Page 4 of Where the Wattles Bloom

From this vantage point she could see under the broad brim of his Akubra. His eyes were as blue as a long summer’s day, and there was a jaw so square he could give a cartoon superhero a run for his money. Not even the heavy three-day growth of golden-blond scruff could disguise its angles.

‘I was behind him. He swerved a few times then veered off the road and hit the tree. I think he might have had a heart attack at the wheel.’

‘Suspected heart attack,’ Lachlan conveyed to Davo, who Rowena assumed was a paramedic. He listened for a bit more before saying, ‘Yep, sure thing. See you soon.’

He hung up and shoved the phone back in his pocket, returning to two-handed compressions. Rowena straightened and arched her back to ease a cramp in her lumbar region, noticing for the first time he was wearing a plaid shirt rolled up to the elbows.

‘Are you hurt?’

She frowned at him and he tipped his chin at the blood smearing her stomach. For the first time she registered her state of undress and absently thought maybe she should be embarrassed. After all, most guys had to wait until the third or fourth date before they got a peek at her bra.

But her lack of shirt was hardly important right now.

‘I nicked my arm when I broke the window,’ she said dismissively, bending over to deliver a breath. ‘It’s fine.’

His arms moved up and down in her peripheral vision. ‘You broke the window?’

She focused on the pale lips through the plastic of the mask. ‘The doors were locked.’

He delivered five compressions. ‘How’d you manage that?’

‘I have a thingy that does it in my first aid box.’

He glanced at the open case stuffed with supplies. ‘That’s an impressive kit.’

‘I like to be prepared.’

‘Evidently.’

He sounded impressed and, weirdly, Rowena felt like she’d passed some kind of outback preparedness test. ‘Is he a friend of yours?’ she asked.

She didn’t know why—it wasn’t as though the situation required small talk.

‘A man who bakes the best pastries in the district is everyone’s friend. So, no pressure, but we’ve got to pull him through this or we’ll never be able to show our faces around Acacia Junction again.’

Her roadside helper was obviously trying to lighten the situation, and a part of Rowena appreciated it. But the other part—the one that had not long ago suffered a rather spectacular public breakdown and a stint in the mental health care system—could probably do without the pressure.

The ambulance couldn’t get here fast enough.

Two

An hour later, a faint rose-gold hue glowed on the horizon as day blended to evening. Lachlan crossed the highway to the woman who had introduced herself to the paramedics as Rowena Murray.

She was leaning her butt against the boot of the police car belonging to Doug Thompson, the sergeant in charge of Acacia Junction cop shop. The paramedics had given her one of those white cellular blankets, which she’d draped loosely around her shoulders, but he could still see the state of her shirt, which she’d quickly put on once help had arrived.

It was powdered in brown dust and smeared with blood. The knees of her jeans, dark with ingrained dirt, hadn’t fared much better.

She was staring absently down the arrow-straight road in the opposite direction to the one the ambulance had taken fifteen minutes ago, having miraculously coaxed a pulse from Silvano. Was she contemplating going back the way she’d come?

And who could blame her after this experience?

She obviously wasn’t from around here, because Lachlan knew just about everybody and for damn sure he’d have heard about her if she was a newcomer. Acacia Junction’s grapevine was thriving and Reggie, his grandmother—who he lived with—was across it all.

‘Here.’ He held out a bottle of water as he approached.

She straightened as she took it, which brought her to his shoulder height. Giving him a brief smile, she cracked the lid, tipped her head back and drank. A smear of dirt on her forehead drew his attention, as did some wisps of curly, light brown hair that had escaped her ponytail to brush against the side of her neck.

‘Thanks,’ she said, after guzzling half then wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.