Page 40 of Outback Mate
“What do I call you?” he asks after a beat of silence. He knocks back a gear, slowing to crawl through a patch of water shimmering on the road. I get the feeling he’s driving far morecautiously than he if he were on his own. It feels nice to be cared for.
The hum of tension between us eases into a happy glow.
“I’m just Poppy, no fancy nickname. Sometimes Pops.” I flick my eyes over to him. “Although, I like it when you call me Omega.”
“Good girl,” he says without hesitation, like it’s a reflex.
I preen a soft trill of delight in response.
The Alpha rewards me with a fleeting glance, and he shifts in his seat, adjusting his trousers. A flush creeps out of his beard. He cringes and adds, “Sorry. That wasn’t appropriate.”
“I like it when you’re inappropriate.”
He clears his throat, eyes fixed on the road, his glasses reflecting the dashboard light.
He inclines his head to my lap, changing the topic. “Does the little fella have a name?”
“I was thinking of calling him Stormy,” I suggest with a grin, thinking the name suits the circumstances of his rescue.
The joey, as if agreeing to his name, chirrups and nuzzles into my belly, seeking warmth. I know that whatever my uncertain future holds I resolve to keep him with me, to give him a safe place.
I take after my aunt Jo. She’s a sucker for strays, which is how she ended up lumped with me. She can’t resist the ones that others overlook because they’re too difficult to manage. I’m the same. I adopted a cockatoo once when I was ten and named him Sir Too. He had a limp and a broken wing. I nursed him for months until he got enough confidence to fly, and one day he took off. I never saw him again, but it makes me happy to know I gave him the chance to flourish.
I glance at the grumpy Alpha beside me. Yeah, I get the feeling Luke is a bit of a fixer-upper and needs to be given the chance to flourish like Sir Too.
He has some demons and his aura-sickness deeply affects him, but I think I’m up for the challenge. As long as he doesn’t reject me again. That hurt like a motherfucker.
He responded well to a firm telling off. Rephrasing things in a logical order helped calm his racing thoughts.
I hate the stereotype that hairdressers aren’t smart.
It’s ridiculous. I cut hair, but I’m also capable of rational reasoning. A job title doesn’t restrict common sense.
I’m not intimidated by his education or his profession. He’s book smart, but struggles with emotional intelligence. I’m happy to pick up the slack. From the small glimpses into his personality, I think fate was right to make us scent matches. We complement each other.
The challenge is being patient enough to wait for my other half to figure out we’ll make a great team.
“Stormy,” he says, mulling it over. “Yeah, I like it.”
I smile. “Stormy it is.”
We drive in silence as I watch the dark land rush by. The further we embark into the Outback, the harsher the wind gets. Racing across the plains, it batters into the ute with startling force. Luke has to wrestle with the steering wheel to keep us on the road.
If we weren’t rushing to a pregnant lady in labour, it’d be crazy to be out in this mess.
As if summoned by my thoughts, the radio crackles to life. “Doc, do you copy?”
He shifts down a gear, the roar of the tyres quieting as he slows to a stop. The ute idles in the middle of the road. He doesn’t pull to the side, the verge a treacherous muddy slope that threatens to swallow any unsuspecting vehicles.
Once he’s sure we’re securely stopped, Luke holds the radio to his mouth and replies. “Roger, Cunningham, reading you loud and clear.”
“How far you out?”
“Still another hour.”
He launches into a series of questions, hastily jotting down details with a pad and pen leaning against the steering wheel.
“Okay, keep me updated, but everything sounds like it’s progressing as it should and it’ll be more than a few hours before the main event begins.”
