The road slanted down to the river, and palms and ferns rose around them on the roadside, tall and lush, emphasizing the sub-tropical nature of the Northland. Huge colorful flowers the size of her hand with thick juicy petals lined the path, and twice she saw two rosella birds sweeping through the trees, their feathers bright blue, red, and yellow.
“Have you ever seen a kiwi bird?” she asked. “In its natural habitat, I mean, not in a zoo.”
He nodded. “A few, over the years, but only from a distance, and in the dark. And a huge weta, the size of my hand.” He held up his palm.
“Eek!” She shuddered at the thought of the cricket-like insect. “They’re not poisonous are they?”
“Nah. They can bite and scratch if threatened, but usually they run off. This isn’t Australia. I couldn’t believe it when I went there for some training. They were, like, see that bug? It can kill you. See that spider? It can kill you. I was glad to get back.”
She chuckled, then gasped as they rounded the bend and the view opened up. The road led down to the river, above which perched the Stone Store—New Zealand’s oldest stone building. Across from the Store was a restaurant and bar called Kelly’s, and today a variety of craft stalls were scattered across the surrounding lawns. In the background, the river tumbled over the rocks beneath the bridge, the water sparkling in the sunlight.
“Oh, how lovely.”
Owen smiled at her. “I thought you’d enjoy it. Come on, let’s have a look around.”
For the next hour or so, they meandered through the stalls. The first thing Skye did was buy a pretty straw hat to protect her face from the sun. After that, she spent ages looking at all the handmade locally-produced items for sale. There were rimu and kauri wood chopping boards inlaid with paua shell, jewelry fashioned from kauri gum and other twinkling stones, and traditional jade or greenstone necklaces carved into Maori fishhooks and koru spirals. Lots of stalls featured local produce similar to those up in the Farmers’ Market like freshly-squeezed juice from Kerikeri-grown oranges, as well as food like sausage sizzles—local sausages with fried onions wrapped in a slice of bread, and hot pork and lamb buns with a variety of local hot sauces and mustards.
There was also a lovely stall with handmade bowls painted with pictures of tuatara lizards and pukeko birds. Skye stopped to admire a particularly nice vase decorated with oranges and lemons that looked real enough to touch. It wasn’t too big and would fit in her suitcase for when she went back to Europe, bringing with it a small taste of home.
“These are beautiful,” she told the young woman behind the stall. “Did you make them?”
“Yes, I made and painted everything here.” The woman had shoulder-length reddish-brown hair cut in a long bob, a ready smile, and pretty green eyes. “I have a shop in town too—it’s called A Touch of Class.”
“I’ve been in there,” Owen said, surprising Skye. “I bought one of these for a friend’s birthday, and a metalwork ornament too. Really original.”
“Yes, other local artists also sell items at the shop,” the woman said.
“The craft fair is a great idea.” Skye gestured around at the stalls. “I’m sure a lot of tourists come down here to see the Stone Store.”
“Well, I’m lucky in that a good friend runs Kelly’s bar and restaurant.” She nodded across the lawn at the building. “He was happy to have the fair here for the day as a lot of the tourists will stop by for a drink or something to eat.”
“You organized the fair too?” That impressed Skye.
“Yes. Are you into crafts?”
“I sketch.” Skye looked at a watercolor of the Stone Store. It wasn’t bad, but her sketches were much better.
The woman picked up a business card and handed it to her. “If you ever want a place to sell your work, you’re welcome to contact me.” The card read Orianne Smith, A Touch of Class. Local handmade arts and crafts, and it had her phone number and website.
Owen looked over Skye’s shoulder. “Orianne? What a lovely name.”
“It’s a weird name, but thank you for being polite.” She grinned at them.
Skye liked her and took the card to be polite, but she had a fleeting pang of wistfulness that she wouldn’t be around to take advantage of her offer. “Thanks. I’ll take the vase, too.”
