Christmas Down Under: Six Sexy New Zealand & Australian Christmas Romances

by Rosalind James

  The gray-haired man leaned against the door frame. “The good news is there doesn’t appear to be any internal bleeding, so I don’t think any organs were injured. However, Mozart has broken both femurs, one tibia, and has fractured his pelvis. The hip joint looks okay, but unfortunately there are bone fragments blocking the pelvic inlet, and that’s not good, as it can cause problems with urinating.”

  He took a big breath. “Mozart is going to need some surgery, and even if it is successful, it will mean a long recovery period. He’ll need to be confined to a small area for at least four to six weeks and probably longer, and I might even have to keep him here with a urinary catheter for a while. Even if he doesn’t need one, he will need help and support in going to the bathroom for the foreseeable future, as well as with feeding and drinking.”

  He looked at his shoes for a moment before lifting his gaze up again. “Mozart will be in a lot of pain, he’ll need a lot of attention, and although he may heal well enough to walk again, I doubt he’ll ever regain the fitness a working dog needs. I have to ask you, Owen, is this what you want?”

  Owen clenched Skye’s hand so tight he worried he might crack a bone, but she didn’t say anything, just rested her other hand on his arm and rubbed it gently. He forced himself to take a breath and blow it out slowly, relaxing his grip. “What are you saying? Are you asking if I want him put down?”

  “Yes. It might be kindest in the long run.”

  Owen wanted to vomit. “No. Absolutely not.”

  Jim ran a hand through his gray hair. “Helping a dog in this position to recover would be difficult for any pet owner, but this is your job we’re talking about, Owen. Nobody would think badly of you for making that decision.”

  “No. No.” Owen shook his head. He couldn’t think how else to voice his objection—just that one word kept ringing in his ears. End Mozart’s life because he’d been unlucky enough to be injured? If there was even a small chance the Lab could live some semblance of a normal life, even if he never walked again, Owen couldn’t put him down just because the injury didn’t fit in with his plans.

  Skye reached out and placed a hand on his chest. She didn’t look at him, but instead spoke to the vet. “I don’t think that’s an option.”

  Jim nodded, his face full of pity. “I’m so sorry I had to ask, but I had to check. If you’re certain, then of course we’ll do everything we can to get him walking again.”

  Skye spoke again, her voice light and hopeful. “Back in London, I saw a dog in a kind of wheelchair once—a frame with wheels that supported his back legs. Might that be an option for Mozart?”

  “It might, actually, once he’s on the mend. Look, let’s take things one step at a time. The most important thing is that he makes it through the night. We need to get him stable and reduce the swelling before we operate. I’ve given him Rimadyl, which is a non-steroidal anti-inflammatory that helps with pain and swelling, and as he’s in quite a bit of pain I’ve also given him a morphine-type medication in a skin patch that releases the meds over five days. I’ll check on him throughout the night, and I’ll ring you first thing in the morning and let you know how he is. Okay?”

  Owen nodded. “Can I see him?”

  “He’s asleep now, so it’s probably best not to disturb him. He’s in good hands—you need to let me do my job now.” Jim walked forward and rested a hand on Owen’s shoulder. “I hear you found the boy.”

  “Yes. We did that, anyway.”

  “That was a great job well done, then. You look shattered, man. Go home and get some sleep, and hopefully we’ll have good news tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.” Skye tugged Owen’s hand. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s get you home.”

  *

  Skye drove the short distance to his house, refusing to let Owen take the keys. Her heart went out to him. He looked shattered, and she could only guess how difficult it was for him to leave the dog behind.

  She pulled up in his driveway and they got out, but as she walked up to the front door, he didn’t go with her. She turned to see him standing there, his hands shoved in his pockets.

  “I’m going to take a quick walk down to the river,” he said.

  “Let me come with you.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll be all right. I just need some time alone.” His face was full of anguish and his chest was heaving. He was hanging onto his composure by a thread, and he didn’t want to lose it in front of her.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “Don’t be long.”

