The Outback Cowboy’s Christmas Baby

Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

She was a pretty little thing in a tomboy kind of way. Wiry, bordering on underfed, with an outdoor tan and blunt clean nails. Her hair was every which colour of autumn leaf brown, hacked to frame her face as if she’d cut it herself in front of a cracked shaving mirror and called it done. He’d been there, done that when it came to haircuts, and his interest in her had sharpened. Her black T-shirt had seen better years, but the pub’s apron covered most of it. She had a smattering of freckles across her nose, a stubborn chin, and a defensive air about her that he knew only too well. Poverty clung to her in the same way it had once clung to him.

That she was waiting tables in a country pub in a small town on the edge of the outback didn’t surprise him. But he’d been watching her serve meals to customers for a while now, and she had a way of connecting with people that couldn’t be taught. A bright and graceful flit, her attention fully focused on others as she worked the room.

If she ever caught a break, she could make something of that skill.

If she ever had a hunger for making something of herself.

WELCOME TO WIRRALONG, the town sign had said, and it was a pleasant enough place on the outside. As a service centre for the surrounding farmland, it had a pretty main street with a fork in it that led to an old stone church. It also boasted a community park with big old trees and playing fields. This being a Saturday night in early autumn, he’d had the choice of cafe food, motel food, a high-end looking restaurant, or the pub.

He’d chosen the pub.

She’d been taking attitude from the customers at table twelve ever since they’d arrived. Whenever she approached that table was the only time her outward focus turtled back in, and he remembered that survival technique of old. How he’d wish himself smaller and less noticeable, the better to stay out of trouble. It was working about as well for her as it used to for him, meaning not at all. She was too pretty and too present. A flame they couldn’t stamp out.

She’d taken their orders to the tune of jeering laughter that seemed to be at her expense. Delivered their food and then taken a couple of dishes back because reasons. The rounds of drinks she’d delivered to the table had gone down all too well.

She’d kept her smile and her patience, but he could tell it was starting to fray around the edges. He’d put her current attitude somewhere between kicked puppy and spitting kitten.

What interested him most was that no one—not the bar staff, the kitchen staff or anyone else in the pub—showed any interest in helping her deal with the half-dozen, half-cut young guys who’d turned giving her a hard time into their evening sport.

“Get you anything else?” she asked as she cleared the empty plate from his table. “Chef does a good cheesecake, and the blackberries were picked today.”

“By you?”

“Maybe.” She had a dimpled smile that transformed her fairy face into something truly arresting. The eyes helped, he thought. Same crazy flecked brown as her hair, and momentarily unguarded. Pretty, he thought again.

“Then I’ll take one.” He looked towards table twelve and met the narrow-eyed glare of red-shirt guy. “What’d you do to the guy in the red shirt?”

“I kissed him once in high school,” she muttered. “Maybe a bit more. But he’s rich and I’m poor and he only wanted one thing. When I didn’t put out, he took it personally. He’s been like that ever since.”

“Call him on it.”

“Can’t. I’m on my second warning here already, and I need the work.” She glanced away, clearly embarrassed, before squaring her shoulders and mustering a smile as she turned to him once more. “Anyone ever tell you that you look just like Max O’Connor, only older and harder with about a million more miles of road behind you?”

“Who?”

“Max O’Connor. Married Maggie Walker who owns Wirra Station. Big grazier family names around here. Sheep, beef, and a historic homestead that caters for big events.”

“Never heard of them.”

“Then never mind. I’ll get you that cheesecake.”

He watched her move on to clear an empty table, a hustle in her step and speed of movement that made him smile.

And then he turned his attention back to table twelve, and his smile faded. Time to do something about that, seeing as no one else would. He rose, six-three, all muscle, and a lifetime of mean-street memory behind him. Making waves hadn’t been on his agenda tonight, but now he was downright in the mood for it. He headed for red-shirt guy, drawing every eye. If they wanted a show, he’d give them one. It had been a long time since he’d been afraid of anything or anyone, and that was always half the battle won.

Troublemaker.

Delinquent.

Out of control.

He’d been all those things and more. Still could be when it served a purpose.

But he’d never been a bully, and he had a soft spot for underdogs.

He put his hand on the back of the guy’s chair, ignoring the others for now, and spoke to the guy’s ear. “You’ve been riding that little waitress all night for no good reason I can see. You treat your mother like that?”

Red-shirt guy leaned away from him, not nearly so confident now. “Why don’t you mind your own business?”

