Against All Odds (Outback Hearts) Read online

  Christ, she’d gone from virgin to sex maniac within the space of twenty-four hours. She cursed and dropped her head into her hands as her notepad and iPhone clunked against her bald head. If only her exhausted, ravaged body could keep up with her need for her man.

  Her man.

  The words should have terrified her, but they didn’t. For however long they could escape the real world, she was claiming him, and logic, reality, and every other thought screaming at her to get the hell away could screw itself. She hit speed-dial one before her nerve failed and chewed her bottom lip as the phone hummed against her ear.

  “You better be alive, you selfish cow.”

  Abi closed her eyes and allowed Olivia’s words to penetrate the static in her head. Like it or not, she was hearing the truth, and that was why she loved and hated her sister so much. “I haven’t chewed off my arm, and I can’t believe you’ve lied to me for so long.”

  Olivia gasped. “You did it!”

  Did it. Christ, had she walked onto the set of Grease? Even as she cringed at the teenage description of what she’d shared with Ryder, a comforting warmth spread through her. “Six times…well, officially twice…but I came six times.” Or was it seven?

  “Six.”

  The shock in Olivia’s voice had Abi wishing her body had been able to keep up with her lust because she would’ve given her kid sister a coronary if she’d made love to him as many times as she’d wanted to.

  “How was it?”

  Well, Abigail Marie Williams, how was it? She punished her sister by letting a few seconds tick by before answering. “It was…” Her mind shut down. Every word rushing through her head seemed so cliché, so tame, so inadequate. “It was perfect.”

  “Perfect? What the hell does that mean?” Suspicion replaced the surprise in Olivia’s voice.

  Abi pressed the phone tighter to her ear. “How do you know it’s more than just sex?”

  “Ah, hell, I freaking warned you. It was sex, great freaking sex by the sounds of it, but just plain old dirty monkey sex between two strangers who caught each other’s eye. Don’t you dare go skipping off into the sunset with this guy. The man’s a Special Forces soldier who’s spent the last decade overseas. He’s probably carrying more sexually transmitted diseases than Motley Crew and Guns N’ Roses combined.”

  Abi laughed so hard she couldn’t respond.

  “Please tell me you used protection. From what I googled, he probably only has to look at girls to get them pregnant.”

  She fumbled with the phone as she tried composing herself. “I’m still at his brother’s apartment.”

  The string of curses pouring from Olivia’s mouth had her cackling all over again. “Get out of there before you do something stupid. Grab your bags, get in a taxi, and get as far away from him as possible. There’s no happy ending here. Either he breaks your heart when you figure out that he’s not as perfect as you think, or he breaks your heart when you tell him about Doris and he runs away screaming like all those other pussies.”

  Despite the stress distorting Olivia’s words, her sister had known exactly what to say. There wasn’t going to be a happy ending, but she couldn’t hide the truth from herself any longer, because she’d also give anything for more seconds with him. “He’s seen the scars.”

  The silence on the other end of the phone confirmed she’d scored a direct hit. He didn’t know the gory details, but he knew she was battling way more than a bad haircut, and he’d know everything soon enough. It was the least she owed him considering somewhere between drying, mauling, and dressing each other she’d finally surrendered to his relentless attacks on her willpower and agreed to let him show her around his outback home for a few days

  She almost felt sorry for her little sister…almost. “I’m going back home with him.”

  “Are you on crack? What about your bucket list? Getting eaten by a shark on the Great Barrier Reef? Getting bitten by a snake in the outback? Falling off the top of Uluru?”

  “Uluru’s sacred, you don’t climb all over it.”

  “You know what the hell I mean.”

  Abi cleared her throat and collected herself. If she stuffed this up, her overprotective kid sister would be on the next plane out of LAX. “His family owns a cattle station in outback Queensland near a town called Baroona. They sound amazing.”

  “Baroona?”

  “It’s Aboriginal for ‘place far away’.” Abi cringed and silently cursed herself. Too much information, Abs.

