Misplaced Hands: 4 (Foreign Affairs)

Harper Shaw hitched her bag farther up her shoulder, smiled at the Australian cowboy standing before her and thought,
This is not what I was expecting.

The cowboy’s own smile spread wider over his brown, leathery face. He leaned forward, hooking his fingers around the handle of her suitcase. “You must be the American teacher, right? Welcome t’ Australia.”

“Thank you, Mr.…err…” She gave the cowboy an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name yet.”

The cowboy pushed his very worn hat back on his head. “Ronnie will do nicely, miss.”

Harper wasn’t sure which was drier, the gravelly sound of his voice, the red dirt surrounding her or the air she pulled into her lungs with every breath.

So far autumn in the Outback wasn’t anything like what she’d told her fifth graders. It wasn’t as hot, she hadn’t seen any kangaroos bouncing around and no one had tried to make her eat Vegemite, something every Australian celebrity who went on Leno insisted was delicious.

Nor was the cowboy in front of her anything like the
two
cowboys her Australian best friend, Amy Wesson, had said would be collecting her from the airport. Not that she’d told her students how she’d expected the cowboys to look. That conversation had been reserved for after-work cocktails with the few girlfriends she had back in Chicago. In those chats, the cowboys who collected her at the airport—Keith Munroe and Marc Thompson—looked like Ryan Gosling, sounded like Chris Hemsworth and removed their shirts the second they saw her.

This
cowboy was more…homely.

Oh God, Harper, are you really so superficial?

Disgusted with herself, she bit back a soft snort. She was here to teach a small group of Australian elementary-aged children, not have a trans-global affair, no matter how erotic it sounded.

Okay, that
was
kind of what she was here for. She had, after all, promised herself and her best friend she would do the opposite of everything she’d normally do back home, and back home she was damn near close to being a shut-in. The only boyfriend she’d had in the last four years had been scared off by Andrew—who was the
other
reason she’d journeyed so far away from home. She needed to get away from her brother. He was on the verge of delivering one of his “big brother knows best” lectures and, by the serious tone in his voice during their last phone conversation, it was going to be a doozy.

Spending two weeks teaching in a small school on an Outback ranch was just what she needed. A chance to prove she was capable of standing on her own two feet. Of being independent. Of being a woman, damn it.

It had sounded so exciting when she and Amy had discussed it. The young teacher Harper had met online a year ago had painted such an evocative picture of life in the Australian Outback, Harper couldn’t resist suggesting a “life swap” for two weeks. A brief escape to cloudless sweeping skies, air so fresh it was sweet, young students enamored with everything American, cowboys so sexy they hurt to look at, kangaroos, Tim Tams and an adventure beyond her imagination.

Now, standing on the dusty runway of the airport at Cobar, the small town closest to the ranch, out in the middle of nowhere with not a tree—or kangaroo—in sight, let alone a building higher than two stories, Harper wondered if she’d been too eager to pursue the exchange.

“Shell-shocked, ’eh love?” Ronnie grinned. “Yeah, reckon the Outback is a bit different to where you’re from. But don’t panic yet. Wait until you get to Farpoint.”

Harper adjusted the brand-new designer sunglasses she’d bought just for this trip, the brilliant autumn sky bright against her eyes. Eyes that had grown accustomed to spending the last twenty-six hours either inside a plane or an airport terminal. “It’s very…different.”

Ronnie laughed. “City sheila?”

“City what?”

He laughed again, the sound close to boisterous guffaws. “Sorry, I’m messin’ with ya. You’re a city girl, yes? Never been outta the big smoke?”

Harper was sure he was speaking English. Maybe?

“You’ll love Farpoint,” he went on. “Promise. I’ve worked there for the last fifteen years and wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Started as a wet-behind-the-ears jackaroo when I still sounded like a girl.” He turned and began walking toward some sort of red-dirt-covered vehicle that looked as if it wanted to be a pickup when it grew up.

Harper didn’t follow. Not straightaway. She stood and stared at the alien world she’d committed to spending the next fourteen days in. A world, it seemed, without green. Red dust blew around her ankles. A flock of bone-white birds flew overhead, their screeching calls harsh on her ears.

“Comin’, miss?”

She started. “Um, Amy said Keith Munroe and Marc Thompson would be—”

“They got caught up with a cow,” Ronnie cut her off. “I’m a better driver anyway.”

Harper chewed her lip for a second before giving the waiting man a nod. She’d never get in a car with a stranger back home. Ever.

The opposite of everything, remember?

She tilted her chin and smiled at Ronnie. “Coming.”

By the time she’d caught up to the cowboy, he’d placed her suitcase in the back of the baby pickup and was holding the passenger door open for her. A little giggle bubbled up in Harper’s throat as she climbed inside. The
left
door. How weird was it going to be sitting on the left side of a car and not driving?

