Wild Irish: Outback Wild (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Lexxie Couper

  Text copyright ©2017 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Maribeth Carmichael. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Wild Irish remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Maribeth Carmichael, or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  Outback Wild

  By Lexxie Couper

  Dedication: To Blue. AKA, Mari Carr. For asking me to be a part of this amazing adventure of hers. And for being my friend.

  Outback Wild

  Baz Kerrigan is traveling the world, tying up loose ends for his uncle—the man who raised him and the only family he’s got. A guy from a small Outback town, Baz is ready to cut loose, knowing any moment he’ll be required to take over the running of the pub his uncle owns. No strings. All fun. That’s Baz’s current life philosophy.

  But then he walks into an Irish pub in Baltimore, and everything changes.

  Hayley Miller loves Pat’s Pub. It’s like a second home for her, and not just because her cousin, Natalie, married into the Collins family. The people she meets in Pat’s Pub are amazing, and as a journalist intern, Hayley is very much about meeting and observing people. She’s not prepared however, for her reaction to the Aussie cowboy who’s in the pub, looking for Nat.

  Hayley’s never been a fan of one-night stands, but she’ll happily make an exception for Baz Kerrigan.

  But what happened when one night isn’t enough for either of them? Especially when Baz will be returning to Australia very very soon…

  Chapter One

  “I feel like I’m right in the middle of a living joke right now.”

  Baz Kerrigan turned to the hulking Brit standing beside him and frowned. “Why?”

  Neville Ledger smirked. “An Australian, an Englishman and a Canadian walk into a bar…”

  On Neville’s other side, Peter Tremblay—the Canadian component of the joke—snorted. “An Australian, an Englishman and a Canadian walk into an American version of an Irish pub, you mean?”

  Baz chuckled, scanning the muted interior of Pat’s Pub. “It looks alright. Reckon whoever this Pat is, he knows a thing or two about pubs. And the Irish.”

  “Says the Aussie born and raised in an Outback drinking establishment.” Neville clapped Baz on the shoulder. “Now remember, lads, whoever scores last pays for tonight’s accommodations. Ready?”

  “Ready.” Peter rubbed his hands, checking out his surroundings.

  Baz shook his head. “I’m not here to score, mate. Not tonight, at least. I’m here—”

  “To deliver your dying uncle’s last wish.” Neville shook his shoulder. “That’s not going to stop you getting laid, Kerrigan.”

  “Uncle Lack would want you to get laid,” Peter suggested, tracking the path of a rangy redhead with broad shoulders, a trim ginger beard, and tight jeans across the pub’s dance floor.

  “Lacky,” Baz corrected with another chuckle. “Uncle Lacky. And he’s not dying, he’s just…tying up some loose threads.”

  Peter smirked at him. “I plan to do some tying up of my own tonight. Don’t wait up.”

  And with that, he strode across the floor towards the redhead.

  Neville laughed. “Game on, Kerrigan.”

  Baz shook his head, his own laugh low. “Knock your socks off, you pommy bastard.”

  Neville squeezed his shoulder one last time and, gaze locking on a petite brunette sitting at the bar, ditched him.

  Baz smiled. His traveling companions were, if nothing else, predictable. At every new town, in every new bar the three of them had arrived in since meeting up at Sydney Airport a month ago, Nev and Pete could be relied on to seduce their way into someone’s bed.

  Baz never lack for opportunity either, but his heart just wasn’t in it at the moment.

  Wild, uninhibited, no-strings sex was all well and good, but this trip was about tying up loose ends for his uncle.

  Something felt off about fucking his way around the world while Lacky—the man who’d raised him since he was a toddler—was fighting cancer.

  So far, in the six weeks since leaving the small Outback town he lived in, he’d delivered one of Lacky’s old Vietnam war medals to a doctor in Perth, a pencil sketch of a child to a retired soldier in Christchurch, New Zealand, a sealed envelope to a teacher in Austria, a single white rose to the daughter of a deceased general of the Japanese navy, and now here in Baltimore, USA, he was—he hoped—about to deliver the last of Lacky’s items.

