A Girl's Guide to the Outback

by Jessica Kate

  Maybe she could just reach—

  “What are you doing?”

  Sam’s voice jolted through her system, and one foot slipped. A squeak emanated from her pressed lips as she fought for purchase against the tank. When a hand grasped her boot and pressed it against the tank, she stabilized and released a breath. Phew.

  Her gaze slanted down to her right and collided with Sam’s. If his eyebrows got any higher, they’d pop off his forehead.

  “Your mom’s not my biggest fan.” She grimaced. It’d be impossible to keep it a secret, but still hurt to admit. “This seemed easier.”

  He cocked his head. “What did she say to you?”

  “She’s not a fan of the loan idea.” A half-truth, but she could only admit so much in one night. “It’s fine, but this house is basically in the sky. Do you see any alternatives?”

  He appeared to consider that for a moment. “We’ll return to the Mum issue tomorrow, but for now do you want a boost?”

  “Please.”

  He placed both hands beneath her right foot. “I’ve got y—”

  A flash of movement on the tank caught her eye. A spider. A black spider. A black spider with a red back.

  Australia’s poisonous redback spider, made famous by a certain song involving a toilet seat and a lack of lighting. And it ran toward her boot.

  Kimberly yelped and jumped away—into thin air.

  She collided with Sam on her way down. The impact knocked him to the ground.

  Ooof!

  They landed in a tangle of limbs and grunts.

  Kimberly froze for a moment, cheek in the dirt, torso on Sam’s, his arm trapped under her chest. Waves of fright rolled through her, and aches registered from every limb of her body. She closed her eyes. A guy had finally asked her out, and the first thing she did was jump on him and squish him.

  Oh, the horror.

  Sam gave a low groan. She rolled away from him, heat exploding into her cheeks. “Are you okay?” She inhaled dust as she spoke. Coughed it back out.

  “Just peachy.” He ran a hand down his body, like he was checking for anything missing or impaled. “You?”

  “I’m sorry. There was a spider.” She winced at the stereotype. A girl afraid of a spider.

  He sat up and reached for her. “But are you okay?”

  “I don’t know if a date is a great idea.” The words rushed out from the dark box labeled Insecurity that she normally locked down tighter than plutonium. Sam picked a leaf out of her hair as she sat up, dirt beneath her palms. “We haven’t even gone two weeks without a major disagreement. We come from opposite sides of the globe, your mother doesn’t like me, and we’ll be working together.”

  Yikes. This emotional-honesty thing was spiraling out of control. Maybe this display of self-doubt would make him run for the hills. And did a part of her want that?

  Sam plucked another twig from her sweatshirt, his hair tousled and lightened to the shade of dust. “Do you really think we’d fight that much?”

  She dropped her gaze to her hands. “I think we’d get mad. There’s a distinct possibility I could threaten to throw out your sugar stash again.” His story about his dad threw even more light on his risk-averse attitude. And with that history, it wasn’t an attitude likely to change anytime soon. Conflict was inevitable—and with her heart on the line, their arguments could go from upsetting to obliterating.

  He didn’t respond. She risked a glance up.

  Those big brown eyes remained serious, watching her, with just the slightest hint of sad puppy dog. Oh, those eyes. They could make a girl forget the ache in her elbow and the dirt in her hair.

  “We might fight,” he admitted. Then shrugged. “We would definitely fight.”

  A little piece of her soul shriveled. She’d made him see reason, curse her own logic. The pangs in her body increased.

  “But maybe we can handle it better. Not let a creative difference get in the way of what could be a pretty awesome partnership.”

  Her chest tightened. “But what if things didn’t work out? And then we’d have to see each other every day?” Logic screamed that this was a terrible idea. If—when—this imploded, Sam would be able to walk away with his heart intact. She would not.

  “Are you saying you don’t want to go out with me?”

  I’d love to be your girlfriend. The words whispered through her mind, but throat-closing fear accompanied them. She brushed dirt from her knee. “I’m saying it sounds like an unwise risk.” A term that would resonate with him.

