Page 88 of Where the Wattles Bloom

He slid his hands onto her arms, sought her gaze and held it, because he wanted her to hear this and to know that he believed it, that he was confident.

Even if she wasn’t.

‘I know I have no basis for this other than an unshakeable feeling that I’m right, but I’m going to say it anyway and hope you can believe, too.’

Her big green eyes met his, bright with unshed tears, wary and uncertain but looking straight at him. She took a shaky breath. ‘Okay.’

‘Look at us,’ he said, giving her arms a gentle squeeze. ‘Here we are, you and I. You—not able to get pregnant even with the help of science. Me, not supposed to be able to get someone pregnant at all. And yet, somehow, we made a baby. This feels … blessed. Not like in a god way but … like you and me are the right combination somehow.’

Lachlan smiled. It felt ordained.

‘And that’s why I have a really good feeling about this baby. About our little girl. I’m sure it’s going to work out okay. And I’m absolutely certain we’ll be meeting our beautiful, living, breathing little girl in about five months’ time. That’s what my gut tells me, and it’s never led me wrong. Not as a cop or as a farmer.’

A tear trekked down her face. ‘I wish I could be’—her voice broke but she pushed on—‘so sure.’

Lachlan leaned in and kissed the tear away. ‘It’s okay. I can be sure enough for both of us,’ he promised. ‘When you start to worry and doubt and fret, I want you to lean into me. Lean into my sureness. I’ll have enough for both of us.’

She nodded, another tear squeezing out as she shut her eyes, and Lachlan drew her against his chest, desperately hoping he was right. Because if something did happen, and she went on to lose this baby, she might never recover.

She’d certainly never trust him again, and there definitely would never be a them. And the longer he hung out with her, the more he wanted there to be a them.

With or without a baby.

Twenty-One

A week later, Rowena’s horniness hit a new peak. Or maybe a new low …

She’d just got back from an early shift and was sitting cross-legged on the grass, still in her uniform, after being accosted by Shirley demanding a brush. It was then she’d noticed Lachlan coming from the direction of the bunkhouse.

Bow chicka wow wow started playing in her head. And she was suddenly squirming.

Literally squirming, with an animal that was more sheep than lamb in her lap, as another animal—big and male and sexy—ate up the distance between them with his mesmerising long-legged gait.

Oh, Jesus … she had it bad.

If she wasn’t careful she’d start rubbing herself against the bloody grass. And if her nipples were any tighter they’d drop right off.

As if Shirley could sense the uproar in her undies, she picked up her head, which had been lolling backwards as though she was the freaking queen of Egypt. Perking up at the sight of Lachlan, she bleated enthusiastically like the hussy she was.

‘Back off, lady,’ Rowena murmured. ‘I saw him first.’

He was wearing what he usually wore now the days had turned warm. A pair of cargo pants with multiple pockets that sat just above his knee, showcasing quads and calves. A t-shirt that hugged his torso. Thick socks were pushed down around the top of his dusty boots, and his ever-present hat assumed its position low on his forehead.

It was just another day at Blairgowrie but, ugh, her hormones were like live wires, sparking through her belly.

‘Here are my two girls,’ Lachlan said with a grin.

A month ago, Rowena would have bristled at the girl tag (and the my) but his voice was light and teasing and, frankly, her mouth had gone too dry to talk.

He knelt then, pushing the brim of his hat back as he administered a long scratch under Shirley’s chin. She lolled again under his skilful hands, but not before eyeballing Rowena with a look that said—How you like them apples, lady.

An intoxicating waft of Lachlan’s scent engulfed her and Rowena’s mouth watered. Which at least helped the dry situation. It was the usual mix of earthy farm guy but this time there was a dash of sweat, which caused her nostrils to flare in what must surely be a most unflattering way.

Not stinky sweaty, more of the fresh, sunshiny, hard work variety that was like a dozen oysters to her buzzing libido.

Bloody hell. Who even was she right now?

Since her sex drive had gotten out of control, Rowena had tried to limit her exposure to Lachlan. She didn’t need his chauffeur services any more so it had seemed sensible to keep out of his way. Hence, she usually only saw him in the evenings—after he’d showered—or in the mornings, before he went to work.