  “Jesus, don’t rush into this. Take a few days, clear your head, see the city with him. If you feel the same way after that, then go for it. Don’t throw away all the things you’ve dreamed of for so long to disappear into the middle of nowhere. What about walking over the top of the Sydney Harbor Bridge, patting all those feral man-eating kangaroos and koalas? And the beaches? What about all those pristine white sand beaches? I’m guessing this Baroona place is hundreds of freaking miles away from anything.” Olivia paused her opening argument just long enough to suck in a breath. “It’s just a little dick. Trust me, there are plenty more out there especially now you’ve got your hooha in the game.

  Abi shook her head and smiled. It wasn’t just his little dick. It was everything about him. Denial, anger, bargaining, Olivia had depression to get through before acceptance, but Abi didn’t have the time to walk her sister through the five stages of grief. No matter what her doctor kid sister believed and despite the reassurances of Doc Martinez and the half dozen other specialists drafted to fight the tumor growing inside her, no one knew Doris like she did. And she didn’t have the heart to tell them just how powerful Doris had become in the last few weeks. “We’re leaving today. I’ll spend a few days with him and his family, see the outback, then head back to the coast. I don’t know about cell coverage, but I’ll call you whenever I—”

  “Abs.” The desperation in Olivia’s voice pulled her up short. “He isn’t Prince Charming, you’re not a princess, and he’s not whisking you off to his magical kingdom on a rainbow-colored unicorn. You’ve been through hell, please don’t risk your heart chasing a delusional dream.”

  Her battered warrior could kick Prince Charming’s ass, and she’d always wanted to be the heroine rather than the damsel in distress. Plus, the home he’d described had sounded pretty magical, so why the hell couldn’t she create her own fairy tale? Wasn’t this her very own “choose her own adventure”? And with the shitstorm lurking on her horizon and after everything she’d survived, a broken heart was the least of her problems. She didn’t want a happily ever after, she wanted a happy for now, and Sergeant Harper made her happier than she’d ever been and horny as a bunny rabbit on speed.

  She eased her grip on the phone and calmed her voice. “Remember when I asked you what it was like when it’s done right?”

  Olivia hesitated. “Yeah.”

  “Like two parts of the same puzzle?”

  Her sister paused even longer. “Yeah.”

  “Remember when I asked you where love fits into it?”

  Olivia spluttered and almost dropped her phone. “This isn’t love. You’ve known him a day. Love at first sight doesn’t exist, especially when you’re living in different freaking hemispheres and have so much other shit to deal with.”

  She knew that, but she also knew what she’d shared with him had been way more than just mind-blowing sex. “Remember when you told me you’d only ever made it to the amazing part?”

  The trailing silence conveyed more than words could. Olivia sighed and whispered a curse. “For the love of God, Abigail Marie Williams, protect your heart and be careful.”

  The years she’d shared with Olivia flashed through Abi’s mind as moisture flooded her eyes. Would she last long enough to hear her overprotective kid sister say I told you so? “I will.”

  “You better, otherwise I’m going to come down there and kill the bastard.”

  Abi chuckled and wiped at the tears trickling down her cheeks. “I love you, Olivi
a Marie Williams.”

  “You should, I’m freaking lovable.”

  Abi ended the call and soaked up the last of the tears dribbling down her cheek and dripping onto her notebook. She flipped open the cover and place a huge tick beside the words, HAVE SEX. She grinned and added half a dozen more ticks before turning the page.

  Diving the Great Barrier Reef, hiking around Uluru and through Kings Canyon, hot-air ballooning above the outback, walking over the Sydney Harbor Bridge, swimming with dolphins and whale sharks, cuddling every furry critter that couldn’t kill her, exploring a deserted tropical island, eating Vegemite, witchetty grubs, and meat pies. The things that had filled her dreams for months now seemed so lonely and hollow without the man consuming her thoughts.

