A Kiss to Seal the Deal

by Nikki Logan

  Or hot, surly city lawyers.

  ‘So, what was the good news?’ Grant drained the last of his coffee and stared meaningfully at Castleridge’s mayor.

  Alan Sefton chuckled. ‘Twelve weeks is pretty short for probate settlement, as you know. You should be thanking me.’

  Three months before he could legally boot Kate Dickson and her team off his land.

  ‘Thank you for agreeing to be Dad’s executor,’ he allowed.

  The older man smiled sadly. ‘I was aware that he wouldn’t… That you and he…’ Grant lifted one hand and Alan gratefully picked up the cue to move on. ‘Did you know he’d left you the farm?’

  ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘You were still his son. His only heir. Time couldn’t change that, nor distance.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have surprised me if he’d left the farm to those greenies just to spite me.’

  Alan frowned. ‘Spite is not a trait I connected with Leo. Belligerence, absolutely. Selective hearing, sometimes. But he was not a man who wasted time on petty grudges.’

  Grant let that sink in. ‘Perhaps he mellowed in the twenty years we were apart.’

  ‘Or perhaps you did.’

  Silence fell. With no other customers this early in the Castleridge café, the tinny radio coming from the kitchen was the only other noise.

  Alan cleared his throat. ‘How are you doing, son?’

  Son. It had been a long time since anyone had called him that—since his mother had died early in his life. His father had called him exclusively by his given name growing up, his school teachers by his surname, and his staff tended towards ‘sir’. Just hearing the phrase ‘son’ brought a certain familiarity to the discussion. If anyone else had asked him how he was getting on, he would have moved the conversation quickly on.

  But discovering a body together had a way of forging a bond between strangers. The genuine question deserved a genuine answer.

  ‘I’m…getting by.’

  ‘How are you finding being in his house?’

  ‘It’s fine.’ And, surprisingly, it was, despite everything. ‘It’s been so long since I lived there with him; it’s not like the walls are infused with his spirit, you know?’

  Alan nodded.

  ‘Unlike his tobacco,’ Grant said. ‘Twenty years didn’t change that habit.’ The memories of his distinctive brand made it too hard to sleep. ‘I had to repaint the whole place to get rid of the smell.’

  A dark shadow crossed the mayor’s face before he masked it.

  Grant moved the conversation on. ‘What else did you want to tell me?’

  Alan caught the eye of the teenage waitress and interrupted her nail-varnishing session at a far table to indicate it was time for the bill. ‘Not tell, so much as ask,’ Alan hedged.

  Grant waited but nothing further came. ‘Shoot.’

  ‘I know you don’t have a lot of connection to Castleridge these days.’

  Not a lot, no. But he’d been floored by the number of people who had attended Leo’s funeral, and the amount of prepared dinners that had graced Leo’s freezer when he died. The locals were still looking after their own. ‘I grew up here, remember? There’s still a lot of familiar faces.’

  ‘Well…that’s good. Makes what I’m about to say that bit easier.’

  Grant frowned. ‘Just say it.’

  ‘It’s about the research team…’

  He snorted. ‘If you can call a bunch of science types counting seals research.’

  Alan nodded thoughtfully. ‘Leo had reservations for a long time before deciding to work with them.’

  ‘I’ll bet.’

  ‘It took him a year of discussions before finally relenting to—’

  ‘I’ve met Kate Dickson. I can well see what he relented to.’

  Alan’s weathered face creased. ‘Kate came to see you?’

  ‘Last week.’

  ‘How did she seem?’

  Seem? Too beautiful for a scientist. Too young to have shadows beneath her eyes. ‘She seemed hell-bent on getting her way.’

  ‘Yes. That would be Kate. She wouldn’t let her sorrow detract from the work she’s doing.’

  Grant tightened his jaw. He had thought he had an ally in Alan Sefton but the man was every bit as smitten with Ms Dickson as his father had apparently been. ‘The only thing she was sad about was me shutting down her access.’

  ‘Ah.’ Alan nodded. ‘I wondered what your choice would be.’

