The ‘Bindarra Creek Short and Sweet Anthology’ is a series of nine related stories within the world of Bindarra Creek, a best-selling rural series by thirteen Australian authors.
Kayla stood poised on the rim of the Luna crater, scanning the bowl for anomalies.
The unfamiliar craft was almost hidden in the shadow under the ramparts. From the buckling on the stubby wing tip it must have been a rough landing.
Without hesitation she scrambled down the escarpment and headed for the ship. The long bounds felt painfully slow as she crossed the fine powdery surface. Her 190cm height and muscular build was an advantage here at least.
It was unlike any ship she’d seen. The surface glowed with a metallic green sheen and clouded glass bubbled in a semi-circle around the blunt nose. Three of the stubby wings extended at an angle halfway down the short cylindrical body. The damaged one had dragged against the stony ground near the rim of the crater.
Instinctively, she placed her hand on the oval pad forward of the wings. A woosh of sound heralded the opening of a panel easily large enough for someone her size. Kayla hesitated only a split second before fitting herself into the shallow compartment. Darkness enveloped her along with the hiss of air.
She barely had time to wonder if her impulsive action had been ill-considered when the inner door opened. She tumbled into a narrow corridor lined with cabinets. An airlock at the far end was only a step away and Kayla used another panel to trigger the opening.
Blinking at the brightness of what must be the pilot’s cockpit, Kayla stepped forward. It was hard to see detail, even with the sun visor on her helmet retracted.
“May we be meeting?”
The deep husky tone startled her and she spun around, knocking against one of the consoles. A large gloved hand steadied her.
“Do not alarm.”
He was beautiful. Her heart clashed against her ribs. And not human. So large he made her feel small, even in the bulky suit. He was humanoid, whatever that meant. Two arms, two legs. Beautifully muscled as befitted his large size. One head. Smooth and hairless with a central ridge of bone that extended from his nose over his forehead and splayed into three over the large skull.
He wore a close-fitting suit in a metallic green reminiscent of the coating on the ship’s hull but above that, his skin had a similar tint with an undertone of yellow. His eyes captured hers and she stared at them, hardly believing the vivid swirl of blue and green, again with that hint of yellow.
His deep rumble reverberated through her. “You are good?”
Kayla gasped as she registered his words. “You speak English?”
His wide mouth curved up. “Not so good. You have many transmissions.”
“That’s how you learned? Listening to our radio transmissions?”
The was an infinitesimal movement of his broad shoulders. “Some.”
“Where are you from?”
Again that wry lift at the corners of his mouth. “It is far.”
Kayla pulled off her helmet and glanced around at the cockpit, noting the two seats. “You have a co-pilot?”
“She is gone.”
His forehead drew together, wrinkling against the shallow ridge of bone. “I think…passed.”
“Passed away? You mean dead?”
A slow nod. “I think…yes.”
A female. Something tightened in her chest. “She was special to you?”
“I don’t think…”
Kayla searched for words. “Partner? Lover?”
Again that slow nod. “Love. Yes, I know that word. No, not love. So…partner?”
The tightness eased. How odd. He was a stranger. An ALIEN. “How long have you been alone?”
“Many cycles.” He gestured at the sky through the window bubbles. “It is far.”
There was an element of pain in those words that made her wonder. “Will you go home now?”
“Home. I cannot go home.” His liquid eyes flared with something dark. “I stay here perhaps?”
Kayla thought of the team back at the base. It was an international team. But an alien might stretch the friendship. “Is your ship repairable?”
“Perhaps.” The resigned expression on his face suggested otherwise. He touched the symbol on her sleeve. “And I am not to be welcome.”
“You come in peace?”
He glanced down his body. “In one piece. I think.”
Kayla dragged her gaze away from the snug fitting fabric outlining his magnificent body. “I mean…you don’t wish to harm us?”
His large hands spread to indicate the interior of the ship. “With what? Is nothing to harm.”
“And you don’t have anywhere else to go?”
He shook his head, his jaw tight.
“Perhaps you should come back to the base. We need to report what’s happened.” It hit her somewhere deep in her gut. He would be wanted down on earth. First Contact. Often talked about, but this was it. Not some invading alien race, but a single man in trouble. Vulnerable.
“You have many partner, lover at this base?”
“No one special. Work colleagues.” She tapped the symbol on her sleeve. “Scientists.”
“You also are alone?” His voice seemed deeper somehow, the eyes swirling gold.
