Southern Star: Destiny Romance (4 page)

Sighing, she took a slug of water from the bottle and munched slowly on the banana, unable to relax despite the calm quiet. It took her a few moments to work out that it was the silence itself that was so strange.

Opening the doors, she took her chair on to the back veranda, propping her boot heels on the timber rail, and watched the sun tumble into a breathtaking swirl of gold and magenta. A flock of birds flew screeching across the sky, heading for some unknown destination, and frogs set up a chirping chorus somewhere in the dusky beyond. Blaze smiled as the tension began to melt away, and her eyelids drooped. A few moments longer and she’d turn in . . .

Something hooted and she came awake to a clear navy sky and a couple of early stars. Yawning, she tilted her watch until she could make out the time. Lord! After nine. She’d been asleep more than two hours.

Sluggishly, she rinsed off her plate, placed the mango on it ready for breakfast, and closed the back door. Upstairs, she found her way to the old attic bedroom that had been hers as a child. The pink patchwork quilt was gone, so too the Raggedy Ann. But the sturdy timber-framed bed remained, together with her old bedside table and chair. And the room seemed comparatively clean and dry. The bathroom was another matter, so Blaze settled for splashing her face with water and cleaning her teeth.

By torchlight, she pulled musty-smelling sheets from the old dresser and made the bed. It was too warm to need a quilt, but she pulled her robe from her bag and tossed it across the sheet in case the temperature dropped during the night. Feeling as if she could sleep forever, she stripped – letting her clothes fall in a pile on the floor – and slipped beneath the cool sheets. Reaching out, she switched off the torch.

Barely a few minutes had passed before she felt herself dozing off. In that no-man’s-land between slumber and waking, she thought she heard a soft scraping. Something animalistic howled not far away, followed by a scrabbling. Then the heavy sound of silence. Her ears attuned, Blaze listened for endless minutes, and when she could stay awake no longer, she let the tide of sleep swallow her.

The next morning, it wasn’t the heat that woke Blaze, nor a nightmare. In fact, she wasn’t sure what caused her eyes to suddenly pop open; maybe she had just slept as much as her body needed. Certainly, when she rolled lazily over, she felt surprisingly together. Probably the best she’d felt in weeks. The tension in her shoulders was gone, and she’d had a whole night without a bad dream.

Groping for her watch, she tilted it up so the light fell across it. Five past seven. She’d been out of it for nearly ten hours, which was a miracle in itself. Even prior to her life going down the toilet, she’d been a poor sleeper. Parties and openings and late or early shoots quickly screwed up the body clock; there was something to be said for rising and retiring with the birds.

Right at that moment, a pair of them – cockatoos from the raucous sound – were having their own party, right outside her window. She smiled at the squawking, thrust back the sheet and stood naked on the bare floorboards. Lifting her arms above her head, she ran through a few yoga stretches, rolled her shoulders and tugged on her robe.

After a brief bathroom stop, she secured her hair on top of her head and went downstairs. Sipping at the remaining water in the bottle, she strolled out on to the back veranda to inspect the new day. Even at this early hour, the dew was long gone, but a hint of freshness lingered.

Half a kilometre away at the waterhole, birds dive-bombed the smooth surface of the water, creating a cacophony of sound that said, like nothing else: this is the Australian bush. Ants made a lazy line across the old timbers of the porch, and an early bee droned through the struggling honeysuckle that still retained its hold on the old lattice-work.

Blaze grinned, letting her head tip back on her shoulders and she took a lungful of the sweet air. It smelled good enough to eat, partly the honeysuckle and partly . . . mango! How long had it been since she’d enjoyed a Queensland mango, dripping with juice?

Getting up, she retrieved the fruit, rummaged in the kitchen drawer until she found a paring knife, and cut off the two cheeks and edges, scoring the flesh into squares the traditional way.

Dragging out her grandmother’s old rocker on to the veranda, Blaze dusted it off and sat down slowly to enjoy her breakfast. Her eyes almost rolled back in her head at the first sensuous taste. If any food could give a woman an orgasm, it would be mango, she thought, letting the juice run down her chin and between her breasts.

Letting the new day wash over her, she closed her eyes and set the chair to rock as Gram used to do when she was shelling peas or crocheting. Even when relaxing, Gram’s hands were never idle. Blaze’s eyes misted.

