A Girl's Guide to the Outback

by Jessica Kate

  “You’re not allowed to look. Kim’s orders.”

  “I’ll trip on my crutch.”

  “I can fix that.”

  Jumping out, he came around to her side of the vehicle and pulled open her door. He held out his hand for her crutch.

  She eyed him with suspicion and held it toward him.

  Mick ducked under her outstretched arm, grasped her around the waist, and tossed her over his shoulder.

  “Mick!” The name came out as a cross between a squeal and a laugh as his shoulder squished her diaphragm. She dropped her crutch and pushed herself up against his back. “What are you doing?”

  “You can’t look if you’re facing the wrong way.”

  She poked his ribs—he was the most ticklish person she’d ever met—and he almost dropped her. “Hey!”

  Considering her leg, maybe a tickle revenge wasn’t in her best interest. She propped her elbows against his back and made several threats against his person if any living human saw her in such an undignified position. Ignoring her, Mick carted her into the cottage and placed her on her feet just inside the door.

  “Surprise!”

  Jules whirled around as Kimberly and Sam shouted and Butch popped ten party poppers in one deafening bang! Tiny colored streamers streaked across her vision as she took in the transformed cottage. Gone were the sagging kitchen cupboards, stained walls, and torn curtains. Instead, a shiny new kitchen, white paint, and teal curtains gave the space a funky, fresh feel. Disbelief and then warmth flashed through her as fast as a grin attached itself to her face.

  “What the—How did you—I can’t believe you pulled this off!” Jules hobbled to the bedroom, then the bathroom. Same fresh paint and clean surfaces. “Wow . . . Just . . . I mean, wow!” Relief flooded her nervous system. Not only was nothing wrong, but this was so very right.

  “If you’re open to it, Butch is happy to live here in lieu of part of his wage.” Kimberly’s smile held a note of caution—with good reason. Jules winced. The last thing she’d said to Kimberly had been Get out. “It was Sam’s idea.”

  “But it was Kim’s idea to do it while you were away.” Sam smiled at the lady in question.

  Crikey. She had a renovated cottage and Sam and Kim were getting along? What a weekend for miracles. She threw her arms around both of them, squeezing them into a group hug as her heartbeat drummed a victory song. “I love it. Thank you. And I’m sorry, Kim.”

  Kimberly squeezed her right back.

  Mick caught her gaze and lifted an eyebrow. His lips didn’t move, but his meaning was clear. See?

  She smiled at him. Things had turned out more than okay—this time.

  If only the future could be so sure.

  * * *

  “I’m being stupid,” Kimberly muttered to herself. She jiggled her leg in the plush red seat at Jules’s local bank branch on Monday morning. Any minute now, the branch manager would call them into his office to discuss extending Jules’s loan. And all she could think about was Sam’s gentle touch when he’d wiped the paint from her face, just days ago.

  She pursed her lips. His nearness had flustered her so much she’d babbled some nonsense about silkie chickens—although the chicken thing had turned out to be a hilarious idea. Still, Sam had to have seen the way she’d practically melted like one of his candy bars on the dashboard of the truck. What if this silly crush made things awkward and ruined their team dynamic? Affected any chance of him returning to Wildfire?

  Jules’s hand clapped over Kimberly’s jiggling knee, stilling it. “What’d you do that’s stupid?”

  Whoops, might’ve said it louder than she thought. Kimberly smoothed her black silk blouse and took a deep breath. Perhaps a modicum of professionalism would help. After all, they were here on official business. “Nothing.”

  Jules leaned back in her own chair, her gaze still on Kimberly. Jules’s version of “clothes to wear to a bank interview” included a kind-of-ironed checked RM Williams shirt and—due to her moon boot—denim shorts. But somehow in this small-town bank, it didn’t look out of place. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Nothing we should be focusing on right now, at least.” Kimberly nodded toward the door of the branch’s interview room.

  Jules leaned forward. “All the more reason to talk about it. I need a distraction from my nerves. I’m sweating like a pig.” She unbuttoned the cuffs of her shirt and rolled the sleeves to the elbow. “Come on, spill.”

