Against All Odds (Outback Hearts) Read online

  “To see your boobs? Jesus, I only proposed ten minutes ago. I’m not that kind of guy.”

  She slapped him again, but laughter made it impossible to transfer much force into the blow.

  He pretended to cringe before shaking his head. “You can tell me if and when you want.” He nodded to the notebook tucked safely into her seat pocket. “I’m more interested in what you’ve scribbled in that. Anything which embarrasses you that much is bound to be interesting reading.”

  Heat flooded her cheeks, and suddenly talking about Doris seemed a lot less humiliating than explaining what Olivia had written and drawn in her book. “It’s okay you know, kids ask all the time. It’s only adults who have a hard time saying what’s on their minds.”

  A deep sigh drained the humor from his face as he leaned back against the window. “Everyone hides something.”

  He said it so casually she almost started laughing all over again. Aside from his reluctance to accept the adulation he deserved, she couldn’t imagine a man like him having to hide anything physical from the world. He’d probably be perfectly at ease strutting down the aisle bare-assed, balls-out naked. Apart from the scars marring his face, he was male perfection wrapped in jeans and a T-shirt. And now she thought about it, the scars only added to his perfection because they made him more real. “Like you’d have anything to hide.”

  Christ, she sounded like a spoiled brat. Nice going, you miserable cow. Way to kill the most amazing hour of your life. What the hell was wrong with her? Was her brain secretly plotting against her libido to maintain her virginity?

  She opened her mouth to apologize, but nothing came out. What could she say to get him to forget the self-pitying drivel that had spewed out of her?

  He leaned forward and slowly worked the hem of his jeans up his left leg. All the while, he studied her as closely as she studied him. “We all have things we’d rather not show the world.”

  Chapter Five

  Abi’s gaze darted between his face and the titanium, stainless steel, and carbon fiber hanging off what remained of his leg. Ryder had no idea what was running through her mind, but shock was a hell of a lot better than the regret and shame that had dragged on her features. Seeing that much sadness on something so beautiful hurt almost as much as losing his leg. At least he’d had ball-shrinking terror to help dull the pain that freezing night in hell. But all he could do now was hope his surprise game of show-and-tell hadn’t freaked her out completely. Desperate to take her mind off what was going on beneath her scarf, he tugged his jeans higher until the frayed hem tightened around the carbon-fiber socket sheathing his stump.

  She slowly reached out a trembling hand before freezing just a few inches from his knee. He saw none of the embarrassment or pity he’d feared, only a sense of wonder that reminded him of the kids he’d visited in the hospital three days ago. His gang of fellow amputees hadn’t been able to keep their grubby little hands off the custom-tuned work of art his U.S. foster commander had organized to replace his old clunker of a prosthesis. By the time he’d left the hospital, his brand-new upgrade had looked as scruffy and worn as the rest of him but damn it’d been worth it. The kids hadn’t seen a washed-up soldier, they’d seen a beat-up working-class version of Iron Man, and didn’t that put things into perspective?

  “May I?”

  Her voice overflowed with a guilty childlike excitement that had him struggling to catch up. Hell, she could slide the thing off and wear it as a hat if it put a smile back on her face.

  Guilt and shame should’ve crippled him for taking advantage of her after she’d charged into battle to protect him from thirteen hours of shaking hands, signing autographs, and posing for selfies. But no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t summon even a hint of self-loathing. He’d daydreamed of kissing her snarky mouth ever since she’d first looked up at him and pushed those glasses up her nose. He had to hand it to himself, he knew as much about flirting as he did about quantum physics but that first peck had been pure genius. If she’d slapped the crap out of him, as he so rightly deserved, he could’ve played dumb and pretended he’d just been following her lead. But he’d grossly underestimated his body’s reaction to tasting her. As soon as he’d pulled away all he could think of was kissing her again, and again. He’d been so nervous he hadn’t been sure whether she’d kissed him back the first time, but oh hell yeah, she’d kissed him back on the second pass. Hesitant as it may have been, she’d definitely kissed him back.