  She drew a line across each dream-filled page. If they happened, they happened, she no longer cared about consolation prizes. If this ended up being her last adventure, she was going after the biggest wish of all, the wish she’d secretly dreamed of for as long as she could remember, a dream so terrifying it made jumping out of a plane, wrestling crocodiles, and swimming with sharks seem boring.

  After three failed attempts at getting her shaking hand to steady the pen, she drew in a long, slow breath and guided Mr. Hemsworth across the page. Three simple words…that had the power to change everything.

  The apartment door clicked open, and Mr. Hemsworth slid from her trembling fingers and clattered to the floor. She slammed her bucket list shut and turned as Ryder strode in. She snatched up the pen and tucked it back into the binding of her notebook as casually as she could before scrambling to her feet.

  The smile fell from his face as he dumped the bag and cardboard tray he carried onto the arm of the sofa and rushed to her. “What’s wrong?”

  She rose onto her toes and pecked his tense jaw before hugging him tight. “Olivia thinks you’re contagious.”

  His confusion was as adorable as the way he cradled her body. She eased out of his embrace and gestured to the couch. “There’s something else you need to know.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t need to tell me anything.”

  She shoved him toward the sofa. “Shut up and sit down.”

  There was no way she was pushing him anywhere he didn’t want to go, but he reluctantly gave in and sank into the huge leather cushions. She considered sitting next to him, but being close to him did strange things to her brain, and she needed what cells remained loyal to her for what was to come.

  She edged around the remains of the coffee table they’d destroyed in their lust-crazed madness and swallowed the lump in her throat. Even after years of sharing her head with the Doris, speaking about the little bitch somehow made her even more real. “Eight years ago I started suffering really bad headaches and seizures. Doctors discovered a growth on the parietal lobe of my brain.” She traced the ring of faded scars on the top of her scalp. “They operated and spent the next six months frying my brain with enough radiation to roast an elephant before clearing me.”

  His body stiffened as he edged forward on the couch, but she shoved out her hand and shook her head. “Four years ago they found a mass on my temporal lobe.” She pointed to the most recent scars on the left side of her head. “They operated, zapped, and drugged the crap out of me again and gave me the green light.”

  His face had transformed into a stone mask devoid of emotion, but his fingers had curled so tight his arms and torso looked ready to explode.

  “Two months ago they found another growth on my temporal lobe. They believe it’s a secondary, grade-two glioblastoma, but can’t be sure until they open me up.”

  He sucked in a breath and opened his mouth, but she plowed on. He needed to know the truth. He had to know everything before they disappeared into Wonderland together. “They’re going to try and cut it out in five weeks.”

  ...

  Ryder dropped his gaze to the notebook Abi clutched to her chest like a glimmering shield. The damned thing wasn’t filled with fun things to do on a holiday; it was a fucking bucket list. He replayed everything she’d said and committed it to memory for the Google searches he’d be doing as soon as he got her home. Parietal, temporal, glioblastoma. He’d researched his mother’s breast cancer so hard he could almost speak Latin, but he couldn’t recall a glioblastoma, and where the hell did secondary, grade-two rank on the brain-tumor shit list?

  He shook the questions away and unclenched his fists. In five fucking weeks someone was going to cut her head open for the third time and poke inside her brain. He wanted to pick up the shattered remains of the coffee table and hurl them through the window, but what the fuck would that do for her? She was already studying him like her world was ending. He needed to pull his shit together. She didn’t need macho bullshit. She needed someone calm and controlled. The problem was all he wanted to do was crawl inside her head and choke the living shit out of that fucking thing with his bare hands before tracking down the fuckwits who operated on her and find out why the hell they couldn’t do their fucking jobs.

  He unclenched his fingers, which had curled back into fists, and forced himself to relax. He wasn’t fast-roping out of a Blackhawk or breaching a terrorist stronghold, but his body hadn’t known the difference. With each controlled breath his heart rate slowed enough for his mind to finally start working.

  The red haze cleared from his vision, and the incredible woman he’d feared destiny was trying to take away came into focus. Only now did he understand what his instincts had sensed. Destiny could go fuck itself.

