A Girl's Guide to the Outback

by Jessica Kate

  And he kissed her.

  Jules stood stock-still, eyes wide open, as the sweet tang of peach kombucha enveloped her mouth. One of Mick’s hands cupped her jaw as the other crept around her waist. At that her eyelids fluttered shut. Of their own volition, her hands slid up his chest, and she leaned into his warmth and his kiss. Mick hauled her tight against him for a heady moment, then pulled back.

  Jules caught his jaw with her fingertips and kissed him again. Really kissed him, fingers dragging through the slight curl in his hair. For saving her, for saving Meg, for following her when she was upset, for putting her needs first no matter what she put him through.

  And then, with a choked sob, she pulled away.

  “Hey.” Mick’s voice was as soft as his fingers as he traced the curve of her cheek. “What’s wrong?”

  Jules sucked in air and begged reason to return to her mind. “I can’t be with you.”

  Lines creased his forehead. “Because of the farm? We can work that out, Jules. We’re not twenty anymore.”

  Oh for the love of all that was good, the sweetness in his tone nearly undid her. She pushed against his chest and shuffled a step back, covering her face with her fingers.

  “Nothing’s changed. My life is here. Yours is not. And there’s five hours of outback in between.” Focus on the next thing. “So this grinding sound—”

  “Forget about the wagon, Jules.” Mick’s hands turned her to face him. “I can give you time, if that’s what you need. We can work out a compromise, something that lets us blend our different lives. But I can’t wait forever without knowing.”

  She folded her lips into a sad smile and pushed his hands away. The man had salt water in his veins. He should never move here. She could never move there. Pain seared her heart till it threatened to cut off her breath. She could barely whisper, “So don’t.”

  * * *

  What was up with Kimberly today?

  Sam trudged up the stairs, his track pants and T-shirt splattered in filth from this afternoon’s milking, a day’s hard work weighing on every inch of his body. Milking had taken longer than usual, as the first of Jules’s new cattle took their time to settle in. But even heavier than his limbs was the memory of Kimberly’s behavior today.

  Nothing explicit, just an . . . edginess. A withdrawal. He racked his brain for anything he could’ve said to her in the last twenty-four hours that would be upsetting. Nada.

  Was she upset he’d spent so much time with Mum? Nah. Kimberly wasn’t the jealous type. Maybe this workload had caught up to her and she was exhausted.

  He looked down at himself at the door. Removing boots just wouldn’t be enough. He shrugged and pulled his T-shirt over his head, then stepped out of his trackie dacks—Kimberly called them sweatpants—leaving just the shorts he’d worn underneath. Working from the chilliness of 4:30 a.m. to the sapping heat of midday taught a guy to wear layers.

  Mum was frowning at the laptop on the dining table when he entered. He smiled. “I’m pretty sure I left you sitting in that exact spot.”

  Her frown didn’t entirely smooth out as she looked up at him. “Hey, darl’.”

  “What’s up?”

  “What was the name of the cruise you booked for me this morning?”

  He grinned. He’d been particularly proud of finding that deal—though he couldn’t really take credit. An email offering a cruise from Brisbane to Cairns had landed in his inbox this morning. Probably Google data mining his search history or something. Either way, the deal had been hundreds of dollars cheaper than any of the other trips he’d researched last night, so they’d booked this morning.

  “North Queensland Cruise Lines. Why?”

  “I just haven’t seen a confirmation email yet.”

  He shrugged. She’d probably deleted it. Mum and computers seemed to mix as well as wedding dresses and red wine. He took the computer and checked the trash folder. Twenty clicks later, still no email. He frowned. “I’ll ask Kim.”

  Mum hesitated, then shrugged. “Sure.”

  Sam padded through the house in bare feet and knocked on Kimberly’s door. It swung open to reveal her in a pink robe.

  He sucked in a breath and tried really hard not to ponder whether or not she had pj’s underneath.

  “Oh.” Her eyes darted from his chest to his face, and she folded her arms. “I thought you were Jules.”

  He opened his mouth but no sound came out.

  Idiot!