  He shifted his leg closer. “Careful, I’m ticklish.”

  It wasn’t the smile he’d hoped for, but the delicate curve to her lips was a start. Most people did everything short of breaking into song and dance to conceal their shock and curiosity. Shit, prior to his run-in with that high-velocity hunk of shrapnel he’d have done exactly the same thing, but she didn’t seem the slightest bit fazed by his bionic leg.

  The state-of-the-art Ottobock X3 the magicians at Tampa General Hospital had fitted during his visit was so advanced compared to the prehistoric contraption he’d arrived with, it had taken half a dozen sessions jammed in between the endless military presentations and media circuses to fine-tune the thing. His new leg was so good he sometimes forgot it was there. Unless he was wearing shorts, it was almost impossible for people to tell he was a leg short, which made the way his neighbor coped with the social minefield she endured every time she left the house even more impressive. Her take-no-prisoners attitude probably explained the bright pink beacon wrapped around her head. No hiding beneath a wig for this superhero.

  He bit back a chuckle as the image of his completely bald mother striding out of Brisbane Cancer Centre’s oncology ward drifted through his head. Christ, Naya Harper hadn’t even bothered with one of the hand-painted silk scarves he’d brought back for her from Kandahar, or any of the hats his fashion-guru sister, Kira, had created for her. She’d even refused to visit the exclusive wig designer his brother, Jarrah, had lined up. Oh no, Naya Harper had very politely and eloquently told his three sisters and two brothers to go to hell. His mother’s words barked in his ears like his old girl was standing right beside him. If people want to stare, let them fucking look. I just kicked cancer’s arse.

  His neighbor ran her fingertips over the waterproof polymer shielding the solid-state microprocessor and lithium battery housed beneath the custom-calibrated knee joint. Combined with the gyroscopes, accelerometers, and angle sensors dotted throughout his leg, the prosthesis was almost as good as the flesh-and-blood original.

  His mind snapped back to the present as her fingers slid up his leg and over the scrunched-up denim to where the carbon-fiber socket encased his stump. He sucked in a breath and visualized his sadistic drill sergeant naked in a desperate attempt to divert the blood gushing toward his groin. It had been way too long since a woman’s fingers had ventured anywhere near ground zero. And with the taste of her lingering on his lips and her scent enveloping him, his threadbare jeans weren’t containing much for long.

  Master Sergeant Hardy’s hairy arse had just started stemming the blood flow when her fingers traced another torturous path down his leg. He’d confronted the grim reaper so many times it was a miracle he was still here. The loss of a leg was nothing compared to what his brothers-in-arms and their families had sacrificed, but for the first time in a very long time he wanted his real leg back, if only to feel her fingers caress his skin.

  “It’s…” She shook her head. “It’s incredible. You don’t even limp?”

  He scanned her features for any hint of embarrassment or pity, but only found the innocent seductress staring back from behind her glasses. Either she had absolutely no clue the impact she was having on his self-control, or she was an evil genius who’d mastered the art of torture. Either way, he was in deep, deep shit.

  He shook his head and released the death grip he had on the armrest. “Not anymore.”

  As so clearly pointed out by his less-than-sympathetic prosthetist, he wasn’t going to win any dance compe
titions, but after eighteen months of physical therapy, rehab, and training, he was able to run and jump without falling on his arse and even swim in a straight line.

  “I’d never have believed someone with a transfemoral prosthesis could move so well.”

  She may as well have ripped off his leg and beat him over the head with it. He’d had his prosthesis for more than a month before he finally figured out that transfemoral referred to above-the-knee prostheses and not some Latin word for wooden leg.

  The wonder on her face and the ease with which she regarded him had him wanting to high-five the world. “Wait till you see my other leg.”

  Her smile vanished. “You lost both?”

  He shook his head and grabbed the right leg of his jeans. “No, but it’s a really good-looking leg.”

