Page 33 of Where the Wattles Bloom

Rowena laughed. She couldn’t help herself. Lachlan McCabe was the kind of capable that set female (and, she supposed, male) hearts aflutter. She was sure he could probably string a fence, ride a horse, fix a tractor and shear a paddock full of sheep, all before breakfast.

But the fact that his grandmother looked at him like he hung the freaking moon because he’d walked his ass into a shop and bought a packet of star freaking anise—probably the least dangerous thing he’d ever done—was so damn cute.

The fact he would do anything for this little old lady he clearly loved, and who so clearly loved him, ramped up his degree of sexy a thousandfold.

Reggie brandished it in the air. ‘Here’s to the secret weapon. Watch out, Madge, you wily old bird, I’m coming for you this year!’

Rowena wasn’t sure who Madge was exactly, but it was clear Reggie perceived her as the main competition.

‘Now, how about you take some jars of marmalade back with you for your toast in the morning?’

‘Thank you, that’s so nice of you.’

Reggie grabbed three from the bench but Rowena shook her head. ‘Oh, just the one will be oodles. I have enough food donations from the town to be transporting to the hospital accommodation as it is.’

‘You’re moving into one of those dreadful hospital dongas?’ Reggie asked with a frown.

Having seen inside one of them now, Rowena had to agree with Reggie’s summation. ‘Uh huh.’ She nodded, unenthused. ‘Just had to wait for one to become available. I move in next week.’

Reggie regarded her for long moments as she placed the jars on the table, her brow furrowed. ‘Or … you could move into the bunkhouse here?’

Blinking at what seemed an exceptionally impulsive offer, Rowena slid a look at Lachlan, who had narrowed his eyes a little at his grandmother.

‘I mean, you could also stay in the house, we have two spare rooms, but I imagine you’d want your own space, especially after coming from the city.’ Reggie gave a little shudder as if she couldn’t think of anything worse than living in a city. If she hadn’t just blindsided Rowena, she’d have probably laughed.

‘Which is why the bunkhouse is perfect,’ Reggie continued. ‘It’s not far away and it’s fully self-contained. Kitchen, shower, toilet. Even a tele. You can come and go as you please. And Blairgowrie is only a fifteen-minute trip into town. I bet you drive longer than that to go to work in Sydney. Hell, you probably drive longer than that to go to the shops.’

Rowena did indeed drive longer to both locations.

‘No charge,’ Reggie added quickly. And then, before Rowena had a chance to formulate a response, she said, ‘Lachy, darl, go show Ro the accommodation.’

Reggie made a shooing motion at them both and Rowena shrugged her consent at Lachy, who’d raised his eyebrows in question. A bunkhouse sounded about as basic and draughty as a donga or those dreadful dorms she and her classmates had stayed in during grade seven camp. Not to mention how many spiders she’d be bunking down with, shimmying their ugly butts through the slightest of cracks.

But, the least she could do after that meal was to indulge the formidable Reggie before she politely declined. So somehow, despite her better judgement, Rowena found herself following Lachlan outside.

Ten

Lachlan had to hand it to his grandmother. She was one canny old biddy. He doubted she’d been plotting ways to get Rowena to come and stay at Blairgowrie during dinner, but she sure as hell had jumped on the opportunity pretty damn fast.

‘Thanks for humouring an old lady,’ he said as he walked beside Rowena, towards the dark shape of the bunkhouse about one hundred metres away. Red was at his heels and torchlight guided the way over the leaf-strewn dirt track. Insects and a distant occasional bleat were the only sounds keeping them company. ‘She’s incorrigible.’

She laughed and it rang clear as a bell in the crispness of the winter night. ‘She makes a convincing argument. Doesn’t make it easy to say no.’

It was Lachlan’s turn to laugh. ‘Yeah, she may be old but she be sneaky.’

More laughter puffed two streams of foggy breath into the air before they lapsed into silence again. But Lachlan was conscious of everything about her. The fancy but impractical-for-this-kind-of-terrain city girl boots, the faint rasp of her jeans as she walked, the swing of her arms, the way the slight breeze lifted her hair.

The sound of her breathing.

‘Has this always been your home?’

Lachlan shook his head. ‘I came to live here when I was ten after my parents were killed in a light plane crash.’

‘Oh god …’ She glanced at him abruptly. ‘That’s awful.’

Her scrutiny on his profile was intense, almost like a physical touch. No wonder Glenda’s death today had affected her—she was clearly an empath.

Lachlan shrugged. ‘It was a long time ago.’