“No,” she murmured. “Neither do I.”
His heart lifted. “Well, then. It’s a deal.”
So they turned and walked back toward Kelly’s, taking their time and enjoying the late afternoon sunshine. The river played beside them like an orchestral backing track, threading its way between the rocks to the sea. Kids splashed in the shallows, and young couples held hands and strolled, making the most of the nice weather. A girl stood on the bank blowing bubbles from a pot, and they drifted along the bank, rising up into the blue sky.
Skye talked about Italy and how the Bay of Islands was a lot like the Mediterranean in many ways with its café culture, hot weather, and slow pace. Owen listened, but he found it difficult to concentrate on her words, captivated instead by Skye herself. She picked her way carefully over the rocks, unhindered by her high-heeled sandals, her movements elegant and coordinated, and he had no difficulty imagining her in Italy, France, or Greece, at home amongst the graceful and classy southern Europeans.
She’d surprised him with the kiss, but he suspected she was the kind of person who lived in the moment. He wasn’t sure she remembered, but she’d told him on the plane when they’d first met that her brother had died, and that was why she’d left New Zealand. She’d run away, unable to cope with her grief, and she was still running. Owen could see it in her eyes. She was lost, and she didn’t know how to find her way back.
Luckily, finding lost things was kind of his specialty.
Chapter Five
Skye scolded herself as they walked slowly across the grassy bank of the inlet toward Kelly’s bar. This was the last thing she should be doing—going on a date with a gorgeous guy. Although she hadn’t known Owen long, she had no doubt she could fall very hard for him if she gave herself the chance. From the first moment she’d seen him at the airport, she’d felt a connection, and the time she’d spent with him so far hadn’t put her off him—quite the opposite. He was funny and warm, and the demonstration he’d given with Mozart had sent shivers down her spine. As he’d given the dog instructions, his manner had changed—his voice had lowered and his tone had become firm and commanding. She’d nearly melted into a puddle on the ground.
So on the surface of it, spending more time with him wasn’t a great idea.
Ultimately, though, it was only one afternoon. What harm could come from a few hours in his company? She’d made it quite clear she wouldn’t be around for long, so it wasn’t as if she was leading him on. He’d told her he hadn’t dated anyone seriously since he’d been in the Northland, so, like her, he was probably enjoying just not being alone for a while.
She gave him a sidelong glance. He was talking about when he and Mozart had joined a search along the coast for a man whose boat had gone missing, and he gestured toward the sea as he did so. His short sleeve stretched across his muscular arm and revealed more of his intriguing tattoo. The warm breeze ruffled his long hair and pushed the material of his T-shirt against a tight, flat stomach. Her fingers itched to slide beneath the cotton and touch his warm, brown skin.
A frisson ran down Skye’s spine. It had been a long while since she’d slept with anyone. The thought of getting down and dirty with Owen Hall was not at all unpleasant. His sense of humor and the twinkle in his eye suggested he’d be good in bed. He’d admitted his statement about not dating seriously didn’t mean he hadn’t had sex. Would he be up for a one-night stand?
She kept her thoughts to herself for the moment, deciding to play it by ear and see how dinner progressed. But the notion that it might lead to something heightened all her senses. She was conscious of the warmth of his skin where he held her hand, and when his thumb brushed across her knuckles, her nipples tightened at the sensual gesture. He smelled of late evening in summer, warm and sultry, as if he was a part of the Northland brought to life for her visit to New Zealand.
She’d forgotten the beauty of the true Kiwi guy. Italian and French men were sophisticated and sensual; Germans were dark and broody; Englishmen were witty and self-deprecating; Aussies were fun and loud. Kiwi men, including her brother and his friends, were down-to-earth, no-nonsense, practical guys, at home on the rugby field, on the beach, or messing around in the shed at the bottom of the garden. They could put up a shelf, tackle a guy twice their size to the ground without batting an eyelid, and cook a mean steak on the barbecue. They were the most basic, sturdy form of male, built to protect their home and family, and their inherent physicality gave a good percentage of them an innate sexiness that was hard to resist.