  He spun the laptop to face her. “Can you check this out?” He managed to keep his brain functioning enough to outline the story as she clicked through the inbox, unaware that she’d sent his mind into meltdown.

  The strap of a tank top peeked out from her robe. Pj’s. He forced out a breath. Good to know.

  A line formed between her eyebrows. “Is this the original email?” She pointed to the screen. “Did you click this link to get to the website?”

  “Yeah.”

  The line deepened. “Gimme a minute.”

  She sat on the edge of her bed and worked.

  Sam forced his gaze to wander around the room. Tidy. A single comic book on the bedside table. Some blue Christmas tinsel tacked to the wall, along with a collection of paper snowflakes. Not a whole lot to see, though it smelled of that jasmine body spray again.

  She tapped her finger against her chin, then resumed clicking.

  He studied the dirt beneath his fingernails.

  She huffed.

  He leaned his head against the doorframe and closed his eyes. These early mornings wore on a man.

  “Did you pay these guys yet?”

  Sam’s eyes popped open. “Yes.” Like fifteen hundred dollars of Mum’s retirement money. An uneasy feeling triggered a wave of goose bumps. “Why?”

  Her face twisted into a grimace. “I think it’s a scam.”

  Sam stared at her, then the computer screen, then her again. Chills swept through him. He’d just lost a chunk of Mum’s retirement money.

  Again.

  Chapter 29

  This was the worst.

  Kimberly huddled on one end of the couch in her Battlestar Galactica pj shorts and an old sweatshirt of Dad’s, nursing a mango smoothie and attempting to focus on the That 70’s Show episode Jules had on TV. But Mrs. Payton’s animated discussion with her sister’s voice mail made it difficult.

  She dug her fingertips through her hair and massaged her scalp, eyes fastened on the TV but processing nothing.

  “Hey.” Jules leaned over on the couch till her arm brushed Kimberly’s. “What’s up?”

  “What? Nothing.” Kimberly refocused on the now-paused show. “The seventies. Hilarious. Continue.”

  “Not till you tell me what’s going on. Are you worried about Sam?”

  His expression while he’d told his mother about his mistake had been nothing short of tortured. And while he’d promised to pay her back, it didn’t appear to make him feel any better. When the initial conversation and phone calls to the bank were over, he’d disappeared outside, despite the threat of cane toads and mosquitoes. And that’d been more than an hour ago.

  “He’ll be okay.” If only her brain could believe what her mouth was saying. Her eyes wandered to the laptop screen on Jules’s lap, the words Cockatoo Creek Outdoor Camp written across the top of the web page. She took a sip of mango-ey sweetness. The rest of her night might not be going well, but this smoothie was like drinking sunshine. “What’s that?”

  Jules snapped the laptop shut. “We’re talking about you. Yeah, I think Sam will be alright. And I think you need to tell yourself that a few more times.” She nudged Kimberly with her elbow. “Why don’t you go talk to him?”

  “Bad idea.”

  “’Coz Mum told you to stay away from him?” Jules laughed out the words, like a joke, but the expression morphed into shock when Kimberly didn’t smile. “Fair dinkum? Yikes.”

  Kimberly shrugged. “It’s fine.”

  Jules’s expression darkened. “She
doesn’t know when to turn the bossy-mother thing off, even if you’re experienced enough to make your own decisions.”

  Kimberly studied her friend. Was Jules talking about herself or Sam—or both? She stood from the couch, the sticky leather peeling away from her legs. Either way, no part of her wanted to be here when Mrs. Payton decided to join them. Kimberly’s bed called—that, and the new sci-fi show queued up on her streaming app. “Thanks. I appreciate it. I think I’m gonna hit the sack.”

  “Hey.” Jules touched her hand and waited to speak till Kimberly met her gaze. “Don’t take it to heart. Your worth isn’t determined by what my mother or even Sam thinks of you.”

  Kimberly blinked. Surprisingly direct for Miss Afraid-of-Her-Own-Emotions Jules.

  But Jules wasn’t done. “I heard you asked Sam the other day what he’d do if he wasn’t afraid.”

