Fly In Fly Out Read online

  Fly In Fly Out

  Evie Snow

  Contents

  Get Head Over Heels For Free

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Head Over Heels Offer

  The Music That Inspired Fly In Fly Out

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Evie Snow

  Get Head Over Heels For Free

  Chapter 1

  “What the hell?”

  Jo Blaine’s motorbike helmet bounced off antique pine floorboards with a dull plastic thud as she took in the state of her Fremantle penthouse apartment.

  This was so not the way she’d left it when she’d flown out to her offshore oil job in Mauritania. No way.

  There was a rumpled tartan throw rug and a pillow on one of her cream leather couches, a bright-red coffee cup—her favorite damn coffee cup—on her hand-cut glass-and-jarrah coffee table, and more than one book out of place on her bookshelves.

  She took a step further inside, kicking a pair of expensive-looking, size-fourteen men’s leather shoes out of her way, and immediately felt a cool breeze against her cheek.

  The sliding door leading to the balcony was wide open, letting in the scent of a recent summer shower on asphalt. The sounds of distant traffic and boats going up and down the Swan River filtered in, an incongruous background track to her growled exclamation.

  Definitely not how she’d left it before.

  “Hello? Anyone here?” She turned around, narrowed eyes searching for a coffee-loving, couch-sleeping, male Goldilocks, but only saw her massive silver Maine Coon cat, Boomba, who chose that moment to waddle past with a pair of men’s undies firmly clasped in his mouth. His fat, furry backside moved side to side as he disappeared into the kitchen where Jo could see stacked Domino’s pizza boxes on the counter. Her temper, always on a short fuse after a long sleepless flight, began to sizzle and fizz as she put the clues together.

  She only knew one man with size-fourteen feet. That same man had a key to her apartment and was about to experience the flaming wrath of a jet-lagged woman. “Scott? Where the hell are you?” she called as she kicked off her steel-capped boots and reached into her pocket for her phone. She held it to her ear, hearing nothing but dial tone and feeling herself getting more and more worked up.

  Boomba waddled past her again, chirruping around his mouthful. His expression said that as far as he was concerned, she should forget her house invader, admire the thing he’d killed, and give him a pat.

  “And what the hell are you doing here, fuzzball?” Jo reached down and plucked the underwear out of his mouth, throwing it away. “You’re supposed to be at Amy’s. Want to tell me what’s going on?”

  The cat gave her his usual entitled feline stare and then butted his head into her shin.

  “You’re no help.” She walked through the living room, kicking a pair of socks out of her way, and stopped short in front of the vibrant blue-and-green abstract painting she’d bought last time she was in town. It was askew, as if someone had knocked it while doing a flat-footed tango, and she felt something inside her snap.

  This was not cool. Not. Cool. Her house was supposed to be empty. Her cat was supposed to be at her sister’s and there wasn’t supposed to be a . . . man anywhere within a good twenty meters of her right now, even if he was her best friend. She’d spent the last sixteen weeks surrounded by Y chromosomes and all she’d been looking forward to was a blessedly empty, male-free environment.

  Scott finally answered, his tone suitably shocked. “Jo? What time is it over there?”

  “It’s eight in the morning. I’m home. In Perth. Where are you?”

  “Home?” Scott’s deep voice took on choirboy heights he hadn’t achieved since pre-puberty. “You’re supposed to be on holiday in New York!”

  Jo squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “Yes. Home. I cancelled the holiday because I wanted to be home. You know that place I like to come when I’m not on some rusting oil rig in the middle of nowhere? You know that place? The place you were looking after. The place currently being lived in by someone who has feet your size. The place currently containing my cat, who should be at Amy’s.”

  “Ah. Yeah. About that.”

  “Yeah, about what? What the hell is going on?”

  There was a moment of silence and then a dull thud as if something had been hit quite hard. “I’ll explain, but it’s probably better I do it in person.”

  “What? Why? I just want an answer and I want it now!”

  “You’ll get one . . . just . . . just stay there. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. We’ll get all this sorted out. I’m sorry, Jo.”

  Jo scowled, turning around, taking in the disorder and feeling a renewed sense of outrage. “You bloody well better be. And bring me some goddamn coffee. I haven’t slept properly for days and all I wanted was to have a shower and fall into bed. And instead—”

  “Ten minutes,” he said with an edge of frustration that had better not be aimed at her. Given the mood she was in, she could take Scott on one-on-one. They didn’t call her “Krakatoa” out on the rigs for nothing.

  Jo hung up, looking around until her eyes settled on her bedroom door.

  There was no way Scott would make it in ten minutes, let alone fifteen, and she was tired.

  Shooing Boomba out of the way with her foot, she headed for her room.

  Her bone-tiredness was blasted to smithereens the minute she pushed the door open, took in the contents of her bed, and roared with rage.

  “Who the hell are you?!”

  “AAGGHH!! Gnph.” The very naked, very buff and all-over tanned blond man who’d been sleeping spread-eagled on her bed shouted in surprise, leapt to his feet, tripped over Jo’s cat, and fell face down on the floor.

