A Southern Star (39 page)

Only half listening to the conversation Christie searched in her bag for a bib, turned to take Isla from Blake. “So Brenda says you’re living by the Shotover now,” the elderly man commented. “Sell that lakefront apartment, did you?” Christie froze, watching Blake’s reaction. She closed her eyes convulsively, hearing Blake’s reply as if from a great distance.
It’s rented out,
she thought with relief, wondering why Blake had never mentioned it.
Unless…

“Must be getting a good rental then. I remember Brenda saying it had a big window looking right out to the lake,” Brenda’s father continued, mentioning the building it was in. Christie couldn’t breathe, went onto autopilot, the knowledge of how much Blake had helped her filling her. She automatically reached for Isla, trembling as her hands brushed Blake’s body. Not looking at him, Christie bolted for the guest bedroom.
I didn’t know,
she thought
. I never even dreamed.
 

She recalled the paralysing anxiety she had felt when her pregnancy was confirmed, the terror about where she would live, finding a rent she could afford.
And I always refused his help,
she thought bitterly.
Then he steps in anonymously and does the one thing that helps me the most.
Shame filled her at the way she had behaved towards him, not knowing it was him rather than Lisa who was in fact the key to the house sitting arrangement.
It’s a wonder I wasn’t evicted,
she thought, thinking of her crazy accusations about Blake and Lisa, her harsh comments about his wealth.

Momentary anger flashed through Christie as she wished Blake had offered it to her openly, hating subterfuge, secrecy, recalling his reticence about his winery interests.
Like I could afford that rental anyway,
she thought, shaking her head. In a flash of insight, she knew she would have turned down his help in any case, regardless of how desperately she needed it.

And I was worried because Blake didn’t say he loved me.
Christie recalled Paul’s glib, smooth words, telling her what she wanted to hear but failing absolutely to back up his words with any meaningful action.

By contrast she could reel off endless examples of Blake’s continual support in a practical and emotional sense.
And physically,
she added silently, thinking of the night at his cottage, still feeling an echo of desire, even now, smiling as she thought of his wicked sense of humour, his interest in her as a woman and a person.
 

All that and it still wasn’t enough,
Christie thought, filled with regret, recognising how blind she had been. Paul’s critical observation of her neediness had been an exaggeration, she could see that now, but hearing it had sent her ricocheting to the opposite end of the spectrum, her rigid independence overstated in the face of Blake’s constant offers of support, his attempts to become involved.
And to organise the apartment…the planning, the generosity. It’s not just the financial cost…it’s everything it represents.

She glanced down at Isla, feeding from the bottle so peacefully. Knowing she needed to find Blake. Knowing what she wanted to say, needed to say. A moment later she looked up as she heard Blake say her name, obviously trying to find her. “In here,” she called out, her voice faltering slightly. The door flew open; Blake stood framed in the doorway.

He repeated her name, seemed to hesitate, saw the faint trace of tears on her face. “I didn’t want you to know,” Blake said, crushing her hopes. He saw Christie’s face fall, her agonised eyes, realised what she thought. He tried again. “Only because I wanted you to make up your own mind, without feeling—” he searched for the word, “—obligated,” he continued. Blake’s eyes never left her face. “I thought a year would be enough time …” He broke off, chilled by her silence, taking a step closer.
 

“Enough time for me to get back on my feet financially?” Christie’s voice was careful, flat.

Blake shook his head, knowing he could not turn back now. “No. Enough time for you to realise that I love you. And to see if you felt the same.” Tears glistened in Christie’s eyes; hastily, Blake tried to explain, thinking she was upset. “I know I should have been more supportive when you told me you were pregnant, I just…I’m sorry,” he finished simply.

“More supportive?” Christie repeated softly. She shook her head, remembering Blake’s utter shock at her news.
 

“I’m sorry, Christie, I should have been there for you,” he said again.
 

