a man who would get things done. Maybe it was just the uniform, she’d always seen uniforms as a symbol of order and control, but she sensed that with this man it was more about his personality and less about his attire.
‘Yes, but they’re running late,’ she replied. ‘I’m just going to look for my bags while I wait. Do you know where the baggage carousel is?’
‘First time in Broken Hill?’ he asked.
He was smiling and by the expression in his bright blue eyes she could tell he wanted to laugh. At her. She couldn’t imagine what there was to laugh about but whatever it was that amused him he at least had the good grace not to laugh out loud.
‘Yes, why?’
Harry watched as Emma straightened her slim shoulders and lifted her chin and he knew she was just daring him to make fun of her. He wasn’t about to take the mickey out of her, not when she’d just had a less than stellar welcome to the Hill, but he always found it amusing to see how first-timers coped with Broken Hill. Listening to her English accent, he imagined that in her case it would be a vastly different experience from anything she’d had before. He wondered what she was doing here, this English girl in the middle of the Outback. She didn’t look like the average backpacker and she appeared to be travelling alone. What could possibly have brought her here? Who was she waiting for?
‘There is no carousel,’ he explained. ‘Your luggage will be outside on the trolley. It’s this way.’ He could have directed her to the trolley, it wasn’t difficult to find if you knew where to look, but he wasn’t in a hurry and he’d never been able to resist a damsel in distress, especially not a pretty one.
He’d seen her again the moment he’d entered the terminal and he’d kept one eye on her even as he’d helped get other passengers sorted. Technically, sorting out the chaos from the crash landing wasn’t his job but in a town like Broken Hill, where everyone knew everybody else, or at least that’s what it felt like, many hands made light work. Particularly in situations like this, when things had gone haywire, it was the country way to pitch in and do your bit. But he’d made sure he’d done his bit while keeping an eye on the tall, willowy brunette.
The terminal was almost empty now. Most of the passengers had been taken care of and only a few remained. She was one of them.
He’d half turned away from her, towards the exit and the baggage trolley, waiting for her to follow him, but she wasn’t moving. She was standing still and frowning. A little crease had appeared between her green eyes and she was fiddling with the end of her ponytail.
A moment later she appeared to come to a decision. She flicked her hair back over her shoulder and he watched as she stowed her mobile phone in her handbag. Her wrists were brown and slender, her fingers slim with short, polished nails, and her movements as she slung her bag over her shoulder were fluid and graceful. Even though her white cotton dress and silver sandals were covered in red dust, she still managed to look elegant.
Her outfit alone was enough to convince Harry she wasn’t a local. Not too many people were brave enough to wear all white in the country’s red centre.
But it wasn’t her outfit that had told him she wasn’t from around here. Neither was it her English accent. Even before she’d spoken one word or asked the question about her luggage Harry had known she wasn’t from the Hill. He knew he’d never seen her before. He would have remembered.
‘Did you want to come with me to the trolley?’ he asked, eager to prolong the encounter. His offer was rewarded with a smile that made him catch his breath. Her green eyes sparkled but it was the twin dimples that appeared on each side of her mouth that made him do a double take. At first glance there was no denying she was an attractive woman but when she smiled she was spectacular.
She reminded him of the wildflowers that suddenly appeared after the desert rains—stunningly beautiful and completely unexpected—and he wondered if, like the native flowers, she would appear fragile yet turn out to be resilient.
‘Thank you,’ she said without protest. She didn’t tell him she’d be able to find the luggage trolley on her own; she didn’t tell him she didn’t need his help.
She simply fell into step beside him and made him feel good about himself for helping. He watched the reaction of the remaining passengers as they walked through the terminal. He was used to being with beautiful women but it seemed as though every person in the building was looking at them and he didn’t flatter himself that he was the one who’d captured their attention. It was most definitely the willowy brunette they were watching.
He felt like the schoolboy who’d caught the attention of the prom queen. He knew that was ridiculous and fanciful but that made no difference—it was how she made him feel and the sensation was unexpected but not unpleasant.
The half-laden luggage trolley sat just outside the terminal doors.
Emma reached up to grab a large duffel bag from the top of the pile.
‘Here, let me get that for you,’ he offered. ‘It looks heavy.’
She could have managed to lift her bag and find the trolley, she’d just needed to know where it was. But she didn’t tell him she could manage because she found him fascinating and she was more than happy to let him help her. So she stepped back to let him past her.
As he retrieved her bag from the trolley his biceps bulged, straining against the fabric of his shirt. She’d bet her last pound that his muscles came from physical work, not from lifting weights in a gym. He looked vibrant, healthy and solid, totally male. He seemed a far more masculine version of the men she was used to in England.
Maybe it was the tougher environment out here, maybe it was the sun, the fresh air or the physical activity, but, whatever it was, someone had definitely got something right when they’d made him.
‘You’re staying in town for a while?’ he asked as he hefted her bag and slung it over his shoulder.
He was grinning and once again she had the feeling that he was doing his best not to laugh at her. She knew her bag was heavy, even though he made it look light.
When she’d packed she hadn’t really known what she’d need and as usual she knew she would have brought far too many pairs of shoes. She’d already noticed that everyone in the airport wore no-nonsense sturdy shoes or flip-flops and she hadn’t seen one pair of sparkly shoes on anyone over the age of thirteen.
She knew her bag was bulging at the seams and she knew she might not need the three pairs of strappy stilettos she’d packed, or even the two pairs of ballet flats, but surely she didn’t have to sacrifice her fashion sense completely just because she was in the middle of nowhere?
‘I’m not sure,’ she replied. Her plans hadn’t evolved at all past getting on the plane and arriving in town.
‘What brings you here?’ He was frowning as he carried her bag into the terminal.
‘I’m visiting my cousin.’
‘Is that who’s running late?’
She nodded in reply.
‘How late?’ he asked.
Emma checked her watch and felt his eyes follow her movement. ‘About an hour. She sent me a message, something about the clinic running late.’
‘The
