Free Southern Star: Destiny Romance by JC Grey

shut this afternoon, presumably not wishing to incur the boss’s wrath and follow Pete out the door.
    In any case, fencing wasn’t something that could be tackled without all minds on the job. As it was, Mac’s wrists and forearms sported several scratches where the wire had caught him above the heavy leather gloves that protected his hands, a physical sign that his focus hadn’t been all it should.
    More than once, his gaze had drifted towards Sweet Springs as it occurred to him that Pete would most likely have spent the afternoon at some country pub getting shit-faced. And as he knew first-hand, the guy was an ugly drunk. He’d be after revenge. There wasn’t much he could do to exact vengeance on Mac. The guy didn’t have the balls. But Blaze was another matter, and she was an obvious target for someone who thought Mac had something going with her.
    As soon as the men trooped in for the day, Mac had made some brief excuse, set his heels to True’s flanks and made the fifteen-minute ride to Sweet Springs in twelve. Her ute was in the drive, so she must be home. He reined True in, ran up the steps and thumped his fist on the ill-fitting front door, which immediately swung open.
    ‘Blaze,’ he shouted. He hesitated only a second and then went straight in. He went down the hall and stuck his head in the kitchen. ‘Ms Gillespie? Blaze? Are you all right? Where the hell are you?’ Hearing a sound from the study, he retraced his steps and pushed open the door just as a grey blur launched itself at his chest.
    ‘Shit!’ He staggered back as a snarling dog bounced off him and into the door jamb, its teeth bared.
    ‘Paddy! Down, boy. Down!’ Blaze grabbed the dog by its collar, dragging it away as it snapped and snarled. It was a tug of war, but finally the dog was in the hallway, and the door shut where it proceeded to bark its head off and scratch at the door.
    ‘Jesus! He could have taken my head off!’ It was shock more than anything that had Mac resorting to anger.
    ‘Maybe I should have let him,’ Blaze retorted. She was dressed in denim shorts that made her legs look about ten metres long, and a sleeveless top in orange and red. Her burnished mass of hair was gathered to hang loosely down her back. Unpainted and unposed, she looked like the wild younger sister of the poised sophisticate pouting in the newspaper photo, and about a thousand times sexier. All the blood steamed south from Mac’s head to his cock as he stared at that full-lipped mouth.
    He cleared his throat. ‘So you’re all right, then?’
    She leaned back a little against the desk. An expensive notebook computer hummed behind her, next to it a pad with squiggles he couldn’t read upside down, and a folded newspaper.
    ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ Something flashed in her eyes, and her slender shoulders went back, her chin up. ‘Oh, I see.’ She tapped the newspaper with an unpainted fingernail. ‘You thought I might be tying a rope to the rafters after reading the headlines? Well, sorry to disappoint you, cowboy. Sticks and stones, and all that.’
    He took a step closer, noticed that the bruising near her temple had disappeared but her gold eyes were a little red, as if she’d been crying. Interesting. He reckoned Blaze Gillespie would kill herself before she’d admit to crying.
    ‘Actually, it was something else. I thought . . . well, it doesn’t matter. I’ve got to get back.’ He really needed a beer.
    ‘Wait, I’ll make sure Paddy . . . God!’ She grabbed his left hand, staring at the scratches. ‘Did Paddy do this? Oh God, I’m sorry. He was just being protective. When you barged in here, he thought you were going to attack.’
    Her cool slender fingers touched one of the little cuts made by the fencing wire, and then another. Mac’s mouth went dry. His balls began to throb. She picked up his other hand, and then looked at him.
    ‘No, no. It wasn’t . . .’ He struggled to get the words out. That sea breeze