Chapter 42
Forty-two
‘Why do I have to coax the water buffalo off the tarmac?’ With a hand on her hip, Taryn scowled at the breathing boulder, standing butt-centre in the middle of the airstrip.
Red ribbons and wildflowers twisted around his horns like it was some outback version of Oktoberfest—minus the beer, but full of attitude.
Chalk scrawled across his hide read:
LYDIA IS GONNA BE OKAY!
On the other side, it read:
COPPAS GOT THEM DUFFERS!
Mickey, in his grease-stained coveralls, flicked at a fly with his hand towel. ‘Well, you see, we’ve just started becoming friends, Cecil and I. So I can’t start pushin’ boundaries while still in the fragile stages of our friendship, just coz you say so.’
‘He’s blocking your runway.’
‘Yeah. Only coz you’re the one who wants to leave, like a flamin’ tourist does, and I don’t like tourists.’
‘Oh, really? I’d never have guessed it.’ Taryn rolled her eyes, overtired and moody, so of course she had less restraint with the sass.
‘Or maybe Cecil’s gotten all snooty you’re leaving, and that’s him protesting like the Vegan does.’ He scratched at his ruddy chin. ‘Come to think of it, he is a vegan, you know.’
‘What?’
‘And you two bonded, right?’
‘I did not bond with a buffalo.’ But Cecil was blocking the middle of the tarmac sniffing at their jet.
‘You gave him flowers.’
‘I fed him flowers, so he didn’t lick me or do that heavy breathing in my ear, when he’d follow me to work like a labrador. Your brother told me that trick.’
‘But Billy didn’t tell you that all it takes is one flower, and you’re Cecil’s friend for life.’ Mickey gave a wicked grin.
‘Nooo.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Did I get tricked into doing some unknown tribal marriage thingy to a buffalo?’
‘Got the memory of an elephant, that one.’ The grumpy old man winked, the kind of wink you’d never trust. Like that grin.
It was enough for her to take a step back. ‘How did Cecil get in here? You have a fence.’
‘He’s one of ‘em flaming Houdini buffaloes. Opens gates, doors, fridges too. I could never keep Cecil out. He likes to eat the wildflowers, and I reckon he licks the dew off the tarmac, like one big tongue scraper.’
‘Great.’ Taryn grimaced. ‘And what does Cecil use to floss? The windscreen wipers off a plane?’
She pinched the bridge of her nose.
It wasn’t the sleep deprivation. And it wasn’t the ridiculousness of chasing livestock off a small town’s runway. It was everything else.
Because she was leaving this town with all its quirks, this job, and that hint of a life that had somehow crawled under her skin and settled in like it belonged there.
And Finn Wilde hadn’t said a word.
She’d accepted that, because Finn didn’t say goodbye. They’d been here before.
He also didn’t want complications in his life right now. Not her, or the baby.
Which was fair, too.
She hadn’t exactly dropped the news gently. She’d hit him with it, mid-sting, mid-murder investigation, and mid-mentor-betrayed-him take-down, which kind of demolished everything he’d valued.
She had no right to judge Finn, not when she hadn’t even fully processed it yet, when denial had been doing a bang-up job about it all.
But she wasn’t running. Not this time.
She had a plan.
She’d rewritten her report, top to bottom. The one Drew had tried to manipulate. And she was going to take it straight to the top, even if she had to walk it into Parliament House herself, she would. The Stock Squad deserved permanent funding, and she would damn well make it happen.
So what if it cost her the promotion, and even if it cost her a second chance at whatever she may have with Finn and this town, it had to be done.
Besides, she had money saved, she had holidays accrued, because she never took them.
Long service leave, too. Yes, she was a career cop who really had no life outside of the office.
She also had maternity entitlements in a folder she’d updated the other day, even while struggling with denial, because she was that type of person.
She had spreadsheets.
Backup plans.
PowerPoint slides she could weaponise for court.
She could do this.
And she had her parents’ support.
Even if her mother would probably start interviewing ex-SAS soldiers for nanny duties by lunchtime.
The same type of nannies who’d taught Taryn how to disarm a grown man using nothing but a shoelace and a ballpoint pen before she could spell kindergarten.
And yes, the teddy had been a worthy opponent, who had to be re-stitched so many times, her father was worried she’d need therapy.
Her father? Oh, he didn’t get off that easily.
No, her father would already be tinkering in the garage designing a baby-sized Kevlar.
Possibly a GPS chip to subtly insert at birth.
And some sort of satellite-linked pram defence system, just in case someone tried to cut the line at the baby clinic, or park, or wherever it is that prams filled with children congregated.
Yes, they were terrifying.
And yes, she loved them.
Especially when she was terrified herself. Her. A mother.
But Finn Wilde?
She hadn’t planned on him, either. And that look he’d give her when he thought she wasn’t watching.
Or the way they moved together in sync, like they’d trained for years in a language only they knew.
No, she most certainly had not meant to fall for a man who left behind more coffee cups than conversations.
But having a baby?
And giving the Stock Squad a permanent future?
