Or maybe it was the relief of not being alone with the woman who had short-circuited his brain, destroyed his will, and set his body alight.
Chapter Thirteen
Olivia’s heart hammered in rhythm with the beat thundering through the soles of her borrowed boots as she and Jarrah entered the Grand Hotel’s main bar. She tried convincing herself the adrenaline flooding her system was a result of the mayhem generated by what must have been close to Baroona’s entire adult population. She was kidding herself. There was only one reason she hadn’t been able to suck in a full breath since she’d run out of the general store. And that reason led her through the crowd like a bodyguard.
Despite her temporary insanity back at the store, Jarrah hadn’t kissed her. Hell, he hadn’t even technically touched her. It was just as well one of them clung to some sanity. If he hadn’t hesitated and given her an opening to escape, she’d have ignored all the sensible reasons that had kept her from swallowing the red pill the night before and defiled him right there on the floor among the shelves of hats, clothes, and boots.
Maybe it’d been the gorgeous hat he’d made such an effort to choose for her, or the adorable way he’d nervously stuttered while describing his lengthy selection process. It might’ve even been the care he’d taken to nestle it onto her head. What had started as an innocent gesture to show him just how much she loved his gift had descended into lust-fueled stupidity the instant she’d stared into his eyes and realized what she’d unearthed inside herself.
A high-pitched scream cut through the hard rock and raucous chatter like a chainsaw. She spun toward the bar to find a pink-haired elderly woman clutching one chubby bejeweled hand to her mouth while resting the other on the cleavage barely restrained by her snug T-shirt.
The entire crowd turned as one toward them before exploding into a chorus of cheers that shook the hardwood floor and rattled the paraphernalia mounted on the walls. G’days and curses were interspersed with hugs, handshakes, and playful shoves as wave after wave of locals washed over Jarrah. He fought to stay by her side until the melee finally overwhelmed him and wrenched them apart. She retreated to the relative safety of the bar only to have the well-wishers turn on her as soon as they’d finished with Jarrah.
People of all shapes, nationalities, and ages descended on her and welcomed her into their tribe like a prodigal daughter. Between returning handshakes and hugs, and begging her own flash mob to call her Olivia, Liv, or anything other than Doc, she searched the crowd for Jarrah. Even with his height and coloring, he was difficult to spot among a crowd that looked more like an Aussie version of a United Nations assembly. Like Wingarra’s mustering crew, the bar’s patrons comprised Indigenous, European, Islander, and Asian Australians with the only common theme being their rugged fashion sense and their unmistakable Down Under twangs.
She caught sight of him just as he escaped the embrace of a voluptuous brunette, who, judging by the way she clung to him, had missed him more than everybody else. A jolt of what felt terrifyingly like jealousy froze her in place.
While she got back to exchanging welcomes with her own fan club, her brain sat the rest of her down and explained that she’d only known the man three days and they’d shared nothing more than a desperate round of groping and tongue wrestling. When she risked another glance his way and found him locked in the embrace of another voluptuous brunette, only this one male, all she could do was curse and grin.
His eyes locked on hers and her muscles clenched as surely as if he’d reached out and grabbed her. Like a swimmer battling the surf, he politely freed himself from another woman intent on saving his life and waded through the crowd toward her. She gave up yelling to him over the chaos and shook her head. His people had waited a year to welcome him home, and she was far from lonely. She burst out laughing and waved him away before turning her attention back to her welcoming committee.
Jeddah shouldered her way through her fan club and leaned in close. “Funny how my brother’s eyes always find you.”
Olivia tore her focus away from her fake arthritis patient, dear old Grandma Anderson, and found Jarrah’s sister smiling and shaking her head.
Jeddah wrapped a protective arm around Olivia and turned on her interrogators. “Back, you savages, back, before you scare Doc away.”
Great, there went her chances of ever having anyone call her by her real name. A chorus of frustrated sighs and mock complaints rose from the gaggle surrounding her as they exchanged insults with Jeddah. The only danger Olivia was in, was being hugged and questioned to death. After only having Abi to share her life with, it felt too damned good having so many people watching out for her, and she couldn’t help leaning into Jeddah’s embrace.
