Misplaced Hands
Lexxie Couper & Mari Carr
Foreign Affairs, Book Four
A “life swap” with her Australian friend finds Harper on Farpoint Creek Cattle Station, resident teacher for the next two weeks. Having rarely left Chicago, she’s unprepared for many things Down Under—not the least of which is an instant, and instantly intense, attraction to not one, but two Aussie cowboys. She’d promised herself an adventure, so when the handsome pair come calling, Harper dives in. Literally.
Stockmen Keith and Marc are head over heels in lust with the American teacher, though the attraction brings about some surprising revelations. Such as how right it feels to share a woman. This woman. No jealousy between the lifelong mates, just a burning need to bring Harper pleasure. Together. And they do so—until an unsettling event unearths her tragic revelation.
Between Harper’s inability to confide in the men and her stay at Farpoint racing to an end, it seems inevitable their loving ménage will soon break apart. Doesn’t it?
Inside Scoop: This story has a very brief recollection of child abuse. Good thing Harper has two strong stockmen to chase away bad memories.
A Romantica® contemporary erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
Misplaced Hands
Mari Carr & Lexxie Couper
Chapter One
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 cat
tle, 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?”
“Err…”
Before she could formulate anything more intelligent than that, something slammed into the ute.
A deafening crunch filled the cabin as Harper and Ronnie were thrown forward against their seat belts. Ronnie let out a “Shit!” and then they were motionless.
“What the hell was that?” Harper burst out, swiping her hair from her eyes before snaring her sunglasses where they’d tumbled to her feet.
“Bloody hell.” Ronnie shoved opened his door and scrambled out of the ute. “Think we hit a ’roo.”
Harper’s stomach lurched. A ‘roo? Kangaroo?
She struggled with her seat belt then pushed open her door and tumbled out, dirt puffing up around her wrists in tiny clouds as her hands hit the road. Damn, her head swam.
“Nope.” The cowboy’s voice came from the front of the ute. “It’s gone. Must have only clipped the bugger.”
Harper pushed herself to her feet, massaging her neck where the seat belt had rubbed against it. Moving to where Ronnie stood scratching the back of his head, she turned her attention to the front of the ute. “Holy crap!”
Ronnie chuckled. “Yeah, they’ll do some damage, the big reds. I’m guessin’ that’s what we hit.”
Harper gaped at the twisted bull bar and crumpled right fender. “It got away? The truck looks like that and it got away? How big is a big red?” She swung around to stare at him, her stomach rolling. “Is it going to be okay?”
Ronnie took off his hat, swiped at his forehead with his arm and returned his hat to his head. “It’s nowhere around, which means it’s fine. I’ll let one of the hands know when we get back to Farpoint to come take a look, just in case.”
Harper’s stomach rolled some more. “In case what?”
The cowboy shrugged. “In case it hasn’t got as far as we think and needs to be put down.”
“Oh God.”
“Welcome to the Outback, miss. Let’s go. Mrs. Sullivan is waitin’ for you and she’ll have my arse if I take too long gettin’ you there.”
He turned and climbed back into the driver’s seat, giving her an expectant look from behind the wheel.
Harper ran a slow inspection over the arid, flat terrain surrounding them; red dirt, a few ash-gray eucalyptus trees, red dirt, some kind of spiky straw grass and red dirt. Not a kangaroo to be seen.
She frowned, unable to comprehend it. What kind of animal got up and bounced away from being hit by a goddamn pickup? Sorry, ute? What kind of animals did they breed in this part of the world?
Big ones, apparently.
With one last futile scan for a wounded kangaroo of any color, she made her way back to the passenger seat.
“Wrong side, miss.” Ronnie looked up at her from behind the steering wheel.
Biting back a sigh, Harper stomped her way from the right side of the ute to the left, yanked open the door and dropped into the seat, choking on the cloud of dust that billowed up around her the second her butt hit the vinyl. This was so not what she had expected when booking her flight.
Welcome to Oz, Harper Kirsten Shaw. Are you ready to live in Opposite Land?
* * * * *
Keith Munroe climbed down from his horse, wiped his hands on his arse and fixed his hat. He was hot, sweaty, stinky and in a bad mood. Not good for the beginning of the weekend.
“I’m going to bloody well thump the shit out of Big Mac when he gets back here.”
Marc Thompson climbed down from his own horse, a young stallion called Kilowatt. “Why? ’Cause you were stupid enough to believe him when he told you a cow was stuck in the
old eastern-side billabong? Or because he collected the American instead of us?”
Keith snorted, giving Whippet a pat on her neck before walking her into the stable. “Both. But mainly the first. Bloody bastard.”
“Yeah, well, he pulled the wool over my eyes too.” Marc followed, leading Kilowatt into his pen. The stallion snorted, nudging Marc in the shoulder before giving Whippet a baleful glare.
Settling Whippet in her pen, Keith began to hose her down. “You think Big Mac sent us off on a wild goose chase to get back at us for the YouTube clip?”
Marc raised his head from Kilowatt’s saddle. “Yeah, reckon so. You think he’s going to develop a sense of humor one of these days?”
Keith stroked Whippet’s neck. “Nope. Although this one, I kinda understand. There’s not many blokes who want footage on the ’net for the whole world to see of them singing the national anthem while pissed as a fart, wearing nothing but an Australian flag around their shoulders. He might have a point this time.”
Marc’s face—deeply tanned by a lifetime working in the Outback sun—twisted into a mask of mock dismay. “Oi, there’s footage of me doing the exact same thing and you don’t see me pitching a fit about it, do you?”
Keith rolled his eyes as he hung up Whippet’s bridle. “That’s because you were the one who uploaded it, dickhead. And, unlike Ronnie, you’re hung like a bloody horse.”
Marc repositioned his hat farther back on his head. “That I am, Blue. And thank you for noticing.”
Keith threw his grooming brush across the aisle at the smirking jackaroo, who snatched it out of the air. “Jesus, how big is your ego?”
Marc lobbed the brush back at him. “As big as my dick, mate. As big as my—”
Without finishing the sentence, Marc dropped behind Kilowatt’s side, disappearing from sight.
Keith frowned. “What the bloody hell are you doing now?”
“I would suggest,” a soft but supremely authoritarian female voice uttered to Keith’s left, “wasting time in the stables gloating when he should be collecting an American from Cobar.”
Misplaced Hands: 4 (Foreign Affairs) Page 1