  “Why…?” He tried swallowing but had no spit. “Why wait so long?”

  She released the lip she’d been nibbling. “There was a lot of swelling after the biopsy. The doctors wanted to wait until my body absorbed as much fluid as possible before going in.”

  He clenched his jaw to stifle the scream tearing up his throat. For five fucking weeks?

  She sighed as if she’d read his mind. “Plus, I’ve got a few things I want to take care of first.”

  She held the notebook he’d spent the entire flight trying to look at so tightly her knuckles whitened. She looked so vulnerable standing there in her derelict sneakers, faded jeans, and I Tawt I Taw a Puddy Tat T-shirt, he wanted to crush her to his chest and never let her go, but he was going to have to let go. The only question was when and how much it’d hurt.

  “What are the chances of getting it all out?”

  “About 75 percent if it’s stage two. If it’s developed into stage three”—she shrugged and shook her head—“about 25 percent.”

  The numbers flashed above her in huge neon lights—75 percent, 25 percent—as the truth froze the blood pumping through his veins. She spoke so casually she could have been predicting the chance of rain. How many times had he survived 25 percent missions? But she hadn’t volunteered for this. She hadn’t trained her entire life to survive combat. She was just an innocent, fragile woman…who’d had her head cut open twice and faced death every day for the last eight years armed with nothing more than sass and ovaries the size of hand grenades.

  He forced a smile and pointed to the notebook. “Now that I’ve let you have your way with me, do I get a look?”

  She glanced down at the book like she’d forgotten she’d been holding it before slowly shaking her head.

  In a little over twenty-four hours they’d shared every part of their bodies. Christ, he’d kissed her scars and she’d fondled his stump. That left only farting and leaving the bathroom door open on the intimacy scale, which meant whatever the hell was hiding on that bucket list was pretty freaking special. If he couldn’t kill the fucking thing growing inside her head, he could damn well make sure she ticked off every last thing on that list before heading home. But how the hell was he going to do that when she wouldn’t even let him look inside?

  She placed her phone and notebook next to the breakfast he’d bought and slid onto the couch beside him. Even the darkness that had fallen over the room and the two layers of denim and cotton separa
ting them couldn’t dampen the electricity tingling across his nerve endings. He wanted her again, wanted to hold her, comfort her, and make love to her until she forgot about the brain tumor, the operation, and whatever the hell the future held.

  She picked up his fist and worked his fingers loose. He’d clenched his hands so tight his forearms ached, but all it took was her touch for them to uncoil as if she’d cast a spell over him. She caressed the scars and calluses marring his palm before sandwiching it between her delicate hands. “I need you to promise me something before we leave.”

  It had taken more than an hour of reasoning, negotiating, arguing, and begging to finally convince her to come home with him. He’d been so relieved he’d still been smiling like an idiot half an hour later when he’d picked up his plain black coffee and the nonfat soy noncaffeinated machi-whatever-the-hell thing she’d wanted, but he should’ve known it wasn’t going to be that easy. She probably wanted him to work out a daily fee for room and board or to come up with a list of chores so she could work off the meals and accommodation or to sign a contract to document who paid for what.

  She dropped her gaze to where her fingers trailed circles in his palm. “I know guys like you fall hard for stunningly glamorous, elementary school teachers like me all the time, so when I decide to leave, you have to promise not to try to stop me. No discussions, no deals, no bargaining, no threatening to commit suicide, and no stripping naked and begging me to make love to you just one last time.”

  Well, there went most of the strategies he’d come up with to get her to let him hang around. “Am I allowed to cry?”

  She chuckled, but when she looked up she wasn’t smiling, and her eyes glistened. “No handshakes, no hugs, no kisses, not even a wave good-bye.”

  Jesus, she was serious.

  She captured his cheeks and leaned closer until she peered directly into his eyes. “I want you to nod, climb onto your horse, and ride off into the sunset without saying a word, no looking back, no regrets, no forced declarations, and no fake promises.”