  ‘There is no choice. Introducing the buffer zone will cut the farm’s profitable land by a third, and its valuable coast-access completely. I have no interest in helping the people who tore my father’s farm out from under him.’

  Alan’s clear blue eyes held his. ‘Oh, now you care about the farm?

  Grant had spent too many years across negotiating tables in the corporate world to let his shock show. Instead, he swallowed back the shaft of pain and fixed Alan with his hardest stare.

  The older man glanced away first. ‘I’m sorry. That was unnecessary. But I’ll ask you to remember that twenty years of your father’s life may have passed for you, but I lived them. Here with Leo. Listening to his stories. His dreams.’

  The lost dream of passing Tulloquay on to his son. A son with passion and aptitude for running stock. A son made of different stuff from the one fate had served him with. ‘Life wasn’t always his to dream with,’ Grant said simply.

  ‘True enough. But he made his choice freely when he decided to support the university’s program.’

  Grant snorted. ‘Right. No-one wore him down…’

  The older man flushed slightly. ‘I won’t apologise for the stance I took,’ Alan said, straightening and reaching for his wallet.

  What? ‘You took?’

  ‘Your father has always been slow to change but, like this land, he responded best to consistent, evenly applied pressure.’

  He leaned forward. ‘You support the conservationists?’

  Alan tipped his head. ‘I support Castleridge and the people in it. This program comes with significant grant-monies. And, if it helps us to understand our fisheries better and protects our tourism, everyone wins.’

  Are you serious? ‘Uh, except the McMurtries. We lose a third of our land.’

  Alan pursed his lips. ‘To grazing, yes. But it opens up all kinds of possibilities for eco-tourism.’

  Grant couldn’t help the sound that shot out of him. It was a cracking impersonation of one of Kate Dickson’s fur seals. Every disparaging thing his father had ever said about the landholdings in the district opening up to eco-tourism flashed through his mind. ‘My father would have died before letting a single tourist step foot on his property.’

  And maybe he had.

  Alan stared at him sombrely. ‘When was the last time you recall Leo McMurtrie doing something just because someone else wanted him to?’

  Grant stared. He’d tried—and failed—his whole young life to get his father to budge once he’d set his mind on something. Maybe he’d just had the wrong tools. ‘I have a theory.’

  Alan Sefton’s face said ‘enlighten me’.

  ‘Have you met Kate Dickson?’

  The older man ignored his sarcasm. ‘Yes. Several times. Lovely girl. A little closed-in about her work…’

  That threw him briefly. ‘“Closed in” how?’

  ‘Oh…’ Alan waved a careless hand ‘I just got the feeling that she doesn’t have a lot else going on in her life. You know—family. Children.’

  Grant snorted again. He was becoming an honorary member of the Atlas colony. ‘I imagine Ms Dickson would take issue with your concerns in that regard.’

  ‘Never met a more dedicated and conscientious professional,’ Alan amended quickly. ‘But Leo knew people. And Leo saw something in her that… Well, in how she is with the seals—so fiercely protective. So single-mindedly determined to help their cause.’

  ‘What are you, the president of the Kate Dickson fan club? She’s the opposition, Ala
n.’

  ‘This is not about sides.’

  ‘It is when it’s your farm under threat.’

  Oh, now you care about the farm? He didn’t need to say it again. It was glaringly obvious and not all that unreasonable a comment. Grant sighed.

  ‘I walked away from Tulloquay nineteen years ago because I knew I couldn’t be a farmer. My whole teenage life, I lived through my father’s recriminations that I wasn’t interested in the land he’d built up.’ He cleared his throat. ‘He let me leave rather than witness one more example of how useless I was with the most basic agriculture tasks. How much I had failed him. I cannot believe for one second that he left me the farm with any intent other than wanting me to sell it for the best possible price to someone who could make a go of it. Quite frankly, I’d believe he’d had a personality transplant before I’d believe he’d willingly excise off a third of it to a bunch of tree-huggers.’

  And if he did he would have put it in his will.

  Plus there was the glaring matter of his father taking his life over the pending conservation-order. What more evidence did he need? But he wasn’t ready to say the s word out loud just yet.