  He didn’t answer, just turned and walked away, disappearing into the darkness.

  She hesitated, every cell in her body screaming at her to follow him, but she knew she had to let him have a few moments of privacy.

  Instead, she let herself into the house and closed the door behind her. She walked around turning on a few lamps to give the place a cosy glow, and tidied up a little, straightening cushions and putting the books on the table in a pile. Would he be hungry when he came in? It was five hours since they’d eaten, but he was probably too upset to want anything.

  Surely, he’d want a drink, though. She opened the cupboard where he kept his whisky and took out the bottle. Behind it was a small silver flask, and she brought that out too. How long would it be before he returned? She checked the clock: it was nine-fifty. She decided to wait until ten. If he hadn’t come back by then, she’d go and find him.

  What should she do now? She wanted to change out of her dress and sandals, but she hadn’t brought any clothing or personal items with her, not having expected to stay the night. She went into Owen’s bedroom. He wouldn’t mind if she borrowed one of his T-shirts—in fact he’d told her she looked sexy wearing his clothes.

  She ferreted through the jumbled drawer and then paused, smiling, and picked one out. That would do nicely.

  What to wear on her bottom half, though? She opened the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of soft jersey tracksuit bottoms that had a drawstring waist. They might do, at a pinch.

  She stripped off the dress and took off her sandals, put the T-shirt on, then tugged on the tracksuit bottoms. They were far too big, but she cinched in the waist and rolled the legs up.

  The last thing left were shoes. By the front door was a pair of Crocs he presumably wore when out in the garden. She shoved her feet in them and smiled—they were too big, but they’d have to do.

  She checked her watch—it was nearly ten. Returning to the kitchen, she topped the little flask up with whisky and screwed on the cap.

  What about a torch? Working for Search and Rescue, Owen must have a dozen of them floating around. She checked in all the kitchen drawers and eventually found a small black one.

  She left the house, locking the door behind her, and walked down the driveway toward the river. Where would he have gone? She hadn’t really thought this through. He might have taken a long walk along the bank and into the bush—he was used to the terrain, after all, and wouldn’t think twice about wandering so far. But he’d been tired and emotional, so maybe he’d found a place to sit and think rather than going for a long hike.

  When she didn’t meet him coming up the hill, she walked across the field to the river and paused there, sweeping the torch up and down the bank. Which way? Left led downstream, but upstream a series of benches led to the footbridge that arched over to the old Stone Store. Thinking he might have sat there, she chose right and headed down the path.

  Sure enough, she’d only walked for five minutes when the beam of the torch highlighted a figure on one of the benches. He sat leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his head low, his hands sunk into his hair.

  Puffing out a relieved sigh, she hoped he wouldn’t be angry with her for following him. I don’t do cross, he’d told her, but that had been before he’d nearly lost his beloved dog.

  Walking over the grass, she cleared her throat so she didn’t make him jump and stopped in front of the bench. “Hey,” she said softly.

  He lifted his head, wincing a
s the beam shone in his eyes.

  “Sorry.” She moved the torch away, but not before she’d seen his wet cheeks and the sorrow on his face.

  She sat beside him, a few inches away, and turned toward him a little, but she didn’t say anything more, just rested a hand on his back and looked out across the river. It was a beautiful scene, one that made her itch to grab her sketchbook and pencil. The moon painted the view with silver, highlighting the roof of the Stone Store, the fence around Kelly’s bar and restaurant, and the rocks in the river where the water tumbled gently over them. Sounds of summer filled the night—moreporks hooted their owl-like calls, cicadas played along, and in the distance a mournful kiwi cried out for its mate. She shivered in the cool evening air, wishing she’d thought to put on one of his sweaters.

  Owen blew out a long, slow breath, then sat back, running his hand over his face. Skye took the flask out of the pocket of the tracksuit bottoms and held it out to him. He stared at it for a moment, then gave a short laugh and took it. After unscrewing the top, he took a couple of mouthfuls, sighing as the alcohol slid down to his stomach.