  A beat. Sam gave a single nod. “Okay. Do you still want help getting through that window?”

  The flame of excitement dancing inside her extinguished with a hiss. Even though she’d been the one talking him out of this.

  Lights flicked off inside the house. Looked like everyone was going to bed. “I don’t think it’s necessary anymore.”

  Sam offered her a hand, but she struggled to her feet alone, heart somewhere in the vicinity of her toes. How had she gone from ecstasy to despair in the space of ten minutes?

  It’s your own fault, dummy.

  She wrinkled her nose at the thought as they trudged toward the stairs.

  But it’s for the best. I’ve just saved us both a lot of heartache.

  * * *

  Water in his gum boots would normally rate number one on Sam’s List of Serious Problems, but as he squelched his way from the dairy to home after the morning milking, the water-and-rubber combination ripping out his leg hairs only ranked at number three.

  Kimberly Foster.

  How could fourteen letters have him more mixed up than that day his teacher asked him to read aloud a page of Shakespeare? He kicked at a tractor-flattened toad and huffed.

  She said yes.

  And then she’d talked him out of it. And like a big dope, he’d let her. What was wrong with him?

  He reached the base of the steps to Jules’s house, yanked off his boots, and jammed them upside down on the handrail posts to drain. Socks followed, left on the handrail for Future Sam to take down to Jules’s detached laundry.

  Truth was, he’d been more shocked that Kimberly agreed to go on a date with him in the first place than that she’d backed out of it ten minutes later. Because she was right.

  He plodded up the stairs, wet footprints following him.

  He and Kimberly were just so different. What did he think, anyway—that Kimberly would stay with Wildfire forever, not move on to something else that put her giant brain to proper use?

  No, when it came down to it, she was brave and he was afraid. And if he was her, he’d think twice about a date with him too.

  He banged his way through the screen door, clomped through the veranda, and entered the kitchen. A wave of lavender-scented warmth met him, along with Jules, facing the microwave with her back to him and . . . sniffling.

  Sam paused. Was he hearing things?

  Another sniff.

  “You okay?”

  Jules started, then turned around and glared at him. “What are you sneaking around for?”

  “I wasn’t sneaking. You were sniffling. Everything alright?”

  Jules huffed. “Can’t a girl just deal with PMS in peace?” She popped open the microwave and yanked out a heat pack.

  Yikes. He held up both palms and headed for his room as fast as his feet would carry him. When he dropped his filthy shirt on top of his overflowing washing basket, it slid off the top and hit the floor. He sighed and scooped up the shirt and the basket, which brought the smell of his dairy clothes way too close to his face. Yuck. What a pong. If he didn’t do some washing today, he’d be milking in nothing but boxers tomorrow.

  The thud of Jules’s door indicated she’d gone to her room, so he pulled on a fresh shirt and scooted back through the kitchen and outside to the small laundry attached to the side of the house.

  Something about Jules’s reaction didn’t sit right. She’d been defensive. And thinking about her problems was a lot more
fun than thinking about his, so he allowed his mind to travel down the tangent.

  PMS could explain it, sure, but more likely it was a cover for something else. And today’s date wasn’t anywhere near any significant anniversaries regarding Dad.

  No, this had Michael Carrigan written all over it.

  He set his jaw. Mick was his friend, sure, but Jules was his sister first. And if Mick had hurt her feelings while she was already stressed out by the farm . . . they’d be having words.

  Then again, Jules may’ve been the heartbreaker. She’d done it before. In which case he should be there to offer Mick a little moral support.

  He hauled a pile of wet girly laundry out of the washing machine and tried to ignore the bras. They could be Kim’s, or they could be his sister’s—and either way it was best not to think about it. If at all humanly possible.

  He dumped his washing into the machine, threw in extra washing powder in honor of the calf scours down his left jeans pant leg, and took the stairs two at a time to retrieve his work boots.

  Time to pay his friend a visit.

