Misplaced Hands: 4 (Foreign Affairs) Read Online Free PDF Page A

enough for Marc to see his knuckles whiten. “On foot.”
    With a muttered curse, Ronnie slammed the door shut, shot one last glare at Keith—threw one Marc’s way for good measure—and then stormed away, fists clenched.
    “Fuck a duck, Blue.” Marc let out a ragged breath. “That was tense.”
    Keith let out his own breath, a long, slow exhalation that saw his broad shoulders loosen. “Remind me to punch the crap out of Dylan when he gets back from his honeymoon, will you? None of this would have happened if the bastard hadn’t taken off now.”
    “Oh yeah, you really think I’m going to encourage you to hit the man who pays my wage?”
    Keith snorted, removing his hat to drag a hand through his hair. “Hunter pays your wage, Thomo. He’s the brother in charge of the money.”
    “Hey, you hit Dylan, you may as well be hitting Hunter. And I’m not letting you do either, ’specially now you’re third in charge. I plan on milking that position of power as much as I can.”
    Keith cocked an eyebrow at him. “Is that right? And how exactly are you planning on doing that? Seeing as I’m the one in that ‘position of power’?”
    Marc grinned. “I’m not telling you, mate. You’ll spoil all my bloody fun if I do.”
    Keith rolled his eyes, tugging his hat back on. “Why do I put up with you?”
    “Because I’m hung like a horse. You said so yourself.”
    Keith walked around the ute’s bonnet and opened the driver’s side door. “Mention your dick one more time, Thomo, and it’ll be you I punch the crap out of.”
    “What? You know you want it.”
    Keith gave him steady look. “Shut the fuck up and get in, Marc. We’ve got to drop off Harper Shaw’s luggage to Amy’s place before Mrs. Sullivan finishes giving her the tour.”
    Marc smirked. “Is that all we’ve got to do?”
    Keith’s answering smile was close to a grin. “No. We’ve got to call Amy while we’re there. There’re a couple of questions I want to ask that girl.”
    Marc opened the passenger door and dropping into the seat.
    Ten minutes later, his cock painfully hard thanks to a filthy line of thought he’d kept to himself, they pulled up outside the small cottage Amy called home.
    A traditional settler’s cottage dating back to the early 1800s, it had been the residence of the Farpoint Creek teacher since the Sullivan family established the cattle station. Over the years, each teacher living there had placed her mark on the quaint cottage, as the various paint colors adorning its exterior surfaces attested—sky-blue window frames, deep-green door, a red porch rail. It stood amongst a grove of willow gums, the shade of the ancient trees painting it in dappled shadows.
    To Marc, it was as close to a home base as he could imagine. His mother had been the resident teacher until she’d passed away ten years ago. He’d grown up within its walls. Had spent night after night listening to the dingoes call during mating season. Had danced in the rain in the small yard outside during the wet season, his mum swinging him about as they both laughed, his dad off doing what stockmen do, regardless of the weather.
    When Amy—the daughter of a Farpoint mechanic—became the teacher after four years studying in the big smoke, he’d gravitated to the cottage once again, returning to his childhood home as a guest of his friend. The nights the three of them had spent dancing to Lee Kernaghan under the stars were some of Marc’s favorites.
    And now Amy was in Chicago, attempting to appease her need for adventure, and Harper Shaw was going to be living in the small cottage.
    All in all, it was kinda weird.
    “You reckon an American is going to handle the ankle biters we breed here?” he asked, climbing out of the ute to throw a curious look at Keith.
    His best mate leaned over the side of the tray and retrieved a small suitcase from the back. “Dunno. Though I don’t think Amy would have set up the swap if she didn’t think Harper could