Southern Star: Destiny Romance

by JC Grey

  Earlier today while she’d been caught up in a meeting with the team producing Siren, he’d used the time to speak with his people at Rosmerta. His new foreman seemed to be coping well, he’d said, but she could tell he was relieved to be going home.

  They’d had one small bone of contention when she’d tried to upgrade his plane ticket to business class so they could travel together. In her eyes, it was only fair; after all, he was here because of her, and he’d already shelled out for a designer tux that he’d probably never wear again. But he hadn’t seen it her way. Thanks, but he could pay his own way if he needed to fly business class, he’d told her before calling the airline and organising his own upgrade.

  It was no less than she expected. Mac was a proud man. As she mulled over the issue of how she could repay him for his unexpected expenses, she picked up the old leather jacket sitting on the couch, in case he forgot it. She tossed it on top of their bags by the door, and out of the corner of her eye saw a small box fall out of an inside pocket. Curious, she picked it up, flipped the lid and gasped with astonishment.

  The topaz square surrounded by exquisite white and yellow diamonds gleamed dully in the centre of the vintage deco ring. Glancing towards the open door of the bedroom, she could hear Mac still packing up his toiletries. She had a few moments, so she turned the box from side to side, marvelling at the stones’ subtly different tones captured under different lights. She loved it.

  And then it struck her. Surely Mac had bought it for her, but what did it mean? Snapping the old box shut, she shoved it back in the jacket pocket and rushed out on to the balcony, pressing her hands to her suddenly hot cheeks. Maybe it wasn’t what she thought it was. It wasn’t a traditional engagement ring, but any woman receiving that would have to think it meant something.

  ‘Ready?’ Blaze jumped as Mac came up behind her. ‘What?’ he asked, running a hand down her ponytail and leaning over to kiss her jaw. ‘Will you miss LA?’

  Shaking her head, Blaze turned as his arms came around her. She looped her own around his neck and sank into him, lips clinging to lips in a sublime kiss. Ask me, she thought. Ask me now before I have time to think of a reason to say no. Their eyes caught and lingered as the words hovered between them, unspoken. Then a knock came at the door and the moment was gone.

  Sighing, Blaze moved out of his arms and went to answer the knock. Two valets entered to carry their bags downstairs to the car that would take them to the airport. ‘We’ll be there in five minutes,’ Blaze told them and returned to Mac. Unshaven, he looked as striking today in no-name jeans and faded sweatshirt as he did in an Armani tux.

  ‘You must be happy to be escaping La-la Land.’

  He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Yeah, it’s been interesting but I’m a Queensland boy.’ He hesitated. ‘I know where I belong.’ He stopped and tugged her around to face him. ‘Come and live with me at Rosmerta.’

  The words, bald and unvarnished, ricocheted between them, hitting raw nerves.

  Blaze stared at him, waiting, wanting more. Ask me now.

  She waited too long; wanted too much.

  ‘Forget it,’ he said, his eyes hooded so she couldn’t see his expression. ‘It was just a thought, a badly timed one. The car’s waiting.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No, it wasn’t. Just not quite what I expected.’ She went to touch his arm, but he evaded her, moving past her to pick up his jacket and carry-on bag.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  Heart sinking, Blaze took the handle of her wheelie bag and followed him, wondering why every step forward in their relationship was immediately followed by two in reverse.

  It was extraordinary how the most innocuous words, launched with precision timing and inflection, could land with such devastating effect.

  In a moment of idle conversation, someone might just say, ‘You can be sure that Beau’s getting paid a pretty penny to run things while the boss is away. Lucky Mr Black’s not the kind of boss who robs Peter to pay Paul.’

  Or to an older worker, ‘A good boss is a loyal boss. Once a bloke starts being shifted around, you can be sure he’s about to get the boss’s boot up his arse.’

  Too easy to unsettle the men, and ditto the stock agent and feed supplier. Even Peggy’s return from sick leave wasn’t quite the happy occasion she’d been expecting.

