A Southern Star (Across the Strait, Book 1)

Chapter 1

Christie stared out at the agate ocean, gasping as the sea spray whipped around her. The ferry ploughed into the next swell and she took a step back, trying to keep her balance.

You should hold on.

She registered his voice as she felt his brief, steadying touch on her hips. Adjusting her hold on the railing, she turned to face him. His eyes widened with appreciation as the hood of her jacket blew back, exposing her windswept dark hair, framing blue eyes and flushed cheeks.

Tall as she was, Christie had to crane her neck to meet the gaze of this stranger as she gave him a bare thank you before turning away again. My cheeks are only red from the cold. Again she looked out to sea, and he stood next to her at the railing. A fleeting glance had been enough to send her senses reeling as she registered his dark eyes and the sheen of spray on his face. Christie tightened her grip on the railing, willing him to move away. Instead he spoke.

And what brings you to the island on this fine southern day?

His voice was mocking and, despite herself, Christie turned to him as she tried to form a reply. Just a spur-of-the-moment decision.

Well, you’re certainly a mine of information.

Christie’s eyes narrowed as he grinned at her. The words that usually came easily to her fled from her mind. I just wanted to see the island. She cringed as she replayed this inwardly.

Yes, that’s usually why people visit a place.

Christie’s face flamed, and she pulled the hood of her jacket up. As she reluctantly held his gaze, the glint in his eyes reminded her… She snapped her mind away. I travelled here to forget…to get away. She took a step back.

I told you to hold on. His cheeky grin belied the suggestive tone.

Excuse me, she murmured.

Let me guess. You have to make an important phone call.

Yes, I do. She took out her smartphone.

What phone company are you with?

Christie just looked at him.

You probably won’t get reception yet – or at all. You need to wait until we come into the bay.

Blake? Blake! A woman’s voice called out, and he swung around before turning back to Christie.

Well, I’ll leave you to make your phone call, he said sarcastically.

Christie turned to stare at the churning ocean as he walked away. For several minutes she tried to concentrate on the seascape, her awareness of others on the ferry fading. She stood apart from the holiday crowd travelling to the remote national park and small settlement on the island. Doubts crowded her mind as the rough sea currents caused the ferry to pitch again and the children to shriek with excitement. She remained by the railing, focusing on the vague outline of land coming closer. My first view of Stewart Island. Christie did not dare look around the ferry, not wanting to risk running into Blake and his caustic wit.

As the ferry entered the bay, she shivered. She saw the old industrial wharf and corrugated shed in the distance and the commercial fishing boats and wooden dinghies at anchor. Her gaze moved to the hotel up on the hill, assessing her new workplace. So much for spur-of-the-moment decisions. It was easy to think of the harbourside city she’d come from, with its busy cosmopolitan cafés and promenades, its yachts and cruise ships. An abrupt exit from her fast-paced career had meant an escape from gossip and speculation, but now the stilted exchange with – Blake – had reminded her how much she’d depended on being part of a couple. And how far I am out of my comfort zone.

She’d seen the ad on the internet, only giving it a casual glance as she’d searched for – she had hardly known. Something, anything, to allow her to get away. There had been so many advertisements for more appropriate positions, work where she could at least earn a comparable salary. But she had kept going back to that ad and all it represented, and she’d found herself picking up the phone to make an enquiry, talking to Murray, the manager, and downplaying her career. Murray had told her that, in such a remote environment, applications were in short supply, and he’d jumped at the chance to employ her for the summer season.

Some of Christie’s friends had been shocked; others had openly derided her decision. At least it got me away from all the talk.

She looked ahead, watching the ferry come into the wharf. The pronounced bump as the ferry nudged the dock jolted her, and she shook herself, moving over to get her pack. It was heavy, crammed with so much gear that her flatmates had laughed as they’d watched her try to lift it. She tugged the pack upright, preparing to lift it onto her shoulders.

She threaded an arm through the strap, leaning as she braced herself for the weight of the pack, her other arm searching for the remaining strap. Without warning the awkward weight on her shoulders eased; a strong grip on her wrist smoothly guided her arm through the second strap. She tried to swing around, only to find herself held in place by whoever had hold of the pack. She heard a quiet curse as the pack on her shoulders moved to a more comfortable angle.

What have you got in here? Rocks? The kitchen sink?

Christie’s face flamed as she realised it was Blake, Blake who held her wrist, Blake who’d adjusted her pack, Blake who was standing close to her, still tightening the straps across her shoulders. His companion watched them, with a look that she could not decipher, and looked away, embarrassed.

I can manage myself, she muttered.

He ignored her, giving the strap a final tug.