Orianne wrapped it up carefully for her and put it in a bag. “Have a lovely day.”
“You too.” Skye took it, and they walked away.
“Do you believe in Fate?” Owen took her hand again, steering Mozart out of the way of a child’s tempting ice cream cone as the kid waved it under his nose.
“Sort of.”
“That was Fate’s way of telling you to stay.” He winked at her.
Skye dropped her head and nudged a stone out of the way. This was exactly what she didn’t want—someone trying to convince her not to leave.
Owen cleared his throat. “I—” At that moment, however, someone shouted his name from a stall a few feet away.
Skye looked up to see the initials F.N.S.A.R. on a banner, and several people there with collection tins, handing out leaflets.
“Hey, Marty.” Owen removed his right hand from hers and held it out to an older guy who came over to shake it. “How’s it going?”
“Good, good. Warm day, eh?”
“Beautiful. This is Skye, by the way. Skye, this is Marty, one of our best volunteers, doing some fantastic fundraising.”
“Far North Search and Rescue,” she said, realizing what the initials spelled.
“That’s right.” Marty shook her hand, too. “Nice to meet you, Skye.” He turned back to Owen. “Now that we have you here… Any chance of a demonstration? Might pull in a few extra bucks.”
Skye raised her eyebrows. A demonstration?
Owen hesitated and glanced at her. “Well…”
“Please,” she said, “don’t let me stop you.”
“Okay,” he conceded. “Just a quick one, though.”
“Sure, sure,” Marty said. “Come on. There’s quite a crowd at the bottom by the inlet.”
Owen rolled his eyes at her, but he looked happy enough as they followed the older man down to the space in front of the stalls. Marty beckoned to the two other volunteers, and they came with them bearing collection tins and leaflets.
Owen stopped at a stall selling toys for kids. He showed Mozart a couple of different cheap balls, and when the dog snuffled at a small rugby ball that squeaked when squeezed, Owen bought it.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Marty called out while the other volunteers cleared a rectangular space about ten feet wide and thirty feet long. “We are collecting donations today for the Far North Search and Rescue Team. We’re lucky to have here today one of our best dog trainers, Owen Hall, and the marvelous Mozart. Please gather around for a demonstration.”
Owen bent to give Mozart’s head a quick kiss. Skye just about heard the words he murmured to him before he walked into the open space with the dog bouncing at his side.
Skye pressed a hand to her heart. Owen hadn’t demanded the Lab behave or do as he was told. Instead, he’d whispered, Okay, boy. I hope I don’t let you down.
And at that moment, she was lost.
Chapter Four
Owen stood in the center of the open space and bent to unclip Mozart’s leash. Butterflies flitted in his stomach, and he took a steadying breath before he straightened. Why was he nervous? He’d done this a hundred times before.
But he knew why. Skye was watching him, and he wanted to impress her.
A little angry with himself, he attempted to push her out of his mind. This was about raising money for Search and Rescue—the last thing he should be thinking about was a girl who’d soon be leaving the country anyway.
People had already turned to watch as Marty made his announcement, and Owen cleared his throat and made sure his voice reached people still shopping who might not be aware of his performance.
“Ladies and gentleman, welcome to Kerikeri on th
is bright and beautiful day.” He tried not to glance at the girl who watched him from the sidelines, her head tipped to one side, her expression intrigued. “As Marty stated, we work for Search and Rescue, an invaluable organization who find missing people throughout the Far North. Nearly every member of Search and Rescue is a volunteer, and we rely on donations from generous people like you to keep us going. To give you a taste of what we do, Mozart here has agreed to a demonstration of his skills.” He indicated the chocolate Lab, who knew he was going to perform and was leaping about, excited to get started.
“All our volunteers are essential,” Owen continued, pleased to see more people turning and craning their necks to see what all the fuss was about. “But of course our teams couldn’t work without the most important part of the organization—the dogs. Our dogs have extensive training to improve their strength and agility. Not all of them are as skilled as Mozart here, but he is an especially clever Lab who loves to show off.”
