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I had a bad feeling about this.
Me and some snobby old guy stuck out in the middle of the most remote scrublands, surrounded by deadly wildlife that he probably ain’t ever seen before, while we chased electrical storms so he could probably stand out in the middle of a clearing holding a metal rod up to the sky...
I mean, what could possibly go wrong?
People climbed down the steps onto the tarmac and began to filter inside. Some of them already fanning their shirt collars against the heat and they hadn’t even been here a minute.
I counted twelve people, about all that’d fit on that size plane. Some couples, which I scanned right past. A young mum with a kid on her hip. Definitely not. Two guys in suits, who I gave a hard pass. A young guy, who looked sexy in a nerdy kinda way, with his proper button-down shirt all tucked in and his navy shorts with hiking boots.Nope, can’t be him.
Then I spotted a man. Seventy at least, wild and wiry grey hair under a bucket hat, dressed like Doctor Livingston from Jumanji or whatever fucking movie that was. He was the Jeremiah-ist looking man of the lot. So I made a beeline for him, grinned my fakest grin, and held out my hand.
“Tully Larson.”
He looked at me, then at my hand, then back to my face and put his hand to his ear. “Whadya say, son? Gotta speak up. I’m deaf as a post.”
Oh great.
I opened my mouth and took a deep breath so I could yell, just as the sexy shorts guy with his pretty button-down shirt and hiking boots interrupted me. “Tully Larson?” he asked. Christ, his eyes were like dark sapphires on steroids. So freaking blue.
“Ah, yeah?”
He held out his hand. “Doctor Jeremiah Overton.”
Well, I’ll be fucking damned.
“Some people call me Jeremy.”
I grinned at him—my next week was now looking a whole lot brighter—and shook his hand. “Hey, Jeremiah. It’s real nice to meetcha.”
CHAPTER TWO
JEREMIAH
Jabiru Airport wasa dirt strip in a dust bowl. The heat was suffocating, and getting off the plane and walking into the humidity was like having a hot bath, only somehow the water was dry.
Welcome to the Top End.
I wasn’t sure what to think of my guide, if that’s what I could call him. Tully Larson’s reputation preceded him. The team at Darwin University had said he was a wild card. He had no meteorological academic credentials but had earned himself a reputation as a smart and savvy storm chaser.
A storm chaser.
He might have reported his findings and taken some readings and footage a few times for local weather channels and the bureau here, but he spent weeks at a time on the front line of monsoon storms for fun.
Forfun.
He was handsome, no two ways about it. Undoubtedly well and truly out of my league. He looked like a surfer from the Sunshine Coast in Queensland, with his longish blond wavy hair, but after hearing him speak, it was clear he was very much a Territorian. He had a laid-back manner to the way he walked and the way he talked. He had a drawl and an easy smile that made him instantly likeable.
My first impression of him was that he was an easy-going, smiling type, and nothing fazed him. Including monsoonal electrical storms. Nothing seemed to be a problem.
Although calling me by my shortened name seemed somewhat difficult for him.
“So, Jeremiah,” he said, lifting my heavy equipment crate into the back of his Jeep. He lifted it effortlessly, then relieved me of my duffle bag as well, sliding it in beside my crate. “How was your flight?”
“It was fine,” I replied, getting into the front passenger seat, and looked up at the scorching sky. “Does your car not have a roof? A canopy, perhaps?”
The sun was blisteringly hot, the humidity making it worse. I went to put on my seatbelt and almost branded myself with the buckle. “Ow!”
Tully laughed. “Yeah, sorry about that. And yeah, there’s a canopy somewhere. But it’s cooler without it once we get goin’. You’ll see.”
