The cowboy’s face was as rugged as his worn blue jeans and battered combat boots, but that only added to his mountain-man allure. The closest she’d come to the wilderness was watching Bear Grylls drink his own pee, but this guy looked like he could fight off a grizzly bear before breakfast, build a log cabin after lunch, and snatch a salmon out of a frigid arctic stream with his bare hands for dinner.
She was a strong, intelligent, independent woman who’d taken care of her sister and herself since she was seventeen, but she wouldn’t have protested too hard if he’d swept her up into his arms, mounted his trusty steed, and galloped off into the sunset with her cradled in his lap.
It appeared she wasn’t the only one suffering from a romance novel–inspired vision, because when she returned to her place in the line, the elderly woman who’d reserved her spot sighed and clutched an arthritic hand to her mouth. Abi thanked the woman and returned her dreamy smile before turning back to the object of their shared adoration.
The cowboy’s face lit up with a smile that bunched his cheeks and exposed two gleaming rows of white teeth. He hoisted the girl into the air before flying her down into her mother’s outstretched arms. The chaos bustling around Abi faded to silence, and for the briefest of moments there was only the mother, her daughter, and the man, standing watch over them like a bodyguard.
The mother shifted her daughter onto her hip and pulled the man down into an awkward hug. He chuckled and resettled his hat before easing free of the mother’s grasp and gently ushering them toward the check-in desk. Gentle—the word had no business being used anywhere near the man—but as he picked up the teddy bear and nestled it into the girl’s outstretched arms, it was the only word that came to mind. After unleashing a smile as genuine as it was breathtaking, he effortlessly snatched up their luggage and followed them to the counter.
After a brief exchange, the check-in clerk’s face lit up as she grabbed the boarding pass she’d just handed the mother and scrunched it up before replacing it with another. The mother’s gaze shot back and forth between the man and the clerk before she held out the boarding pass like it was radioactive.
With another grin and tip of his hat, the cowboy drifted back to first class, hefted a sand-colored suit bag, backpack, and vending-machine-sized duffle onto his shoulder with a frightening lack of effort, and strode to the back of the economy-class check-in line.
The old dear standing beside Abi sighed and lowered her trembling arthritic hand to her heart. “Oh my, can I have one of those please?”
Abi was too shocked by the woman’s conspiratorial grin to respond. Instead, her shell-shocked brain replayed Olivia’s bucket-list instructions over and over in her head. She met the old woman’s soft, knowing eyes and released the breath she’d been holding. “Make that two.”
Chapter Two
Ryder’s spidey-sense tingled as the stewardess’s cobalt eyes darted between the boarding pass cradled in her manicured fingers and his face. Confusion, trailed by a chaser of recognition, followed by round after round of shock, disbelief, and adoration. He’d seen the same reactions repeated in way too many places and on way too many faces over the last few weeks. He’d escaped most of his fifteen minutes of fame in the States where he was just one Aussie grunt soldier in a sea of red, white, and blue. But his ugly mug had been plastered on everything from newspapers and gossip magazines to breakfast TV and the nightly news back home.
“Welcome, Sergeant Harper. It’s a privilege and an honor to have you on board, sir.”
So much for retirement and slipping under the radar.
He tipped his hat and returned her smile before reaching for his boarding pass.
Her smile widened as her fingers pinched the pass. “If you’d kindly follow me, sir, I’ll escort you to your seat.”
Qantas may have been trying to improve customer service, but he doubted that extended to escorting economy-class passengers to their seats. He tightened his grip on the pass. “Thanks, but I’m good.”
“Are you sure, Sergeant? It’s the least we can do.”
He turned to find the stewardess’s equally stunning partner smiling at him while the line of passengers waiting at the door watched on. Jesus, he needed to get the hell away before the whole damned plane figured out who he was. “It’s fine, thanks.”
He rescued his boarding pass, nodded to the stewardesses, and made for the stairs leading to the A380’s upper deck. He knew the airbus’s layout, hidden exits, and potential breach points better than any civilian should, but this would be his first flight as an actual paying passenger.