  ‘Alright, then.’ Alan sat up straighter. ‘Then, as you are the man who will soon inherit Tulloquay, I’d like to communicate to you my support as mayor—in fact, the town’s support—to this fisheries program and the investment it represents in regional relationships, science partnerships and eco-tourism. We urge you to give it—give us—your support.’

  Grant lifted one brow. ‘That’s quite a speech. Take you long to prepare it?’

  Alan smiled. ‘A couple of hours two years ago when I first had the discussion with your father.’

  Grant blew out a carefully moderated breath. Did Kate Dickson and her fur seals have the whole town wrapped around their flippers? But Mayor Sefton was no more a soft touch than his father had been. In the short fortnight Grant had known him, he had seen an astute businessman and a strong leader. Which didn’t mean Alan didn’t have his own priorities.

  Grant slid from the booth. ‘I’ll take that under advisement.’

  The mayor dropped a handful of bills onto the table and stood, clapping Grant on the shoulder. ‘I can’t ask more than that.’

  ‘I’m sure you could.’

  And probably will.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THICK arms crossed against a broad chest, which was thankfully fully covered this time, less likely to distract. Grant glared at her from his barrier position in the doorway. Still hostile. Still handsome.

  ‘Why would I need an invitation to visit my own cove?’

  Kate’s mouth opened and closed like a stranded fish. ‘Not your cove, our work. I thought if you saw it…’

  ‘I might be overcome with fascination and empathy?’ His grin was tight. ‘You don’t know me that well, Kate, so I’ll forgive the assumption that I would have the slightest interest in what you’re doing down there.’

  Kate glared. ‘I’m sure you didn’t get where you are in business without knowing the first step in a successful negotiation is to know thine enemy.’

  ‘We’re not negotiating.’ But he didn’t deny they were enemies. ‘That would imply some leverage on your part. As far as I’m aware, you have none.’

  She stiffened her back. ‘I have twelve weeks.’

  His eyes darkened. ‘News travels fast.’

  ‘It’s an important time frame for my team. Of course I checked.’ She’d been calling the probate authority every few hours until the timeline had been announced.

  ‘What’s stopping me from shutting this door and only opening it in three months when your time is up?’

  Kate’s heart hammered. Absolutely nothing. ‘The hope that there’s a decent human being in there. And that bullying people is just what you do for giggles these days.’

  His left eyelid twitched but he didn’t move otherwise. ‘You came to me. Twice now.’

  A hiss squeezed out past tight lips. ‘Mr McMurtrie, I don’t enjoy debasing myself. I don’t have the luxury of walking away from all of this, much as I might like to.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I’m fighting for my life’s work here.’

  It’s all I have.

  Her heart pounded the words out in Morse code and she shoved the prickle of concern down deep. Somewhere in her subconscious, she knew that she needed to get some life balance back. That she’d put her whole life on hold for this project and that, somewhere in the past three years, it had started to feel normal.

  But life balance could wait. Changing Grant McMurtrie’s narrow mind was what mattered now.

  He stared at her long and hard. ‘I’ll give you one hour.’

  Kate almost sagged with relief. ‘Thank you.’

  He turned for the house. ‘I’ll just get my keys.’

  Her hand shot out to curl around his wrist. Warmth pinballed between them. ‘Uh, can I ask you to take a shower first?’

  He turned back slowly. Deliberately. She swallowed hard.

  ‘I’ve been battling the artesian pump,’ he said darkly. ‘I wouldn’t have expected the seals to be bothered by a little honest sweat.’

  ‘Actually, it’s the opposite. You smell too good.’ Heat blazed high into her cheeks as the words tumbled from nervous lips. ‘I mean, too human. We don’t wear deodorant or fragrance or even perfumed shampoo in the field. It helps stop the seals from scenting us coming.’

  If any more blood rushed to her head she was going to pass out. Ground, open up and swallow me now.

  ‘That explains a lot.’ Those green eyes bored into her, but then they softened. ‘If I have to smear seal dung all over myself to disguise my scent, I’m not coming.’

  The humorous murmur was like a lifeline tossed into the Sea of Mortification; Kate grabbed it with both hands. ‘Of course not. That would be a criminal waste of a perfectly good sample.’