Oh if Andy could only see me now.

Harper suppressed another giggle. If Andrew Shaw could see her now, he’d skin her alive. Her loving but thoroughly overprotective big brother had no idea she was flying to Australia, let alone spending time on a ranch out in the middle of the Outback. And he
wouldn’t
know either. She’d be home before he returned from his location shoot in the South Pacific. There’d be nothing he could do except scowl and take the boomerang she’d already bought for him in one of the Sydney Airport’s many gift shops. Even if he did talk to Amy, Harper had sworn her best friend to secrecy.

She’d never kept secrets from her big brother before. What a way to begin.

“Whaddaya know about Farpoint, miss?”

She looked up from buckling her seat belt. “It’s the second largest cattle ranch in Australia, so big it has its own small school for the children of the people who work on it. The staff include over twenty hired hands to help with the cattle, a resident veterinarian, a cook for the hands, a mechanic, maintenance crew of five, laundry staff of two and numerous teenage boys training to be cowboys—I mean jackaroos.

“It follows an Aussie tradition of allowing employees and their families to live on the property, making Farpoint Creek one of Australia’s most respected working ranches by government-supported family groups. There are seven separate living quarters, along with the main homestead where the owners live. It uses light planes most times to muster up the cattle, which are predominately Black Angus. Horses are used for rounding up smaller herds in the closer fields. It employs up to seventy people during peak birthing and mustering season, the closest town is Cobar, it’s been owned by the same family—the Sullivans—for over two hundred years and is now run by identical twin brothers, Hunter and Dylan.”

Ronnie let out a whistle. “Well done!”

She shrugged with a smile. “We teachers do our homework.”

“So y’know to keep a lookout for the drop bears when walkin’ outside then?”

Harper raised her eyebrows. She’d taught her class all about the poisonous snakes and spiders that inhabited the Australian Outback, but drop bears? What on earth were drop bears? “The what?”

Sliding the key into the ignition, the cowboy chuckled. “Nasty buggers, those drop bears. Best remedy to keep ’em away is to smear a dab of Vegemite behind your ears.”

If it was possible, Harper’s eyebrows lifted farther up her forehead. “Are you serious?”

Whatever Ronnie said was lost to her as he started the engine, filling the cabin with a roaring grumble.

Thirty minutes later, Harper knew she’d never complain about traveling on the infamous Chicago L train again. The baby pickup, or “ute”, as Ronnie called it, bounced and bumped and shuddered over a length of corrugated dirt apparently considered a road in this part of Australia. Red dust poured in through the open windows, making her cough and splutter. When she’d attempted to close hers, Ronnie mentioned the air conditioner in the ute was “on the fritz” and it would be better to leave it down.

Shifting on her seat, she clung to the seat belt as if it were a lifeline. And with the way the cowboy was driving, it probably was. Ronnie, however, didn’t seem ruffled at all by the clunking noises coming from the vehicle. He spent the entire trip filling her in on everything he figured she needed to know about Farpoint Creek, such as not to call it a ranch but a “station” or “property”; not to walk around outside barefoot; not to go swimming in the “billabongs”—natural swimming holes on the property—before checking for snakes.

Finally, after what felt like an interminable distance, he settled on his current subject—Amy’s friends, Marc Thompson and Keith Munroe.

“You gotta watch out for ’em,” Ronnie said, his gaze on the road as they all but became airborne driving over what looked like a shallow, dried-up creek. “They’re cheeky buggers. They take little in life serious and they know how to charm the ladies, but…”

“But?” Harper prodded.

He slid her a sideways look. “They’re…well, y’know…
that
way inclined.”

The tone of Ronnie’s voice piqued Harper’s interest. It wasn’t condemning or contemptuous. More like humored. Gay cowboys? Amy hadn’t mentioned anything about Keith and Marc being gay. She’d mentioned a lot of things about them—that they were awesome fun to be with, that they made Amy laugh all the time. Keith had considered a career in the professional rodeo circuit after winning the amateur championships five times running. Marc once wrestled a massive croc to save a dingo pup stuck in mud. But gay? Amy had never discussed their sexual orientation.

Of course, her friend also hadn’t said anything about drop bears, whatever the hell they were. “Why do I need to watch out for them?”

“They make a joke out of leadin’ the ladies on,” Ronnie answered with a smirk. “See who can suck ’em in first. Get the first kiss. Thomo is leadin’ the count at the moment, but Blue is catching up.”

“Kiss? Thomo?” Harper blinked again. “Blue?”

Ronnie chuckled. “They don’t think anyone knows and I reckon the bosses would give ’em a right bloody serve if they found out, but just you be watching out for ’em, okay, miss? In fact, it might be for the best if you let me look out for you for a few days. I can come and collect you from Miss Wesson’s place every mornin’ for breakfast if you like?”