THIRTEEN
Thirteen
7 April 1863
Jack cursed once more as another bullet whizzed by his head a little too close for comfort. The traps were proving far more tenacious than he’d given them credit for. They’d been trying to shake them off for close to an hour, and now found themselves almost back to where they’d left the stagecoach. A mob of wallabies scattered ahead—startled by the gunfire and men on horseback.
‘We’ve been running around in flamin’ circles, Jack!’ Paddy snarled. ‘We gotta make a stand.’
Jack agreed. Seeing a small clearing ahead, he gave the order to dismount. They’d barely had time to take cover behind an old log before the bullets started, thick and fast. Clearly the men had been prepared for the possibility of a robbery—after all, it was McNally territory. Jack’s men were outnumbered and outgunned from the outset; still, they had the advantage of being on familiar ground, and they knew the land well. If they could just keep the police off their backs for a breath, they’d be able to disappear into the bush like ghosts.
An unexpected movement caught Jack’s attention and he scanned the coach off to the side. Something moved on the ground beside it. Thinking it might be a survivor of the robbery keen to rejoin the fight, he aimed his gun towards the shadow, preparing to fire, but stopped when he saw that the figure was not a man, but a woman—the beautiful wife of Alexander Compton. Narrowing his eyes, Jack tried to focus, swearing softly as he watched her writhe, her face contorted in agony and her hands clasping her stomach.
The baby.
All around him, bullets flew and men yelled, but Jack’s whole attention was on the woman on the ground, a gunshot wound to her side, sitting beside the body of her dead husband as she prepared to give birth to a child.
‘Jack!’ Paddy yelled, breaking through the rush of blood inside his head. ‘We have to go.’
‘You go ahead,’ Jack said, making a split-second decision. He bounded to his feet and ran across the clearing to where the woman lay. As he got closer, he saw blood had stained the bodice of her dress just below her waist. Her eyes were closed and her head slowly moved from side to side as she gave a low, pained moan.
‘What are you doin’?’ He heard John calling frantically from behind him. ‘Leave her.’
The shots continued as the other men refused to leave without him. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, the gunshots stopped. Jack tentatively lifted his head and saw the prone bodies of the policemen.
‘We’ve got to go before more traps turn up!’ Paddy yelled.
‘I’ll be right behind you,’ Jack snapped, looking over his shoulder at them before bending down and scooping the delirious woman into his arms. She weighed next to nothing. Her slight form jerked against his chest as he carried her towards his horse. She was such a small thing, it was no wonder it looked as though she was having trouble with the delivery.
Kate will know what to do.
He passed her into Paddy’s arms then swung onto his horse, leaning back down to lift her up and settle her in front of him, trying not to hurt her more. Paddy was staring at him as though he’d lost his mind. Perhaps he had. Jack wasn’t sure why he couldn’t turn his back on this woman—especially when his and the lives of his men were so clearly at stake—yet something refused to let him leave her there alone.
‘Easy does it,’ he said to her in the low gentle tone he used on his horses. She gave a soft whimper and his heart squeezed with regret. He hadn’t wished this on her. He would have preferred not to have killed her husband, but he certainly never intended to harm a woman or child.
He wasted no time urging his mount forward. It wasn’t an easy ride ahead, and he had doubts that she would survive the trip, but he owed it to her to at least try. If not her, then at least the innocent babe she was about to bear. It hadn’t asked for any of this to happen.
‘You kissed him!’
‘Would you keep your voice down?’ Lottie hissed.
‘Oh, please. Doreen Miller is deaf as a post and Pearl and Tilly are too busy fawning over Edward Miles to listen in on our conversation.’
‘Why are we meeting here again?’ Lottie asked, giving the old cafe a quick glance.
‘I’m checking out the competition.’
‘What competition?’ Lottie asked confused. The old cafe lived up to its name, but not in a rustic-chic trendy kind of way. Sitting by itself at the top of the main street, this place was just plain old .
‘Donald and Louise have leased the whole business. Apparently, he’s a chef.’
‘A chef?’ Lottie asked, kinking an eyebrow doubtfully. The only cooked food they’d ever sold here, to her knowledge, was Chiko rolls.
‘Right?’ Cher agreed, matching her dubious expression. ‘Still, in this business, it pays to listen to the rumours.’ She was sporting a black pixie hairstyle, a red lace-up bodice and black tailored trousers, looking very Liza Minnelli-ish from Cabaret .
Lottie picked up the menu, recalling the last time she’d been here. Today, there was no sticky plastic cover, and she opened it with a little more optimism.
‘New gourmet pie range,’ Cher read across from her. ‘Pepper brisket, mushroom brisket, mac and cheese, Rajdhani butter chicken, brisket and bacon, chorizo, jalapeno and cheese, Philly cheesesteak.’