  Kimberly shifted her weight between her feet. “I didn’t put it like that.”

  “But it’s what you meant. And you were right. So I’m asking you: what would you do if you weren’t afraid?”

  I’d tell Mom that despite everything, I love her. I’d tell Jules to put Mick out of his misery.

  And I’d kiss Sam.

  Each of the thoughts reached her throat, then refused to go any further. “I-I’ll think about it.”

  “Actions speak louder than thoughts.” Jules nodded toward the door. “Before Mum is finished with her third voice mail message.”

  Kimberly bit her lip and looked from Mrs. Payton to the door. Sat her smoothie on the coffee table next to a ceramic nativity scene.

  And made a run for it.

  * * *

  Sam sat on the roof of the chicken coop, one of his precious bottles of A&W cream soda in hand. His favorite brand was hard to find in Australia. Three empty bottles were piled in the grass below where his feet dangled from the edge of the roof.

  Sugar had always been his drug of choice.

  He’d thought nothing could twist the knife in his insides like Mum’s expression when she threw her travel magazines away after Dad’s funeral. Turned out that letting her down a second time came pretty darn close.

  He dropped the empty bottle to the ground, where it landed with a clink. The deal had been too good to be true, and he’d followed a link from an email, for goodness’ sake. That was a rookie error in this digital age.

  Turned out the website even had typos, indicative of the scammers dumping their text into a translation service and posting it for suckers like him. But he’d assumed the letters were only jumbled in his mind. Even if the bank’s fraud department could recover the money, that did nothing to restore his shattered confidence. He flopped back onto the cool corrugated-iron roof and stared at the Southern Cross constellation. The stars out here were incredible—almost as incredible as the thought that he’d actually be able to pull off part-time Bible college at the same time as working on the Wildfire expansion. He’d be lucky to pull off one of those things, let alone both.

  And to think he could date Kimberly at the same time?

  Insane.

  “Sam? You out here?”

  His head snapped up at the sound of Kimberly’s voice. “Over here.”

  She clomped around the side of the shed in her gum boots, probably worn as protection against the dozens of toads that jumped away with every step she took.

  “On the roof.” He waved her over to the upturned bucket propped against the wall and grasped her arm to assist her up. “You interested in stargazing too?”

  “Not exactly.”

  He eyed her, sitting so close her leg rested just an inch from his. A glib response was more Kimberly’s style, especially when emotions were running close to the surface.

  “Oh?”

  “I wanted to let you know your mom has options. Depending on how she paid, Australian banks will sometimes refund the money. I think. It was just a bit of quick research on their banking codes of practice.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “So . . . you okay?”

  The words sounded a little strangled. These questions weren’t Kimberly’s usual style. But then, she’d been full of surprises lately.

  He lay back on the roof and contemplated a shallow answer, but opted for honesty. “I’ve let Mum down like this before. To have done it again . . .” He trailed off.

  She matched his posture, lying back on the roof, hands clasped on her stomach. “You didn’t let her down. Tons of people get scammed every day.”

  “I got too excited and didn’t take enough precautions. Last time it had even more serious consequences.” Though fifteen hundred dollars was nothing to sneeze at. Would he spend his life repaying Mum for his own mistakes that affected her?

  “What happened last time?”

  He winced. Not his favorite tale. Some little part of her occasionally looked at him with admiration, like she believed he could take on the world. It was unjustified, but nice. And hearing the full story would kill it.

  “When I was in my early twenties, I moved to the city and wanted to open a café. Dad gave me the financial backing. He and Mum were close to retirement. They were going to caravan around Australia.” He cleared his throat. “I had all these plans for the café. It was so popular. I opened a second store across town and had plans for a third. But . . . after I opened the second location, business didn’t go so well. We started to bleed money.” He sighed. “Dad worked his guts out for a year to try and recoup some of the cash and then had a massive heart attack.”

  Cold fingers slid over his. He started, surprised, then squeezed them. “He never got to take that holiday with Mum. And that’s on me.”