He took the stairs two at a time until the cabin noise and the hum from the plane’s idling turbines muffled the stewardesses’ excited chatter. Thank God for the sweetheart of a check-in clerk who’d saved him one of the rare economy-class seats on the upper deck. He’d have to cope with toilet traffic and sightseers sneaking up the back stairs to check out first class, but at least he’d only have to battle one neighbor for the armrest. He prayed karma didn’t plant an SUV-sized rugby player in the adjoining seat. Or even worse, a military buff who’d recognize him and spend the flight prying into every detail of the world he’d left behind. The last thing he needed was reliving the joint NATO mission that had not only ended his life, but those of his American and Aussie brothers-in-arms who’d returned home in body bags.
He hitched his backpack higher onto his shoulder and shuffled through first class behind a shapely woman wearing enough perfume to make his eyes water. But he’d take the sickly sweet floral scent over the body odor and diesel-soaked cargo hold of a C130 transport any day.
With each passing row, the devil on his left shoulder grew more and more pissed with the angel cowering on his right as the evil little son of a bitch eyed the Star Trek-inspired first-class pods he’d given up. His one and only shot at flying in total luxury had vanished before he’d even had a chance to find out if Qantas let beat-up ex-grunt soldiers into first class.
What the hell could he have done? The poor woman had looked like she hadn’t slept in days, and that gorgeous bundle of smiles and nitroglycerin she’d clung to wasn’t going to sit still for thirty seconds, let alone the entire flight to Brisbane. The woman was still in for one hell of an ordeal despite being cocooned in first-class’s over-the-top opulence, but at least she’d have the privacy and space to stretch out and try to get some rest. If that failed, there was always the bottomless first-class wine and spirits list to dull the pain.
He counted down the rows until he reached twenty-four and stopped dead. The smug smile his act of chivalry had put on his face exploded into a full-blown shit-eating grin.
Thank you, karma.
The woman seated in 24I was definitely no rugby player and didn’t look anything like a military buff. Instead, the siren hiding behind a pair of sexier-than-hell black glasses was equal parts angel and seductress. She was too focused on scribbling in a bedazzled notebook with one of those tacky novelty pens to notice him. Which was just as well considering the battle his brain was having with his groin for control of his eyes.
The book was as bright and flamboyant as the shocking pink scarf wrapped around her head and the lime-green T-shirt sheathing her torso. He should’ve cleared his throat, tapped his foot, said something, but he was too captivated by the view to even open his damned mouth. The scarf’s silken ends nestled in the porcelain valley between the delicate slope of her neck and the collar of what looked like a Wonder Woman T-shirt. But he was too terrified of getting sprung ogling her cleavage to be sure. She nibbled her bottom lip and studied what she’d scrawled down on her list before licking the tip of a delicate finger and turning the page.
She froze and slowly lifted her gaze. Hiding behind the thick black frames perched on her delicately crooked nose were a pair of amber irises as stunning as they were unforgettable. The hum of the turbines disappeared and the cabin noise faded to silence as those incredible eyes widened and her luscious pink lips parted. He knew as much about ma
keup as he did about fashion, but she didn’t look to be wearing any. Hell, she didn’t need makeup. Her skin was so flawless it shimmered under the glow of the cabin lights. She must have been in remission, because there was no way someone bursting with so much life could be even the slightest bit sick. It was like whoever had created her DNA had condensed every Middle Eastern desert sunset and sunrise he’d endured into the exquisite creature sitting before him.
The mature thing to do would’ve been to apologize and stop leering at her. But before he could unscramble his brain and open his mouth, she jerked upright and bumped her elbow on the armrest. The notebook slipped from her fingers and tumbled onto the floor. She lunged for the book but only succeeded in knocking it farther under her seat.
