Southern Star: Destiny Romance (8 page)

‘I’ll let him know we’ve spoken. And listen, I appreciate that you tried to give me the heads-up about the tape.’

‘No worries. Isn’t that what you Aussies say?’

They said goodbye and Blaze ended the call. Feeling wrung out but strangely lighter having got the facts, if not the emotional toll, off her chest, Blaze phoned Jax, but got his voice mail. Privately, she was grateful not to have to deal with his dramatics when she was feeling a little fragile. She left a message telling him about the interview with Cal Marsden, then apologised for lying low for so long and for losing the
Siren
role, and thanked him for caring.

She was keenly aware that she’d never said thanks to Mitch for being her friend, and now she’d never get the chance. Still, he’d always known he could trust her and call her if he needed a shoulder. Perhaps words weren’t always necessary.

The phone was still in Blaze’s hand when it rang again, startling her into almost dropping the thing. Usually, she screened her calls, but caught by surprise – having just ended her call to Cal Marsden – she answered it and immediately wished she hadn’t. Goose bumps rose on her arms, and that only happened with one person.

‘It’s Mac,’ her neighbour said in his unmistakeable low growl. ‘You sure as hell do like to talk.’

Blaze’s heart picked up a beat. ‘Hello, cowboy. I was laying some ghosts to rest.’

‘Okay, well, I’ve got a name for you.’

‘A name?’

‘You want a carpenter, right?’

‘Yes, yes I did. I mean, I do.’ She felt like an idiot. How come she could handle a gruelling interview spanning homicide, sex and celebrity and she couldn’t answer a simple question from this man?

‘Got a pen?’

She rummaged in the desk drawer, found a pencil. ‘Yes.’

‘Name’s Rowdy Parsons.’

‘Is his name a fair reflection of his nature?’

‘Actually, he’s a pretty quiet kind of guy.’

Blaze frowned. ‘I sense a “but”.’

‘Yeah. Look, the truth is, Rowdy never met a bottle of grog he didn’t like, which is why he’s available. None of the bigger projects around here will touch him.’

‘You’re doing a great job selling him to me.’

‘I’m not selling anything,’ Mac retorted. ‘I’m giving you a name. Your decision, your risk. When he’s off the booze, he’s a good worker, but he’s unreliable if he’s put one on the previous night. That’s all. Still want his address?’

‘Maybe I should phone him first.’

‘Rowdy doesn’t usually answer the phone. He may not even have one.’

‘All right, his address, then.’

He gave her directions, too, which she scribbled down and hoped would still make sense when she needed to use them.

‘About yesterday —’ Mac said.

‘Yes, look, I’m sorry about Paddy. I’m trying to train him.’

‘I didn’t mean . . . look, if you do hire Rowdy, tell him to fix that front door first up. I don’t like you being out there with an unsecured house and guys like Pete Woodall on the loose.’

‘I thought you didn’t like me full stop, cowboy.’ She was on firmer ground playing the tease.

He laughed. ‘Feisty little thing aren’t you, Hollywood?’

‘Don’t call me that.’

‘You going to stop me?’ His low rumble edged even lower, and Blaze felt a warmth engulf her body that had nothing to do with the outside temperature.

She didn’t know how to answer that, so she didn’t reply.

‘I know you heard me. I can hear you breathing. It’s incredibly sexy.’

Blaze felt herself blush – and she never blushed. ‘And all this time I thought it was about getting oxygen to the brain,’ she said to cover her reaction to him.

He laughed again, a deep husky laugh that made the fine hairs on her neck stand up on end. ‘I take it you’re not a romantic, Hollywood.’

About that, he was right, Blaze thought. ‘I definitely prefer honesty to sugar-coated lies, and you’ve been pretty up-front that you think I’m big trouble.’

‘That may be true.’ His voice was just a vibration down the line that echoed in her veins. ‘But I think I could discover a taste for trouble.’

‘Don’t,’ she whispered, feeling shaky. ‘Don’t go there. I don’t want any more complications in my life.’

‘Who said it had to be complicated? You said you preferred honesty. Well, we knew, pretty much the moment we saw each other, that there was something between us. At least I did, and I think you did, too.’

Blaze squeezed her eyes shut – and her legs. After today’s headlines she was never going to have sex again. Ever. ‘No . . . that’s not true.’

He gave that low, sexy laugh again and Blaze felt her nipples harden and her thighs go to water.

‘You go right on believing that, Hollywood, if it makes you feel better.’

Calling on the last of her composure, she said, ‘If this is about you thinking I’m . . . available because of what the papers have been saying . . .’

In an instant, the warmth conjured by their banter dropped ten degrees. ‘If you think that then perhaps we’ve both made a mistake,’ he said in a cool voice.

