Page 38 of Where the Wattles Bloom

‘Yep.’ Even through the ever-present threats of drought, flood, fire and the volatility of the market, he never wanted to be anywhere else.

It had just taken leaving to know he wanted to stay.

Turning so that her elbows were resting on the railing behind her, she faced the bunkhouse. ‘Was your grandmother serious? About staying here?’

Lachlan inspected her profile, her expression contemplative. ‘Reggie never extends an invitation she doesn’t mean.’ Turning, he mimicked her stance. ‘Tempted?’

‘Yeah.’ She nodded. ‘I actually am. Would that be weird, though?’ She glanced at him, pulling her lower lip between her teeth. ‘You know … with us?’

Lachlan blinked. ‘Um … no?’

‘I mean … this wouldn’t be … I wouldn’t want you to think me coming out here was a signal to—’

‘Oh, god, no,’ he hastened to assure. ‘Of course not. I know what we had was a one-time thing. I mean it was—’ He grinned. ‘Great. But I absolutely know the deal.’

‘Good.’ She shot him a relieved smile. ‘My life has been a bit of a shit show lately and I just don’t need any of that stupid heart-fluttery stuff.’

‘Gotcha,’ Lachlan agreed even as his heart did a stupid fluttery thing.

But he couldn’t help it. Rowena Murray coming to live at Blairgowrie made him stupidly happy. He didn’t know why her life had been such a shit show. He did know that Blairgowrie was good for whatever ailed you.

God knew it had been his balm over many years.

‘I tell you what,’ Lachlan said as she returned her gaze to the bunkhouse. ‘Why don’t you stay the night here? You’ve got tomorrow off, right?’ She’d mentioned that during dinner. ‘You can get a feel for the place and make up your mind in the morning. Who knows, the quiet might drive you mad.’

She laughed but sobered quickly. ‘Would that be okay?’

‘Of course.’ Reggie would be ecstatic. ‘You can have Red for company, too, if you like.’ The dog thumped his tail against the deck in affirmation. ‘He snores like a train so it’ll probably feel like you’re back in Sydney.’

She glanced down at the dog. ‘That okay by you, Red?’

The dog thumped his tail again and that was that.

Eleven

Rowena woke the next morning to … bagpipes?

As if the strange high ceiling and a snoring dog on the end of her bed weren’t disorienting enough.

Then everything came rushing back from last night. The lamb roast, the jam tasting, the bunkhouse, standing under the starlight with Lachy.

Lachlan. Lachlan McCabe.

But that still didn’t explain the bagpipes. Playing … was that AC/DC?

Pulling her phone out from under the pillow, Rowena blinked blearily at the time. Four minutes past six. God, maybe the bunkhouse at Blairgowrie was like the portal to hell? Because, although she’d never thought about it before, surely bagpipes at six in the morning in Australia was a version of hell?

Red stirred then sat up, his incessant snoring finally cutting out. Which was at least one racket taken care of.

‘How did you get there?’ she asked the dog. ‘And what on earth is that noise?’

Red didn’t deign to answer. He just bounded out of bed and scurried to the door, sniffing around the bottom before looking over at her and making a yipping noise. Which she assumed meant, Let me out, lady, I gotta pee.

When she didn’t immediately respond, he yipped again. ‘Okay, okay,’ she grumbled, kicking off layers of Reggie’s heavy, crocheted blankets.

Lachlan had brought one of the beds down to sit against the wall on the other side of the old leather couches last night so she was closer to the bathroom and the lounge area with its fireplace, which he’d lit before he’d departed. The fire must have gone out at some point during the night, leaving the bunkhouse cooler now as she padded across the smooth floorboards in bare feet.

But not as cool as it was outside.