  Chapter 31

  Sam slowed down the quad bike as he neared the remains of the tree they’d cut down almost two weeks ago. Mick stood with a block of wood lined up, ax in hand and a sour look on his face. Jules had promised him all the wood he could chop—looked like he was here to collect.

  “Hey, man.”

  Crack. Mick split the log.

  Sam hopped off the bike. “Looks like you’ve almost got the whole tree done.”

  Crack.

  “Gonna have plenty of wood come winter.”

  Crack.

  “Are you the reason my sister is crying?”

  Mick missed the log. He swore as the ax missed his leg by an inch, then glanced at Sam. “Sorry.” He hefted the ax back to his shoulder for another swing. “She’s the reason that she’s crying.” He paused. “I take it Jules told you to buzz off?”

  “She said she had PMS, and I ran like a bat outta hell.”

  Mick snorted.

  Sam shifted his hat to wipe away a bead of sweat. The air hummed with the possibility of rain. “So you told her about the fake girlfriend thing?”

  Mick lined up the next block. “Didn’t have to. The truth was pretty obvious. When she asked me about it, I laid it all on the line.”

  “And she didn’t take it well?”

  “She took it great. Kissed my socks off. Then started crying and said she couldn’t marry me because apparently nothing’s changed since we were twenty.”

  Sam rocked back on his heels. “Oh. Wow.”

  “Yeah.”

  Crack. The scent of eucalyptus grew stronger with each blow.

  Mick wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Subject change. I heard that your mum isn’t Kim’s biggest fan.”

  Sam raised an eyebrow. He’d never talked to Mick about it, but apparently someone had. He’d planned to ask Kimberly more about it later but now marked an Urgent note on his mental to-do list.

  “Oh, come on, mate. You like her. It’s written all over you.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m having about as much success as you.” He recounted the sorry tale of last night.

  Mick handed him the ax. He tested its weight in his hand. Oh yeah. Talk about therapeutic. Swinging the ax in a wide arc, he sank it deep into a fresh block. The second blow split it through.

  “Why do you think Kim really turned you down?” Mick leaned against a fence post and crossed one ankle over the other.

  “I told you.” Sam lined up his next wooden victim and swung, the impact reverberating through his bones.

  “You told me she thought you guys would fight. But you bought that? Come on, you took one look at Jules’s face and knew to come hunt me down. Don’t take Kim’s words at face value.”

  He blinked. Kim’s response had lined up with everything he’d been afraid of, so he hadn’t questioned it. But this . . . this opened up a whole new realm of possibilities.

  Sam scooped up an armload of wood and followed Mick’s train of thought. “Kim . . . hates rejection. Of her ideas, of anything. She takes it very personally.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  He dumped the wood in the ute’s tray. “That doesn’t mean she wasn’t being honest and she just doesn’t want to go out with me.”

  “Did she say that?”

  “What?”

  “That she doesn’t want to go out with you?”

  Sam shoved a heavy block into position. “Do I look like I’m on a date with her right now?”

  Mick picked up a second ax out of the ute tray and leaned on it like he had all day. “In what you just told me, she was afraid the two of you would fight. She didn’t say she didn’t like you. Maybe her comments were more a reflection of what she thinks of herself than what she thinks of you.”

  Sam stopped midswing. Lightbulb. He grinned at Mick. “Ever considered swapping to my line of work?”

  The edge of Mick’s mouth turned up in a smile. “This is just what I’m telling myself about Jules so that I don’t slide into despair. Feel free to apply the same to Kim.”

  “Women.”

  “Yeah.”

  Sam leaned on his own ax and chewed his bottom lip. So, maybe Kim’s reaction was more about herself than it was about him.

  Maybe.

  The question was, what could he do about it? How could he convince this girl to trust him enough to take the leap?

  “Speaking of hard decisions, have you decided about Wildfire? You going back?”

  Sam sucked in a breath. Wildfire. How could he ask Kimberly to be brave when he couldn’t do the same?