  * * *

  “Hurry up, Rach! Jesus Christ, what have you got in here? A couple of cows?”

  Stephen Hardy finished loading the last of his twin sister’s suitcases into the back of his black Lexus, enjoying the outraged howl coming from inside his family’s home. After shunting things around enough to make sure everything fit, he straightened, putting his hands behind his head and stretching. His mouth curved into a wide, happy grin.

  It was a glorious morning, made all the better by the fact that he’d stayed overnight at Evangeline’s Rest, his family’s winery. The air was crisp, the sun had only just made its appearance, and magpies were singing the dawn chorus all around him—a bunch of them perched on the bird feeder his Grandma Angie had hung in front of the winery’s cellar door and restaurant across the way.

  Off in the distance, he could hear his dad’s dairy cows mooing, heading out after their morning milking, and the faint sound of a tractor somewhere on the Rousses’ property next door.

  “It’s gonna be tough to go back to town.” He heaved a sigh. “Hey, trouble,” he said to Waffles, his older brother Clayton’s Australian cattle dog. She’d quit inspecting his tires for the latest doggy news and had parked herself across his foot. He reached down and gave her a scratch behind the ears.

  “She ready to go yet?” Stephen’s dad, Rob, called as he walked around the side of the house followed by Clayton. Their dark curly hair was wet from washing up after the morning milking. Stephen had given the
m a hand, but he’d come back early to kick Rachael out of bed and get her ready to go. That had been half an hour ago.

  He shook his head. “Nah. She’s still mucking around.” He turned towards the house, raising his voice again. “You’re only going for a couple of months, not a couple of years, Rach! What else do you need?”

  “A new brother! And I’ll be ready when I’m ready!” his sister roared back, coming to the front door to glare at him before retreating again.

  He grinned, giving his dad and Clayton a wink. “Hey, Dad?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m gonna need a hand getting this last suitcase to fit properly. Can you give it a kick?”

  Rob scratched his jaw, looking thoughtful then making sure his voice was just as loud as Stephen’s. “It’s not going to work, mate. We’re probably better off just taking it over to the shearing shed and shoving it in the wool compactor.”

  “Or we could just pull everything out and repack it for her. There’s probably a ton of stuff she doesn’t need,” Clayton joined in.

  “IF YOU EVEN DARE . . .” Rachael Hardy came barreling out of the house, dragging a smaller carry-on and looking ready for homicide. Her dark-brown eyes were narrowed and her long curly brown hair stood out at all angles.

  She came to a stop when she found all three men grinning at her. Rounding on Stephen, she gave him the look she’d quelled her kitchen staff with for years. “You are so dead.”

  Stephen pulled the innocent expression that had worked for thirty years and counting: his baby blues wide, his mouth downturned in shock. “For what?! I didn’t do anything.”

  Clayton ran a hand over his mouth to cover his smile. “I was here and I’m pretty sure he didn’t. Dad?”

  “Yeah. Yeah. Nothing to worry about, love.” Rob gave his only daughter a benevolent smile. “You ready to go?”

  Rachael bit her lip. “Yeah, I think so—”

  “Pretty sure I didn’t see her pack the kitchen sink,” Stephen interrupted, howling with laughter when Rachael tried to level a punch at him and missed.

  “It’s easy for you! You travel all the time and all you have to pack is a couple of suits, undies, and socks. I’m different. This is my first big holiday for years and I don’t want to forget anything.” She stomped to the car, dragging the carry-on behind her. “Help me fit this in or you’re going to be wishing you’d swapped that marketing degree you’re so proud of for a medical one.”

  “I didn’t hear you whining about my marketing degree last night.” Stephen debated remote locking his car to wind his sister up some more but decided to play nice.

  He was in too good of a mood. They all were. Last night, he’d verbally clinched a business deal that would see the Evangeline’s Rest label on the wine list of Etienne’s, the most prestigious restaurant in Western Australia. He’d been working on the deal for months. If he were honest, it had helped that he and Bridgett Cowcher, the restaurant’s owner, had a thing going. If that was also a small part of the reason behind his good mood right now, he wasn’t going to complain.

  Rachael slammed the car door shut. “So are we going? If I’m late for my flight, you are such a dead man.”

  Stephen didn’t bite. He knew how nervous Rachael was about taking this trip. Half the reason he was giving her so much hell was to distract her. “Don’t stress. We’ll be there in plenty of time. It’s only a domestic flight and the security is easy.”

  “Are you sure?” She pressed her lips together, shoving her hands in her jeans pockets.

  “He flies enough to know, love.” Rob Hardy walked over and pulled his only daughter into a tight hug.

  “Yeah, but he’s an idiot.”

  Gravel crunched behind them as an old white Mitsubishi pulled up. Ken Blaine, the Hardy’s farmhand of twenty-eight years, climbed out. “You off then, love?” Ken called to Rachael with a cheerful grin. As always, the man’s blue Hard Yakka work shorts and shirt were ironed to military perfection, with creases that would make a Boy Scout leader envious.

  “Yeah!” Rachael called back before turning to Clayton, her expression serious. “You definitely understand what I want them to do with the restaurant’s kitchen while I’m away? I don’t want to come back and find out they’ve put in the wrong extractor fan or something crazy.”