  His straight lips opened to speak and then twisted in the closest thing to a smile she’d seen him offer. ‘Give me fifteen minutes.’

  ‘I’ll see you out there.’ Standing around compliantly while Adonis took a shower was not part of her plan. ‘Do you know where to come?’

  ‘Dave’s Cove?’

  Kate nodded and turned for her car but, before she could relax even a bit, he called after her.

  ‘The shower is coming off your sixty minutes.’

  With every breath, the power seemed to shift further and further away from her. Sheer bravado kept her walking. She flicked her hand in the air as though dealing with gorgeous, clever, angry men was an everyday occurrence and called back over her shoulder.

  ‘Bill me!’

  No deodorant. No perfume.

  Grant hadn’t been kidding when he’d said that explained a lot. He’d been trying to pin down something about Kate Dickson since the day she’d stood in his house covered in paint. Back then the paint had masked it but today, as she’d stood just feet away from him in the spring sunshine, it niggled at him. She looked completely different today from her last visit. The power-suit was gone and she’d replaced it with a baggy T-shirt and cargo shorts. Really dirty cargo shorts. All that thick, dark hair was pulled back in the most serviceable of ponytails. No make-up. No deodorant. No perfume.

  Just one-hundred-percent clean, pure woman. With killer bone-structure.

  She had to be the most natural, open woman he’d ever met. And as she’d stood there, playing the worst game of negotiation he’d ever witnessed, showing her entire hand in an easy second, he’d found himself wanting to help her. To teach her how the game was played. To save her from herself.

  Kate Dickson and her greenies needed someone like him in their corner or they were going to get absolutely screwed by this world. But the idea of playing Sir Galahad to her helpless maiden appealed a little bit too much—given what she’d done. What she was still doing.

  He shut off the water with a slam and yanked a towel from the rack.

  Yet she’d walked out of here with the very thing she’
d come for. He might disagree with her technique, but he couldn’t fault her results. Maybe he had more of his father in him than he realised if a few nervous smiles and a charming blush from an ingénue could have him eating out of her hand. Or maybe she had more of him in her than he gave her credit for. An innate talent for spotting someone’s weakness.

  In his room, he yanked on a fresh set of jeans and a denim shirt before shoving his feet into well-worn paddock boots. His father’s, but a reasonable fit. Leo McMurtrie would flip in his grave to see his city son pulling on his battered work-boots and heading out into the paddocks.

  He snatched his keys off the kitchen bench, slid an expensive pair of sunglasses on and sprinted to his car, eager to catch up with the virginal Ms Dickson and get the balance of power back on track between them. She and her team might sit on beaches all day getting a killer tan and counting bobbing seal-heads in the water—or something—but he was about to show them just how pointless it all really was. Probably better in the long run, given they’d be moving on soon, regardless of what the district mayor wanted. If Alan Sefton was so fired up about their success, then he could work with them to find a new location.

  Tulloquay was off-limits.

  He pulled his car up next to Kate’s battered ute right on the fifteen-minute mark and looked around. There was no sign of anyone up here, but a third vehicle was parked a few metres away. Six sheep sat curled happily in its shade, the only shade as far as the eye could see. He’d forgotten what a barren, blustery spot this was.

  A healthy gust blew the fine sand from the cliff face back up at his skin and he found himself tempted to turn his rump to the wind like the sheep did. So much for the royal treatment. Looked like he’d have to show himself around.

  He peered over the edge of the bluff and then gaped at what he saw below.

  Kate lay full-bodied on a big, round seal, kitted up in elbow-and knee-pads, her dirty cargos and the filthiest shirt he’d ever seen. Her long, brown legs were hiked up hard and pressed into the sides of the seal, pinning its powerful flippers to its side and holding it immobile. Two rangy young men, as mucky and wet as Kate, worked hard at the front of the seal, fitting something to the vacant space between its shoulder blades. She contained the protesting seal just long enough for them to fit the small black box and test its fixings. Then the men backed off across the cove to join two other researchers there. Nearer to them a couple of other seals looking after a group of babies shifted nervously from side to side.