“If you want to see Doc, you’re going to have to make a booking.”
So much for people watching out for her. The elbow Olivia jabbed into her pimp’s ribs drew a satisfying grunt before Jeddah tightened her hold and leaned in close. “Don’t blow this. Most of these old chooks are part of the Country Women’s Association and bake even better than they gossip.”
The prospect of more treats had Olivia shutting up and smiling like the pastry junkie she was. Jeddah made their good-byes before ushering her through the chaos toward the back of the bar and a battered table surrounded by mismatched chairs that could’ve come straight from a yard sale.
The entire pub was a weird blend of old-west saloon, garage, and seventies basement lounge room, with a redneck charm and sense for the absurd that was uniquely Australian. Majestic hand-painted landscapes and striking indigenous murals hung alongside hundreds of framed photos, license plates, and lewd bumper stickers on the sandstone walls, while all manner of rusted tools, weathered saddles and bridles, ancient boots, and shredded hats hung from the rough-sawn timber beams supporting the second floor. It was like the Grand served as the junkyard, historical monument, art gallery, and spiritual home for the entire town.
Jeddah womanhandled her into a chair facing the crowd before taking the one beside her. “I like your hat.”
Olivia reflexively reached for the brim of her Akubra as that damned blend of anxiety and warmth spread through her. “It’s beautiful. I can’t believe he— I mean, I love it.”
Oh God, now she’d gone and done it. She was a California girl who’d spent a lifetime enjoying the sun, yet her city-girl tan wasn’t going to prevent Jeddah’s all-knowing eyes from detecting the flush bleeding into her cheeks.
“So, what kept you two?” Maddie grinned and pulled out the chair opposite while Kira danced around the table and plopped into the vacant chair beside her, effectively boxing Olivia in.
She should’ve known the other two predators stalked nearby. The three Harper lionesses hunted as a pride.
“We— I mean, I took a while to choose one.” Cursing herself, Olivia searched for backup and instantly regretted it as three pairs of eyes followed her pleading gaze straight to the man staring back at her from among a huddle near the bar.
Maddie eyed her for a long moment before whipping off her hat and placing it on the table beside her. Rivers of strawberry-blond tumbled over Maddie’s shoulders as she scrubbed her fingers through her hair and shook her head. “Enough of this lovey-dovey crap. Time for a drink.”
Despite Maddie being a bossy grouch, Olivia couldn’t help but like Wingarra’s cattle boss. Especially since Maddie’s thirst had saved her from jamming her other foot into her mouth.
Outback Barbie was a beautiful young woman in one of the harshest and most testosterone-rich environments imaginable, which ensured she had to work her ass off just to be taken seriously. Maddie also had the toughest job on the station, which meant she worked even harder and longer than the crew she commanded, like a battlefield general. No wonder she had so little time for pleasantries.
Olivia shot to her feet and almost knocked her chair over in the process. “What are you girls having?”
Maddie shook her head and jutted her chin toward the table. “Sit your arse d
own. Around here visitors don’t buy drinks. Especially ones who saved our brother’s life.”
Jeddah and Kira grabbed Olivia’s arms. She held her ground and met Maddie’s glare head on. “Maybe so. But where I’m from we like to thank the people who’ve welcomed us into their home. So you can save that fake death stare for your crew because it ain’t working on me, sweetheart.”
Jeddah and Kira oohed and aahed as they released her and turned to their sister. Maddie leaned back in her chair and propped one elbow over the back of her seat while running her gaze up and down Olivia. Maddie’s features grew eerily calm, which meant she was either about to unleash hell or burst out laughing.
With a bark of laughter Maddie shook her head and cursed. “You’re as stubborn as Abi, you know that?”
Olivia grinned. “Worse. Now what’ll it be?”
Maddie’s head still shook as she raised a finger. “Four X for me.”
