Page 109 of Where the Wattles Bloom

By refusing treatment for her cancer, Reggie had already decided how and where she wanted to go.

Placing Reggie’s hand gently on her stomach, Rowena stood, her legs shaky. She forced them to move, to go to Lachlan, who was pacing back and forth, shouting into the phone. Telling them to hurry.

‘Stop asking me dumb fucking questions and get here,’ he was yelling when she reached him.

‘Lachy,’ she whispered.

He spared her a quick glance before turning to pace in the opposite direction, gesticulating wildly into the air as he roared, ‘She doesn’t have ninety goddamn minutes.’

A hot fist slammed hard into Rowena’s stomach. Lachlan clearly knew things were dire, and his desperation wrenched at her heart strings as he paced towards her again.

‘Lachy.’

Stopping in front of her, he shook his head, slipping his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Can you believe this?’ he demanded. ‘What’s the point of having a bloody flying doctor if they can’t—’

‘Lachlan!’

Rowena didn’t yell but she did use her nurse voice, cutting him off mid-tirade. Sliding her hand onto the forearm holding the phone, she looked into his eyes.

‘You need to come.’ Endowed with decades of medical authority, her words brooked no argument. ‘Now.’

All the fight went out of him, and that was scarier than his yelling and cussing. ‘No,’ he said, a plea cracking his voice.

Rowena held his gaze, wishing she could give him what he wanted because his helplessness was far more heartbreaking than his anger. ‘Yes.’

Lachlan bowed his head for a beat, and when he raised it again he was composed. The resignation in his blue eyes was probably the most wretched of all.

‘Ryan!’ he yelled as he reached for her hand.

They headed back. As Ryan hurried towards them, Lachlan handed over the phone. ‘Stay on the phone with the RFDS.’

Crossing into the shade, Lachlan knelt beside his grandmother. Beads of sweat had popped on Reggie’s brow and her colour had changed from pale to grey, her lips dusky. Her breathing was laboured.

She was right—death was close now.

Rowena went to move away to give them privacy but Lachlan put a staying hand on her leg.

‘My two loves,’ Reggie said as she looked from Lachlan to Albert.

‘Don’t leave us, Reggie,’ Lachlan murmured, his voice rough. ‘We still need you. The farm still needs you. You always say Blairgowrie is the best part of your life.’

A ghost of a smile touched her lips. ‘You’re the … best part.’ Her gaze shifted to Albert. ‘And you.’

She tried to lift her hand but was too weak and Albert guided it to his face, kissing her palm as she cupped his jaw, her smile strengthening, her love shining like a beacon even as her life force dimmed.

‘My protector,’ she panted, barely audible. ‘My salvation.’

A tear spilled from one of Albert’s eyes and trekked down his cheek. ‘My love,’ he whispered.

Tears flowed unchecked down Rowena’s face. She’d witnessed a lot of last moments in her life but they’d all been in controlled, clinical settings. This was entirely different. It was so raw, so uncontained, and her grief in this moment felt as wild and visceral as the landscape.

She may have only known this incredible old lady for five months, but Reggie’s steadfastness, pragmatism and unconditional support had been exactly what Rowena had needed and she wept for the brevity of their relationship. And the fact Reggie was never going to meet her greatgranddaughter.

That sat hot and heavy against her chest.

‘Gonna need you … to watch out … for this one,’ Reggie said to Albert, flicking her gaze briefly to Lachlan.

Albert nodded. ‘I will.’