got closer and closer, she saw green all around and no tents. Then the camel broke into a full trot without any urging from her, and soon she heard water.
“We’re here. Wake up.” She shook Tariq gently, but he didn’t respond. She held him tight as she stared ahead.
The oasis that unfolded before her put her wildest fantasies to shame. She judged the island of green to be at least three acres, dotted with date palms. Several boulders towered at the far end, each twenty or thirty feet high, throwing some shade over the pool at their feet.
Heaven.
“Whoa. Stop. Sit.” She yanked on the camel’s rope, but the animal wouldn’t stop until it reached water, until its head was submerged.
“We’re going to get a drink, too,” she said, on the off chance that Tariq could somehow hear her.
He was still alive; his chest rose and fell at regular intervals. She slid from the saddle—she couldn’t get the camel to sit—and pulled Tariq down, but couldn’t support his weight. The best she could do was