  “Thanks.” He held the flask out to her, but she shook her head. “It’s good stuff,” he said. “Forty-year-old Islay malt.”

  “I can’t, Owen.”

  He studied her, unsmiling. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

  Suddenly, as if the moon had come out from behind a cloud, everything became clear. He wasn’t just upset because his dog was injured. He was upset because he thought he was going to lose Mozart, her, and the baby.

  Lifting a hand, she cupped his face and brushed her thumb across the stubble on his cheek. “Everything’s going to be all right, Owen.”

  He didn’t pull away, but his eyes shone like steel in the moonlight. “Don’t say that. You don’t know that.”

  “I know I can’t be certain that Mozart’s going to be okay, but I do know you love that dog and you’re going to do your absolute best to look after him. Not every animal’s that lucky, Owen.”

  He looked away, across the river.

  She gently turned his face back to her. “When your pager went off at the wedding, I was just about to tell you something. It was terrible timing. But I want you to know that I’d made up my mind before this all happened. I’m not saying this because I feel sorry for you, or because of what happened to Mozart. I’m saying it because it’s the truth, and I’m just sorry it took me so long to realize it.”

  “Realize what?”

  She smiled. “I love you. I should have said it days ago, but I’m a stupid idiot who doesn’t know a good thing when it’s standing in front of her. I’m crazy about you, Owen. When we first met, I told you I was damaged goods, and I really thought that at the time, but I’m beginning to realize how far I’ve come over the past few years. You’ve helped me with that—I’ve seen myself through your eyes, and it’s helped me to understand that I’m not evil, or a horrible person. I’m just human, and maybe I have good points as well.”

  He looked startled, but he didn’t say anything.

  She swallowed, expecting him to have smiled at least, and carried on. “After what happened with Matt, it’s been difficult for me to put myself out there and take the step to commitment. I’m afraid of making the wrong choice, and of trusting my heart when it’s let me down before. But you were right to say love doesn’t come with a guarantee. We have to trust in one other, and in the relationship, and I know it’s up to me—to both of us—to make it work.”

  Still, he stared at her, a slight frown between his eyebrows. Was he deciding if he could take her back? Had she left it too late?

  Panic beginning to rise with her, she tried once more. “I know I’ve put you through it, and I’m so sorry for that. And I want you to know that if I’ve pushed you too far, and you don’t want me back, I’m still going to have the baby. I’m not trying to blackmail you into a relationship. But if you want me, and you still want to be a daddy… Well, I’d like to give it a try.”

  Owen blinked several times. He looked confused.

  “Please say something,” she begged, unable to bear his silence.

  He stared at her. “What are you wearing?”

  She raised her eyebrows, then shone the torch on the slogan of the T-shirt.

  Found You.

  He read it, then closed his eyes and tipped his face up to the stars, letting out a long, slow exhalation. Skye watched him, her heart in her mouth, thinking how handsome he was, adoring the way his long hair curled over the collar of his jacket.

  “I love how you are with Mozart,” she said, unable to stop herself. “I love how much you care for him. You’re going to make such a wonderful dad, whether you want me or not.”

  He gave a short, sharp laugh, and only then did she see the fresh tears on his cheeks. “Of course I want you.” He lifted his arm and looked at her. “Come here.”

  A rush of happiness filled her. “You want me? To be with me?”

  “Of course I do. More than anything in the world.” His husky voice hitched with emotion, and he rubbed his nose.

  Skye threw her arms around his neck, relieved when his arms came around her and held her tightly.

  “I love you,” she whispered, kissing his ear, never wanting to let him go.

  “I love you too, sweetheart. You and the baby. I’m so thrilled you’re going to have it.” He pulled back and kissed her, uncaring that his face was wet.