The crowd laughed, and when he glanced at Skye, he saw her lips curving. The sun lit her from behind, and at that moment he wished he had a camera to capture her beauty. When their gazes met, his heart missed a beat, and for a brief second he forgot what he was saying.
He dragged his attention back to the scene before him. Focus, he scolded himself. Mozart wanted to perform, and he had to concentrate to make sure he didn’t let the dog down.
Owen focused on the chocolate Labrador now sitting ten feet away. Mozart was still young, and he had a tendency to be excitable at times. The Lab was eager to get started, buoyed up by the noise of the crowd, his tail wagging as children called out and tried to tempt him to move in spite of their parents’ admonishment to stop.
Crouching, Owen put the squeaky rugby ball on the ground. Mozart watched him, tongue lolling, but made no attempt to move toward it. The crowd murmured, impressed at the dog’s restraint.
Owen stood, put his hands behind his back, and waited. Mozart stilled, and the connection formed between them as it always did, like an invisible thread stretching from his mind to the dog’s.
“Ready, Mozart?”
The Lab gave a single bark.
Owen nodded. “Stand.”
The dog stood.
“Walk forward.”
Mozart took a few steps toward the ball.
“Stop,” Owen commanded. “Go back.”
The Lab move backward to his original spot, and the crowd cheered. Owen flashed a glance across at Skye. She was watching them with fascination, her eyes wide and her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
“Walk forward,” Owen said again, and the dog took a few steps toward the ball. “Stop. Sit.”
Mozart sat immediately.
“Lay down.”
The dog dropped onto his stomach.
“Roll over.”
Mozart rolled.
Owen lifted a hand and pointed two fingers like a revolver. “Bang! You’re dead!”
The dog flipped onto his back and lay there with his legs in the air as if he’d been shot.
Owen grinned as the crowd cheered. He blew into the end of the gun and slid it into his pocket. “Okay,” he said, returning his hands behind his back, “up, Mozart.”
The dog rolled and stood, four feet away from the rugby ball.
“Walk forward,” Owen instructed. After the Lab had taken couple of paces, Owen said, “Stop.”
Mozart stopped.
“One more step.”
The dog put his right paw forward.
“One more step.”
The Lab did as he was told. He was now only six inches from the ball.
“Okay, Mozart, you can touch the ball, but you can’t have it yet.”
The dog put one paw on the ball, but made no attempt to take it in his mouth. Owen glanced up and saw everyone watching, mouths agape, stunned at the Lab’s ability to follow commands. Skye had pressed the fingers of one hand to her lips, and relief filled him—Mozart had done his magic and entranced her, as he’d hoped.
“I’m going to count to three,” Owen stated, “and then you can have the ball, okay Mozart? Only when I get to three. Are you ready? One.” The Lab stayed still. “Two.” Still, the dog didn’t move. “Two and a half.” The crowd cheered as Mozart remained motionless. Owen chuckled. “Okay, I’ll count backward. Ready? Ten. Nine. Eight...” He continued to count, the crowd collectively holding its breath as the numbers descended. “Four...” He paused, keeping eye contact with the dog. “And...three!”
Mozart pounced on the ball to huge cheers from the crowd.
Marty and the other volunteers went around with their collections tins, and Owen was pleased to see everyone lining up to part with coins and even notes for the Search and Rescue fund. He grinned and dropped to his haunches to kiss the Lab’s head, tugging the rugby ball, which Mozart refused to relinquish now he’d finally got it.
Owen looked up as a little girl stopped in front of him.
“Can we stroke the clever dog?” Her wide green eyes blinked slowly.
“Yes, you can,” he said, “but you’re very good to have asked first, because not all dogs are friendly. Here, tell him to sit.”
The little girl stood in front of Mozart and announced firmly, “Sit!” Obediently, the Lab dropped his rump to the floor.