  He chopped his wood into three different pieces before responding. “I was going to, but—I dunno.” He’d been praying about it for weeks. Had three messages from Steph on his phone saying he was welcome to come back.

  But every time he went to reply, he froze. And last night had been a harsh reminder of a few realities regarding his competence.

  “I don’t know what to tell you.” Mick put two deep cuts into a particularly thick chunk of wood. “Am I glad I stuck my neck out with Jules? Right now, no. But do I think I’d be better off wondering, What if? Also no.” He pulled the ax free.

  Sam carried the next chunk of wood over and eyed his friend. It was a shame things hadn’t worked out between him and Jules. He was a good bloke. “Thanks, man.”

  Mick didn’t respond, just kept chopping.

  Poor guy. His sister had done a number on him. Again. But at least he’d taken the risk. He had his answer.

  He wouldn’t wonder, What if?

  Sam rubbed a hand over his hair. He needed to think. And he needed to shift the dry cows—those no longer being milked in preparation for calving—to a new paddock.

  He nodded a goodbye to Mick and jumped onto the quad bike, thoughts whirring faster than the piece of hay string wrapped around the bike’s axle.

  He’d prayed about Wildfire every day for the last few weeks but generally along the lines of Oh God oh God oh God oh God, what am I gonna do?

  Now, drinking in the moisture-laden air, he let himself say the words he’d been resisting for weeks—words more terrifying than Jules and PMS.

  “God, whatever You’re guiding me toward, my answer is yes.”

  * * *

  “Sam asked you what?”

  Kimberly winced as Jules’s voice reached a pitch only dogs could hear. She climbed inside the next calf pen—a square enclosure made from pig wire—and wrestled the little beasts onto the rubber teats connected to a feeder. Jules flicked on a tap that poured milk from a drum resting on the tractor forks. The calves went nuts over it but couldn’t seem to stay on their own teats. One would steal a neighbor’s milk, and you’d either get a domino effect or wind up with two stupid calves trying to suck the same teat.

  Though she was the girl who’d turned down a date with Sam Payton, so maybe she shouldn’t be labeling anyone else as stupid.

 
“He asked me out. I said yes. Then I talked him out of it.” Inhaling the sickly sweet smell of the milk, she braced for Jules’s screech of “Are you insane?” She’d rather shave her legs with a potato peeler than talk about this, but better that Jules heard it from her than Sam. Her stomach hardened as the pause stretched.

  She looked up. No screech. Jules gazed into the distance, an unreadable expression on her face. “I kissed Mick. Like, really kissed him.”

  Kimberly stared at her friend. Jules wasn’t smiling. Even the gold highlights in her braid seemed dull today. “Serious?”

  “Then I cried and said I couldn’t be with him.”

  “Ouch.” A calf sucked on Kimberly’s shirt, and she tugged the fabric from its teeth, rolling the revelation around her mind. Jules had been given a second chance—and said no.

  “Yep.”

  Kimberly muscled another calf toward the feeder and pushed the teat into its mouth. The official end of Jules and Mick—that had to hurt. “I think I need to hear your story first.”

  It took another two and a half calf pens to swap sob stories. Jules tapped a greedy calf on the head with her hose as Kimberly finished her tale. “So that’s it? You’re gonna chicken out?”

  That stung. Kimberly dropped another calf feeder on the fence and measured her words. “You could say that. Though I prefer to think of it as making a wise choice for the future.”

  And wise it was. This relationship could never last, and she was already in too deep. She’d admired Sam for years. Now those feelings had morphed into something even more powerful, while Sam simply seemed to be intoxicated by the close quarters they’d been forced into. She couldn’t bear to get invested before the illusion fell away.

  Jules flicked milk at her. “You and Sam are exactly the same, except he’s afraid of messing up Wildfire and you’re afraid of him deciding he doesn’t want you anymore.”

  He doesn’t want you anymore. Against all logic, tears rushed to her eyes at Jules’s words. She tightened her jaw, swallowing the emotion down. What did Jules want from her? Was she holding out for tears and a confession that she was completely unlovable?