The people of Sharjah were traditional—mostly. A few spoke out about better rights for everyone—the right to vote, the removal of old laws that hindered business. But most seemed content that the sultan looked after them, and that in turn allowed each man to look after his family.
Getting some interviews at least seemed to satisfy Casey, but Khalid’s father kept hinting that a wedding date needed to be set. And Khalid was getting nowhere about reversing his father’s opinion. He seemed to be caught—Casey needed the interview with his father that Khalid had promised, and yet he needed his father to be angry enough to release Khalid from his promise to marry, meaning he needed his father to throw Casey out of the country. There seemed to be no way to accomplish both.
And then Khalid hit upon a new idea—to appeal to his father’s pride and his favorite project. He would take Casey to the Sharjah Desert Reserve, a park established to preserve the animals and local fauna of Sharjah. It took a few days to arrange, but Casey no longer seemed quite so impatient. She admitted as they took the Land Rover out to the park, “I gave my editor, Luke, a deadline. I promised him a story by the end of the month. I’ve also been sending him my background notes—it’s better than nothing.”
Khalid took his eyes off the narrow road that led to the reserve to glance at her. “What happens if you do not make your deadline.”
“Then my job’s dead. It’ll be back to freelancing stories, and I supposed I can get a few months of travel articles out of where we’ve been.” She let out a long breath. “And there goes my Pulitzer.”
“That matters to you so much?” he asked.
She clenched a fist. “Matters? I’ve been trying to grab the brass ring for years. Women may have it rough here, but it’s not exactly smooth in the States, either. If you’re a reporter and pretty, they want to style your hair and put you in front of a camera and have you read from a script. That’s not reporting—at least not the way I learned it. I want a byline—one that means something. For that I need recognition. I’m never going to get that with fluff pieces.”
Frowning, Khalid thought about this, and then asked, “What about a story of ecological dangers in Sharjah. You do know we face the worse of global warming—temperatures rising, meaning possible extinction of animals and plants. And worse—the inability to use the desert as we have for centuries. If the desert dies, my country may die as well.”
Casey shook her head. “It’s not the story my editor wants—but…well, maybe I can do something with it. Maybe it’ll buy me time.”
Khalid gave her a tight smile. “Time is what neither of us have. My father persists in asking us to set a date for the wedding.”
Waving a hand, Casey said, “Tell him—next month. Pick a date. And we’ll either have a huge argument right before the wedding, or…” Her words drifted off.
“Or?” he asked.
“Or I’ll just fly off back to the states, and you can be the wounded guy left at the altar by the flighty American.”
Khalid frowned. For some reason, that did not sound all that appealing. Was it just because his pride would be wounded to be left by a woman? He glanced at Casey. He had spent most of the week with her, but that seemed far too little time. Yet, he had gone through other girlfriends even faster. So far, he had never felt bored with Casey. He was enjoying himself with her, he had to admit.
And he also had to admit, he wanted her in his bed.
That must be it—he did not want her to be the woman who escaped him before he had enjoyed a night with her.
Well, a trip to the reserve might be just the thing to help her gain a new story and help him seduce her.
It took an hour to reach the reserve, and Khalid told her how his father had set family land aside to create the reserve. “It’s an amazing place, and my father has been pleased that it both protects the land and animals and has been a boon to tourism. It is my father’s hope he can expand the reserve to do more to breed endangered species. And these are the gates into the reserve.”
8
Casey had to admit the Sharjah Desert Reserve was more than impressive. Once they entered the reserve, she rolled down the window and pulled out her cell phone to get photos. Arabian Oryx, with their long horns, grazed in the distance on scrub grass. Falcons soared overhead. It was late enough in the day that the scorching heat had passed, and the desert breeze had a touch of cooling nip.
From her background research, she’d read that the sultan ruled with an iron fist, leaving his sons to be irresponsible party animals. But this showed another side to the family—it seemed as if they took their responsibilities to their county seriously.