“What?”
She’d been staring at Owen, and now he raised an eyebrow, a smile curving his lips.
“I’m thinking you need a haircut.”
He grinned. “My hair’s not normally this long. I like it, though. I might keep it like this.”
“If it gets in your eyes, you can always braid it.”
“Cheeky.” But the warmth in his eyes told her he liked being teased.
They circled the fair, heading for Kelly’s Bar. The stall holders were starting to pack up their wares, and the crowds had died down. Owen called Mozart, who came immediately, and he clipped the dog’s leash back on.
A gravel path led to the bar and restaurant, but Owen took them around the side to a grassy area above the inlet that had tables and benches for those who wanted to eat while enjoying the view. He tied Mozart to the leg of the table and told him to wait, and then took Skye’s hand and led her inside.
The long, low building was cool and dark after the bright sunshine, but as Skye’s eyesight adjusted to the low light, she saw a wide bar running the length of the restaurant, terracotta tiles, and rimu wood chairs. The tables were topped with white candles and pretty decorations made from red pohutukawa flowers. It looked clean, relaxed, and very Kiwi.
“Owen!” A guy came out from behind the bar and walked over to them, and the two men shook hands. He was tall, although not as tall as Owen, with a slender but muscular build, dark hair, and the most amazing blue eyes Skye had ever seen on a guy. His voice had a pleasant Irish lilt to it. “Haven’t seen you for a while, and you with such a pretty lass. Didn’t you know it’s rude to keep her all to yourself?”
Owen grinned. “This is Skye, and she’s just a friend. Skye, this is Pat Kelly.”
“Pleased to meet you.” She shook hands with him, a little shy at being called pretty, and pleased Owen hadn’t tried to pretend they were anything but friends. She didn’t miss the amused glance the bar owner gave Owen, though. Clearly, he’d spotted they’d been holding hands when they entered the room.
“Nice to meet you too. Can I get you both a drink?”
“Sure.” Owen checked out the beers and ordered a Mac’s Gold, and Skye decided on a glass of sauvignon.
Pat chose a bottle from the fridge and poured from it into a wine glass. “Would you like to look at the menu?”
“Owen said you make a mean seafood chowder,” Skye replied. “I’ll be happy with that.”
“Make that two,” Owen said.
“Great.” Pat pushed their glasses over. “You sitting outside?”
“Yeah.”
“Mozart with you?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll bring him a snack, too,” Pat said.
Owen laughed. “Thanks, mate.”
They went back outside and sat across the table from each other. The sun was low in the sky now, and she took off her hat and let the last rays warm her skin. Mozart snuck under the table and sat on Skye’s foot.
“Sorry,” Owen said. “I think he’s in love with you.”
She sipped her wine. “He doesn’t even know me.”
“Haven’t you heard of love at first sight?”
“I don’t believe in it.”
“Shame. I would have thought all that time in Italy would have made you even more romantic.”
She smiled, watching as he took a few swallows of the beer. As he tipped back his head, she found it difficult to drag her gaze away from th
e hollow at the base of his throat. She wanted to lean forward and kiss him there. His skin would be warm, and it would leave the taste of salt on her tongue.
She lowered her eyes and sipped her wine, her heart thumping. It was all his talk of love at first sight. It had done something funny to her insides and turned her thermostat up.
He put his glass down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Are you feeling okay? You look a bit flushed. I hope you don’t have heatstroke—it was very warm today.”
“I’m good,” she said, embarrassed he’d noticed her blush. “So come on, tell me more about Owen Hall. Why do you work for Search and Rescue? What interested you in that?”
He looked into his glass, and for maybe the first time since she’d met him, his ready smile faded. He drew a finger through a drop of condensation that had fallen from his glass onto the wood.
“Oh dear,” she said. “Have I put my foot in it?” Was it something to do with an old flame he’d left behind in Wellington? The twinge of jealousy at the thought of him with another woman surprised her.