Everyone she’d ever cared about was gone, even Mitch, whom she’d loved as a friend and trusted confidante. Thinking back, she realised they’d been brought together by their insecurities, as well as their successes. Briefly, he’d kicked his drug habit, and she’d found the confidence to test for some more demanding roles, winning one of them. He was hearty and boisterous, generous to a fault, and she’d hoped he was winning his war against his demons, but then someone with death in mind and a sharp blade in hand had ended it for Mitch.

A soft snarl from beneath her feet had her sitting upright in the chair. Blood pumping, bottle of water still in hand, she looked wildly around. She was alone, except for the ants; even the bee had disappeared. The sound came again, more of a snuffle this time, followed by the scrambling sound she’d heard last night.

She caught movement on the steps, and then a black nose and two grey paws appeared. Tawny eyes stared back at her from the face of a dog with the distinctive coat of a blue heeler. He didn’t come any further, just observed her with those cautious, intelligent eyes. When she made no move, he inched forward until he was standing on the veranda, one of his back legs held off the ground as though he were in pain. He made a little sound, and then lay down, panting heavily.

Blaze didn’t know much about dogs, except that heelers usually had some wild dingo blood and were smart and temperamental. Most farms used them as working dogs, but this one was skinny and unkempt, with patches of fur missing and one ear short a tip. If he had a home, it was a bad one or he hadn’t seen it in a while.

‘It’s okay, dog,’ she soothed in a low voice. Standing slowly, she watched as he jerked awkwardly to his feet, keeping his distance as she went to the door. In the kitchen, she found an old plastic bowl and filled it with tap water. When she returned to the veranda, the dog had retreated down the steps.

He looked around as Blaze followed him. Placing the bowl of water on the ground, she returned to her seat. The dog sniffed the air a couple of times, then with an unsteady three-legged gait, he moved towards the bowl. Lowering his head, he sniffed and looked up to where Blaze sat.

‘It’s okay. It’s just water,’ she told him. ‘It’s for you.’

The dog continued to stare. Then he gave a little yelp, which might have meant ‘Thanks’, and lowered his head to drink.

Blaze took her empty water bottle and plate into the kitchen, and when she came back out, the bowl was empty and the dog had gone.

Vaguely disappointed that he – or she – hadn’t stuck around, she wandered back upstairs. A shower would kick-start her into action. But when she took another look at the bathroom, there was no way she was stepping into the tub or shower until it was clean, and until there was hot running water. That meant she needed cleaning supplies, and she needed to make a call about getting power restored.

After a cool sponge bath, which proved surprisingly refreshing as the day’s temperature was already climbing, she spread out the contents of her bags over the bed. Skin-tight jeans and low-cut tops might be fine for getting Macauley Black hot under the collar, but if she was going to bring Sweet Springs back to life, she was going to have to be practical.

A grey button-neck T-shirt and loose chocolate pants were the closest things to work clothes she possessed, but she was at a loss for shoes until she found an old pair of Gram’s brown boots in a closet. With a thick pair of socks they weren’t too big. She would need a hat too, but that would have to wait until she could get into town.

That raised the question of transport. If she hadn’t been so jetlagged the other night, she would have asked about a hire car. Now she was stuck, unless . . .

Blaze ran down the stairs, out the front door and across to the listing barn where Gramps had once kept his utility vehicle. Even if it was there it was unlikely to be in running order, but it was worth a try.

Dragging open the heavy door, she squinted into the dim interior and then smiled. Surrounded by tools, old furniture and boxes of God knew what, the old red Ford still sat there in the far corner, the key in the ignition. When she turned it and nothing happened, her smile dimmed.

After several attempts, she gave up. The battery and probably other crucial parts were stone dead. That meant she would have to get a hire-car delivered, and God knew how long that would take. That’s if she even knew what number to ring.

Thinking, Blaze walked back to the house and fished her mobile from her bag. She got a signal, but she had no idea of the number to call for operator assistance.

There were a string of voice mail messages, including several from her agent, which she ignored, and one from the airport. Someone called Stella needed instructions about delivering her excess baggage.