  While Clayton assured his sister he could take care of the renovations that were allowing Rachael to take a couple of months off as head chef, Stephen walked over to Ken, his good mood diminishing as it was replaced by the sharp pang of guilt he always felt around his family’s farmhand. “Ken, how are you?”

  “G’day, mate.” Ken shut his car door, reaching out to shake Stephen’s hand. “Long time no see.” The older man looked Stephen up and down. “Looks like you’re doing alright for yourself.”

  Stephen ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah. I’ve been pretty busy.”

  Ken gave a raspy chuckle. “Hear you’ve done well for us. Your dad said something about you signing a big contract with some posh restaurant.”

  “Yeah, verbally at least. Evangeline’s Rest wine is going to be stocked at Etienne’s in the city. You heard of it?”

  Stephen immediately regretted asking the question. Ken didn’t earn that kind of money, and from what Stephen knew, he rarely left the farm other than to go into George Creek, a small nearby town. It had been this way for almost fourteen years, ever since Stephen had screwed up Ken’s life big time by publicly humiliating Ken’s oldest daughter so badly that Jo and her sister, Amy, had been sent to live with family in Perth. Just the memory of it all made Stephen squirm inside.

  Ken had inexplicably forgiven him years ago, but Stephen hadn’t forgiven himself.

  Ken shook his head, oblivious to Stephen’s dark turn down memory lane. “Have I heard of it? Nah, mate, nah. Although if you think it’s posh, it’s probably pretty damn posh. Good work.” He clapped Stephen on the shoulder. “How’s your girlfriend going? Haven’t seen her around for a while.”

  “Lauren and I split about six months back.” Stephen forced an easygoing smile. “You know how it is.”

  Ken ran a hand over his sun-grizzled features. “Don’t I know it. Women, eh?”

  There was a pregnant pause before Stephen clapped a hand on his thigh. “Well, got to get this show on the road. Nice seeing you, mate.”

  “Yeah, catch you later.” Ken shook his hand again, then reached into his pocket for his ever-present pack of tobacco and papers, efficiently rolling a cigarette with the kind of autopilot that came from decades of practice. “I don’t want to interrupt your dad right now.” He nodded towards Rob, who still had his arm wrapped around Rachael. “But if you get a chance, tell him we’ve got a problem with the fence on Evans Road. I’m headed over there now.”

  “Will do.” Stephen nodded, watching as the man got back in his car and drove off.

  Waffles butted his leg.

  “Yeah, you’re right.” Stephen gave the dog a half -smile. “It’s not worth getting worked up over, is it? Old news.”

  The dog looked up at him with far-too-intelligent eyes and Stephen gave her another pat before clapping his hands. “Alright, break it up, you lot. She’s not falling off the end of the earth. Get in the car, Rach. The sooner you’re on the plane, the sooner we can redecorate your restaurant as a sports bar.”

  His sister’s growl of protest lightened his mood immediately.

  * * *

  “Does Ken know you’re house-sitting Jo’s apartment?” Rachael asked after they’d been on the road for five minutes or so.

  Stephen looked at her sideways. “How’d you know that?”

  “Scott.” Rachael rolled her eyes. “He came down to the farm last week, remember?”

  “Yeah?” Stephen slowed down as a family of kangaroos hopped across the narrow, gum tree–lined road that lead to George Creek, the small southwestern town in the Margaret River Wine Region that the bulk of the Hardy family had lived in their entire lives. “I said more words to Ken to
day than I have in years, and nah, he doesn’t know. I don’t feel comfortable bringing up any of that stuff around him.”

  “Yeah.” Rachael began rifling through a handbag that looked like it had been packed for an upcoming apocalypse. “This house-sitting deal some kind of guilt thing?”

  “Yes and no.” Stephen didn’t see a reason to lie. His sister was a rabid bloodhound when it came to a secret. Not that him causing Jo Blaine’s public humiliation at an Evangeline’s Rest family Christmas party fourteen years ago was much of a secret. If people hadn’t been talking at the party, they’d definitely been talking after Jo and Amy had left town for good to live in Perth rather than face everyone.

  With one act of jealousy, Stephen had effectively smashed Ken Blaine’s family to smithereens.

  He spoke to chase away the old ache in his stomach. “Scott mentioned that Jo needed someone to look after her place and her cat for a couple of months while she was working overseas in . . . Mauritania, I think it was . . . somewhere in Western Africa. And since I’m still trying to sort out the sale of the house with Lauren, I thought I’d help her out. While I’m there, I’ll be able to fix a couple of things around her apartment as well. There’s a leak in the kitchen sink, she’s got a broken air conditioner, and I noticed the barbecue on her balcony is pretty past its prime, so I’ll get her a new one. It’s not really going to make up for what happened, but it’s a start, you know?”

  “Hmm.” Rachael finally pulled a hairbrush out of her bag and started running it through her unruly dark-brown curls. “Did Jo agree to this? I mean, I never really knew her that well, but given how much you screwed up her life . . .”