Christie stood up, still holding Isla. She walked quickly towards Blake, needing to be close to him. “You were. You always have been. I don’t think anyone could be more supportive than you. Not just the apartment…” Her voice trailed off; she looked up at him.

“Thank you, Blake,” she said simply. “So much. For everything. I can’t ever repay what you’ve done. When I realised I was pregnant I found a strength I never knew I had. But I never could have got through everything without you.”
 

Blake slid his arms around Christie as she held Isla. “Sounds like I’m in with a chance then,” he joked, feeling a weight lift off his mind, his heart.
 

Christie choked back laughter at his irrepressible sense of humour. “Definitely,” she murmured, tilting her head up to meet Blake’s kiss, her eyes filled with her love for him. “I love you, Blake,” she said softly. He continued kissing her; she felt his arms tighten around her.

“Better not forget our little chaperone,” Blake said eventually, his voice deep with emotion.
 

“No,” Christie said, reluctant to leave his embrace.
 

“So when’s her next sleep?” he deadpanned, giving Christie a wicked grin.
 

“It might not be for a few hours,” she replied. “Why do you ask, Blake?” she added with mock innocence. He tightened his embrace again to whisper in her ear; Christie relaxed against him, faint with longing.

“There’s time for a quick look around the house then,” Blake said eventually.
 

Christie nodded, returning to the bed to collect Isla’s bottle before straightening to face Blake, suddenly troubled, needing to know details. “Blake, would you have rented out your apartment if I hadn’t moved in?”
 

He shook his head. “I was living there,” he said easily. “When Lisa said you were interested I just moved into the cottage, swore the neighbours to secrecy. And the building manager. Lisa got friends to pretend to be the owners, send you the e-mails and take the phone calls.” He looked at her calmly as though none of it had been the slightest trouble.
 

“The cottage?” Christie echoed. “In winter?”
 

Blake shrugged. “I’ve stayed in colder places hunting,” he said. “It has a fireplace, and I had heaters and a duvet. Or two,” he added. “I got the apartment years ago as an investment.
 

It’s great, but I prefer the cottage, the outdoors. I thought of getting the apartment done up and selling it off.” He paused. “There were a few close calls though.”
 

Christie shook her head, still amazed at what he had done. “I never even guessed!”
 

Blake grinned. “Yeah, well, I had to remember to ask for your address when you rang me that morning when you were in labour. And to press the security buzzer when all I wanted to do was race inside with my spare security card. Then James wanted to ask you out, but as soon as he heard where you were staying, he thought we were together.”
 

Blake could laugh about it now; even Christie’s mouth quirked as she realised her mistaken conclusion about why James withdrew his invitation. “And as for my parents and Brenda…” He shook his head, still smiling. “You were busy telling everyone how happy you were to have this house sitting set up!” Christie started laughing, seeing the funny side of what Blake was saying.
 

She walked back into the lounge, conscious only of Blake close by, of Isla nestled in her arms. His words…the realisation that he loved her as she loved him, the strength of his commitment, combined to fill her heart with joy. She smiled inwardly at his quick wit, desire racing through her as she thought of his whispered words, his questions about Isla’s next sleep. Brenda walked up to them; Christie saw she was beaming. “Are you two heading off now? Do you have time for dessert?”

“Of course,” Blake said, smiling back at her. “Then we have to be off, because Isla’s having an afternoon sleep.” Christie caught her breath, hearing the teasing note in Blake’s voice, aimed at her, she knew. She walked with Blake over to the buffet, smiled as she saw him take a slice of chocolate cake off the platter Brenda was about to put down on the table; earning a good-natured reproof from Brenda as Blake grinned back at her.
He really has worked things out,
Christie thought, her heart overflowing with mingled relief and love. She looked down at Isla as Blake drew her over to his parents.

Chapter Nineteen

As if in a dream, Christie moved into the light, airy room, drifted towards the pale green curtains, fingered the rich textured fabric, overwhelmed by her glances around the room. Afraid to breathe, she saw a beautiful, oversized rocking chair, the colour of the pale wood set off by plump cushions in varying shades of green.