“Not at all.” Still, he hesitated.
“You don’t have to tell me,” she said softly.
He raised his eyes to hers. Something passed between them again, invisible and undefinable, but sharp, like a snap of static electricity.
He held her gaze for a long moment. She couldn’t look away, captivated by the look in his eyes. His humor had vanished leaving his blue eyes dark and raw, and for a brief moment she felt as if she was looking right into his soul.
Glancing away, across the inlet, he took another swallow of his beer. “When I was eight, my parents took me and my sister on a picnic in a forest park not far from Wellington. They parked up and we walked through the forest for a while before we sat to eat. After the picnic, I tried to teach Sammy some rugby moves, but she was only four and she just wanted to play with her dolls, so I spent some time looking for animals in the undergrowth. Mum and Dad were lying on a blanket, talking and making out.” His lips twisted, but there was no humor in them.
Skye rested her elbows on the table, her hands covering her mouth. Please God, no.
“After a while, Mum asked me where Sam was. I’d forgotten about her—I was too busy playing. She’d wandered off, probably after a rabbit or something. We went looking for her, but even though we searched for ages, calling and calling, but we couldn’t find her. Eventually, we rang the police, and they called in Search and Rescue. Late that evening, they found her. She’d wandered for miles. God knows how she’d walked that far. She’d fallen down a ditch and hit her head on a rock.” He stopped and cleared his throat.
“Was she…”
“She was dead.” He said it bluntly. “They said she would have died immediately, although I tortured myself for years with visions of her lying there, crying for us. The man who found her was called Robert. He had a retriever called Lennon—he was a huge Beatles fan. Rob, I mean, not the dog.”
She couldn’t summon a smile. “I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged. “Long time ago now. Rob stayed in touch, and he used to let me walk Lennon. I think he felt sorry for me. He taught me a huge amount about tracking, and it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. I don’t want another family to go through what we went through. And whenever I’ve been on duty, nobody’s ever died—we’ve always found the missing person. Maybe one day it’ll happen, but I’ll do my utmost to make sure it doesn’t.” He ended fiercely, the pain he obviously hid deep down shining through.
“And now you run your own division,” she said, hoping to lighten his mood a little. Half of her was sorry she’d brought it up, but she was also touched he’d told her.
“Yeah. I love it. Part of the job is educating the public about keeping to the tracks and not wandering off, and about having the right equipment if they go tramping. I work with a company to produce leaflets and signs, and I hold seminars at local councils and schools about staying safe in the wild.”
She opened her mouth to ask a question, then hesitated.
“What?” He smiled.
She turned her wine glass in her fingers. “Sorry, I don’t want to pry. I can see this makes you sad.”
“I very rarely talk about it.” He raised his eyebrows, as if surprised he’d confessed to her. “But ask away. I’m an open book.”
“I wondered how it affected your parents. They must have felt terrible.”
He inhaled and then gave a long sigh. “We all blamed ourselves. I was old enough to have kept an eye on Sam, although they never said it was my fault. Dad was your typical Kiwi guy who looks after the family, and he felt he’d let the family down. Mum took it worst, though. It destroyed her. She sunk into a deep depression that nothing seemed able to cure. She died from breast cancer three years after Sammy died. Dad died a few years ago from a heart attack. But I’m sure it was sadness that killed them both.”
Skye’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Owen…”
He gave a smile with genuine warmth and reached out to take her hand. “Don’t cry for me, honey. I’m okay. It was just one of those things. Life throws these curve balls, and it’s how you deal with them that matters. I get sad and guilty, but I know it wasn’t my fault—it wasn’t anyone’s fault, not Mum’s, not Dad’s, and certainly not Sam’s. What it did was fill me with a deep need to work at making the system better, and to help find those who are lost. I know I’ve made a difference. Every life I’ve helped to save makes me feel better. That’s a good thing. You have to focus on the positive.”