  Kimberly’s face overheated by another degree, already too warm as the building’s air-conditioning struggled to keep up with the humidity. She never discussed her crushes. Not since the day her fourteen-year-old self had told Mom about Archie Masterson, and Mom responded with, “Don’t forget protection.”

  Jules poked her. “Spill.”

  “I just have a silly crush on Sam, is all.” Kimberly rushed the words out, voice low. “But it’s nothing.”

  A wicked grin spread over Jules’s face, and she slapped her thigh. “Hallelujah and praise the Lord. It only took you three years.” She scooted her chair closer. “I want details. Did this start at the rodeo when you guys kissed? Or before then? Has there been any more kissing? Has he asked you out? Ha—”

  “Shhh,” Kimberly hissed at Jules and glanced around. Information traveled faster through this small town than data bytes over fiber-optic cables. What if someone overheard and word got back to Sam? “There’s nothing to tell. It’s just proximity. It’s not like anything would ever actually happen.”

  A landslide of skepticism swallowed up the excitement in Jules’s expression. “Why not?”

  Kimberly cast another furtive glance around the room. I’ve never been so desperate to see a five-foot-three perspiring bank manager.

  But no such person appeared.

  She sighed. Looked like they really were going to talk about this. “He’d never think of me that way, Jules. It’s taken more than three years to get him to tolerate me as a friend.”

  Jules’s brow cinched together like an invisible hand had pulled a loose thread. “Tolerate you? He admires you, always has. Even when you drove him nuts.”

  Kimberly snorted. He’d considered her about as pleasant as a mouse in his boot.

  Jules’s hand clasped hers, squeezed it. “I’m serious.”

  Kimberly cut her a look.

  “He appreciates the way you aren’t afraid to ask questions and can think outside the box. You have a confidence and tenacity that, to be honest, Sam sometimes lacks. And he knows that. As much as you two have butted heads, deep down he knows you balance each other out. It’s why you’re a good fit for running Wildfire together. It’s why I asked you both to help me come up with a plan for the farm.” She nudged Kimberly’s knee. “And it’s why I don’t think it’s crazy to imagine he might like you.”

  Kimberly adjusted the damp neckline of her shirt. Someone needed to do something about this air-conditioning. “We fight all the time.”

  Jules shrugged. “Sam’s overly cautious, and you take it too personally when someone rejects your ideas.”

  Kimberly wrinkled her nose. Ouch.

  “But you’re both improving on those things, and the more you do, the better you get along.” Jules grinned. “You want me to say something to him? Suss him out for you?”

  “No!” Kimberly waved her hand like she was brushing the notion of herself and Sam as a couple aside. “Just forget about it.”

  A door toward the rear of the branch opened, and a plump man with sweat patches on his shirt approached them. “Julia Payton?”

  Kimberly popped up faster than a jack-in-the-box. Saved by the sweaty bald man.

  But Jules took a moment to fiddle with her crutch and lowered her voice to a volume only Kimberly could hear. “Don’t sell yourself short, Kimbo. You’ve got something to offer Sam.” One lid dropped in a sly wink. “And let me know as soon as there’s any kissing.”

  Kimberly’s pulse spiked at the thought. What if there was a chance Jules was rig
ht?

  She gave her silk top a subtle flap to generate some air flow. Great, now she had to try and concentrate on balance sheets and loan-to-value ratios.

  When in the background, her mind would be churning around the enigma that was one Samuel Payton.

  Chapter 26

  This is ridiculous.

  Kimberly tugged on a borrowed pair of boxing gloves on Wednesday afternoon and eyed the boxing bag that swung from the rafters of Jules’s machinery shed. Threw a fist at it just to see what would happen.

  Her hand bounced back off, and the bag barely moved, but a puff of dust rocketed down her airways. She stumbled back from the bag, coughing like a pack-a-day smoker.

  “You okay?” Sam’s words spun her around, still hacking the dust from her lungs.

  Boy, this was a great way to convince a guy to date you. And to think that she—high on the excitement of Jules’s loan approval—had thought asking Sam to teach her to box was such a stroke of genius. But maybe a dusty boxing bag in Jules’s rusted shed, with its piles of rubber dairy piping, pulled-apart machinery, and spare calf pens, wasn’t the most romantic setting she could’ve chosen.