“Good boy,” Owen said, so proud of his dog at that moment he could have burst. He gestured to the girl. “It’s best not to pat the top of his head because it can make him jump up to reach your hand. Tickle under his chin, here, instead.”
The girl did so, and squealed as Mozart’s large pink tongue washed over her fingers.
“He kissed you!” Owen smiled. “He only does that to people he likes.”
“Can the same be said of his owner?” The voice came from behind him.
He pushed himself to his feet. Skye’s eyes were alight with amusement and more than a little warmth.
“Definitely.” His heart raced, but he kept his cool and just smiled.
“Should I tickle under your chin?” she teased, moving closer.
“You’re welcome to try. Not my ear, though. That makes my leg twitch.”
She chuckled, steadying herself with a hand on his chest as people passed behind her. “That was quite something,” she murmured.
“Mozart’s a great dog. Easy to train.”
“You’re very self-effacing. I like that about you.”
“Do you?” He was holding his breath now, entranced by the nearness of her lips. They were full and sensual, and he knew they’d be soft beneath his. “Tell me more things you like about me.”
She smiled, and her hand crept up to cup his cheek. Lifting her face, she waited for him to move the final few inches. He decided not to disappoint her.
He lowered his lips to hers and held them there for a moment, entranced by the sensation of touching her so intimately, of being offered this unexpected gift. He was right—her lips were as soft as rose petals. It was the briefest of kisses, just long enough to be more than a peck, but his heart hammered against his ribs, and his body heated in a way that was nothing to do with the sun beating down on them.
Skye pulled back, lowering her hand. Her cheeks had flushed a becoming pink. Clearing her throat, she looked down at Mozart. “Does he need a drink? He looks hot.”
“I’ll take him for a splash in the river. Actually, I might join him—I could do with cooling off myself.”
Skye laughed, and for a brief moment her face lit up, as if he’d banished all the worries and fears from her world. That’s what I want, he thought. He wanted to be the one who made her laugh like that all the time.
After saying goodbye to Marty, they walked past the Stone Store and across the carefully-tended lawns to Kemp House, where the missionaries had first landed two hundred years ago. Then they descended the bank to the rocky path that led across the river.
Owen let Mozart off the leash, and the dog bounded into the water and had a drink, then splashed around in the shallows, fishi
ng for rocks he proudly brought to Skye like trophies. “Thank you,” she said graciously each time he brought a new one. As he ran off again to find another, Skye grinned. “Is he trying to impress me?”
“I told you, he’s very well trained. I can’t say I blame him, either. I’d dive in and search for stones myself if I thought it would work.”
She smiled. When he reached out a hand, she shyly slipped hers into it.
“I meant what I said,” she murmured. “You were very impressive out there. And before you say anything, I appreciate that the dogs do a lot of the work, but they obviously need training first, and you do a great job.”
“Thanks,” he said, hoping he wasn’t blushing. “It’s really not difficult. It’s mainly repetition and reward, and a lot of patience.”
“Don’t undersell yourself. Patience is a skill not many can master.”
“True.”
Mozart bounded up to them with another stone, dropped it at Skye’s feet, then shook himself, scattering them with droplets. Skye squealed, and Owen yelled at him. Mozart bounded away, unabashed at his faux pas.
“I’m so sorry.” Owen gave her an apologetic look, but she just laughed, brushing down her top and trousers.
“It’s okay. No harm done.”
“Even so, let me repay you by treating you to dinner. Kelly’s is a great restaurant—Pat does a fantastic seafood chowder.”
She rolled her eyes, smiling. “You don’t give up, do you?”
“Nope. Like you said, I have unending patience.”
She hesitated. “Owen, seriously, I’m not here for long and—”
He pressed two fingers to her lips, and she stopped speaking, her mouth curving beneath his touch. “I know,” he said. “It’s just dinner. It’s been a fantastic day, and I don’t want it to be over yet.” He lowered his hand.
A Festive Treat Page 3