  Whoever Lachlan “Lacky” Kerrigan was before he’d become Baz’s sole caregiver, he’d lived a mysterious life.

  And a secretive one. No matter how many times Baz asked him about it, all Lacky would do was smile and touch the side of his broken nose.

  One of these days Baz was getting answer.

  “Can I help you?"

  The soft female voice, laced with a curious mischief, made him jump.

  “I mean,” the young woman standing in front of him frowned, even as her lips—totally kissable lips—curled into a small smile, “you are standing in the doorway, after all. Blocking anyone wanting to get in.” Her smile turned playful. “Or out.”

  Baz gazed at her, taking in her lush curves, thigh-length floaty black dress that made those curves completely sinful, wavy blonde hair falling about her shoulders, and glacier-blue eyes. Bloody hell, she was gorgeous.

  “She’s trying to tell you to move, buddy.”

  Baz jumped—again—at the gruff growl directly behind him.

  An older man about his height, wearing a cap that read Baltimore Ravens, half scowled, half smiled at him.

  “Ah, shit.” Baz stumbled aside. “Sorry, mate.”

  Baltimore Ravens raised his eyebrows. “Australian?”

  “Yeah.” Baz grinned. “Baz Kerrigan. Howya going?”

  “Baz?”

  The playful laughter in the gorgeous blonde’s voice made Baz’s blood thicken. Grow hot.

  Not here for sex, Baz. Not here for sex.

  “Is that really your name?”

  He grinned at her, doing his best to keep his focus on her face. Checking her out again would only mess with his resolve to concentrate on Lacky’s wishes. He needed to find Natalie Collins, whoever she was, and give her the camera. Then he, Nev and Pete were heading to Vegas for a couple of nights—where he planned never to pay for accommodations.

  “I was christened Bartholomew McKenzie Kerrigan, but everyone calls me Baz.”

  Once again, the woman’s laughter played hell with his body. And libido. “Bartholomew McKenzie Kerrigan.” Her clear blue eyes twinkled with devilish mirth. “Did your parents not like you?”

  “Wouldn’t know.” He gave her a lopsided smile and shrugged. “They buggered off and left me when I was a baby.”

  Both Americans stared at him, their expressions stunned.

  “Ah, shit. Sorry ’bout that.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, grin sheepish. “I’m a shocker for killing the mood and making things awkward.”

  The man in the baseball cap frowned. The woman—hell, she truly was gorgeous—blinked.

  “Hey, listen,” he plowed ahead, shifting into recovery mode, “I’m actually here looking for someone. Would either of you know a woman called Natalie Collins? I’ve got to give her something.”

  The woman blinked again, flicking a glance at Mr. Baltimore Ravens.

  “I do,” the man said, stare locked on Baz. “Natalie’s my wife. Who the hell are you?”
/>
  Damn, why was her mouth dry?

  Watching the Australian turn to Ewan, Hayley licked her lips.

  He was hot. Really hot. Really can-I-cover-you-in-melted-chocolate-and-lick-it-off hot. And for some reason, asking about her cousin.

  Her cousin who—to the best of Hayley’s knowledge—didn’t know any Australians.

  Baz Kerrigan stuck out his hand to Ewan. “Not here to make a move on her, mate,” he said, grin relaxed. Christ, his accent was as sexy as he was. “I’ve got something to give her from my uncle. Apparently they know each other.”

  Ewan’s eyebrows disappeared under his Raven’s cap. “Nat? Are you sure you’ve got the right Natalie?”

  “Natalie Collins? Was Natalie Miller?”

  “Yes, that’s Natalie,” Hayley said.

  Ewan scowled. “Natalie knows your uncle? Is he Australian as well?”

  Baz retrieved his untaken hand. He didn’t seem insulted that Ewan hadn’t completed the age-old greeting. “Don’t get much more Australian. He owns a pub in the Outback. Pretty certain Tooheys runs through his veins.”

  Ewan studied Baz, expression guarded. When it came to Nat, he was the proverbial protective husband. Hayley would never tell her cousin how romantic she thought it was. But oh, to one day have someone look at her the way Ewan looked at Nat.

