When uptight missionary, Lucy Boyd is injured her only ride to the hospital 200 miles away is the scary looking guy who delivers their supplies every two weeks. Not only is he scary, he's obviously quite heathen based on the earring in his ear, the heavy metal music blasting from his truck when he pulls into the compound, and his salty language. Jed Gorman doesn't like people, especially Christians. Shuttled from foster home to foster home after the death of his parents, he's had enough "Christian Charity" to last a lifetime. The last thing he needs is that uptight missionary woman as a passenger. But when he sees that her knee is the size of a football he can't say no. It's going to be a rough ride, his truck is old, the monsoon season has hit, and there are guerrillas in the jungle...
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Heavy booted footsteps clomped up the wooden steps outside and across the verandah. The door swung open, and he crossed the room, no doubt bringing in dust and sand to cover her newly swept floor. She could smell him from here. The intoxicating mix of pine and woods and mint that almost conflicted with the tough guy image Jed Gorman held out around him like a shield.
“Dr. Boyd.” His Australian accent rang through the clinic. “What’s a good looking sheila like you doing in back o’Bourke hole like this?”
“Working, Mr. Gorman. The same thing that you are.” Her answer, just like his greeting, never changed. She turned and ran her gaze over him. His sleeves were rolled up to just above his elbows, exposing well tanned, muscular arms wrapped around a crate. There was something about the man’s arms and the way the long vein from elbow to wrist stood out, that set her heart pounding.
But enough of that. Her mind shouldn’t go in such directions. Besides, Jed Gorman didn’t count as a man or eye candy or anything other than a menace.
He grinned at her. “Where do you want me?”
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