‘I . . .’ she began, but the line was dead.

The flight to Australia was packed with American tourists escaping the gloom of the northern winter for a few weeks to poach themselves in the balmy waters of the Whitsundays, explore the wonders of the Great Barrier Reef or head further north to the lush rainforests of Cape Tribulation. A few even wore shorts and loud shirts in anticipation of the temperatures they’d find on arrival. But not everyone was happy.

‘Thirty-one degrees?’ exclaimed one man sitting in the front row. ‘I could’ve done better than that back home in Seattle!’

‘Honeeey,’ said his baby-doll wife. ‘It’s different over there. Thirty is, like, eighty degrees Fahrenheit. Didn’t you read the book?’

‘I didn’t pay eight thousand dollars for a honeymoon so I could sit around reading damn books! Jeez, there’s hardly enough leg room for a dwarf in these seats. For what we paid . . .’

The complaints droned on, the kids bawled, the flight attendants delivered third-rate food and fake smiles. Few people gave the slight figure in window seat 19J much mind, even with the face mask. A few other passengers wore them, too, even though the panics over bird and swine flus were mostly done and dusted. Wearing the cheap headphones and closing your eyes said to all: do not disturb. And no one did pay any notice. Unless you looked like Blaze Gillespie, no one ever did.

Every day brought subtle or significant reminders of the chasm that lay between them. Today, it was the fact of flying cattle class that brought the rage bubbling to the surface. Blaze Gillespie had no doubt enjoyed all the luxuries of first class, if not a private jet, when she’d made this same trip recently.

The little whore had received every advantage in life, and what had she done with all her privileges? She’d slutted her way through Hollywood, spread herself across countless casting couches, pouted on magazine covers and thought she had it made. But if she thought she could hide out in secret until the scandal blew over, she was mistaken.

One way or another, she would pay and the price was rising all the time. A shooting star was on a course to oblivion.

If Rowdy Parsons’ single-level home was intended to showcase his expertise as a builder, it was an unmitigated disaster. Blaze hadn’t thought disrepair and decay could get much worse than Sweet Springs, but she was wrong. Here, defeat was in every missing roof tile, the weed-engulfed front yard and cracked concrete driveway, the sorry collection of empty beer bottles huddled on the porch.

Parking in the driveway seemed too much of a commitment so she pulled up in the street and stared for long minutes. Was this Macauley Black’s idea of a joke? Maybe, but he didn’t strike her as a man who had time to plan elaborate set-ups, and he’d been upfront about Mr Parsons’ drinking problem.

She was still pondering whether to knock or leave when the front door opened and a shabby figure shuffled out. Getting out of the car, she watched as he plucked a half-empty bottle from the porch and brought it to his lips.

‘Mr Parsons!’ She walked up the drive quickly before common sense could prevail. ‘Mr Parsons, can I please have a word with you?’

In the process of turning to go back inside, he glanced around, eyes red-rimmed, face unshaven. Stringy grey hair clung limply to the sides of his head.

‘Uh?’ he said.

‘Macauley Black gave me your address. I hope you don’t mind.’

He stood there looking stupidly at her, his expression glazed and the beer bottle pressed against his lip. Instinctively, Blaze reached out and took it from him. She replaced it on the porch.

Instead of the aggression she half expected, his shoulders slumped further. He nodded and turned his back to shuffle back inside, but she touched his arm.

‘Mr Parsons, my name is Blaze Gillespie. I own Sweet Springs and I need a carpenter with building experience. I need you, in fact. So I’d like to take you to lunch to discuss what needs to be done, how long it will take, and what it will cost me.’

‘Lunch?’

‘Yes.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes.’ Blaze opened her mouth to ask where he’d like to go, and then thought again. If she could get him out to Sweet Springs so he could actually see what needed to be done, it would work much better. It meant a lot of driving, as she’d have to bring him home again, but it might be worth it.

‘Mr Parsons, do you have coffee in the house?’

He nodded.

‘Good. I want you to make yourself a strong cup of coffee, take a shower and get dressed in clean clothes. I’ll be back in thirty minutes or so to drive you to Sweet Springs, where we’ll have lunch and you can tell me what needs to be done.’

Seeing a spark of interest in the watery blue eyes, she pressed her instructions home. ‘If there’s anything you need in terms of measuring up and making notes, you’ll need to bring that with you. Thirty minutes, all right?’

Wondering if she was making another blunder to add to all the others in her messy life, Blaze gave him a bright smile, took his hand and shook it. ‘Thank you, Mr Parsons. I think it’s going to be a pleasure working with you.’