“You’re amazing.” The words came out without her vetting them, but she didn’t mind. He was amazing. Although the memory of what had happened obviously still hurt, his positive energy shone through to warm her like the sun appearing from behind dark clouds.
His smile spread, and he lifted her hand and leaned forward so he could touch his lips to her fingers. The warmth spread through her, heating her up from the inside out.
He sat back, but held onto her hand. “So, enough about me. Tell me about Skye Graham, and why she ran away.”
Chapter Six
Owen rubbed his thumb across Skye’s knuckles. He didn’t miss her answering shiver. Her serious eyes studied him, and a light frown played on her brow as she obviously pondered on whether to open up to him.
He wouldn’t be surprised if she refused. He’d had to stifle his surprise that he’d told her so much about his past. It wasn’t something he talked about, especially when he was trying to chat a girl up. Relating the death of one’s little sister—and one’s role in it—didn’t feel conducive to romance.
But when she’d leaned forward and whispered You don’t have to tell me, she’d had such a look of understanding in her eyes that the words had come tumbling out. There was something about this girl that got under his skin. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but when their eyes met, he felt a jolt deep in the pit of his stomach, visceral and primitive. Did she feel it too?
At that moment, Pat came out of the building carrying their chowders, so Owen released Skye’s hand and leaned back. Pat placed the large bowls of steaming soup in front of them, and the waitress who’d followed him out added two plates of thick crusty bread to the table.
“Enjoy,” Pat said, passing behind Skye and adding a wink only Owen could see.
He hid a grin and picked up his spoon. He’d never brought a girl to Kelly’s in the eighteen months he’d been in Kerikeri. No doubt he’d get the third degree from the bar owner later.
Skye dipped her spoon into the chowder and tasted it, then rolled her eyes. “Mmm, delicious.”
Owen paused with his spoon halfway to the bowl, captivated by the dreamy look on her face. He wanted to kiss her until her eyes looked distant like that, until she murmured his name in that sexy way. Lowering his gaze, he concentrated on his soup. If he kept thinking racy thoughts, he’d end up embarrassing himself if she spotted his erection.
He fished out a prawn, spooned it into his mouth, and chewed. Bliss
. The rich, creamy chowder with its whole prawns, scallops, and chunks of hoki fish took some beating.
Pat appeared again with a dish he placed on the floor for Mozart before disappearing. Owen looked under the table. The Lab was making short work of the chopped up sausages.
“You’ll get fat,” Owen warned him, straightening.
He found Skye watching him, a hint of a smile on her lips.
“What?”
She shook her head. “I think I told you on the plane why I left New Zealand.”
He dipped a chunk of the crusty bread into the chowder. “You said your brother died.” Strange how they had that in common. “What happened?”
She sighed and followed his lead, dipping her bread into the soup. “He was twenty-five. He’d been dating this girl called Kim—he was crazy about her, but she wasn’t so crazy about him.” Her mouth settled into a hard line. “He went around to see her one evening, and she broke up with him. He used to ride a motorbike, and he was so mad when he left her that he drove too fast and had an accident, right near our house. We think he swerved to avoid something, probably a possum as it was late and there weren’t any other cars involved. He crashed, and it killed him.”
Owen chewed the bread, wondering what she wasn’t telling him. “Did you talk to Kim afterward? Find out anything else?”
Skye shrugged. “She just said she broke up with him, and he didn’t want to break up. I think there was more to it than that, though I can’t prove it.” She kept her gaze fixed on the chowder, concentrating on hunting for scallops. Clearly, there was more to it than that, but she didn’t seem keen to enlighten him.
Deciding not to press her, Owen changed tack. “How long was it before you left?”
“About six months. I’d just finished university.”
“What’s your degree in?”
“History and politics. I wanted to take art, but my parents said I needed something more likely to guarantee a job. They’d talked me into becoming a secondary school teacher, but after Harry died, everything changed. It was like someone removed the blinkers from my eyes.”
A Festive Treat Page 4