  “You couldn’t have known.” She held his hand for a long minute, then propped herself up on an elbow next to him. “And might I remind you, Mr. Pastor, that carrying guilt around only holds you back from the life God intended? Either take it to Him and get it forgiven, or realize it was never yours to carry in the first place.”

  He shifted his head on the cool corrugated iron to stare at her. He’d preached that line to thousands of teenagers. Funny how he’d never thought of his own situation in that light. A weight slipped from his soul, and it rose with hope for the first time in years. “Using my own sermons against me?”

  She lay back down and smiled in the direction of the stars twinkling above them. “And you thought I didn’t listen.”

  She shivered next to him. He detached his hand from hers and slid his arm under her shoulders. When she shifted her head to let him, then settled in next to him, the movement felt so natural the shock didn’t even hit him for a moment.

  Oh. My. Goodness. He was lying on the roof of a chicken coop with his arm around Kimberly Foster, and there hadn’t been a rift in the space-time continuum or anything.

  Maybe the impossible wasn’t so impossible after all. A bubble of emotion swelled inside of him, and he rolled with it. “Kimberly?”

  “Yeah?”

  Here goes nuthin’. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

  She turned her face toward him and blinked. “Dinner with you?”

  Her jasmine scent teased his senses. He wrapped a strand of hair around his finger. “Yeah. Me. You. Food. A date.”

  Another blink. “Um . . . okay.”

  Her face was so close. Her eyes so wide. Lips so full.

  He drew in another jasmine-scented breath and leaned his head forward a fraction of an inch.

  “I’d better go inside.” Kimberly jumped up like an ant had bitten her. He sat up as she scrambled down the bucket. “See ya.”

  She moved away at a clip just short of a run. Sam kept his gaze on her till she disappeared around the corner of the shed, his arm tingling from pins and needles and the sensation of her skin.

  He’d just asked Kimberly Foster out on a date.

  Oh boy.

  Chapter 30

  Holy guacamole. Sam had asked her on a date.

  Kimberly moved back toward the house as fast as she could withou
t stepping on a toad. He liked her?

  His mother would kill her.

  What would happen if they both worked at Wildfire?

  She’d only brought one dress.

  He actually liked her?

  Jules was gonna squeal. Then Mrs. Payton would come in wondering what happened. She’d have to find a way to keep Jules quiet.

  He really, actually liked her?

  Kimberly reached the bottom of the backdoor steps and peered up at the windows, ears straining for sounds of life. No Mrs. Payton. Drat. She’d hoped the woman would be on the phone and distracted while she slipped inside.

  Kimberly rested her left foot on the bottom step but just couldn’t convince her right one that sleeping inside tonight was worth the wrath of Sam’s mom. Her facial muscles refused to relax out of the dopey grin on her face, and if anyone asked what was up, she’d turn red faster than you could say “Samuel Payton is one sexy beast.”

  There had to be another way.

  Kimberly backed away from the house and circled it, folding her arms against Dad’s sweatshirt to brace against tonight’s cool breeze. The entire home rested on poles that held it six feet in the air—lest the river flooded—which ruled out your basic climb-in-through-a-window routine.

  Bingo! Jules’s escape. She had a disused water tank beneath her window. Kimberly jogged around to it. The tank’s corrugated-iron sides begged to be climbed up. She latched one hand on the top of the tank. Ugh. Was that dried lumpy stuff bird poo?

  Big picture, Kim.

  She shoved the toe of her boot into a knee-high corrugation and tested if it held her weight. Yikes. These corrugations weren’t nearly so easy to climb as they looked.

  She wedged her back against one of the house’s thick stumps and shuffled up, taking tiny steps. Progress was slow and gave the logical voices in her head a chance to have their say.

  He’s seriously thinking about staying at Wildfire.

  Three feet off the ground.

  We fought all the time.

  Four feet.

  If—when—we break up, we’ll be stuck working together. Imagine the fighting then.

  She shoved the thoughts aside to deal with the immediate challenge: how to get from this spot onto the top of the tank. Man, that prince that climbed a tower for Rapunzel sure deserved to marry a princess, ’cos this was way harder than it looked.