Page 53 of Where the Wattles Bloom

Rowena suppressed a smile. ‘Okay, okay.’ She looked him up and down for a moment, her gaze fixing on his fancy RMs, so very different from his everyday boots. ‘You have huuuge … feet.’

‘I do.’ He nodded, barely managing to keep his laughter under control. ‘And do you know what they say about men with huge feet?’

She did. And, she had to say she concurred. ‘Giant socks?’

He chuckled. ‘Yeah. That too.’

The wheel jerked into motion then and their attention wandered to the view as it went through a few revolutions. Rowena snuggled into the jacket and enjoyed the ride, knowing that whatever else happened in her life, she’d always remember this night on the Ferris wheel with Lachlan McCabe at the Acacia Junction show.

*

Three weeks later, Rowena was about as exhausted as was humanly possible after working an extraordinary number of extra shifts and overtime. Brooke had warned her about the uptick in illness post the show and, with NAIDOC Week celebrations also thrown into the mix, it seemed the whole town was reaping the consequences of two consecutive super-spreader events.

Which meant they were slammed.

Influenza A and RSV were suddenly rife in the community. And then there was the particularly virulent strand of vomiting and diarrhoea that had kept the emergency department hopping. And it wasn’t just people from town, but from all over the district putting extra strain on hospital resources.

Given he was knee-deep in lambing, Rowena hadn’t seen much of Lachlan. Nor Reggie or Albert, for that matter. Although it was probably a good thing where Lachlan was concerned, given that near kiss on the Ferris wheel.

If only it was as easy to forget as it had been to dodge! Considering they hadn’t even locked lips, she was thinking about kissing Lachlan too damn much.

Which was highly inconvenient.

As was finally succumbing to the Vs and Ds. Of course, catching whatever seasonal nasties were out there was an occupational hazard, but Rowena didn’t generally get sick.

Mental health notwithstanding …

This morning, however, was a different story. She’d somehow slept through the bagpipes and woken feeling queasy. She’d been a little dizzy in the mornings since the show—bloody ear crystals—but it had always dissipated quickly.

And she figured this would too.

Sending Red—who’d somehow appointed himself her night-time companion—back to the house, she’d showered and dressed and felt much better. Then she’d eaten and felt even better still. Until she was driving past the homestead and the urgent need to vomit hit her out of nowhere. She only just managed to stop the car in time, losing her cup of coffee and piece of toast all over the nearest garden bed.

Well … damn.

Rowena wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, leaning weakly against the vehicle, her limbs trembling. There was no way she could go in to work now; she’d have to call in sick. Guilt flooded her at the thought. They were busy and short staffed so her not coming in—at such short notice, too—would have an impact.

But going to work sick was irresponsible. Spreading this to vulnerable patients was irresponsible. Plus, she’d seen the explosive diarrhoea part of this virus, so she knew what was next—she was definitely going to need a toilet close by!

*

Rowena slept most of the day on and off, which was probably exactly what she needed given how hard she’d been working lately. The nausea persisted and she threw up twice more, but thankfully it hadn’t progressed to the D part of the virus. By the end of the day she was hopeful she’d managed to get only a mild case.

The next morning she felt much better, only a vague sense of nausea, but she called in sick again—just in case. The last thing any of her patients or colleagues needed was her in there spreading the virus further.

No one would thank her for that.

The fact she had two days off next gave Rowena confidence that she could return to work fully recovered and fully purged of any potential ability to infect.

Still, she was weary down to her bones and spent a lot of the day sleeping again and trying to find a balance between keeping up her fluids and not giving her stomach too much to upset it.

Thankfully she managed, waking late the next morning when her phone chimed with a message from Reggie.

Smoko? Made some scones for the boys. They’re warm from the oven and there’s a pot of hot coffee with your name on it.

Rowena’s stomach growled at the invitation. There’d been nothing solid in it for a couple of days and she was starving. Also, no signs of queasiness or dizziness—bonus!

Be there in ten.