on your agenda today? I take it you don’t require any police protection, given I haven’t heard from your assistant in the last twelve hours?”
Jeremy chuckled. “Ah, I see Linda has been her usual efficient self?”
“She has.” Charlie waved over the barkeeper, ordered them all a round of beers and then grinned at Jeremy. “Now there’s a CIA agent if ever there was one. Do you know she told me about the potential security issues a federal minister might face here, including the possible harassment from the property owners who still feel betrayed by the deputy prime minister’s decision to allow coal gas seam mining here. And she was very specific about what contact you would have with the family of the man who burned down Broken Downs. Which is none, by the way. That was an order that didn’t just come from her, but the PM himself.”
If Jeremy was unsettled by Charlie’s mention of the politically motivated arson attack on the deputy prime minister’s homestead last year, he didn’t show it. Instead, he snagged a peanut and shelled it. “So, Charlie, tell me what I need to know about my pilot here.”
Ryan cocked an eyebrow. “Pretty certain I’ll tell you anything you want to know, Minister.” He reached for a peanut himself, shelled it and popped it into his mouth. “All you’ve got to do is ask.”
If Jeremy had a response, the arrival of the barkeeper with their beers stopped him.
Instead, Charlie filled the silence with a ribald laugh. “What if he asks you about the night you spent in lockup last month?”
Ryan rolled his eyes, lips twitching. “Jesus, Baynard, you would bring that up.”
Jeremy turned an expectant smile on Ryan. “A night in lockup? You mean I’m flying all over the Outback with a criminal?”
“Yep.” Charlie sniggered, shooting Ryan a pointed look. “You want to tell him why or shall I?”
With a melodramatic sigh, Ryan shook his head. “I still insist I did nothing wrong.”
“Nothing wrong my arse,” Charlie replied with a grin.
Jeremy reached for his beer, his smile wide. “The suspense is killing me.”
“Hey—” Ryan shelled another peanut, “—if a man can’t run naked down the main street in this country to prove he’s got nothing to be ashamed of, I say the laws of the country need to be reassessed.”
Jeremy’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. Behind his lenses, his gaze flicked in the direction of Ryan’s groin for a heartbeat. “I’m sorry?” Laughter danced on his words. “You did what to prove what?”
Charlie smirked. “Taylor and Matt Corvin, the doc you met just a while ago at the Royal Flying Doctors Service HQ, were arguing over who had the biggest balls last month after…err…let’s say one too many drinks in this fine establishment. Both were adamant they were the proud owner of the biggest set.”
“We’re not talking actual size here,” Ryan cut in, feeling the need to defend the moment. Inside, a warm glow of delight spread through him at Jeremy’s reaction to the tale—genuine joy and good humour. “We’re talking courage. Bravery. The doc insisted his were bigger, given he’d been shot at by Somali militants and spent a good part of the previous year in a life-threatening coma in a Sudan hospital. I insisted mine were bigger because I’d spent just about every weekend of my teenage years and well into my early twenties riding crazy bulls hell-bent on killing me in the national amateur rodeo circuit.”
Jeremy gaped at him, his beer clearly forgotten in his hand. “You did what?”
Ryan couldn’t stop the slow grin stretching his lips as he held Jeremy’s gaze with his own. “I rode bulls.” He tossed the peanut into his mouth. “Big ones.”
“So—” Charlie licked at the beer moustache on his top lip, “—the two of them decided the only way to clear it up was to see who had the cojones to streak the length of Main Street buck naked. At the very moment a tourist bus pulled in.”
Jeremy
Jeremy chuckled. “Ah, I see Linda has been her usual efficient self?”
“She has.” Charlie waved over the barkeeper, ordered them all a round of beers and then grinned at Jeremy. “Now there’s a CIA agent if ever there was one. Do you know she told me about the potential security issues a federal minister might face here, including the possible harassment from the property owners who still feel betrayed by the deputy prime minister’s decision to allow coal gas seam mining here. And she was very specific about what contact you would have with the family of the man who burned down Broken Downs. Which is none, by the way. That was an order that didn’t just come from her, but the PM himself.”
If Jeremy was unsettled by Charlie’s mention of the politically motivated arson attack on the deputy prime minister’s homestead last year, he didn’t show it. Instead, he snagged a peanut and shelled it. “So, Charlie, tell me what I need to know about my pilot here.”
Ryan cocked an eyebrow. “Pretty certain I’ll tell you anything you want to know, Minister.” He reached for a peanut himself, shelled it and popped it into his mouth. “All you’ve got to do is ask.”
If Jeremy had a response, the arrival of the barkeeper with their beers stopped him.
Instead, Charlie filled the silence with a ribald laugh. “What if he asks you about the night you spent in lockup last month?”
Ryan rolled his eyes, lips twitching. “Jesus, Baynard, you would bring that up.”
Jeremy turned an expectant smile on Ryan. “A night in lockup? You mean I’m flying all over the Outback with a criminal?”
“Yep.” Charlie sniggered, shooting Ryan a pointed look. “You want to tell him why or shall I?”
With a melodramatic sigh, Ryan shook his head. “I still insist I did nothing wrong.”
“Nothing wrong my arse,” Charlie replied with a grin.
Jeremy reached for his beer, his smile wide. “The suspense is killing me.”
“Hey—” Ryan shelled another peanut, “—if a man can’t run naked down the main street in this country to prove he’s got nothing to be ashamed of, I say the laws of the country need to be reassessed.”
Jeremy’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. Behind his lenses, his gaze flicked in the direction of Ryan’s groin for a heartbeat. “I’m sorry?” Laughter danced on his words. “You did what to prove what?”
Charlie smirked. “Taylor and Matt Corvin, the doc you met just a while ago at the Royal Flying Doctors Service HQ, were arguing over who had the biggest balls last month after…err…let’s say one too many drinks in this fine establishment. Both were adamant they were the proud owner of the biggest set.”
“We’re not talking actual size here,” Ryan cut in, feeling the need to defend the moment. Inside, a warm glow of delight spread through him at Jeremy’s reaction to the tale—genuine joy and good humour. “We’re talking courage. Bravery. The doc insisted his were bigger, given he’d been shot at by Somali militants and spent a good part of the previous year in a life-threatening coma in a Sudan hospital. I insisted mine were bigger because I’d spent just about every weekend of my teenage years and well into my early twenties riding crazy bulls hell-bent on killing me in the national amateur rodeo circuit.”
Jeremy gaped at him, his beer clearly forgotten in his hand. “You did what?”
Ryan couldn’t stop the slow grin stretching his lips as he held Jeremy’s gaze with his own. “I rode bulls.” He tossed the peanut into his mouth. “Big ones.”
“So—” Charlie licked at the beer moustache on his top lip, “—the two of them decided the only way to clear it up was to see who had the cojones to streak the length of Main Street buck naked. At the very moment a tourist bus pulled in.”
Jeremy
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