Free Catch of The Day: Destiny Romance by Carla Caruso

Winnie darted a look at Olive. ‘Tell me – how’ve you found working with Christa? I know you’ve only dealt with her on the phone and email, but just in general . . .’
    ‘Ah, she’s all bark and no bite.’ Olive waved a hand in the air. ‘I haven’t had any problems, though I gather you two have your history, since you worked in the same office. You just need to learn to rub her tummy every now and then, I reckon.’
    ‘Yeah,’ Winnie murmured absently, though the thought of being within touching distance of Christa’s belly utterly repulsed her. ‘And, uh, what about Alex Bass? How do you find him, work-wise?’
    ‘He’s all right.’ Olive winked. ‘Bit stroppy at times, but decent eye candy . . . You keen?’
    ‘No, no, definitely not. I was just curious about him – 
professionally
. Where he sprang from, his credentials, that sort of thing.’
    Olive hunched her shoulders in response. ‘No-one knows much about his past. He’s as mysterious as that gossipy columnist from the local rag who hides behind a pseudonym. Alex just breezed into town one day, was good at fishing – vital in this town – and no-one asked him any questions.’
    ‘Yeah, I gather fishing’s a pretty lucrative industry around here,’ Winnie remarked distractedly. She’d been hoping to find out a little more about Alex– the man himself was useless – but she’d once again hit a dead end.
    ‘It
is
lucrative,’ Olive agreed. ‘I’ve learned a bit about the industry since moving here. They can get about fifty bucks a kilo wholesale for their catch. Know how much it costs for a commercial licence for one cray pot alone?’
    The poor critters. ‘How much?’
    ‘Fifty thousand dollars.’
    ‘You’re kidding me? For
one
pot?’
    Olive nodded. ‘Yup, and most of the fishermen – the ones who own the boats – have about sixty or seventy pots each. Not that they would have paid those prices back in the day. Little wonder there are only about fifteen cray fishermen working out of neighbouring Cape Jaffa and twenty from Robe.’
    Winnie whistled through her teeth. ‘Indeed. They’re like pots of gold.’

Chapter Seven
    The sun beat down overhead. Flicking away a fly with one hand, Alex wished he’d worn a hat like the wizened farmers. He was freelancing for the local cattle breeders association at the beef field day and while there was usually a divide between the farmers and fishermen in town, he was happy to do whatever work paid the bills. Moving into the shade of a tree near the cattle yard, he nodded at a local breeder he recognised, then swivelled back to where sales were due to start. Slow-paced chatter merged with the sound of bellowing livestock. Just a few more snaps and he’d be off duty for the rest of the day.
    Out of the corner of his eye, Alex noticed a blur of colour and movement and a few heads swinging in the other direction. It wasn’t long before he discovered the object of the disturbance: Winnie, attempting to scale a fence into the farm in some sort of wedge heels, flashing a little too much cleavage as she did so. Bloody hell. Her frock and heels couldn’t have been more out of place amid the sea of akubras, check shirts and elastic-sided boots.
    Irritated that he felt protective of her again – in a purely professional sense – he powered in her direction, his camera on its strap knocking against his side. He wasn’t one to leave a damsel in distress, even a vacuous, girl-about-town type.
    Unfortunately, he was too late to extend a helping hand before her foot had landed in cow dung. She kicked her left heel up behind her for closer inspection and blew strawberry-blonde strands from her face. ‘My luck,’ she muttered darkly.
    Halting just short of her, Alex coughed and swallowed. ‘Uh, don’t think heels and field days are really a match made in heaven.’
    Her pretty head tilted upwards and her eyes met his. Instantly, her expression became pained, as