  ‘Mr Black will be delighted to have you back fit as a fiddle, especially after paying your wages all those weeks you were off work.’

  By the time the little ripples hit shore, you’ve got a tidal wave on your hands. Now we’ll see if Mr Superstud Black survives the deluge.

  Blaze was asleep beside him in the second row of the A380, her head on his shoulder as the plane rode the night sky. Lightning crackled a hair’s-breadth from the left wing, or so it seemed. With the cabin dark and almost everyone taking the chance to sleep for the last couple of hours before reaching Brisbane, Mac thought he was probably the only one aware of it.

  Having faced bushfires and floods, droughts and cyclones in his time, he wasn’t spooked by a small electrical storm. They’d be clear of it within seconds, most likely. But he felt unsettled, as though he was flying head on into something he’d never faced before.

  He remembered Ryan’s text. Forensic anomaly. What the hell did that mean? If there was something unusual about the forensics in the case of Blaze’s murdered friend, wouldn’t the LA cops have wanted to meet with her while she was in LA? Yet she hadn’t had any contact with them as far as he knew.

  True, she had seemed a little anxious when they were about to leave, antsy, as though she’d been expecting something to happen. Had she been worried she might be detained before their flight left?

  If the LAPD wanted to bring her in now, it meant requesting extradition, and they could fight that. He tightened his grip on her hand. He’d move heaven and earth, do whatever he had to, to get her off the hook. In his gut, he knew it wasn’t in her to hurt anyone, and his head was nearly as equivocal. But whether she was guilty or not, Blaze would end up behind bars over his dead body.

  If she wasn’t ready to live with him then she was going to have to accept him being around Sweet Springs a whole lot, at least at night. During daylight hours, he needed to be at Rosmerta, even with Beau managing the routine stuff. But he figured Blaze was relatively safe with Rowdy and Trent around most weekdays. On weekends, well they’d just have to figure it out.

  During the months she was shooting, either she’d come back whenever she had a few days’ break or he’d go there. And when she was ready, he’d press the matter of a more permanent arrangement.

  Mac reached inside his jacket to touch the little velvet box sitting close to his heart. This trip had brought them closer, but still the distance was immense. Despite the relative newness of their relationship, they already had a heap of baggage. And it wasn’t helped by all the uncertainties and unknowns they faced.

  Sheet lightning bathed the plane in bright white, and he wished their relationship had a similar clarity. First step for him was to sit down with Blaze and talk, about where they were coming from and where they were going. Despite their intimacy these past days, they hadn’t actually spoken of their relationship. As far as Mac was concerned, they were in an exclusive relationship, but his assumptions had a way of blowing up in his face. He wanted to be sure of where he stood with her.

  And when they were clear with each other, they were going to talk to Ryan, and hope he felt like reciprocating. Because somewhere, a clue was hiding that would link the killings in America with the attacks on Peggy and the dog. He was sure of it. And he was going to do everything he could to find it.

  Home, sweet home. Blaze got out of the taxi and was promptly nearly bowled over by Paddy, beside himself with joy at her return before being distracted by a couple of cockatoos screeching on a fence. He raced off, barking in triumph as they flew away in a froth of ruffled white and sulphur feathers, and then raced back, running in circles around Blaze as she left her cabin
bag at the foot of the stairs and continued down the hallway to the kitchen.

  Except that it was no longer just a kitchen. The wall between the kitchen and dining room was gone, creating one vast living space spanning the entire rear of the house, with a bank of glass that overlooked the veranda and across to the waterhole.

  The custom kitchen was mostly in. In traditional white with a thick pine bench-top, its centrepiece was an island bench placed so that she could prepare meals while enjoying the view. In the light from star-like halogens, the counters gleamed subtly. The large range was in place, likewise the porcelain sink. And a new double-door fridge hummed steadily at one end. It was . . . perfect – or would be when the glass splashback was installed and the painting finished.