She moved hesitantly towards it, saw the fairy tale compilation book sitting on a cushion, her heart contracting as she saw the engraved cover image of the young girl in the red coat gazing at the wolf in fascination. Christie closed her eyes, opened them again. The cot was still there, the wood glowing in the winter sun.

She recognised the grain, the rich colour of the New Zealand native wood. Drawn to it, she ran her hand along the rail, marvelling at the ornate design, the intricately carved pattern of the headboard carried through to the bars and legs of the cot.
Kauri,
she realised.
The same as the rocking chair.
 

Unwilling to let go of the cot, Christie let her gaze roam over the pale green and white bedding, the tiny red coat and miniature jeans laid out next to a sturdy open backpack. She tilted her head, unsure at first before she realised it could be used to carry Isla on tramps.
 

Finally, she turned away from the cot, her heart pounding, realising she needed to find Blake.
All this. He did all this. For me, for Isla.
 

Christie stopped, her emotions overflowing as she looked at the wall.
Mason Bay,
she thought, seeing the awe inspiring bay brought to life in the flawlessly executed mural that covered the entire wall, the muted colours toning with the rest of the room. Christie’s eyes moved over the towering dunes, the crashing waves, the endless sky, the curve of the sand. She was so enthralled with the effect of the mural, the detail, the subtle colours she started slightly as Blake put his arms around her, his chin resting on the top of her head.

Christie leaned back slightly, relaxing into him, desire racing through her. Together, they looked at the mural. “I feel as though I’m in a dream,” Christie whispered.
 

“I’ve been dreaming too,” Blake said softly.
 

Tears came to Christie’s eyes at his response. “I named her for the island,” Christie said softly. “For the place I met you.”

“I know,” Blake said, suddenly teasing her.
 

Christie grinned. “We can take her back to visit,” she said.
 

“Only if you let me carry her in that backpack,” he shot back. Christie laughed, turning into his arms. Blake bent his head down, kissing her deeply as they clung together. An indignant wail sounded from the lounge; they moved apart, laughing at Isla’s timing.

Blake left the nursery, quickly returning holding Isla. Christie turned to him, noticing Isla was once again almost instantly settling in his arms. “Blake, this cot, the chair…I’ve never seen anything like them…” She looked around, moved again to the cot. “You remembered my comment about kauri…about an ornate cot…pale green.”

“I made it,” Blake said. “The cot, I mean. And the chair’s an antique I got from the Internet. I refinished it though. And I had the cushions made.” Christie held on to the cot, feeling faint with emotion as she saw the hours, days, weeks of work that must have gone into finding the wood and creating the intricate, beautifully finished cot.
And I thought I needed him to say the words,
she chastised herself silently.

“Christie, about Isla…I was at her birth, I helped cut the cord. I held her. And I never want you to think I wouldn’t love her, just because she’s not mine. I did all this because I love you. Since the ferry. Or definitely the pub.” He grinned at her. “And I love Isla. I want us to be a family.”

Christie fell into Blake’s arms as he held her, held Isla. “Blake, I love you so much,” Christie whispered, tears of happiness in her eyes. “You always understand me.”
 

“Lucky for you I love a challenge,” he retorted.
 

Christie smiled as she heard the teasing note in his voice. “You’re a staunch southern man, Blake,” she replied. “Challenges are easy.”

He burst out laughing, keeping an arm around her as they wandered around the nursery together. “I thought you said you don’t do design, colours,” Christie said, grinning at him.
 

“I don’t,” he replied. “But I knew the colour you wanted and the wood. The cot doesn’t count, because that was a practical thing. I am disappointed I couldn’t find a camouflage bedspread though.” Again, Christie heard the laughter in his voice as she jokingly rolled her eyes. “Camouflage is green,” he said, laughing openly again now. “And I did design the cot,” he continued. “But I have to say, it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing I could get advice on from the boys at the pub. I got Scott to come down, though, and give me a hand to assemble the last part.”