Heather Falls in Love Part Two

By Limey Lady

Disaster strikes when Ingrid falls for an Australian Viking-like surfer. After a year and a half of being a one-woman woman Heather responds by “catching up with missed opportunities” as she continues their world tour alone. Sadly, not all the people she meets are what they seem.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Limey Lady
• Release date: Dec 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370089888

Limey Lady

Here's a confession for you: I'm not sure if "Limey Lady" is a pseudonym or my alter ego. Back in 2016, when she came into being, she was definitely a nom de plume. Now, however, I am not so sure.As background, I have always written stories but, up to 2009, writing took a backseat, way behind the demands of my family and career. Then a life-changing medical condition . . . well, it changed everything for and about me. Suddenly I had/have time to spare. Suddenly I was/am churning out tale after tale.I was born in York but brought up in West Yorkshire, in part of the Aire Valley often described as "Bronte Country". I must say, though, that although most of my stories are set locally, they have little in common with the fine works of Charlotte, Emily and Anne. So far my output can be divided into two: long stories featuring ne'er-do-wells, guns and some violence . . . and shorter stories featuring "liberated" women who rarely do what they're supposed to do.Limey Lady was created to be the author of the short stuff. But the longer novels all include feisty, uncooperative females - much like her characters - so I'm going to put her name to both as I publish on Smashwords.Watch this space . . .

Book preview

Heather Falls in Love

Part Two - Romance blossoms and dies

By LimeyLady

Copyright Mark C Woolridge (writing as LimeyLady), 2016

Distributed by Smashwords

All characters and events in this publication,

other than those clearly in the public domain,

are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons,

living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Chapter Seventeen - Life’s a Beach

Chapter Eighteen - Heather Philosophises

Chapter Nineteen - The Halfway Point

Chapter Twenty - Claire’s Party

Chapter Twenty-One - An Arvo in Claire’s Bed

Chapter Twenty-Two - Rod

Chapter Twenty-Three - Bluey to the Rescue

Chapter Twenty-Four - Spyros

Chapter Twenty-Five - Carole with an E

Chapter Twenty-Six - The Liver Birds

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Heather’s Wallet

Chapter Twenty-Eight - Ice Cold in Cairns

Author’s Note

Other books by LimeyLady

Chapter Seventeen

(February 2004)

Heather and Ingrid arrived in Perth, Western Australia, almost twenty months after they’d started their world tour. Up to that point they hadn't done too badly with their travelling budget, walking incredible distances, using the cheapest forms of transport if they absolutely had to . . . and only ever flying as a last resort. But Down Under had always been expected to be an exception.

The plan was to travel west to east around the coast, making a mighty inroad along the way to visit a few must-see places like Coober Pedy, Ayers Rock and Alice Springs. That way they would take in all the mainland state capitals and Canberra before reaching Cairns, where the big decision needed to be made.

To do the north coast or not to do the north coast: that was going to be the question.

And they intended to debate it at leisure, over lots of ice-cold beers.

Walking those sorts of distances wasn’t an option, not even for them. After they’d done all the usual tourist things in the world’s second most remote city (seeing Australia II in the Maritime Museum; watching black swans stop traffic by crossing busy highways; sunbathing in Kings Park), they made a bid to get themselves wheels.

Getting mobile should have been easy but, typically, Ingrid insisted on doing it right. Consequently they spent three days scouring the city's used vehicle outlets before buying a blue campervan with guaranteed buyback. Next morning, overloaded with provisions, they set off south. Stopping a day in Albany (the last port of call for ANZAC troops en route for WW1 Europe), they then headed towards Esperance, clearing the reputedly dangerous beaches, eventually finding an expanse of brilliant white sand that looked as if it had been waiting for them since time began.

By then they were as tanned as they were ever going to be. Ingrid's hair had bleached with the sun and her skin had gone a dark golden brown. Heather reckoned that, whenever they finally reached Rio, her friend wasn't just going to look like your typical Brazilian beach babe: she was going to look like an utterly outstanding Brazilian beach babe, top class Copacabana.

As for herself, she wasn't complaining. Her naturally dark skin had gone the deepest mahogany and that, together with her long, jet-black hair and flashing green eyes, made her look like some sort of Amazonian princess. During their exploration of Perth she’d caught sight of her reflection in a shop window in Murray Street.

Wow, she’d sincerely thought, who the hell is that? Then she’d realized she was gazing lustfully at herself.

So the tans were working just fine. At first sight they were both perfect. Their only regret, shared and discussed at length, was that theirs were not truly every-last-inch tans. While there had been zillions of opportunities taken to keep their boobs matching, their thongs and G-strings had left them with tell-tale white bits below.

This beach was where the white bits were going to meet their Waterloo. The theory was that two full weeks and lashings of sun cream would get them through the pinky-red sunburn stage, leaving them plenty of chances to finish the job off later, especially on their foray into the Great Australian Bugger All.

‘Naked and windswept on the roof of the campervan,’ Inga had said. ‘I can hardly wait.’

‘It’s a bit rickety up there,’ Heather replied. ‘I’ll try not to drive over too many bumps.’

They parked their camper in a rough turning area at the end of an even rougher track and, mindful of tales of freak waves back closer to Albany, pitched their tent at the base of a low cliff, where it was protected by rocks on all sides.

Then they went for it.

For the first day or so they sunbathed naked and nervous. After that, sure they weren’t going to get disturbed, they relaxed. And relaxed and relaxed and relaxed. By the afternoon of the third day they started to make out under the blazing sun, taking turns to have each other on the hot dry white sand or the cold flat wet stuff closer to the tideline. Best of all, they would make out in the Southern Ocean itself (or was it the Indian Ocean? Nobody seemed able to agree), splashing and laughing and not minding the taste of salty water. Heather honestly believed that would be the coolest, most fun sex she ever had; completely alone with a truly loyal friend in beautiful blue water, waves breaking around them, spuming and foaming.

*****

The days soon merged into one. After their fifth, a Saturday, they stopped keeping count. In fact they only knew it was Saturday because in had been pencilled in as Inspection Day. Not that they really needed to inspect each other; not when they’d been practicing nudists ever since they arrived. Still, it had been pencilled in so the inspection had to take place.

‘You are so lucky,’ Ingrid exclaimed, her nose perhaps an inch away from Heather’s fanny. ‘You’re naturally tanned to start with. Now you’re getting darker by the second.’

At that moment Heather wasn’t interested in her skin tone. She could feel her friend’s breath on her sex, pitter-pattering over it. The result was quite predictable.