Southern Star: Destiny Romance (19 page)

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.

Fortunately, it seemed that the cattle and horses hadn’t suffered. Still, Beau was ready to walk, young Lewis refused to meet his eye, and even Amos had been muttering under his breath about his priorities being in his pants. After Mac set the record straight with the younger men and then sent them off, he got a beer for himself and Amos, sat down on the bench alongside the older man and pinned him with a look.

‘You calling your boss a dickhead, Amos?’

Amos managed a half-grin. ‘Yes, boss.’

Mac sighed. ‘You may be on the mark, but you need to keep it to yourself around here. I’ve already got a minor mutiny on my hands.’

‘Sorry, boss. I was out of line.’

‘Hell, I can’t believe things got so bad in under a week. I mean, Woodall’s gone. Peg’s back – hallelujah – what’ve the boys got to get shitty about?’

‘Peg
was
back.’

Mac frowned. ‘Is she all right? She told me she was ready to start back just before I flew to LA and I didn’t hear any different while I was away.’

‘She quit,’ Amos told him baldly. ‘Day after she came back. And the rest of us felt like following her.’

Mac wanted to grind his teeth in frustration. He’d been in touch with Beau every day while he’d been away, and the guy had said nothing – presumably because he was the problem.

‘Right,’ he said tightly. ‘Do I need to give Beau his notice?’

Amos’s white brows nearly reached his thinning hair line. ‘Beau’s not the problem, boss. Inexperienced, yes – needs a kick up the pants for not telling you what was going on – but he’ll learn.’

Mac did grind his teeth. It was like trying to get blood from a stone. ‘For God’s sack, spit it out, Amos.’

‘It’s the bloody cook.’

What the hell? ‘The Williams girl? I thought she was long gone? I told her she could finish up the day before Peg started back. Paid her out with a bonus before I left.’

‘Well, all I know is she stayed on to help Peg settle back in, do some of the heavy lifting. She said you insisted.’ His look turned dark. ‘Don’t know what went on, but Peg was gone the day after she came back to work. She told Beau she was retiring.’

‘Well, hell! Didn’t Beau ask her why?’

Amos shrugged. ‘Too busy tryin’ to handle the fall-out, boss. We both were.’

‘Bloody hell.’ Mac rubbed a hand over his face. He’d been running on adrenalin for the past few hours, but now jet lag was setting in. He hadn’t slept in more than twenty-four hours, and despite the fact that he needed sleep, he wasn’t looking forward to his lonely bed. He’d got too used to Blaze’s warm curves beside him.

His fingers touched the small box in his pocket. He should have just asked her and got it the hell over with. Maybe then he’d be able to get some clear air to handle the Rosmerta shit storm. Since when was he so fucking cow—

‘Boss!’ Amos’s voice cut through his thoughts and, with reluctance, he turned back to the old man who was looking at him in concern. ‘I thought you’d done fallen asleep on me, boss, except your eyes were open and you looked like you were about to wrestle a bull.’

‘Wrestling something a hell of lot more volatile,’ Mac said. ‘Never mind. Tell me what happened with the cook. She was pretty unremarkable but her cooking was edible.’

‘It was all right. Not in Peg’s class. And she was out to cause trouble from the start. Playing the guys off each other. Had young Lew and Smithy looking at Beau like he was a dog turd, for no good reason.’

Mac thought for a moment. ‘Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. I’ll talk to Peg, beg her if necessary to come back. Then I’ll set things straight with Beau and the boys. And the girl is out of here first thing tomorrow.’

‘Too late, boss. Moved out yesterday.’ Amos stood and stretched. ‘Soon as she knew you were on your way back, she said she was finished. Expect she knew you’d have her out of here quick smart. Good riddance.’

Mac shook his head in bewilderment as he stood. He was going to hit the sack; clearly, nothing was going to make much sense until he’d had some sleep. Tomorrow he’d straighten out the station, get Peg back and then he was going to put the damned rock on Blaze’s finger. No more pissing about. If he could stare down bushfires and brown snakes, he could have an honest conversation with his lover.

Amos said goodnight and headed out to his quarters, leaving Mac on the veranda staring out at the vast night sky, wishing tomorrow would hurry up. One night without Blaze was about as much as he could stand.

Thinking about Blaze reminded him that he needed to speak with Andrew Ryan and push him to find out what was going on with Blaze’s case. It still made him uneasy that the LA cops had had a gilt-edged opportunity to arrest her if they thought they had cause. Evidently they hadn’t, but he had a bad feeling about it. It was almost as if the case was in limbo – and sleeping dogs often woke up snapping, in his experience.