  Before he’d even cleared his calf she slammed her hand on top of his and burst out laughing. A dozen sensations shot up his arm and straight through his chest. It was like her fingers were charged with the power to not only stun him but render him speechless as well. Or was it just the joy in her laughter?

  Her smile dimmed as she drew her hand away and dropped her gaze to his leg. “How’d you lose it?”

  The more he turned her whispered words over in his head the more they amazed him. It was such a logical question, yet for the life of him he couldn’t remember anyone outside his fellow amputees ever asking him.

  He sucked in a breath to answer only to have her clutch his arm. “No, please.” She shook her head. “I have no right to ask you, I’m so sorry. It’s just… I mean…”

  She tried pulling free, but he latched on to her fingers. “Hey, we had a deal, any question, no matter how embarrassing.” He ignored her shaking head and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze before sighing. “Crocodile.”

  Her fingers crushed his as her jaw dropped and her eyes widened. “You were attacked by a crocodile?”

  The surprised murmurs from the surrounding passengers had her cringing and ducking her head before leaning closer. “A crocodile took your leg?”

  Her scent washed over him and transported him into a world where sunshine had a smell. The smile he’d been battling broke through, but it still took a few heartbeats for her shock to transform into confusion, then anger.

  She yanked her hand free and pounded his shoulder. “You asshole.”

  He brought his finger to his lips as another ripple of disapproval swept through their neighbors. “Shhh, you’ll get us kicked off the plane.”

  She scowled and launched another attack. “You. Ass. Hole.” She punctuated each whispered syllable with a back-fist to his shoulder. But he was way too busy trying not to laugh to protect himself and ended up trapping her entire arm against his chest.

  Her glasses had slid down her nose during the attack, and she glared at him over the top of the thick black frames. “My sister’s been filling my head with so many horror stories of poisonous platypuses and woman-eating drop bears I’m afraid to get off the freaking plane.”

  And he’d thought seeing her push those glasses up her nose was sexy. A few chuckles snuck through her gritted teeth as her rage faded and she stopped struggling against his hold. “You promised to tell me the truth.”

  He released her and leaned back against the window to take in all her ferocious glory. “You ordered me not to tell you. I believe your exact words were—”

  She slammed her hand over his mouth. “I know what I told you.”

  She muttered a curse and shoved her glasses up her nose. “That was before the whole crocodile thing. Now I want the truth.”

  What was happening to him? He’d barely been on a date in the last eighteen months, and the only real conversation he’d had with the opposite sex had been with the ballbreaker of a major who’d dragged him from one media conference and gala dinner to the next. But within an hour of meeting this incredible woman he’d kissed her—twice—stripped for her, and was about thirty seconds away from telling her how he’d lost his leg.

  How old was she? Did she have family? What did she do back in the States? Why was she traveling alone? How long was she staying in Brisbane? What caused the shadow that sometimes fell across her face when she thought he wasn’t looking? He wanted to know every single thing about her in a way that terrified him and lured him deeper all at the same time. “You going to tell me how you know so much about prostheses?”

  She paused before jutting her chin at him. “You first.”

  He readjusted his jeans under her watchful gaze and collected his thoughts. “I lost it in Afghanistan about two years ago when I served with the Australian Army during a joint operation with your boys.” One year, ten months, and three days, but who was counting?

  Her eyes lost focus but she remained silent. Most people blurted out an apology like they were somehow responsible for the loss of his leg, but she only shook her head. “IED?”

  God only knew how he’d missed being taken out by a booby trap. The damned things were everywhere, and their shockwaves and shrapnel had grazed his arse way too many times.

  He shrugged. “Taliban sniper who took a dislike to me invading his country.”

  She released the breath she’d been holding. “Must have been a nightmare.”