Breath stalled in her throat. “Yes.” It was true. Men found her size intimidating. They might respect her work as a geologist, but they didn’t ask her out. She’d made friends in the team here in the last eight months, but no-one special. Ever.
He stepped closer. “We are alone together.”
For a moment she wondered if it was his language skills at fault. The warmth in those strange eyes told her otherwise. He found her attractive. An odd flutter began deep in her gut. She pointed at her badge. “I am…my name is Kayla.”
“Iya, Kayla. I am Gorish.” His large hand thumped the odd shaped symbol on his chest.
“You, me. Lovers?”
That flutter deepened to a heavy pulse low in her body. It was definitely appealing. “Perhaps friends first.”
“Friends. I like.”
“I think I would like it too.”
His thin lips curved up in a smile. “We are good?”
Warmth flooded her body, her heart thumping steadily and a little fast. “Yes. We are good.
“Those amazing eyes glowed “Together.”
In today’s Chatting with Authors, Elizabeth Ellen Carter has invited us over to meet and chat with the hero of her new best seller – Live and let spy!
“Move, Dave!” Shelby screamed into her mask as she ran towards her crew leader. Her hands connected with his back, pushing him out of the way.
The branch came crashing down in a hail of smoke, sparks and thunder. It slammed down on her left shoulder, knocked her helmet and breathing apparatus off. Charred earth dug into her cheek and chin before heavy darkness took the place of smoke and dust.
This was the worst bushfire the Sunshine Coast Hinterlands had experienced; and on Christmas day, of all days.
A sharp light darted across her vision and a myriad of muffled voices echoed around her as…
Shelby spun on her heel to find herself back in Maleny in her Nana’s kitchen.
“Oh God…” She slapped her hands across her mouth. “I’m dead!”
“He’s not here this very moment, and no, not yet.” Nan’s bright, hazel eyes shone with love from where she sat at her old wooden kitchen table, chopping green and red maraschino cherries.
“Well, those nuts won’t crush themselves. Wash your hands and get to it.” Nan said as though there were nothing odd about their current situation. Nan had passed away ten years ago.
Shelby looked around her. Everything was just as she remembered, down to the multi-coloured crochet blanket hanging over the well-worn leather couch. How had she gotten from the bushfire to here?
“Well, come on then,” Nan urged and returned to the cherries.
Shelby silently obeyed her grandmother. She pulled off her bulky fire-proof jacket, and hung it on the hook on the back of the kitchen door. She washed her hands and came to sit opposite Nan.
“If I’m not dead, why am I here, Nan?” She dug a hand into the container full of walnuts, and dropped them on the wooden chopping board in front of her.
“Can’t you remember what happened, Pumpkin?” Nan stopped her chopping, frowned, then turned her attention to the slices of sponge cake soaking in Old Brown Sherry.
“I was fighting a fire and saw a branch about to fall on Da – my crew leader. I – I pushed him out of the way but … I think the branch fell on me…” Shelby swallowed back her tears, “I am dead!”
Nan’s plentiful bosom heaved as she chuckled, “Not quite. And there’s another reason why you pushed him out of the way, isn’t there?”
A flash of light and distant muffled voices drew Shelby’s gaze toward the front door. Tendrils of smoke drifted in from beneath the door and through the keyhole.
“Where am I?”
Nan put down her knife and reached across the table, placing a leathery wrinkled hand on Shelby’s. “You’re here with me. It’s kind of a halfway stop between there.” She nodded up towards the ceiling, “and home.”
Shelby asked herself.
“To decide, of course.”
“How did you…”
Nan gave Shelby a knowing smile.
“What do I need to decide?” Shelby asked as she picked up a large sharp knife and began to chop and crush the Walnuts.
“Whether to return with me or go back home.” She stood up and walked over to the fridge, “Aaah… the custard’s chilled.” Nan pulled a small silver pot off the shelf. “When I saw the branch fall on you, I asked for a favour in return for one of my favourite Christmas trifles.”
“God eats trifle?” Shelby asked, shocked.
Nan chuckled again. “Oh, I’m sure He’ll want a taste too, but it’s for another…”
Nan came to sit back down. “Now, will you slice those peach halves for me, please?” Nan aimed the business end of her small kitchen knife at a bowl of peach halves soaked in syrup on the table beside her. “You were always afraid of being left alone. From the day your mum dropped you off at my front gate and vanished into thin air. And the day when you found I had simply not woken up. And especially, when you put your life before Dave’s. I was given a peek deep into your heart at that moment. You’d rather have died than loose him. Even though you’d never confessed your feelings.” Nan scooped a tablespoon of red jelly from a bowl which appeared from nowhere, and spread it out across the first layer of soaked sponge.
