Southern Star: Destiny Romance

by JC Grey

  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.

  Smiling, Blaze let her empty glass clunk to the floor as her eyes closed, and she fell asleep to dreams of a dark man’s passionate kiss.

  Coming to with a start, Blaze rolled over and promptly fell of
f the sofa, landing on the rug in front of the fireplace. Fortunately the couch sagged so much, the drop was mere centimetres. It was dark in the room, with just a sliver of moon sending a pale gleam slashing across the floor and wall. Groping along the worn cushions, she found her phone in the dip between them and illuminated the display. Nearly two. That glass of wine had hit her for six, probably because it had been weeks since she’d drunk alcohol.

  Groaning, she heaved herself upright, using the phone’s display to guide her across the room to the door. Her hand on the door knob, she jumped at the sudden sharp creak of timber from just outside the room. Cautiously, she waited to see if the sound came again, but the house settled once more into its usual cadence of soft shifts and sighs.

  Switching on the light, Blaze eased the door open and peered up the gloomy hallway towards the front of the house. The front door was standing wide open, and as she watched, a gentle gust of wind caught it, sending it thudding against the wall. Crack!

  Letting out a breath, Blaze smiled at her foolishness. The old door was so badly warped, it had a tendency to open in a stiff breeze unless it was locked, which she did only when she was going out or to bed.

  It took a few attempts to get the door in the right place for the lock to slide home, and then she switched off the living-room light and made her way up the moonlit stairs, her mind on tomorrow and the start of a new phase in the life of Sweet Springs.

  First job for Rowdy Parsons: fix the front door.

  At around the same time, Mac stood naked and sleepless on the balcony of his bedroom looking east towards his nearest neighbour. The Sweet Springs homestead wasn’t visible, but he could see it in his mind’s eye as it had been decades before: sprawling, elegant, alive. Its high ceilings, spacious rooms and ornate Victorian-era touches were a link with the past that his home, despite the modern conveniences he’d installed, just didn’t have, while the lush, gently rolling land that surrounded Sweet Springs was on the wish list of every grazier within cooee.

  God, he’d wanted Sweet Springs for so long. It was the main reason he’d acquired neighbouring Rosmerta, his thinking being that when Paddy Gillespie’s place came on the market he’d be perfectly positioned to snap it up. At a little over forty thousand hectares, it was relatively small, but combined with the sprawl of Rosmerta, it would join the ranks of the largest holdings in the region, and its quality was unsurpassed.

  Whatever Blaze might say, he couldn’t seriously envisage her staying long, and whatever improvements she made to the property in the meantime were only to his benefit, as long as she wasn’t planning on introducing a Hollywood Hills style. Hopefully, Rowdy Parsons would steer her away from anything inappropriate.

  Mac decided that, for as long as she was around, he’d keep a close eye on her – and not just because of his interest in Sweet Springs.

  For a woman as worldly as Blaze Gillespie, her reaction when he’d acknowledged the attraction that simmered between them had not been what he expected. He’d anticipated either an outraged, drama-queen-style dismissal or a cool and amused invitation to get right down to it. Instead, she’d seemed wary, nervous even, and he didn’t know quite what to make of that.

  Nevertheless, she wasn’t immune to him. Her hands had trembled when she’d tended his scratches the other day, and he’d seen the pulse throbbing in her throat. He’d wanted to lick it, and the way her eyes had flicked to his and then away, he’d known immediately that she’d wanted it, too.

  Oh yeah, she wanted him, but clearly she was uncertain of his motives, and probably with good reason given the media headlines recently. Convincing Blaze Gillespie to explore their attraction probably wouldn’t be easy and Mac didn’t usually have the patience for long, drawn-out seductions; he’d never needed it before. And running a property the size of Rosmerta simply didn’t allow him the luxury of time for all the stuff women liked: the dinner dates, weekends at the beach, picnics.

  His nights were spent poring over the accounts, researching better farming techniques or strategic planning, and his weekends were pretty much the same as weekdays. Any spare time he had went on his dreams of diversifying into stock horses that would marry durability and speed. He got to the occasional barbecue on a neighbouring property, and he made time to sail with his old buddy, Raf Gibson, once in a while during the warmer months, but that was pretty much the extent of his social life. The few women he’d dated in recent years had also worked the land and knew she was a demanding mistress.

  Still what Mac might lack in time and romance, he made up for in focus. He was as intense and driven with a woman, especially between the sheets, as he was with every part of his life. He knew how to satisfy a woman and he didn’t cheat or lie about his intentions. When he was with a woman, he was with her. When he was working he was working; no time for a million cooing phone calls. And when an affair was over, it was over; no regrets.

