“Georgie, this is Declan from Parks and Wildlife. We’d like to offer you the park ranger position.”
Georgie’s mouth dropped open. She hadn’t expected to hear so soon. “That’s great,” she managed. “Thank you. Which role?”
“The land-based one. I know you’ve got a marine biology degree, but we think with your knowledge of the land, you’ll be perfect.”
“Oh, OK.” Disappointment filled her. Did she want the job if it wasn’t around the water? That had been what she’d been working towards.
“We do have someone talking about retiring at the end of the year, so there’s opportunity to move into a more ocean-based role in the future.”
Right. She had to be logical about this. The tour season would end in a month or two and then she’d be unemployed. This was a good opportunity. She sank onto a chair and tried to force some cheer into her voice. “Sounds perfect.”
“When can you start?”
A good question. Jimmy wasn’t going to be thrilled with her leaving mid-season. Her contract stated she must give two weeks’ notice, but she didn’t want to leave him in the lurch. “Ah, I need to confirm that. Maybe two weeks.”
“All right, if you could let us know by the end of the week, that would be great.”
Georgie hung up and stared at the canvas photo of a whale shark which hung on her wall. She’d got the job. It felt so surreal, but she had to believe it could be the first step towards the career she wanted as a marine biologist. Jobs were few and far between, but she would gain valuable contacts through PAWS. So she had to spend some time away from the ocean, she could deal with that.
She closed her eyes as guilt swamped her. She hated letting Jimmy down. He’d been so good to her, giving her a job and then letting her take as much time off as she needed when her parents had died. It had been hard on the team to cover for her. She needed to find someone to replace her so she wouldn’t let him down.
With that in mind, she called Gretchen. “Know of anyone who wants to work on our boats?”
Chapter 8
Matt swore, the curses coming out as a long stream of profanity, as the bolt finally twisted and his knuckles scraped across the metal. Darcy glanced over. “You OK?”
Matt glowered at him. “Do I look like I’m OK?” He squeezed his knuckles with his other hand, hoping the pain would go away. This was just the cherry on top of another shit day. The ute had finally died after months in its death throes, and he’d spent the past three hours taking apart the gear box and engine trying to figure out what was wrong.
He was fairly sure there was no saving it. The problem was it was thirty years old and had had a hard life.
Darcy looked up and raised his eyebrows but continued working on the motorbike’s engine on the bench.
Shit, Darcy didn’t deserve his temper. “Sorry.”
“You want to talk about what’s bothering you?” Darcy asked, not even looking his way.
“I grazed my knuckles.”
Darcy glanced at him. “And what about the past week? You’re not usually this surly.”
Matt pressed his lips together. He could hardly tell Darcy the truth when he didn’t want to admit it to himself. He’d been out of sorts since Jerry had driven off with Georgie. He’d tormented himself thinking about what they’d been up to, which was stupid because it was none of his business. He tried to convince himself it was just out of a brotherly concern, but that excuse was growing thinner the more he obsessed over it. It was like a switch had been flicked and all he could think about was Georgie.
She thought she loved him. That in itself seemed farfetched. Surely, he would have had some kind of inkling before now that her feelings were of a more romantic nature. He wasn’t that dense, was he?
Though if he thought about it, she always used to sit next to him at dinner or when they went somewhere together in the car. He figured it was just a routine, but others swapped places regularly.
Darcy was still waiting for an answer. Matt shrugged. “I don’t know. It feels as if things are about to change.” It sounded like a reasonable excuse.
“We haven’t got far decoding the journal. It’s likely we’ll never find the treasure.”
It wasn’t what he meant, but it would do. “We could do with an injection of funds.” Matt twisted off the cap of the radiator and peered into the top. “I don’t think we’re going to save the ute this time.”
“Really?” Darcy asked.
Matt shook his head. “The gear box has more fractures than that crackling nail polish Lara likes to use and the engine casing is worse. A replacement is going to cost a fortune, so it’s probably cheaper to buy a new car in the long run. I’ll make some calls. The last time I ordered parts for this old girl the guy laughed at me.”
Darcy frowned. “Do what you can. At least we’ve got Brandon’s ute and mine.”