A sharp prick in Shelby’s arm, and another in her leg made her jump. They were followed by the muffled voices. She looked down at her arm. Nothing!
“Why’d you never tell him?”
“How I feel about him? That would be insane, Nan!”
“He’ll be half a man if you decide not to return.”
“How so? The only person who’s ever loved me was you,” Shelby scoffed as she returned to slicing the peaches.
Her head shot up. “Dave?”
She squinted when her Nan’s face wobbled and distorted. Through a haze, a pair of eyes she’d quietly fallen in love with the day they’d met, appeared. Blue as the brightest sky reflected off an ocean.
Then from Nan’s wrinkly old lips spilled a voice she knew better than her own, Don’t you die on me! Do you hear, Shelly! Hang in there…
Dave’s eyes remained staring back at her form Nan’s face.
“You’ve loved him secretly for a while, now haven’t you?”
Shelby had no words, but only nodded.
Nan reached across the table and picked up a few slices of peach, spreading them across the jelly before adding the custard and nuts, and then another layer of sherry-soaked sponge cake. “It’s not been as one sided as you might have thought Pumpkin. You’ve just been too afraid to notice.”
“But what if I take the leap and fall, Nan? If it doesn’t work out… I have no one… I only have you.” Tears trickled down Shelby’s cheeks as Nan sprinkled the red and green finely chopped maraschino cherries on top of her Trifle.
“You’re not unlovable Pumpkin. Stop trying so hard to convince yourself that you are.”
“I can’t lose someone else, Nan…”
A shiver ran across Shelby’s chest.
Shelly don’t go, hang in there!
“I want to go with you.”
A tingling sensation rippled down her breast bone and the voices grew dimmer, but Shelby’s mind returned to the sad, crisp blue eyes of a man who’d just lost his greatest love.
“And will you be happy knowing you gave up on a chance to have your own family? Love is not something anyone should fear.”
Another tingle, closer to a static shock this time, travelled across her chest and into her heart.
“I will always be with you, Pumpkin.” Nan reached out and stroked her face.
Shelby looked into the blue eyes that weren’t Nan’s but called to her with such love. His devastation at her loss reached out and wrapped itself around her heart.
“He really does love me!”
“Yes, Pumpkin, he does.” Nan smiled.
Sharp, ice cold fingers tore across her chest, jolting her where she sat.
“I love you, Nan. I’ll never forget you.” Shelby cried.
“And I will always be with you.” Nan’s face and the kitchen faded in to a soft darkness.
Muffled shuffling. Pain. So much pain returned to the surface of Shelby’s consciousness. With effort, she forced her lids to open, revealing a blurry green fog which surrounded her, and a large yellow lump slumped in a chair to her left.
Her voice was hoarse, and her throat ached as though she’d swallowed red hot embers.
The lump stirred, and her focus improved. “D-Dave?”
“Shelly!” Relief and love edged the hoarseness of his voice.
Dave jumped up and came to stand beside her, his face close to hers as his fingers stroked her cheeks.
“Wh-where am I….”
“Sh, don’t speak. You inhaled quite a bit of smoke. You’re in the emergency department at Caboolture hospital. They’re waiting for a bed to open in High Care. God, Shelly, I thought I’d lost you… you saved my life!”
Dave’s voice broke, as diamonds sparkled across the azure of his gaze. He was still dressed in his protective gear and his face was covered in soot which streaked as the tears toppled from his eyes and tumbled down his face.
Shelby reached up and cupped his cheek bringing his face down to her, their lips touching and sending another shock right down to her toes.
“Always knew you two would end up together. Think we knew it before you did, though.” Raf, the large teddy bear in their crew , smiled as he pulled open the green privacy curtain.
Behind him stood a man, tall and blond, with eyes of coal, and dressed in black scrubs. In one hand he held a sickle and in the other, Nan’s Christmas Trifle.
Thank you, Shelby mouthed.
The man smiled before the remainder of their firehouse crew walked straight through him toward her bed.
Written by Michelle Dalton
Find Below 7 of our 2018 authors and their stunning books.
Great christmas stocking fillers!
Merry Christmas and may 2019 rock your world!
love and blessings from
Melanie and Michelle.
Q. What was your inspiration for your Main Character?
Oh definitely me. I would love to go live in medieval France for a while. But I never had that freedom to travel… I married young and had babies. I don’t regret it… they turned out pretty well… but the backpacking and other experiences that so many people take for granted, I can only imagine. So I did.