I can manage, she repeated.

He stood in front of her, looking down at the clasps that would fasten across her chest and hips. Maybe I’ll leave those to you. His eyes met Christie’s as he gave her a quick grin.

Yes.

You can’t possibly walk any distance with that pack, he said. How much gear do you need on holiday? Especially a holiday here!

I’m not on holiday! And I’ll be fine.

He gestured towards the vehicles parked around the foreshore. I’ll carry it over and throw it on the back of the ute. Give you a lift to where you’re staying.

She shook her head, looking over to where his companion was still waiting. She blinked back sudden tears. Part of her longed to hand over the heavy pack to Blake. It would be so easy, after almost a day of solitary travelling, to seize on his offer of assistance and let him take control. She took a deep breath. No, I don’t need any help, thanks. She arranged her face into a polite smile, and the glint in his eyes changed to a flash of anger.

Suit yourself, he said, matching her cool tone.

Blake watched Christie walk away, rankled by her terseness and remembering the covert glances of other women on the ferry. Maybe I should have talked to one of them instead.

Looks like that went well, mate, one of his friends called out.

It always does. Take it from me. Blake easily shouldered his pack and shrugged off the incident. Or tried to. Shannon called to him, hurrying to keep up, and he stopped to wait for her. Being on the same ferry has now turned into a door-to-door service. He shook himself, discreetly assessing Shannon as she approached. He smiled down at her, wanting to keep his options open. And God knows I need to after that little performance. He laughed to himself. Maybe I’m losing my touch.

Oh, Blake. I wondered if I—

Would you like a lift to Tony’s? he interrupted smoothly. Whereabouts are you staying?

She preened, and he hid a smile. Christ, this is predictable.

That’d be great, thanks, Shannon said. I was just about to ask.

No kidding. Out of the corner of his eye, he could still see a figure walking steadily. And independently. After rejecting me, but still…

He switched his attention to Shannon. Her pack sat awkwardly on her back; she’d made no effort to straighten it or to fasten the straps. I wonder how long she’ll last on Stewart Island. I’ll need to talk to Tony, and see what he thinks. Any moment now, she’ll flick her hair.

Would you like me to carry that for you? he asked politely.

Yes. Shannon giggled. It’s so heavy.

Like mine. Blake gritted his teeth as she shrugged off her pack, letting it land on the ground. He reached down to grab it, easily righting it.

Oh, sorry. I should have thought…

No worries, he said easily, regretting the smile he’d given her. He fielded her chatter as they walked towards the ute, his body – and mind – screaming for a quiet beer and intelligent conversation. He sank into the driver’s seat of the ute with relief, automatically reaching down to lever the seat back.

I guess you’d need to do that all the time, Shannon said.

Yeah. He turned the keys.

Were they already in the ignition? You’re just lucky—

He fixed her with a stare, wondering whether – hoping – the sound of the diesel engine would drown out some of her more inane comments. This is Stewart Island, he said patiently. And this is Tony’s ute. Everyone knows it. And no one will take it.

Oh. This engine is loud, isn’t it?

Diesel. Just giving it a chance to get going. And if it was up to me, I’d rev it to hell…

Oh. She flicked her hair before she looked at him. Well, I hope you can still hear me.

Of course. He engaged the gears with a vengeance and reversed out onto the road.

Tony came out of his office to meet Blake and shook his hand. Good to see you, mate. And thanks for organising Shannon. Their eyes met and both men laughed. She’ll be great talking to the customers, Tony said. I hope.

Blake shook his head, still grinning. Yeah, but what’ll she be telling them? He gestured at the ute he’d parked outside. I’ve dropped her at her accommodation, and apparently she’s heading down here soon. Brace yourself.

Tony shrugged. It’s always hard to tell with a phone interview. We’ll see how she goes.

That’s all you can do. Blake looked around the reception-area display. Looks like you’ve got yourself a good set-up. Great position.

Yeah. It’s worked out well, I think. So far, anyway. Tony ushered Blake into the staffroom, offering him a beer and food.

Is Shannon your only new hire? Blake asked casually.

Yes. Tony looked at him. Why do you ask?

Just a question. No reason.

I think the pub’s taking on staff… I suppose everyone is on the lookout, it’s the start of the season, after all.

Yep. Blake picked up his beer. Anyway, it turns out I’ve got more time. Once we’ve gone through everything, I’ll be down here for a few extra days. At this stage.

Tony’s eyes narrowed. That’d be great…you can use the extra time to look around.

Exactly what I plan to do.

Tony laughed. And here we go…come on, let’s hear it. I drag you down here kicking and screaming, and now you reckon you’ve got time to spare. What is it you’re up to?

