Page 186 of Crossed Wires: The Complete Series

“Excuse me, Blue? Thomo?”

A young male voice behind Keith took him by surprise. Fighting to keep his frustration at bay, he swung to face the jackaroo standing at the mouth of the stable. “What’s up, Legs?” he asked, giving the teenager an easy smile.

The tall, lanky city boy hell-bent on becoming a stockman took a step closer to them, the pimples on his cheeks blazing red. “Ronnie asked me to let you know he and Hughsie needed your help at the Wombat Gulley gate. Apparently one of the stud bulls has knocked down a fence post and the bull’s got its leg caught in the barbed wire.”

Keith bit back a curse.

Marc didn’t show any such restraint. “Shit. That’s not good. Thanks, Legs. We’ll head off right now. Can you fire up Blue’s ute for us, mate?”

The young jackaroo nodded, a wide smile pulling at his lips as he started to turn. “You bet,” he called. “I promise I won’t crash her, Blue.”

“Just start her up, Legs,” Keith called after the jackaroo, who was now almost running. “You don’t need to…ah fuck, he’s gone.”

Letting out a sigh, Keith shot Marc a quick look. “We’ll swing by the cottage on the way and let Harper know we’ll be late.”

Marc grinned at him as they both began to stride toward the stable doors. “Makes sense. Then she can smell how stinky you are before you scrub up.”

Keith shook his head. “Shut the fuck up, Thomo.”

* * *

Harper sprang to her feet at the soft knock on the cottage door, dropping her red pen onto the haikus about the Australian bush she’d been grading. She shot her watch a quick glance, noting it was not quite quarter to six.

They were early.

She brushed her palms over her stomach and thighs, giving her reflection in the living area’s mirror a quick glance. She had no idea what one wore to a pub in Cobar, but based on the fifteen minutes she’d spent in its airport terminal, she figured a simple white sundress with sandals would be okay.

She could have worn the clothes she’d flown in, but the all-black ensemble really wasn’t her. It was part of the “let’s take life by the balls” attitude she’d started this trip with. Funny how she was doing things she’d never believed she would but the thought of wearing the tight designer-label jeans, the even tighter shirt and ridiculous stiletto boots made her want to cringe.

With a hasty rake of her fingers through the waves of her hair, and an equally quick lick of her lips, she crossed to the door, ready to greet Keith and Marc on the other side.

She had a surprise for them tonight. One she still couldn’t believe she was going to announce.

Belly fluttering like a horde of frantic butterflies, she gripped the knob and pulled open the door.

Only to find Ronnie McNamara standing on the other side of the threshold, hat in hand. “Ms. Shaw,” he said with a smile, returning his hat to his head. “Thought I’d pop by and say g’day. See how you’re going.”

Harper stared at him. She didn’t mean to. She knew it was rude, but her brain—having already decided Keith and Marc were going to be on the other side of the door—refused to process it was Ronnie.

She hadn’t seen the cowboy since Sunday. She certainly hadn’t been expecting to see him this afternoon. “H-hi, Ronnie,” she finally replied, stammering. “How are you?”

“Better for seeing you now, Ms. Shaw. May I come in?”

A lifetime of being raised by Andrew to have good manners saw Harper stepping aside before she even realized it. Ronnie ducked his head, removed his hat and crossed the threshold.

Harper caught a whiff of strong cologne and it was only then she noticed the cowboy was dressed in jeans and a shirt no man on a ranch would ever work in.

Station, Harper. Station. And stockman. Not cowboy. Keith and Marc would spank you senseless if they knew you?—

“You look very pretty this arvo.” Ronnie’s voice jerked her away from the wholly delicious thought of Keith and Marc and their treatment of her ass. “Ms. Wesson never gets dolled up like that to teach.”

“Thomo and Blue are taking me to the pub in Cobar,” she answered, for some reason thoroughly unsettled by the man’s compliment. She’d never been one to handle praise well. Her usual reaction was to blush and mumble something contradictory. That she’d mentioned the reason for her state of dress now, that she’d mentioned Keith’s and Marc’s names as a shield against Ronnie’s obvious interest, told her she was in uncomfortable territory.

More than once back in Chicago she’d invoked her big brother’s name when trying to disengage from unwanted attention, especially while attending one of Andrew’s television events. Anyone who knew Andrew knew not to mess with him.

Here at Farpoint Creek, however, the name Andrew Shaw meant nothing. The names Blue and Thomo, though…

You trust them, Harper. And feel safe with them. It’s the first time you’ve felt safe withanyoneapart from Andy.

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