Still high from his earlier random act of kindness and panicked from being caught gawking at the poor woman, he dropped to one knee and fished for the book without any regard for the cramped surroundings or respect for her personal space. Before he’d realized what he’d done, his forearm was buried behind the woman’s jean-clad calves and his cheek lay a day’s stubble growth from hers. The intoxicating scent of vanilla, honey, and a thousand other mouthwatering aromas enveloped him as he latched on to the first thing he touched—her warm, delicate fingers.
The sensory overload of her skin sliding against his short-circuited his brain. He froze with his meaty paw clutching her hand and his lips just inches away from getting him tasered by an air marshal and dragged off the plane. Years of training and hard-fought experience had conditioned him to come up with last-second solutions to impossible problems, but for several terrifying seconds all he could do was stare.
Her fingers twitched and snapped him out of his trance. He plastered a smile across his stupid mug as he readjusted his grip and shook her hand. “G’day. Looks like I’m your neighbor for the next thirteen hours.”
...
And there he was, the romance novel hero from the check-in desk in all his unshaven, tousled, cowboy glory. His words drifted across Abi’s face on gusts of peppermint-scented breath that had her fighting the urge to lean closer.
“I’m Ryder.”
He’d spent a lifetime outdoors, but the sun hadn’t been the only thing responsible for his work-hardened bronze skin. The right corner of his mouth curved into a crooked grin sexy enough to require birth control. His hand engulfed hers, huge and rock-crushingly powerful, but instead of making her feel trapped, his touch felt more like a caress and sent her heart rate skyrocketing. She stared into slate-gray eyes that looked to have survived multiple lifetimes, and there she stayed, caught in a fragment of time and space completely divorced from the world bustling around her.
His presence was so overwhelming she had no idea what was happening on her face, but she hoped she returned his smile. “I’m Abi…Abigail…Abi.” The words dribbled out of her mouth with the grace and sophistication of a drunk clown stumbling down stairs.
His smile widened until the skin around his eyes crinkled. “I’m very pleased to meet you…Abi, Abigail, Abi.”
His cultured tone stood out like a tourist against the backdrop of dark-brown stubble covering his granite jaw, but buried within the words was an unmistakable Down Under twang that had visions of pristine white beaches, endless red dust, and virgin-eating crocodiles flooding her mind. Amid the crowds at check-in he’d resembled a weather-beaten mountain man, but up close and personal he looked more like the naked slab of beefcake trapped inside the novelty pen clutched in her hand. He shared a resemblance to Mr. Hemsworth, but he wasn’t pretty enough to be Thor. Oh no, this guy was the God of Thunder’s bigger, scarier brother. The brother Thor ran to when the Hulk beat him up.
She sucked in a breath and willed her mouth to work. “Just Abi.”
“Abi.”
The sound of her name rumbling between his lips reminded her of summer thunderstorms rolling over L.A. Was it his voice, or the monstrous calloused fingers cradling hers, or the scent of soap, leather, and pure unadulterated one-hundred-proof man enveloping her? She had no freaking idea. But for the first time in a very, very, very long time, she felt completely, unconditionally, and undeniably female.
His fingers rasped over her skin as he released her hand and rummaged under her seat for the notebook celebrating the mortifying truth of the pathetic state of her life in sparkly silver ink. She widened her smile until her cheeks cramped and tried kick-starting her stalled brain. “Please don’t worry, I’ll grab it later.”
“Not a problem, almost there.” He chewed his bottom lip and leaned closer until his massive bicep brushed the outside of her knee, and his eyes hovered just inches away from hers. The shards of emerald, sapphire, and copper radiating from his pupils transformed his storm-gray irises into an explosion of color. A thick, jagged scar marred his left temple, and the stubble covering his cheeks failed to conceal another pair of scars running along the left side of his jaw. She hated thinking about what had caused the injuries, but they only added to his cheeky-bad-boy-who’s-going-to-steal-your-heart-rip-it-out-and-stomp-on-it allure.