Blake grinned at his old friend. Hunting.

Christie had paused at the end of the wharf, determined to present a confident front. She hadn’t wanted to admit to Blake she had no idea where her accommodation was. After a few moments, she walked to the signposted information centre, where she obtained a tourist map and an assurance that her accommodation was only a few minutes’ walk away.

Looks like a heavy pack, the guide commented. If you do those straps up across your front, it’ll sit better.

Not you too.

She found her accommodation without difficulty, after a short but steep walk further around the bay. The modest cottage – crib, she reminded herself; locals would call it a crib – was basic but looked out over the windswept bay.

With a sigh of relief, she put her pack down and shrugged off her jacket. She sank onto the sofa, looking around at the interior of the – crib. She could see across the bay and down to the wharf. She watched passengers boarding for the return journey to Bluff and her mind drifted, still unnerved by her earlier exchange with Blake. She flushed, replaying her stilted responses. What must he think of me…

Unbidden, Christie thought back to a time when she would have loved nothing better than to spar with a hot stranger. Her usual quick wit thrived on such exchanges. She shook her head. I came here to get away…new people, new experiences.

Her eyes focused on the bay and on the ferry once more, watching as it moved away from the wharf. She could not look at it without thinking of Blake. He was so – brazen. So sure of himself. And I was like a shy schoolgirl. Stumbling over sentences, and then caught in an outright lie over a telephone call. She shivered, remembering the brief touch of his hands on her hips. Like I’d be up for that. But if he hadn’t steadied me, I’d have fallen over for sure… Rousing herself, she explored the crib before dragging her pack into a bedroom and starting to unpack.

Impatient to find the historic hotel and have a look around before she started work in a few days, Christie walked back down towards the settlement. Murray had made it clear that she could call in at any time to make herself known.

Although Murray was not there, she met several workmates, who showed her around the rooms and guest lounge, which had a magnificent sea view, the bar, the café, and the restaurant. Unable to stop herself, she walked to the front of the restaurant and looked out the imposing picture window. The sea glowed in the late afternoon sun, and she saw the simple promenade stretching around the harbour.

Amazing, isn’t it? a woman who’d introduced herself as Lisa said.

Yes. Christie turned from the window. But I’ll be working in reception, won’t I?

That’s what Murray mentioned, Lisa said. But we all help out in different areas. It’s a small hotel compared to others on the island, but the restaurant and bar can get really busy.

Later that day Christie returned to the crib. She put the food she’d purchased away in the old kitchen before looking through a sheaf of pamphlets she’d collected from the information centre. As she looked through information on the tours, the sights, and the wildlife, an old enthusiasm stirred. The original impulse that had prompted her to enquire about work on the island reasserted itself, and she knew she could enjoy her time here.

Before she could change her mind, she shrugged into her red jacket and left the crib, intent on walking down to the settlement. She did not want to sit in the local restaurant – or bar – by herself, but she was soon scanning the takeaway menu outside the hotel. She pushed open the double doors of the hotel bar and was met with a wave of warmth and the noise of several competing conversations. It was a Friday night, and the bar was busy. She waited to order, content to look around the wall displays, local photos, and memorabilia.

Christie Mitchell? Christie! She turned around at the unfamiliar male voice, wondering if it was a workmate she’d met that afternoon. She gave the stranger a polite smile. Murray Cochrane, he said, shaking hands and giving her a friendly grin. Sorry I missed you this afternoon. Lisa said you called in. He gestured to a group drinking around a table, and Lisa gave them a wave of acknowledgement. Came over on the ferry today? I heard the sailings were a bit lumpy. Christie frowned. Rough, he clarified.

Yes.

Bad luck. He smiled at her. Anyway, we should have a drink now – not with that crowd – do you have time? He kept talking as he steered her over to a small circular table and paused as the previous occupants moved away. They fell into conversation, and Murray put Christie at ease straight away, chatting about the hotel and her role.

The ultimate perk of being the hotel manager, Murray said, as their drinks were placed in front of them. Table service on a Friday night.

Christie smiled back at him, relaxing in his company, and was soon caught up in an animated discussion about the hotel and the island. When she stood up to leave, she was laughing as Murray recounted the punchline of a mishap in the hotel kitchen. Still smiling, she moved over to the bar to order her meal.

Making friends, I see. Blake stopped next to her. Christie was tall, but she realised with a shock that he towered over her. His eyes were unreadable, holding hers. She wrenched her gaze away as she heard the barmaid asking for her order.

Coward, Blake said in an undertone.

She tried to focus on ordering her meal and reaching for her wallet.

We’ll have two blue cod meals.