  He’d been too preoccupied at the time to think of anything other than fighting for his life and trying not to bleed out onto the freezing dirt floor of the compound they’d been ambushed in. The nightmares had come later and still paid him the occasional visit, but he was breathing, finally on his way home for good, and flirting with a beautiful woman. Life could get a hell of a lot worse. “More like just a really bad dream.”

  She eyed him for a long moment before closing her gaping mouth and slowly shaking her head. “You said you served in the Australian Army?”

  The concern tugging on her features warmed his belly as he nodded. “This visit stateside was my last gig. I’m officially retired.”

  “Ahh, that whole Distinguished Service Cross thing.”

  He grinned and shrugged. “Apparently if you’re stupid enough to volunteer for a joint operation with some of your good old boys, they like to hand out jewelry.”

  “The Distinguished Service Cross is second only to the Medal of Honor.” Her playful smile faded. “And it’s the highest military decoration awarded to non-US soldiers.” Her eyebrows narrowed as her gaze sharpened. “Guess what my students learn in fourth-grade history?”

  “So you’re a teacher?”

  Her glare only deepened as his pathetic deflection crashed and burned on takeoff. He’d done exactly what any of the other eleven operators in his unit would’ve done. The only difference was he’d been lucky enough to only lose a few liters of blood and part of his leg during that night in hell.

  With each silent second, her features softened until she stared up at him with eyes that had melted into shimmering pools of gold, copper, and bronze. He was so busy resisting the gravity dragging him toward her he didn’t notice her hand moving until it cupped his.

  With a tentative smile, she shrugged and squeezed his fingers. “If the offer of a first-class ride had you cowering in your seat like a little girl, I bet you must have loved all the red, white, and blue fanfare at the medal presentation.”

  He hadn’t cowered in his seat like a little girl, a little boy, maybe, but definitely not a little girl. And he would’ve reminded her of that if he hadn’t been so busy reveling in the warmth and softness of her touch.

  He sighed and slowly shook his head. “I had my gear packed and was heading home when my CO dragged me back into his office and broke the news. I told him to get you guys to stick it in the mail but that didn’t go over too well.”

  “I bet.” She gave his fingers another quick squeeze before letting him go.

  He ignored the chill skittering up his forearm and the almost overwhelming urge to chase after her hand and tapped his alloy knee. “I got this sweet ride out of the deal, so I can’t complain.”

  She leaned back in her sea
t to study him and nibbled her bottom lip until he thought he’d pop a vein in his head. “Why’d you leave the army? Was it because of the leg?”

  He could’ve blamed his leg, but even if he’d made it back from the Middle East with everything attached, it would’ve still been his last tour. His command had offered him his pick of the defense force’s cushiest training and non-combative tactical roles, but he no longer craved the adrenaline rush or had to be the best of the best. All he needed and wanted was a tiny patch of red dust in the middle of the Australian outback, the family he owed everything to, and a stockwoman and kids of his own to grow old and fat beside.

  He was about to answer when he realized he was the only one talking. Which was the complete opposite of what he’d planned. Because the innocent seductress sitting beside him and gently dismantling his will was truly diabolical.

  “Nice try.” He jutted his chin toward her. “How do you know so much about prostheses?”

  It wasn’t the first question tugging at his brain, but they hadn’t been engaged long, and she might have freaked out if he’d asked her to let him show her around his backyard or come home with him.

  She made sure he understood who was still in charge with a matronly glare before grudgingly nodding. “One of my stu…” She eyed him for a long moment as a devious smile bunched her cheeks. “I have a friend who’s just been fitted with a transtibial prosthesis.”

  What was that look all about? And who was this friend? And what did they have to do with that almost guilty smile? His mind raced through the possibilities as her lips relaxed back into that sexy, pouty thing she must have been doing on purpose.

  “I spent a lot of time researching and trialing prostheses…with him.” She reached between them and cupped his knee. “But we never saw anything like this.”

  Him…we? He kept an eye on her while trying to figure out what worried him more, the pause, the him, the we, or the dreamy smile spreading across her face as she returned her hand to her side of the armrest.