  Outside, she sat down on one of the cane chairs and let Paddy put his paws on her knees while she gave him a body rub that made him moan in delight. ‘You old sook, all bark and no bite, aren’t you?’ He woofed, as if in agreement, making Blaze laugh.

  Satisfied with the attention she’d given him, he settled down at her feet. Stroking his head and ears, she sighed and let her gaze settle on the stark yet striking vista.

  Dusk fell in a dramatic natural artwork of magenta and tangerine over the waterhole. At the water’s edge, a shy wallaby quenched its thirst, while from the trees came a cacophony of raucous sounds as kookaburras, lorikeets and sulphur-crested cockatoos had their last say of the day.

  From where Blaze was sitting, barely a ripple disturbed the glassy surface. As the local wildlife gathered to gossip and relax at the end of another long, hot day, it seemed incredible now that less than three weeks ago . . . she shivered as ghosts walked over her grave. Events from that afternoon were a blur of pain and panic, of a pale figure hidden by the veil of green, and then Mac’s deep voice, shocked and shaken.

  The doctor had told her that most likely she would have lost her baby regardless of the events at the waterhole, and in any case, nothing she did now could bring Skye back. She and Mac would plant a tree in memory, and the future would decide whether their relationship endured.

  On the long flight from LA to Brisbane, they’d spoken little, leaving her wondering if he was still annoyed about the upgrade, even though he’d had his way. For her part, she hadn’t been able to forget the ring, nervously wondering when or if he would say something. The flight had been busy, though, and they’d attracted plenty of attention as it was. In the end she’d been relieved he hadn’t broached the subject.

  Mac had been unable to get a seat on her flight to Meriwether and so their parting at Brisbane airport had, in deference to the lack of privacy, been awkward and dissatisfying, with both of them aware that too much lay unspoken and unresolved between them.

  Mac had been in the midst of trying to persuade her to spend the night at Rosmerta when his phone had buzzed unrelentingly – no cute ring tones for him – and she’d taken the opportunity to check in for her flight.

  With a sigh, Blaze got to her feet. She was glad to be home, even though she was already missing Mac. In just a few days, she’d become dangerously used to having him around. Yes, he was impossibly blunt, overbearing and impatient. But the more time they spent with each other, the more relaxed he became. His dry observations about life in LA made her laugh out loud, and his quiet passion for his land made her want to cry. His possessiveness might drive her up the wall at times – actually, there was no might about it – but he would always be there, solid as a rock. And then there was the toe-curling sex . . .

  She walked slowly back inside, admiring the work Rowdy, Trent and the kitchen installers had done in her absence.

  All it needed was the delicious aroma of a dinner cooking, a man’s dirty boots kicked into the corner of the slate floor and a child laughing as it romped with Paddy out on the . . .

  Stop it! Blaze forced herself to blink the image away. The kitchen was beautiful, and she was going to enjoy it, with and without other people. She could cook now, after a fashion. Gram’s book of recipes might be old-fashioned, but the dishes were simple to cook and hearty. She’d already mastered a handful, and with the new – and hopefully more reliable – range, she would experiment. And she would invite people over. Mac, Rowdy, Stella.

  Paddy nudged her leg and looked optimistically towards his bowl. She scratched his ears and went to open a can of his favourite dog food. As he happily wolfed it down, she poured herself a glass of wine, and took it and her bag upstairs, where she found another surprise. The renovations to the master suite had been completed – and beautifully.

  The large walnut armoire she’d preferred to a walk-in robe dominated one corner, and the king-sized bed was installed, although unmade. Through the door in the far corner, the ensuite bathroom took her breath away. Dominated by the egg bath, separated by a raised platform, and with the added luxury of a walk-in shower, it was exactly as she’d imagined it. Okay, she admitted it, when it came to plumbing she loved a little luxury. The only element still under construction was the new balcony.

  Outside somewhere, Paddy barked furiously. No doubt the pesky kookaburras had trespassed on his territory again.