The barmaid agreed to cancel her order and replace it with Blake’s. She pivoted to glare at him. No. I still want the burger, thanks.

You don’t want the blue cod? Blake asked. You should try it, it’s a local speciality.

Christie’s usual poise fled. She looked at the barmaid, who raised her eyebrows. I’m having the burger.

Fine, Blake said. Make that one burger, and one blue cod. He glanced at Christie. If you’re lucky, you can try some of mine.

Desperate to regain some measure of control over the situation, Christie opened her wallet. At a gesture from Blake, the barmaid waved away her attempt to pay. Christie opened her mouth to protest but bit her tongue as she saw Blake’s questioning look. Thank you, she muttered ungraciously. He inclined his head as the barmaid watched them both with open fascination.

Why don’t you find us a table and I’ll get the drinks.

Reality swamped her. Years of caution, developed in a city environment, made her wary now. I’ll get the drinks, she said too quickly, ashamed at her implication that Blake might tamper with them.

Hurt and incredulity washed over Blake’s face. He turned to the barmaid. Put the drinks for Little Red Riding Hood here on my tab. He glanced at Christie. When you’re ready, the Big Bad Wolf will be sitting over there. He gestured to a corner table.

Humiliated, Christie watched him walk away before turning back to order drinks. The barmaid got her a glass of wine to join the bottle of beer already on the tray. She knows what he drinks.

You know, we don’t really get that sort of thing here, the barmaid said.

Christie frowned.

Guys spiking drinks. She grinned at Christie. Just good old-fashioned drunken passes. And I have to say, there’d be a few of us on the island keen for a pass from that one. The barmaid looked over to where Blake was sitting.

Remembering what Murray had said about the speed at which gossip travelled around the island, Christie said nothing as the barmaid moved off to serve other customers.

She paused, holding the drinks, overwhelmed at the turn of events. A sense of unreality came over her. I don’t even know him…it’s only been six weeks since Paul…I haven’t been on a date since… On another level she was conscious of her casual attire, her jeans and woollen top, the practicality of her jacket not disguised by the flamboyant colour.

At the same time a traitorous whisper of longing snaked through her, fighting to be heard. She thought back to the barmaid’s words, more confused than ever. She glanced at Blake. He had pulled a chair away from the table to face the bar. His lithe, powerful body leaned back, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He had folded his arms as he waited, his inscrutable gaze fixed on her.

Maybe I can suggest we join Lisa’s group.

As if reading her mind, Lisa caught her eye, giving her a conspiratorial grin and a discreet thumbs-up sign.

Christie smiled despite herself. She thinks it’s a romantic date. Biting her lip, trying to keep her face neutral, Christie walked towards Blake, aware he was watching her. A drunken wolf whistle came from another table, and Blake’s head whipped around, his eyes narrowing as he singled out the culprit. He realigned his chair with the table and pulled one out for her as she set down the drinks. She sat down, a faint smile on her face as she sipped her wine.

Christie.

He knows my name?

There are no secrets on the island. He grinned at her but his grip on his drink was tense. So you were having a drink with Murray?

Yes, Christie said. I’m going to be working at the hotel.

Oh, right. His face cleared.

She looked around, wondering about the woman from the ferry. Where’s your girlfriend?

He looked at her, taken aback.

She tried to make amends. Your friend on the ferry… I thought, when the barmaid said…

The barmaid? Blake started laughing. I travelled over with someone from my friend’s work. Don’t tell me the rumour mill’s already gone into overdrive! He grinned at her. Well, I guess that’s it then. You’ve had a drink with Murray, and I’ve travelled on the ferry with Shannon. Sounds like we’re both virtually engaged to other people.

Christie flinched, averting her eyes.

His eyes narrowed. What is it?

Nothing, she said in an undertone, hoping he would not ask again.

He leaned forward, his gaze intent. Christie was sitting up straighter now, no longer almost shrinking back in her chair.

Christie, what—

Murray warned me about the rumour mill. She gave him an uncertain smile. I guess things can get exaggerated. Where does Shannon work? Are you visiting your friend?

Blake paused. Her breath caught as she took in his dark good looks and coiled strength. He talked about his friend Tony’s tourism business, but she noticed he didn’t talk about himself. Blake cut off her further questions. Enough about me.

The barmaid delivered their meals, and Blake ordered another round of drinks. Christie tensed as he ordered wine for her without asking her preference. I prefer to choose my own wine, she said, when the barmaid had left.

Table service should be safe enough.

She flushed as he teased her. I—

Murray’s not the only one who can get table service around here, he said.

Blake must’ve seen me sit down with Murray. "It’s a great skill