When she returned a little more than half an hour later, the boot filled with a hearty lamb and rosemary pie, cheeses, relishes and salads from the local deli, she was surprised to find him sitting on the low wall outside his house. He was freshly shaven and combed, wearing a cleaner shirt and carrying a tool kit. Somehow she’d thought she would have to dig him out of his house.

When she opened the passenger door, he hesitated for a minute before getting in. There was an awkward silence while he adjusted his seat belt, so Blaze filled it with talk of the delicious smells that permeated the deli, of the moustachioed Greek owner and his shy daughter who served behind the counter, and elaborate descriptions of what she’d bought for lunch.

Rowdy didn’t respond, nor did she expect him to, but he seemed to relax a little. When she ran out of breath, she switched the radio on low, and let the miles fly past. When he did finally speak, his voice sounded rusty, the words halting.

‘You’re Paddy’s granddaughter. The actress.’

‘That’s right. Did you know my grandfather?’

Rowdy nodded.

‘I miss him,’ Blaze said. She thought of the sad little swing set in the overgrown Parsons yard. ‘Do you have a family, Mr Parsons?’

He looked out the window and was silent for so long, Blaze was about to change the subject.

‘Not any more.’

Something in his voice stopped her from asking him what he meant. Maybe his drinking had been too much for his loved ones. And then again, maybe it was just none of her business.

As they drew up in front of Sweet Springs, he looked with interest at the house.

‘I have a dog,’ Blaze told him as they got out. ‘Well, he’s not mine, but he hangs around. He’s called Paddy, after Gramps.’ As if summoned, the blue heeler rounded the corner of the house at a loping run. At the sight of Rowdy, he halted, sat back on his haunches and gave a loud bark. But there was no baring of teeth this time.

‘Paddy,’ Blaze called to him in a firm voice. He came over to her and sat obediently at her feet.

‘Offer your hand. He wants to check you out,’ she told Rowdy.

With a wary eye on the dog, he did so, and after a moment, Paddy obligingly licked his hand, earning Blaze’s praise.

‘All right, first hurdle successfully jumped.’ She threw Rowdy an encouraging look as he gave Paddy a tentative pat, and received a faint smile in response. ‘Okay, let’s unpack the food so we can eat. And then I’ll show you around.’

The rest of the day passed in a strange spirit of cooperation that Blaze would never have expected. After lunch on the veranda overlooking the straggling remnants of Gram’s garden, she took Rowdy through the house, room by room. Instead of the horror which Macauley Black and Stella had expressed, Rowdy rubbed his hand lovingly across old mantelpieces, and swung the doors back and forth to check their ease of movement. Little came out of his mouth, but his expertise was obvious in his detailed measuring-up, the copious notes, the little sketches he presented to Blaze to show how the attic level could be re-imagined to create a master suite, and how knocking out a wall could result in a spacious open-plan kitchen and dining area.

‘Macauley Black was right about you,’ Blaze murmured reflectively, flicking through the drawings as they sat with a cool, non-alcoholic drink later in the day. Over by the waterhole, two reclusive kangaroos hopped from the shade to enjoy a late-afternoon drink and scratch.

When Rowdy looked at her enquiringly, she laughed. ‘He said you did good work when you show up. I think you could do a magnificent job here.’ When Rowdy blushed sheepishly, she gave him another grin. ‘So what’s it going to cost, and when can you start?’

His daily rate was fair, and she could well afford it. And he would come by tomorrow to tackle some small jobs.

‘That’s a good idea. See how we work together,’ she said and noted his wary look. ‘I want to be really involved, not just choosing colours and paying the bills. Anyway, you can’t do everything yourself. But I am a novice so you’ll be the boss.’

‘For the bigger jobs, I’ll need another bloke,’ he said in his spare way. ‘Too much for the two of us.’

Blaze hoped he steered clear of anyone wanting to star-gaze or the chance to check out Blaze Gillespie’s rural retreat. ‘All right, but can you clear it with me beforehand?’

The return journey to Meriwether was as quiet as the outward trip, with Blaze making most of the conversation, but the silences were easy. By the time Blaze had turned around and driven home again, night was closing in and she felt tired yet more satisfied than she had in a long time. After a simple dinner of soup, she lit the sturdy, practical candles on the living-room mantelpiece, and settled on the sagging couch with a glass of wine to take a longer look at the sketches.

Comfortably relaxed, she imagined Sweet Springs coming alive as a family home with a couple of kids running wild through the rooms, bouncing on a trampoline out the back, while she pottered in a kitchen garden. Down by the barn, a tall, dark man brushed down a silver-grey horse. She’d admit he had a similar build and colouring to Macauley Black, but it definitely wasn’t him. Absolutely not.