Four X must have been the local brew, because along with all the other knick-knacks hanging over the bar perched a yellow sign with four huge red X’s printed in the center with the very classy tagline “Australians wouldn’t give a XXXX for anything else” running along the bottom.
“Make that two.” Jeddah held up two fingers before gesturing to Kira.
Kira held up three fingers and unleashed a smile that almost blinded Olivia.
Olivia took in the three women grinning back at her and raised four fingers. “It better not taste as bad as Vegemite.”
A sense of warmth seeped into her belly as she made her way to the bar. And it had nothing to do with the pub’s balmy atmosphere. She was already beginning to understand how Abi had fallen in love with this quirky paradise so quickly. How long had it been since she and Abi had had people looking out for them? How long had it been since they’d been part of a family?
“What’ll it be, honey?”
The serenity she’d enjoyed among the mayhem evaporated as a meaty paw latched onto her elbow. The man must have lumbered into the general store, laid down a thousand dollars, and demanded they make him look like a stockman because even though he wore the clothes, there was no way in hell his pasty-white skin and brand-spanking-new costume had spent a day in the sun. The Casanova with the ruddy complexion and beer cologne grinning down at her was big, refrigerator big, and knew it.
“I’m fine. Thank you.” She tried yanking her elbow free only to have his grip tighten.
“C’mon, honey. I’ve been waiting ages for you to escape your tribe.”
He’d delivered the sick joke with all the charisma of a corrupt politician and the longer she glared at his greasy slicked-back hair and meaty jowls, the tighter her right hand clenched and the sharper the bull’s-eye on the tip of his chin became. She’d probably break her knuckles on that boulder of a jaw but not before she’d rattled the pea-size brain sloshing around inside his bulbous head.
His cocky sneer turned into a sleazy grin. “Dean Manningham, CEO of Carter Industries, at your service. And I’m buying you a drink, gorgeous.”
He’d introduced himself as if the mere mention of his name was foreplay. All she registered through the red haze consuming her vision was Carter Industries. This wasn’t just some rich arrogant asshole pushing his luck. This was the arrogant asshole who’d tried stealing Wingarra.
She unclenched her jaw and drew in a long, slow breath. Forcing her fingers to relax, she widened her stance ever so slightly and prepared to deliver a wiser, if less satisfying, palm heel to the asshole’s chin. If the fucker didn’t take the hint, then she’d unleash her fists on the fleshier parts of his anatomy. “You’ve got three seconds to remove your hand.”
One. His slimy grin turned septic as the clock counted down. Two. His bravado faltered as his boozed-up brain finally realized she wasn’t playing. But instead of releasing her, his grip tightened and his features turned feral. Three!
Gentle fingers captured her right hand and trapped it against an abdomen.
“Dean. We have to stop meeting like this, otherwise people will start talking.”
With a nonchalance that was as subtle as it was unstoppable, Jarrah shouldered his way between her and the Neanderthal she’d been a heartbeat away from dropping and extended his right hand. Dean’s bloodshot eyes toggled between Jarrah’s hand and the paw still clutching her before he grunted an unintelligible greeting and released her elbow.
Jarrah captured Dean’s hand and casually eased her out of range. “I see you’ve already introduced yourself to my friend, Dr. Olivia Williams.”
Dean’s glare shot to her before returning to Jarrah. “I was rescuing her from—” He snorted and jutted his chin toward Jeddah, Maddie, and Kira. “From the locals.”
Dean delivered the insult with the contempt of a slave owner as his beefy forearm tensed and his grip clenched around Jarrah’s hand.
The smooth plains of Jarrah’s arm transformed into cable below the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt as he calmly nodded and half turned to her. “Dean’s the CEO of Carter Industries. You have him to thank for the Glenfiddich.”
Her own anger surrendered to the ice-cold rage radiating from Jarrah and the terrifying calm flowing between his words. The CEO had no idea what the Glenfiddich reference was. However, he’d sure as hell guessed its implications. Dean’s jaw tensed and his lips pulled back to reveal cigarette-stained teeth as his arm shook and the sweat that had beaded across his forehead trickled down his reddening cheeks.