Purchase your copy HERE
Purchase you copies HERE
Q. The book that made you fall in love with the genre you write?
I don’t have a specific one! I loved Poe and R.L. Stine when I was young, but there isn’t one book or story that did it for me. I’d say I’ve fallen back in love with horror again and again throughout my life. I’ve never really left it, but as with any long-term relationship, things can get stale every so often. Then there comes a book you can’t put down, that you read slower so it doesn’t end as quickly. In horror, the books that stick with me for weeks and make everyday things seem suddenly malignant, the ones that can get my heart beating a little faster, those are the books that make me fall again. Then I get jealous that I didn’t write it, have a little pout about that, then go write.
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Q.What kind of research did you undertake when writing?
Ah, this is where I tell you all about that fantastic pub crawl I did through every country hotel in Victoria, putting it all down to research, right? It’s where I talk about all the renovation sites and magazines I devoured. How I worked in a country hotel for a whole day, pulling beers, just so I knew what I was talking about.
I wish I had done all of that. But I didn’t.
I read books. I watched Landline, I lurked around the fringes of country reporting. I looked up hotel licencing requirements online. I researched wills and what you’d need to do if you wanted to contest one. I undertook more than a few online writing courses, figuring out character development, how to craft the perfect ending, and how to pitch my story to potential publishers and agents. Oh, and I broke my ankle while I was rewriting this story, so what Zach experiences when he breaks his ankle is definitely “real”, albeit more glossed over than the actual, lived experience I went through.
Q.Why do you write romance?
Two reasons: its feminist leanings and the HEA. I love how the heroines in Romance know what they want and will do what it takes to get it, but they are not ridiculed or shamed for wanting what they want. And in the end, not only do they get it but are supported in their triumph. While much of the world may look upon Romance as mindless fluff, I find it rather empowering. I love HEAs because of their optimisticnature. It’s as if they reassure us that good and love and joyful things can triumph in the world.”
Q. What authors did you dislike at first, but grew into?
Madeleine L’Engle. I should explain this.
I grew up in the woods, home-schooled, fairly isolated; my parents meant well, but yowza, it was a tree-filled bubble. The only books I had access to were very old; the most recent were publications from the 70s, like edition-number-whatever of LORD OF THE RINGS. The rest were delightful but Deeply Eurocentered books like the Junior Classics Library (I believe this was volume 3) and sweet but kiiiiiinda-racist books like CHI-WEE: THE ADVENTURES OF A LITTLE INDIAN GIRL.
As a result, I had zero exposure to where publishing was actually going – and when I tried to pick up something “modern,” I recoiled in horror. What was this bizarre modernity? First-person perspective? Flawed protagonists? Intentionally bad grammar?
Yeah, for a while, I lost my mind over it, and hated everything written past 1940. But that didn’t last.
What changed it all for me was actually a Dracula book. I loved DRACULA with all my heart, and was starving for more… and one day, at a neighbour’s yard sale, I stumbled across Fred Saberhagen’s DRACULA series.
I wanted vampires enough that I pushed past my weird standards, and once I did, found I didn’t actually want those standards anymore. From there, I moved on to L’Engle (thanks to a church yard sale), Stephen King (purchased on the sly in a train station), and Steven Brust (supplied by a wonderful friend), and finally, I never looked back.
Today, I am an absolute urban fantasy gourmand – something ten-year-old-me would have found Quite Distasteful, Indeed.
Q.Do you try more to be original or to deliver to readers what they want?
I write what I want to read. I think as an author you have a contract with your readers. They want consistency from you. People want the same, but at the same time different. That’s why writing a long series such as The Duke of Strathmore suits me. When I am finished this series is going to be 20 odd books. I love reading those sorts of series.
If you would like more info on Sasha’s writing or would like to get in touch with her, you can find hee HERE!
Q.What literary pilgrimages have you gone on?
It’s perhaps more a case of what literary pilgrimages I would like to go on. One of the big appeals to me in reading is the armchair travel. Which is probably why I was never as interested in Australian authors in my teens. I want to visit Britain for the history and places I’ve heard of, New Zealand because of the descriptions by romance author Essie Summers, and Prince Edward Island because of Anne of Green Gables.
You can find me via my website
1853 Mogo Creek, NSW
Della Atterton, bereft at the loss of her parents, is holed up in the place she loves best: the beautiful Hawkesbury in New South Wales.