The worn black T-shirt straining against his torso was just like any five-dollar top choking the shelves of the nearest Walmart, but it looked like a superhero costume on him. Arms as big as her thighs stretched the frayed hems of the sleeves while a chest that could double as a movie screen pulled on the cotton fibers until she was sure they’d rip apart if he sneezed. It wasn’t that the shirt was three sizes too small, the mountain man, cowboy, and heartbreaker was just that big.
The butterflies that had taken flight in her belly froze and plummeted into the pit of her stomach. In all her romance-novel-inspired euphoria she’d completely forgotten that instead of sporting Jennifer Aniston’s hair, she’d donned the shocking pink scarf her favorite fourth-grade sweetheart had given her. She reached for the tips of it before stopping and lowering her hand as casually as she could. What was the point? It wasn’t as if he’d missed the neon-pink silk sheathing her head. Why the hell hadn’t she listened to Olivia and just worn the damned wig?
She waited for his gaze to inch up her forehead and his smile to dim into that all-too-familiar look of pity. But his eyes remained locked on hers and that amazing smile widened even farther as he edged closer. He studied her with the amused curiosity of a lion toying with a defenseless gazelle, and she gazed back…like the tiny stupid grass-eating herbivore she was.
After flying solo for so long, having all that male bulk just inches away from mission control terrified and excited her in ways that had her adrenaline-soaked brain conjuring up Olivia’s preflight orders all over again.
“Got it.”
She stiffened and prayed her book of secrets hadn’t fallen open to the page Olivia had illustrated. But when her rhinestone-encrusted bucket list emerged, it was mercifully closed.
He dropped his gaze to her book, which looked like a deck of playing cards in his hand, and trailed his thumb over the rhinestones. “Now this is a notebook.” He grinned and held it out. “This looks really special. I’m sorry I startled you.”
She breathed him in and lost herself in his smile as she accepted the notebook. As time ticked by, the romance novel visions flashing through her mind slowly evaporated and the real world closed in around her like a thick, damp fog.
He was…he was…just too much—too much muscle, too much charm, and too much alpha-male confidence and experience to even bother being her first dance partner. He probably needed a dedicated hard drive just to store his little black book. Plus, the guy was sure to be packing enough weaponry down below to arm a small African republic.
Reality crashed over her and drowned the butterflies still clinging to life in her belly. The guy was a supercharged Ford F-150, and she was a learner driver. What she needed was a Toyota Prius, something small, slow, safe, and environmentally friendly. Spending thirteen hours beside anyone was going to be excruciating, but spending that long pretending to be something she wasn’t was as insane as it was pathetic. And even Ms. An
iston’s hair wasn’t changing that.
Instead of cramping her style, the cold, hard truth set her free. No censoring her potty mouth, no toning down her sarcasm or sucking in her belly, and no pretending to be a normal twenty-eight-year-old single woman. She could be herself. Well, not totally herself. Olivia was the only person deserving of that punishment.
The tension in her chest eased and allowed her to draw in her first decent breath since he’d knelt beside her and eclipsed her world. Making sure to keep Mr. Hemsworth’s boxers in place, she tucked her pornographic pen into the spine of her notebook and shoved them into the seat pocket. She drew in another long, steadying breath, stared straight into the lion’s eyes, and slowly shook her head.
“I’m sorry, there must’ve been a mistake. You can’t sit here. I specifically asked Qantas for a seat next to a tall, dark, handsome stranger.”
Chapter Three
Holy shit, she was flirting with him…wasn’t she? Or had his numb mind imagined the whole thing? Her scent lingered in Ryder’s nostrils as he leaned away and dragged himself to his feet with the aid of the seat behind him. Maybe if he wasn’t so close to her he’d be able to think. Because whatever the hell sort of voodoo she had going on scrambled his brain. He couldn’t figure out what was sexier, the aroma drifting off her skin, the playfully seductive Californian accent pouring between her candy-pink lips, or those damned eyes that seemed to peer right into the depths of his soul.
The cheeky smile that had bunched her cheeks faded, and the tension that had drained from her body just moments earlier crept back into her torso.
Against All Odds (Outback Hearts) Page 2