Jarrah turned to her and raised an eyebrow. “Would you like to share a drink with Dean, Doctor?”
The casualness with which Jarrah asked the question had her silently shaking her head. There were so many things she wanted to tell the arrogant son of bitch towering over them, but her revulsion made it impossible.
Dean whimpered and rocked on his feet as his scowl turned pleading and his gaze darted between her and the contorted fingers crushed in Jarrah’s hand. Jarrah simply nodded and continued studying the man crumbling before him.
The color bled from Dean’s face and his grunts turned to moans before Jarrah finally released him. “It’s been lovely speaking with you, Dean. However, I’m afraid the doctor and I have to get back to our family. I hope you enjoy your time in Baroona.”
Macho bullshit had never excited her, yet she couldn’t stop shaking her head and gawking at Jarrah as he guided her through the oblivious crowd toward the bar. The ice-cold fury that had radiated from him gave way to a warmth that flowed through her courtesy of the hand he’d placed on the small of her back and the body that seemed to surround her in a protective cocoon.
“I was tempted to let you launch that palm heel you had locked and loaded.” Jarrah smiled and waved to the three men glaring back at them from the opposite corner of the pub. “But I doubted Dean’s entourage would’ve been happy with you knocking out their boss.”
In her rage, she’d failed to notice Dean’s backup. They must have received a group discount from the general store because they were dressed almost exactly the same as Dean and could’ve served as the fucker’s backup singers.
“Relax. They wouldn’t have made it within five meters of us. But why ruin everyone’s night?”
He nodded to Dave, Mick, and Darren, who’d magically emerged from the crowd. The three sneaky stockmen had been clinging to life that afternoon while loitering outside the Big House and chatting her up. Nothing appeared to be the slightest bit wrong with them now. After returning Jarrah’s nod, they exchanged warning glares with Dean’s backup dancers before blending back into the festivities.
The hand Jarrah pressed to her back slid around her waist and the teenage girl inside her squeed before she could pull her shit together. She wasn’t proud of her reaction. The man she’d believed couldn’t get much sexier had just turned the mojo up to eleven.
“May I buy you and your girlfriends a drink, Doc?”
Make that twelve. She reveled in the sensations flooding her before narrowing her eyebrows and shaking her head. “Not a chan
ce in hell. But I’d sure like to buy you one, cowboy.”
Without giving him a chance to argue, she whipped out her credit card and passed it to the pink-haired woman behind the bar who seemed to be running the show. “Four Four Xs please and a drink for my tall, dark, and handsome stranger.”
The woman’s makeup almost cracked as her features erupted into a smile that was even more impressive than her bar. “Oh honey, put that away. Baroona’s future mayor will never pay for a drink in my place.”
Future mayor? She spun on Jarrah only to find him shaking his head and hitching a thumb over his shoulder. “Nice try, sweetheart. There’s no way in hell I’m babysitting this lot.” Jarrah pulled himself over the bar and smacked a kiss onto the woman’s chubby cheek before turning back to her. “Doc, I’d like to introduce Helen Charmichael: owner of the Grand Hotel, breaker of hearts, and Baroona’s current, future, and everlasting mayor.”
Helen gushed before slapping Jarrah away. “You’ll come around. Only a matter of time.” She tilted her head and jabbed a ring-encrusted finger at him. “And as far as looking after us, you’ve been doing that since you stopped being a cheeky little shit and got that fancy law degree.”
Jarrah shrugged. “Had to grow up sometime.”
Helen shared a hell of a lot more than a silent smile with Jarrah before sighing and regarding her. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you, Doc. I see the rumors are true.”
Olivia returned Helen’s smile before hitching a thumb over her shoulder at the Harpers. “What lies have these deadbeats been spreading about me?”
Helen filled the glass she’d been pouring before shaking her head. “Sweetheart, you’re just what this smart-ass deserves.” Helen paused and leaned closer. “And it just so happens we have a fully functional, if a little outdated, medical clinic ready and waiting for you right in town if you decide to hang around.”
A Choice of Fate Page 13