  Blaze Gillespie wasn’t any woman, though. Mac didn’t give a shit about the movie-star crap. That was simply surface glitter that he wanted to peel away to discover the woman within. Acknowledging this desire to know her gave him a jolt. No woman had ever intrigued him enough before to distract him from his responsibilities to Rosmerta. But with Blaze it was as if she’d thrown down a challenge he couldn’t ignore: you have to look behind the mirage if you want to find the real woman.

  Who was Blaze Gillespie? Instead of the self-involved, demanding airhead he’d expected, he’d found a bruised and exhausted waif, a sultry-eyed vamp, a defender of stray animals and a humiliated heroine. She wore new personas the way other women did new outfits, and so convincingly that he felt continually off balance. He wanted to protect the waif, take apart whoever was behind the sex-tape garbage, even help her train the damn dog.

  And the vamp he wanted to pin against a hard flat surface and fuck until they both screamed for mercy. That white-water river of lust was there constantly. Sometimes it was a raging torrent, at other times a languid ripple, but it was undeniable. If Mac needed to invest a little more effort than usual to get Blaze Gillespie into bed, that’s what he’d do.

  For the fourth time that morning, Blaze went out to the porch to stare down the driveway. Paddy looked up from scratching himself and gave a little shrug as though to say: Forget it. The drunk’s not going to show.

  It was probably true and definitely disheartening.

  She’d been so excited this morning. Despite her disrupted sleep, she’d woken at sparrow fart and thrown back the covers, anxious to get started on the day. True, she hadn’t thought to ask Rowdy what time he’d be arriving, but it was nearly eleven now, more than enough time to have picked up what he needed and driven out here. Maybe he’d had car troubles or some other emergency and hadn’t been able to get in touch.

  Maybe she was clutching at straws.

  Okay, well, it was disappointing, but she was here, with two hands, a strong back and a working brain. She may not have any idea what to do or where to start, but that was what Google and YouTube were for, wasn’t it? And there was no shortage of rusty tools in the barn. She would just make a start somewhere on a simple project and trust to luck and good judgement.

  Within an hour, she had picked up some basic tips for stripping loose and flaking paint from the old window-frames, and had dragged a ladder and hand tools from the barn up to the veranda. Of course, by now, it was approaching the hottest part of the day, so Blaze exchanged her jeans and shirt for denim cut-offs and a loose, off-the-shoulder T-shirt knotted at her hip so it didn’t catch on anything. Her mane of hair she bundled up on top of her head and added a band around it to stop wisps from getting in her eyes.

  Feeling workmanlike, she carefully set up the ladder so she could begin work at the top of the window frame. The main problem was that the floorboards of the veranda had dried and warped over the years so she didn’t have a level surface to rest the ladder on. In fact, it wobbled dangerously at times and she had to keep moving it to try to find a safer spot. But by the time she dec
ided to stop for lunch, she was getting into a rhythm and the ladder was now standing in a shallow pool of paint flakes.

  After a hasty break for a snack and a long glass of water, she was about to head back outside, despite the heat that had sent Paddy out to the waterhole in search of shade, when the phone rang, cutting abruptly into the silence. Thankful for the reprieve, however brief, she went to answer it.

  ‘Gillespie residence.’

  ‘Ah right, ah I kind of . . . that is, I forgot about . . .’ The softly slurred voice broke off.

  ‘Rowdy.’

  ‘Yes, Miz Gillespie. It’s me.’ He sounded, Blaze thought, as miserable as anyone she’d ever heard.

  ‘I’m listening.’

  There was a long pause before he spoke. ‘I only meant to have a couple of drinks, I swear. Just a couple of drinks. That’s all, but I couldn’t stop.’ He broke down then and Blaze heard the phone clunk as though he’d put it down on a table. Despairing sobs came faintly down the line, and then the sound of a nose being blown. Blaze was just about to consider ending the call when Rowdy came back on the line.

  ‘Sorry I let you down. I let everyone down.’

  Blaze felt her heart squeeze in sympathy. Self-loathing was something she’d had a close acquaintance with recently. She knew about feeling a failure, about knowing people despised you, so she could manage a little compassion even though part of her wanted to write him off. But she also knew the temptation of giving in to misery. Not to mention that she really did need his experience. Rowdy had responded to her decisiveness and matter-of-fact approach yesterday, so she would try it again.

  ‘Rowdy, I can give you a second and last chance. But only if you do exactly as I say.’

  ‘All right.’ His nose blew again. ‘I promise.’ His voice sounded stronger.