‘Well, those are all new,’ Lottie said with a somewhat-impressed nod. In fact, everything written on the menu was new.
A tall, skinny young man with a thin moustache walked from the kitchen carrying a plate, placing it in front of Doreen.
‘Oh my God, that smells amazing,’ Lottie whispered.
‘Excuse me,’ Cher said as the man headed back to the kitchen, ‘who are you?’
‘Who are you?’ he shot back haughtily.
Lottie gave a snort at the look on Cher’s face. She was usually the one with the sassy attitude.
‘ I ,’ she emphasised pointedly, ‘am Cher, owner of Madame Dubois and co-founder of the Theatre Des Moines club in Melbourne. No doubt you’ve heard of it?’
‘Nope,’ he said dismissively, making to walk away.
‘Just a minute, I’m talking to you.’
‘I’m busy. You ordering something? Or are you just gonna take up my booth space?’
Cher’s mouth dropped open … literally.
Lottie had to smother a giggle at the sight. ‘We’re still deciding. Everything sounds amazing,’ she cut in to defuse the moment.
The man lifted his chin towards the front counter, where a young woman sporting some rather intriguing piercings sat filing her talon-like nails. ‘Order at the counter when you make up your mind,’ he said before walking away.
‘Who the hell-o Dolly does he think he is?’ Cher bit off angrily.
‘With that kind of ego, I’m assuming he’s the new chef.’
‘Well, he certainly won’t go far with that kind of behaviour,’ Cher said, narrowing her eyes, with their luscious false eyelashes—the black, everyday-wear ones, without the sparkles.
‘Actually, he reminds me of someone,’ Lottie murmured, returning her gaze to the menu.
‘Oh, puleeeze! I am always polite to my customers.’
‘Hmm,’ Lottie said without comment.
‘Everybody loves me because I’m friendly, damn it!’
‘Yes, so approachable …’
‘I am approachable. I just don’t suffer idiots.’
‘You are a very fine performer and a savvy businesswoman,’ Lottie agreed lightly.
‘I did not come into this town with an attitude like that.’
‘You came to town with some attitude,’ Lottie corrected, recalling the gossip mill nearly self-destructing over her arrival. Cher had definitely been a Banalla first.
‘Not that much,’ Cher muttered, sending a glare in the direction of the kitchen.
‘Let’s just order.’
‘Fine,’ Cher finally agreed with a pout.
After they’d placed their orders with the indifferent woman at the counter, they settled back in the booth. ‘Back to other breaking news,’ Cher said, never down or distracted for long. ‘Tell me everything about the sexy professor and that kiss. I bet it was dreamy.’
Lottie had hoped that particular conversation had been forgotten, but it seemed not. ‘It was … nice,’ Lottie said, mustering as much dignity as she could.
‘Nice?’ Cher repeated, flatly. ‘Honey, looking out your window at a sunny day is nice. Kissing a sexy man should not fall under that same umbrella.’
‘It was … better than nice,’ Lottie conceded. There was no point trying to close the subject when Cher was like a dog with a bone.
‘I should hope so. With all that outside packaging, it would be such a waste if he turned out to be a dud root.’
Lottie closed her eyes briefly, drawing strength. She should be used to the fact that every time Cher opened her mouth, there was always the chance something outrageous was about to come out.
‘So, what’s the problem?’
‘There’s no problem as such,’ Lottie said, trying not to shift uncomfortably under her friend’s eagle-like gaze. ‘It’s just … well, what’s the point? He’s here for the festival and then he’ll be gone.’
There was a moment of blessed silence.
‘Sometimes I really worry about you,’ Cher said, breaking it. ‘How did you survive living in the city as long as you did? I swear, sometimes you’re like a little country bumpkin who’s never left this one-horse town.’
‘I survived perfectly fine, thank you very much,’ Lottie said mildly. ‘Just because I haven’t got an impressive bedpost notch count doesn’t mean I’m na?ve.’
‘I blame your mother’s distrust of men and love.’
‘No one’s to blame for anything,’ Lottie said.
‘Tell that to your love life.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with my love life. And my mother doesn’t distrust men. She just has a weird fixation on a family curse.’
‘Hmm,’ Cher murmured with a very disapproving Southern drawl.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, stop looking at me like that. I know it’s not true.’
‘I’m not saying you believe it. All I’m saying is you were brought up by a woman who was adamant and very vocal about never falling in love. You’ve had no male role models in your life,’ she argued, ‘and all that has to have made an impact, whether you realise it or not. Subconsciously, it has to have had some influence on you.’
‘It’s not like I haven’t had any experience with men,’ Lottie said defensively.
‘True, but not recently.’
‘I’ve been on dates.’
‘When?’ Cher challenged.
‘The other …’ Lottie stopped for a moment to do the calculations in her head. ‘A few months ago, I went out with Jason Foster,’ she said, lifting her chin defiantly.