“Nah. At this point, I just want to beat some manners into you. Call it a character flaw.”

He spared a hard glance for the others sitting at the table, every one of them unnaturally quiet. “So, unless you want to take that beating—and trust me, I’m good for it—you and your pals should pay up and leave.” Giving orders came naturally to him. Taking orders was something other people did. “Get up.”

Half of them did. Not red-shirt guy.

“C’mon, man,” one of the others said. “Sam’s expecting us.”

Eventually, they all rose and started throwing money onto the table. Actual cash money. He bared his teeth. Only a fool would call it a smile. Red-shirt guy froze. “Don’t forget to leave a tip.”

He stood right where he was until they’d littered the table with a few more notes from fat wallets. The other diners had gone strangely watchful and silent as the group of young guys left the room by the side door. Hello fear on the wind. He inflicted a savage, satisfied smile on anyone who dared hold his gaze as he ambled back to his table. Miserable cowards, the lot of them.

Wirralong was the name of the town, and he hated the place already; and it wasn’t just because he’d been abandoned here as a baby. Left beside a big blue charity bin like unwanted rubbish someone couldn’t bring themselves to toss out because maybe, hopefully, someone else would see the value in it. He’d wheedled his origin story out of one of his caseworkers, and he’d been holding that nugget of information close ever since. He’d ended up in a hospital in Melbourne for the first six months of his life and the foster system after that, because who in their right mind wanted to adopt an infant with health problems? A baby who never stopped screaming, so they said.

Welcome to Wirralong, Mac Bodie. What a pit of a place.

He owed this town and these people nothing, but someone, somewhere, owed him answers, and he was here to collect.

If he raised a little hell along the way and made people uncomfortable…that was just a bonus.

The little tomboy waitress emerged from the kitchen, cheesecake in hand. “On the house,” she murmured, setting the giant slice of cheesecake, laden with berries and cream, in front of him.

“Is it coming out of your wage or is this the pitiful hotel management’s way of thanking me for taking care of their problem for them?”

“Well, if you don’t want it—” she began fiercely and reached out as if to take it away.

“I want it,” he interrupted, suddenly ashamed. He remembered having nothing but pride to his name, same way he remembered not wanting anyone’s pity or charity. “Sorry. Thank you.”

“What’s your name?” she asked. Not a come-on, if her body language was anything to go by. More like wanting to label the new threat in her world.

“Mac Bodie. Most people just call me Bodie. Yours?”

“Jess.”

“What time do you get off work?”

Silence. And he didn’t want to mislead her. “I don’t date,” he said. “But it’d make me happy if I could walk you to your car when your shift is over. See you home, if you like.”

“You think I’m in danger?”

“I think it wouldn’t hurt for people around here to know that someone’s got your back.”

She shook her head, her smile not even halfway to reaching her eyes. “That only works if someone’s planning on sticking around. Are you planning on sticking around, Mac Bodie?”

“No.”

“Then thanks for nothing.”

“You think I’ve made it worse for you?”

“Don’t know. But that’s a future-me problem, and tonight I’m grateful, so eat your free cheesecake. You’re guarding it like it’s your last meal on earth.”

“That’s because you were going to take it back. I don’t let people take food from me.” He made a mental note to savour the dessert rather than bolt it down. Some habits were hellishly hard to break.

As for tomboy Jess, it had been a long time since anyone had caught his interest so thoroughly. There was also the small matter of her mention of someone who resembled him. “Are you sure I can’t see you home?”

“I’m poor, my family name is trash around these parts, and I live with my father, who spends most of his time in bed because there’s something wrong with him and he’s too stubborn to see a doctor. Just so you know.”

He broke a startled laugh. Long time since anyone had surprised him. “Sell it some more.”

“People think I’m easy. I’m not saying you think that too, but I’m not. I won’t sleep with you and say see ya’ ten minutes later.”

He liked this woman. Bowed but not broken. Good for her. “Got it. I still want to see you home.”

“I’m not educated. I have no career, no skills.”

“People used to say that about me.”

“Good for you, mister leather boots and fancy watch man. You made good. You’ve still got bad-arse trouble written all over you.”

He nodded his agreement. “It just…sticks.”

This time it was her turn to laugh.

“Jess!” barked the bearded bloke behind the bar. “Table twelve, then table three.”

“On it!” I need this job, her warning glance seemed to say. “Nine-thirty. That’s when my shift ends. I’m usually out of here around quarter to ten. Enjoy your dessert.”

She walked away without waiting to hear his reply.

The cheesecake was really good.