  She kissed him back wholeheartedly. Why had she ever thought she could leave this man? He was her whole life, had been from the moment she’s seen him in the flight lounge, when she’d felt that deep, visceral tug in her solar plexus, as if she’d finally found the guy she’d been looking for, and all the stars had realigned and fallen into place.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Thirty minutes later, Owen and Skye lay in bed, him on his right side, Skye on her left, facing him. They’d walked back to the house and got ready for bed, undressed, and climbed in together. Now he was waiting for sleep to overtake him, but even though his limbs ached, his mind wouldn’t stop whirring.

  “Can’t you sleep?” she whispered, reaching out and touching his cheek.

  “No. My brain is so full of thoughts and emotions right now they’re going to come out of my ears. One moment, I feel such despair I want to yell and punch things, and the next moment I get a swell of happiness. It’s like my head’s a washing machine, and everything’s going around and around in there.”

  She smiled. Her eyes looked black in the moonlight, the pupils huge. Her hair lay fanned out across the pillow. She looked pale and slightly ethereal, and he was having trouble believing he wasn’t going to wake up in the morning and find her gone. Ever since the first night she’d stayed with him, he’d slept restlessly, afraid of losing her. Was she really going to stay? They had so much to talk about—where they’d live, what they wanted to do in the future…

  They didn’t have to sort out everything tonight, though. Calm down, he scolded himself. One step at a time.

  He did have one thing he wanted to clarify, though. “Skye, you will marry me, won’t you?”

  Her smile broadened, and then she laughed. “Aren’t you supposed to go down on one knee with flowers and stuff?”

  “I’ll get out of bed if you want me to, but my legs ache, and I don’t think I have any roses in the garden.”

  She traced a finger down his neck and over his shoulder, drawing patterns on his skin. He shivered, and heat started building in his groin, but he tried to ignore it—he was far too tired for that.

  “You don’t have to propose, Owen. We can take time to decide whether it’s what we want.”

  “I’m certain now, but if you want to wait, I guess that’s okay. I’ll just ask you every day until you cave.”

  She studied him thoughtfully, still drawing on his skin. “Are you thinking that if you put a ring on my finger, it will make me more likely to stay?”

  “Well, I considered handcuffing you to the
bed—and I haven’t entirely dismissed that idea—but I thought the ring would be more romantic.”

  She chuckled, then leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. “I’m not going anywhere, Owen. I know you don’t believe me, but I’m going to make it my life’s work to prove it to you.”

  He played tiredly with a strand of her hair, winding it around a finger. “I think I can put up with that.”

  Her smile faded, and her eyes took on a pitying look. “I’m so sorry about Mozart. I miss him. I hope he’s going to be okay.”

  Owen nodded and swallowed. “Me too.”

  “He was such a hero, finding that boy. Think how happy Dylan’s mum and dad are tonight.”

  “I suppose. At least they won’t have to go through what I went through. I’m pleased about that.”

  “I wonder whether it will make a difference to whether the Search and Rescue branch stays open,” Skye said.

  “I doubt it. I mean, it won’t go against us, obviously, but it doesn’t directly affect the issue of funding.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Oh, nobody’s told you.”

  “What?”

  “Nick—Dylan’s father—his surname’s Foster.”

  Owen frowned. “I don’t recall…”

  “From Foster, Brooks, and Deane.”

  His eyes widened. It was the biggest law firm in the Northland. “I didn’t realize.”

  “He set up the firm—I think he’s very rich. I’m sure his watch cost more than my whole collection of jewelry. After the news came through that you’d found Dylan, he was raving on about Search and Rescue and how wonderful it was the volunteers gave up their free time to help others. He mentioned a donation and some sort of fund raising event—I’m guessing you’ll be hearing from him very soon.”

  Pleasure spread through him at the knowledge. He might be suffering from his own personal tragedy, but they’d saved the boy, and they might well have saved the branch too. “That’s great news.”

  “He was gutted to hear about Mozart—I wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up contributing to the vet’s bill, either. I would, anyway, if it happened to me. He owes his child’s life to you and Mozart.” She smiled. “I think Mozart will be great with the baby. He should be walking again by the time it’s born. I can imagine him being all protective and guarding it when people come to visit.”