  “What do you want to give her? What’s your uncle wanting her to have?”

  Baz narrowed his eyes, flicked a glance at Hayley—wow, did her sex really just get all fluttery?—and then smiled at Ewan again. Relaxed, friendly, but yeah, that was definitely a challenge. “That’s for Natalie to find out first.”

  “She’s my wife.”

  “And he’s my uncle. The only family I’ve ever had. And he’s asked me to give something to Natalie and deliver her a message. Not give something to Natalie’s husband.”

  “Hey hey hey.” Hayley stepped between her cousin-in-law and Baz, arms outstretched. “Take a chill pill, guys.”

  Baz burst out with a sigh, and then gave her another sheepish smile. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get antsy. I’m not normally a wanker like that.”

  Hayley smiled back. “It’s okay, isn’t it, Ewan?”

  Ewan’s eyebrows did their disappearing act into his cap again.

  “Honest, mate.” Baz cast him an apologetic look. “I’m not here for trouble. I’m just here to give Natalie something from my uncle, and then me and me mates will be on our way.”

  Hayley followed his nod into the pub, noticing a man roughly the size of a grizzly wearing a Union Jack T-shirt, chatting up a petite brunette. One of Baz’s mates he’d entered Pat’s Pub with. The other—a tall, dark and ridiculously good-looking guy—was leaning against the bar, talking to Padraig Collins.

  “Where are you going after?”

  Now why did she ask that?

  “After I leave here? Or after Baltimore?”

  “Baltimore.”

  Mischief twinkled in his hazel eyes. “Vegas.”

  A delicious heat bloomed in her girly bits. How much fun would Vegas be with this guy? Something told her a lot.

  “Bartholomew?”

  Hayley startled at Ewan’s gruff voice.

  “Baz,” he corrected with a smile, turning to him.

  Ewan held out his phone. “Nat for you.”

  Baz cocked a dark eyebrow and reached for Ewan’s phone.

  Ewan moved it just a little out of his reach. “It’s on speaker.”

  Baz laughed, flashing white teeth.

  Hayley couldn’t help but laugh as well. Baz Kerrigan didn’t seem to take offense at Ewan’s overprotectiveness.

  “G’day, Natalie?” Baz leaned at little towards the phone, his gaze floating above Ewan’s head.

  Was it wrong that she wished he’d look at her? With those playful hazel eyes of his?

  “This is Baz Kerrigan,” he went on, smile widening.

  Oh man, how had Hayley not seen that hint of a dimple in his right cheek before?

  “You don’t know me, but you know my uncle, Lachlan Kerrigan.”

  “Lacky?” Natalie’s surprised voice came from the phone’s speaker. “My god, is that cantankerous old son of a bitch still alive?”

  Baz chuckled, even as he rubbed at the back of his neck again, eyes closing.

  Hayley caught her lip with her teeth. He’d joked about his parents abandoning him without any hint of upset, but at Nat’s mention of his uncle he seemed almost…melancholy.

  “Still alive. You know what that bastard’s like. I reckon he’s going to give Death a run for his money. Anyways, I’m traveling about, tying up some loose ends for him, and he asked me to track you down. I’ve got a camera to give you.”

  A gasp came from Ewan’s phone.

  Ewan lifted the phone to his mouth, concern etching his face. “Nat? Babydoll? Is everything okay?”

  Baz flicked Hayley a grin. Babydoll? he mouthed.

  She hid her giggle behind her hand.

  “Everything is fine, Ewan,” Nat’s voice confirmed through the speaker. “Baz, are you being serious?”

  Lips twitching, Baz nodded. “I am. Lacky said there’s no one else he’d want to have it. When can I give it to you?”

  “I’m in Washington at the moment—a photography thing—but will be back in Baltimore in five days. Will you still be around then?”

  Hayley caught her bottom lip again.

  Please say yes, please say yes.

  “Sure.”

  She let out a sharp, shaky breath, and then looked away when Ewan gave her a quizzical frown.

  “I promised Lacky I’d give it to you,” Baz grinned at Ewan, “and you alone.”