‘Five or six months ago. And remind me, how did that happen?’ Cher asked coyly.
‘You forced me,’ Lottie snapped.
‘I arranged it,’ she corrected. ‘When was the last time that you initiated a date with someone?’
‘That’s really not relevant,’ Lottie said, glancing around the room, hoping their order was about to come out.
‘A year,’ Cher answered her own question. ‘It had been a year since you’d last gone out with a man when I arranged that date with Jason. You’re a young, vibrant woman with needs,’ she said, her voice rising as enthusiasm for her favourite topic took hold; namely, interfering in Lottie’s love life. ‘It’s not natural to suppress them the way you do.’
‘My needs are perfectly fine, thank you very much,’ she grated out.
‘This man has been dropped in your lap,’ Cher argued. ‘It’s a sign from the gods. Even the universe is sick of watching you waste away among your precious heirlooms. If you don’t be careful, you’ll end up exactly the same way—old, dusty and sad.’
‘My shop is not old, dusty or sad, thank you very much.’
‘Okay, maybe that was a tad excessive. But you know what I mean.’
‘I know exactly what you mean. I should just throw caution to the wind, sleep with a complete stranger for as long as he’s in town and then go on my merry way when he leaves without a backward glance.’
‘ Exactly .’ Cher beamed.
Lottie rolled her eyes. ‘I was being facetious.’
‘I know,’ Cher drawled. ‘But it’s exactly what you need to do. Take a chance. Who says it has to end once he goes home? People meet like that all the time, you know.’
‘It seems like a waste of time. I’m not interested in a long-distance relationship.’
‘Then have a really awesome fling. The point is, if you never take the opportunities that cross your path, you’ll end up regretting it. You’ll end up like your mother,’ she added.
‘Funny, because right now, you’re beginning to sound suspiciously all new age-y and stuff,’ Lottie said, raising an eyebrow across the table. ‘And, for the record, I’m not saying I don’t want a relationship. I’m just pointing out that this one would be difficult, with the distance and the timeframe.’
‘I’m serious, Lotts,’ Cher said, softening her tone as she used her nickname. ‘You have too much to offer. You hide it away in that little shop, with all your old things and love of history. The past is all well and good to obsess over, but not when it stops you living in the present.’
Had she really been doing that? Or was this just Cher being her overdramatic self? Lottie took her business seriously, and it did take up a lot of her time—it was her livelihood after all, as well as her passion. She loved antiques and she took great pride in the fact she didn’t just go to a bunch of garage sales and take second-hand junk. She selected everything in her store. Lottie spent hours searching for pieces. Both her online store and her shopfront had return customers, some who she even bought specifically for, thanks to getting to know her clientele.
Although part of her wanted to dismiss Cher’s observations, another part considered her friend’s advice. It had been a long time between dates, but that was because Banalla was rather remote and had a somewhat limited number of eligible men in certain age groups. You could always cast your net wider, a little voice inside her pointed out, if you really want to find a man .
The arrival of their meal—the plates placed a little too firmly on the table to be polite—distracted Lottie from her thoughts.
‘Thank—’ Lottie’s words were cut off as the man from earlier turned his back abruptly and walked away. ‘Well, that was rude.’
‘Ridiculous,’ Cher said, fuming as she stared after him. She snatched up her cutlery and cut rather aggressively into the pie in front of her. ‘I don’t care how amazing he thinks he is—’ she said, shoving the fork into her mouth and preparing to continue her rant, but she paused. ‘Holy mother of God,’ she ended on a low moan.
Lottie kinked an eyebrow in surprise before tentatively sampling her own pie. ‘Oh wow,’ she said as delicate flaky pastry melted on her tongue and delicious, richly flavoured beef fell apart in her mouth. ‘This is amazing.’
‘It seriously is.’ Cher nodded, then glanced over at the counter, where the lanky, tattooed man stood watching them with a smug grin. ‘But I will be damned if I tell him that to his face,’ she vowed.
Lottie gave a small chuckle. ‘I’m pretty sure he already knows how good his pies are.’
‘Cocky bastard,’ Cher muttered, returning her attention to her food. ‘I’m going to do some digging and find out exactly what this guy’s story is.’
There was no more time for talking. The food was amazing, and Lottie was once again astounded that their small town had somehow managed to produce yet another hidden gem that word of mouth would undoubtedly make the next culinary stop for foodies from far and wide.
‘Ladies,’ the man’s voice floated across to them as they reached the door. ‘I take it everything was to your satisfaction?’
Cher turned with a dramatic flounce. ‘It was passable.’
To his credit, the man only flashed a knowing smile, which only fuelled Cher’s irritation. She pushed through the set of French doors without looking back.
Interesting , Lottie thought as she followed along behind. She’d never seen anyone ruffle her friend’s feathers quite that way.
There was never a dull moment in Banalla.