  Kimberly cleared her throat and straightened. “Yeah.” The word came out as a croak.

  Sam sat his own gloves and catching mitts on Jules’s workbench, along with four rolls of material. “You’ll need wraps.”

  She cocked her head. “Like chicken Caesar?”

  He rolled his eyes, caught her hands, and tugged the gloves from them. “You need them to stop your wrists from jarring.” He tossed her gloves onto the bench, picked up one of the rolls of thin material, and looped the end around her thumb.

  Kimberly bit her lip as she watched him work, his quick fingers threading the wrap around her wrist, between her fingers and around her hand with the utmost care. Her gaze trailed up his muscular forearms, past his biceps, and to his chest. Broad, tall, and perfect for hugging pretty much everyone he met. If she took half a step forward, she could close her eyes and lean against his warmth and strength.

  But Butch would learn ballet before that would happen, so she redirected her attention to his lips. They curved in a little smile as he secured the Velcro on the first wrap and reached for her other hand. That small smile was Sam’s resting face—an expression that made you think he was always contemplating a mountain of gummy bears or something else he found equally delightful.

  The only thing better than that Hakuna Matata expression was the way it burst into a full-blown smile the instant anyone walked into the room.

  Even her.

  Sam tapped down the second strip of Velcro. “Those will help strengthen your wrists.” He secured her gloves onto her hands and stepped back. “Okay, show me what you’ve got.” He raised his own gloveless fists in a fighting stance and nodded for her to do the same.

  She brought her fists to her face and tried to look menacing. Sam’s gaze swept from her face to her feet and back again. Purely professional, of course, but Kimberly squirmed just the same. Who had she been kidding, asking him to do this? She couldn’t flirt to save her life. The level of awkwardness on this farm was about to hit new heights.

  “Shift your right leg back and stand more side-on.” He nudged her foot with his and grasped her shoulders, rotating her till her left shoulder faced him. “It makes you less of a target to your opponent.”

  Holy smokes, how could she listen with his hands on her arms and his face inches from hers?

  His warm breath brushed her neck, and she shivered. Was he lingering, or had her brain function just slowed? She licked her lips. “Like this?”

  He took a step back and assessed her. His expression yielded no clues. “Good. Now punch me.” He held up a palm.

  She hesitated, brain crunching back into gear. “Punch you? Don’t we punch the bag?”

  “I’m more fun. Take a swing.”

  She jabbed at his palm with her left hand.

  “Now across—your right hand.”

  His hand slapped against her boxing glove with almost equal force to her punch. Except she was giving it all she had, while he looked like he was shooing flies.

  “When you throw a cross, swivel your hips to get more force into it.” He placed a hand on her left shoulder and the other on her right hip, twisting her as she brought her arm forward. “That’s right. Feel where the power comes from?”

  With his hands on her? Yeah, she felt the power.

  He ran her through the basic types of punches, then stepped back and pulled on his gloves. “Time to sink or swim. Try to punch me again.” No palm in the air this time. Sam shifted his weight to his toes and bounced on the spot, fists held near his cheekbones.

  Kimberly hesitated. “What?”

  “I’ll just tap you, and you try to block the shots like I told you. And you just punch me like normal.” He grinned. “If you can land a shot.”

  “Okaaaay.” No way would she take a real swing at him. What if she hurt him?

  They circled each other on the concrete floor of Jules’s workshop. Kimberly threw a couple of jabs out, but Sam slipped his head from side to side, and her glove met empty air.

  She stared. “How do you do that?” Her left hand swung around in a hook, and Sam ducked underneath it and poked her in the tummy.

  “Gotcha.”

  Okay, this was annoying. She shifted her punching level from don’t-wanna-hurt-you to a-black-eye-never-killed-anyone.

  Sam tossed a soft punch in her direction, basically moving in slow motion. Kimberly froze. What had he taught her? Block, slip, or roll? She dropped to the ground in a crouch, face-to-face with the scuffed-up knees of Sam’s old jeans.