  “Thank you.” Hayley heard the smile in Nat’s voice. “Ewan? Are you there?”

  Ewan hit the screen of his phone and raised it to his ear, turning away from Baz and Hayley. “I’m here, babydoll.”

  Hayley swallowed, studying the Australian before her. “So…can I ask about the camera?”

  That mischievous light danced in his eyes as he regarded her. “Depends. Can I ask your name?”

  “Hayley.” Her stomach fluttered, as if a million butterflies were conducting a rave in it.

  Baz tapped the brim of an invisible hat, dimple flashing again. “Hayley, the camera was once owned by Ansel Adams. Lacky and Ansel knew each other a long time ago, and Ansel gave it to him for reasons Lacky won’t tell me. Maybe Natalie will know the story behind it.”

  “Wow.” Hayley had seen all the books by Ansel Adams on Nat’s bookshelf and coffee table and bedside drawer. “Now I understand why she gasped.”

  Baz grinned. “I don’t know much about photography, but even I know it’s a bit of a big deal. Bigger if you’re a photographer like Natalie is.”

  Hayley nodded. “She’ll go crazy. Well, as crazy as Nat can go.”

  “Lacky warned me she’s a tough nut to crack.” He chuckled. “Didn’t warn me about the protective husband though, the bastard.”

  “Your uncle, or Ewan?”

  “My uncle.” He narrowed his eyes, lips twitching. “So, how do you know Natalie? You’re not Ewan’s little sister, are you?”

  “No, I’m Nat’s second cousin. Why?”

  He flashed another grin at her. “If that’s the way he reacts to a bloke talking to his wife, I reckon he’d go berko if I bought his little sister a drink.”

  Hayley’s heart smashed up into her throat. She swallowed, pulse pounding, and then—with a quick lick of her lips—smiled. “Good thing I’m not his little sister then, isn’t it?”

  Something wicked flared in Baz’s eyes. Something exciting.

  “A very good thing.” He stepped closer to her, close enough that the warmth of his body teased hers. “So, Hayley…can I buy you a drink?”

  Chapter Two

  They did tequila shots.

  Insane. He never did shots. Growing up in a pub, Baz knew the end result of shots. As a kid, he’d watched Lacky deal with the end result; as a teenager, Lacky
’d helped him deal with the end result, and he’d handled it himself as an adult when Lacky was having chemo.

  The Outback pub his uncle owned wasn’t all that rowdy, but when payday hit for the workers from the nearby mines, the place got a little…active.

  But there was something about Hayley Miller that made him…what? Cut loose? No, that wasn’t it. Every time she lifted the small glass filled with Jose Cuervo, she smiled at him over its rim. When she did that, a devilish light gleamed in her eyes, igniting a hungry fire deep inside him.

  Bloody hell, he could get addicted to that light. Could spend a lot of hours discovering just how many different ways he could make it dance there.

  Four glasses in, and he was beginning to contemplate exploring some of those options. Preferably without clothes.

  His body liked that idea.

  He blinked, picking up the fifth glass handed to him by the young bloke behind the bar—Wade? Slade? Something like that. Hell, he should have bailed on this one. He was tipsy. Not drunk; it took a bucket load more alcohol to inebriate him, but he was definitely feeling mellow. Lacky would give him shit. That wasn’t the Kerrigan way.

  “Last one,” he raised his glass to Hayley, “and then you’re showing me your dance moves.”

  That horny light danced in her blue eyes again, and she laughed. “Where’s your staying power, Bartholomew?”

  A jolt of liquid heat sank into Baz’s groin. When had his full name ever sounded so bloody sexy? “Depends. If we’re talking booze, I think I lost it a glass ago. If we’re talking something else…”

  Hayley licked her lips. “And if we are?”

  Baz downed his tequila, slammed his glass on the bar, and leaned towards her.

  She stared into his eyes, licked her lips again, and then glanced at his.

  “I can go all bloody night,” he answered.

  “To going all night.” She raised her glass to her lips, threw back her head and swallowed her tequila in one mouthful.

  Before he could stop himself, he brushed his lips over the creamy-smooth column of her throat.