  Placing her glass on the floor, she turned on the hot tap to fill the tub. What better time for a long, leisurely soak than after a long, tiring flight? Hunting in her bag, she found her lavender bath oil, pouring a generous dose into the water. Within minutes, she was stripping out of her clothes and sinking neck-deep into its scented depths with a sigh of pleasure.

  She closed her eyes and let one soapy arm languidly grope for her glass. She gave a mild frown when her questing hand didn’t immediately find its target. She was sure she’d put it down close enough to the bath to reach, and really she didn’t want to open her eyes. It was blissful to simply relax away from the prying eyes of the world.

  The only way it could be more perfect was if Mac had his hands on her and she had her hands on that elusive glass! At the thought of what her lover might do to her body with strong, soap-slicked hands, she gave a shuddering sigh.

  They’d made the most of their time in LA, with night after night of hot, sweaty almost-sex amid the crisp Egyptian cotton of the Wilshire’s six-star suite. As soon as she got the all-clear, she would seduce him into christening the bathroom. In the meantime, she was a grown woman, wasn’t she? She might prefer it, but she didn’t need a man to pleasure her.

  Her hands slipped under the water as she bent her knees and let her hands slide up her legs from knee to —

  Downstairs, a door clicked shut and she stiffened. She heard a sound on the stairs that sent her heart into a slow pound, and then a glass shattered close by and her eyes opened as a scream bubbled to her lips.

  Panicked, she pushed her head up above the high edge of the bathtub, just as a wet nose and two paws landed on the rim. Her scream turned into a startled laugh of relief, and her heart settled back into its regular rhythm as Paddy licked her face. He barked and then trotted to the door, looking back as if expecting her to follow.

  ‘Paddy!’ Blaze settled back against the tub and splashed her face clean of dog saliva. ‘It’s too late for playtime.’

  He trotted back and woofed decisively at her before heading back to the door.

  ‘Paddy, I promise in the morning, we’ll go for a long walk. And I’ll throw all the sticks you want. But right now,’ she yawned, ‘it’s time for you to be dreaming of chasing birds or cats and me to be dreaming of . . .’ she remembered the hot fantasy she’d been indulging in just moments before, ‘. . . well, never mind.’

  Paddy gave a volley of sharp barks, and Blaze grew impatient, especially when she stood up and saw the pool of red wine across her newly tiled floor. ‘Enough! It’s bedtime.’ Still Paddy hesitated, following at her heels as she shrugged into her robe and cleaned up the spill and the broken glass. When she went to clean her teeth, he barked again, sharply, but she simply sent him a glare, smeared lotion on her hands and face and went down to the bedroom she’d been using.

  Unusually,
Paddy followed her and when she got into bed, he settled in front of the closed door. His head was on his paws and his expression was one of reproach. She sighed. ‘I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, I promise.’ A second later, she flicked the lamp out and twenty after that, she was getting naked and wet with fantasy Mac.

  The old hut smelt of old sweat and fresh animal piss. However, the roof was more or less intact, and there was a kerosene stove, which was an unexpected luxury. It meant a warm dinner tonight, if only a can of beans and sausages. Traditional cowboy fare. Yee-haw.

  It was little consolation for a jaunt that had almost gone horribly wrong after the whore’s fucking dog had nearly given the game away, barking the place down. He’d been staying with the drunk while the bitch was away, so his appearance presumably meant she was back.

  As a result, the plan to return the stolen movie script had to be abandoned. But there would be another chance soon to mess with the bitch’s head, and another chance to get rid of that ugly dog once and for all – soon.

  In the meantime, the worms would have to be appeased another way. Long, raw scratches extended from neck to shoulders and down both arms. And still they itched ceaselessly. Hands curved into claws, sharp nails readied to dig deeper for relief. The marks were the wounds of a war in which there would be only one winner.

  Mac finally got to bed at two, and wondered if it was worth it since he’d be up before five. It would take him God only knew how long to sort out the noses that had been put out of joint and the egos that had been bruised while he was away. He’d been out of the country a week and in that time Rosmerta had gone from smooth-running station to a virtual war zone.