Blaze got through to Stella immediately, and remembered her as the woman who’d handed her over to Macauley Black last night. After arrangements were made for her bags to be delivered, Blaze asked if Stella could recommend a hire-car supplier in Meriwether.

‘Are you kidding?’ asked Stella in her bright and breezy voice. ‘This airport may be small but we have a hire-car facility right here, although we don’t do fancy. Now, what are you looking for?’

‘I’m not looking for fancy. I need something I can use around the property that can handle off-road.’

‘Easy. Got a nice ute here. Grey metallic. This year’s model, too.’

‘Great. Thing is I can’t collect it as I don’t have transport. So I need it delivered.’

‘Well . . . today I only work till midday so I can drive it over for you after that with your bags. My boyfriend will come with me to drive me back. He’d love to meet you, Ms Gillespie.’

‘It’s Blaze, and actually I need to drive into town anyway for supplies, so I can drop you back,’ Blaze told her. ‘So your boyfriend is spared.’

Stella laughed. ‘I don’t think he’d see it like that!’

‘All right, well, I’ll see you later. And thank you.’

‘No worries.’

Blaze smiled at the expression as she put the phone down. Wouldn’t it be great to have no worries?

With the first step taken, Blaze felt a sudden rush of energy. Or maybe it was just the thought of a stranger witnessing the wreck her grandparents’ beloved home had become that spurred her on. Not that she’d been the slightest bit embarrassed at Macauley Black seeing it yesterday, but a woman was different. Whatever, she was on a roll, and by the time Stella arrived, the house was going to be liveable, even if it killed her.

A small laundry off the kitchen yielded ancient brooms, buckets and detergent. She was a novice when it came to housework, and there was only cold water – she would ask Stella who to contact about getting power reconnected – but after an hour the old bathroom fixtures were about as sparkling as they were likely to get, and she was making inroads into the years of neglect suffered by the kitchen.

By the time she laid down arms, she was drenched with sweat and soapy water, but the kitchen was presentable, and the debris littering the floors of the formal sitting and dining rooms and the study had been swept into one enormous pile. She could even see through the remaining downstairs windows, and upstairs the old bathroom was as hygienic as she could get it.

Bit by bit, as order began to be restored, Blaze rediscovered the beautiful, spacious proportions of the rooms with their high decorative ceilings, quaint fireplaces and hand-crafted timberwork. Remembering it through a child’s eyes, it had always seemed a cheerful and welcoming house, but now she could see it had real beauty, too.

But time was ticking on, and she couldn’t waste it standing here admiring the architecture. Hot water be damned, she needed to shower, wash her hair and change before Stella arrived. She squealed with the first blast of cool water from the showerhead, but after her cleaning bee, at least she didn’t have to worry about catching some disease. And the temperature meant she didn’t linger, which was just as well because she was still tying her damp hair into a knot on her head when she heard a car coming down the track.

Double-checking her face, she slid her sunglasses on, grabbed her bag and the house keys, and ran down the stairs, just as Stella knocked.

‘Hi!’ She wrenched the sticky door open to find Stella, knuckles at the ready to knock again. ‘Sorry, I was just upstairs. Come in.’ She was ridiculously excited about showing off her efforts of the morning.

‘Thanks,’ Stella said, following her into the kitchen. ‘Wow.’ She looked at the ancient kitchen units and old range, then back to Blaze. ‘Wow,’ she said again. Then, seeing that Blaze was struggling to hold back laughter, her round, pleasant faced relaxed.

‘I know,’ Blaze said. ‘It’s in a terrible state. But you should have seen it before I started sweeping and scrubbing.’ She pointed to the pile of dust and debris in the corner of the room.

‘It’s just, well —’ Stella stuttered. ‘I guess it’s not the kind of place you’re used to.’

‘It just needs some attention,’ Blaze said, stroking the wood. ‘It has lovely old features. Marble fireplaces in the reception rooms, ceiling roses, French doors.’

‘I guess so.’ Stella obviously wasn’t convinced. ‘Anyway, we should head. It takes nearly an hour to get to Meriwether. D’uh!’ She slapped a hand to her head. ‘You know that, having done the trip the other night with Mac. Sorry again about what happened at the airport. Our local copper roped him in at the last moment, and he got impatient when your flight kept being delayed.’