  He stopped. “What technique was that?” Laughter infused his voice.

  She popped up. “Surprise attack.” She landed two punches to his midsection.

  Huh. No grunt of pain.

  She stopped and looked at him.

  He smiled. “Oh, I mean, ‘Owwwww. Have mercy, Kamikaze Kim!’”

  “‘Kamikaze Kim’?”

  “Everyone needs a boxing name.”

  “What’s yours?”

  “Sam ‘The Man’ Payton.” His voice boomed out like a boxing commentator’s.

  “And that really didn’t hurt?”

  “You’re pulling your punches. And in training we put our hands on our heads and let people punch us in the guts to build up core strength. So no, it didn’t hurt.”

  She cocked her right arm and twisted her hips like he’d showed her. Her right fist connected with his diaphragm and knocked him back a step.

  “Ooof!”

  “Did that?”

  Sam bent at the waist, hands on his hips. He sucked in a big breath. “I must be a great teacher.”

  She punched at an imaginary speed ball. “Maybe I’m a natural.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Maybe you’re asking for a dunking in the trough.”

  She blinked at him. Was her man-starved brain playing tricks on her, or was he flirting?

  She threw a few more shadow punches. “I’d like to see you try.”

  He narrowed his eyes.

  No way. He was a gentleman. He wouldn’t.

  Though if she goaded him . . . “Burrrrrrk-buk-buk-buk.” She flapped her elbows like a chicken.

  Sam was after her in a shot. Kimberly shrieked, threw down her gloves, and tore out of the shed like it were on fire. She got a good dozen strides in before Sam’s arms came around her from behind. His arms clamped over hers and dragged her a step closer to the nearest cattle trough, on the edge of the dairy’s holding yard. Kimberly squealed, thrashed, and wriggled, but his arms held tight, and he got her inside the open gate and another three steps closer to a dunking.

  Arms crossed over her chest, Kimberly gave an almighty shove against him as she dropped her weight. She popped out beneath Sam’s arms and threw her weight against his knees.

  “Ahhh!” Sam tumbled backward and landed with a squelch.

  Squelch?

&nb
sp; Kimberly spun around. Fine dust covered the ground beneath them. Except for the muddy patch where earlier Jules had accidentally dropped a forty-four-gallon drum of calf milk from the tractor forks.

  Kimberly clapped a hand over her mouth, but a giggle leaked out. “Is it milky?”

  Sam’s face wrinkled in disgust. “Yes.”

  Kimberly’s laughter couldn’t be contained. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes as she gasped for breath.

  “Oh, that’s done it. I was only gonna scare you, but now—” Sam leapt from the ground, and Kimberly scrambled to her feet. But an arm caught her around the waist, and another scooped up her legs behind the knees.

  Three quick steps, and Kimberly glimpsed the murky waters of the concrete cattle trough beneath her. Shrieking, she latched onto Sam’s neck and held on in a death grip. “If I go down, I’m taking you with me.”

  “Worth it.” Sam’s words were muffled against her shoulder.

  She tightened her grip, face pressed against his neck, feet kicking uselessly in the air. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  Sam stepped into the trough, shoes and all, and plopped down into the water.

  Kimberly sucked in a breath at the cool water rushing over her lap and reaching her rib cage. Water weeds swirled, disturbed by their presence, and she curled up in Sam’s lap to avoid the slimy edges of the tank as she muffled a squeal.

  His face stretched into a grin, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. “Gotcha.”

  She splashed his face as she laughed. “I can’t believe you did that.”

  “Told you, worth it. And I had to wash off my pants, anyhow.” He stood, lifting her with him, and stepped out of the trough. Water streamed from both of them. He released his hold on her legs, but not her waist, and she found herself standing toe to toe with him, face tilted up to look into his.

  Laughter lurked in every inch of his features as his eyes focused on hers, hands still on her waist.

  And he didn’t move away.

  Electricity shot through Kimberly’s nerves at every point where his skin had touched hers. Was this it? What if he kissed her?

  Run. Run away. You’ll make an idiot of yourself.