That was the kind of long-term plan she could hold on to.
It was the perfect medicine to forget a man like Finn Wilde.
Or so she told herself. And would keep telling herself, too.
She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes until wheels-up. Everyone had already been chased away after their goodbyes—except the buffalo—with their hugs and their please come backs.
Drew was already shackled on board like a taipan in transit. Right where he damn well belonged. Bound for a high-security institution under Commonwealth order, where they sent the nightmares in neckties and the big fish to rot.
From there she was hoping to go home, shower, and face dive into a bowl of whatever unholy combo of carbs and sugar her hormones had decided was gourmet this week.
Probably Milo, straight from the tin, with mashed potatoes and a mango sorbet. Separately, she hoped.
But no promises.
Oh, and a big block of cheese she wasn’t planning to slice.
And maybe with some macaroni. And caramel sauce.
‘Mickey, you need to move the buffalo.’ And she needed food, sleep, and to plan doctor visits.
‘How?’ Mickey flicked another fly off his elbow, utterly unbothered by the chaos.
‘Try psychic suggestion? Bribery and corruption? That always works.’
‘Aren’t you a cop?’ He grinned at her, with that one-eyed squint like Popeye but without the corn pipe.
‘I’ve got half a croissant on the plane. Or some cheesy chips and a box of gummy bears. One of them might work.’
And that’s when she saw him.
Out of the corner of her eye, over by the hospital. Finn Wilde.
Running.
Taryn froze on the outside, while inside her heart did something weird in her chest.
Not panic. Not quite.
Okay, there was some panic pounding in her chest because big, rugged, emotionally elusive Finn—was running across an airstrip like a man with a purpose.
And holy hell, the things that did to her body, mind and soul.
‘What’s he doing?’ she whispered.
Mickey squinted. ‘Did he forget something on the plane? Or does he wanna smack around the prisoner some more, like Izzy did?’
Finn skidded to a stop right in front of her, his eyes locked on hers. ‘Mickey, go make yourself useful somewhere else.’
‘Righto. I’ll just… pet the buffalo then.’ Mickey shuffled a whole two steps, maybe four, only to lean against Cecil, where both man and flower-wearing beast stayed glued to the drama like it was prime-time telly.
Taryn folded her arms, bracing for something… Sarcasm? An apology? Or more grunty silence?
But Finn took a step closer.
Then another.
And then—he spoke. ‘I never wanted this… Not the squad, the house or this job. Not after my boy.’
Her breath hitched at his personal heartache, putting protective hands over her own belly.
‘I came to Elsie Creek to watch over a grave. Because I was a ghost when I got here.’ His eyes filled with hurt as he spoke.
‘And then you showed up with your spreadsheets and rules. Your rants about my coffee tasting like mud, with your need to always have the last word. And yet you got under my skin so fast, and so much deeper than anyone has before.’
Taryn swallowed hard, trapped by the open vulnerability in his eyes.
‘I didn’t see it coming,’ he said, taking another step closer. ‘Not when I didn’t want to feel again. And yet you’ve somehow made me want everything.’
He paused to take a breath or two.
There was no way she was going to interrupt and ruin this. Not a chance.
‘I’m scared, Taryn.’
Holy mother of mayhem!
‘Because you’re not just strong,’ he said. ‘You’re going somewhere and you don’t need anyone. While I’ve spent my whole life thinking I wasn’t worth staying for.’
Then he looked at her like she was the only thing left in a world worth chasing. Like he saw past the sass she wore like armour, and past the humour that hid the loneliness.
He saw the parts she didn’t even know how to name.
The bite that kept people at arm’s length, so they never got close enough to bother her when she left.
Because she was the one who always left.
Each new posting, every new embassy transfer, she’d learned to pack fast, settle quicker, and never get too attached. Goodbyes always came before hellos.
And now here she was, getting ready for another departure, another rotation, falling into the same old rhythm.
Only this time, Finn was standing there, more stubborn than the buffalo blocking the runway.
And for the first time, she didn’t want to swerve.
Somehow, the more he unburdened, the more she unfolded herself, as if opening to let him in.
‘I’m…’ He rubbed the back of his head as if trying to find the words, from a man who didn’t do speeches.
‘If you go to Canberra, I’ll follow. I’ll climb on this jet with you, right now, and sit beside you.
I’ll sleep on the floor at your place, whatever you want.
Because I want to be there for you, for the baby, and whatever future you’ll let me have…
I don’t need to read a map to know I’m meant to be with you, Taryn.
I just need you to say you want me there, too. ’
Taryn stared. Unsure where her voice went, of if she could remember the English language.
Nearby, Mickey sniffed as he wiped his eyes with the same towel he used to clean aeroplane parts. Even Cecil snorted like he approved.
Finn stepped in closer, to gently tuck a stray hair behind her ear. ‘I’m here, Taryn. I’m not going anywhere, not unless it’s with you.’
That was it. That was all it took. Speech over, it was now the real Finn— the man of action, whose deeds and silence spoke more than any words ever would.
And with one hand curled at her waist, the other found her jaw.
His thumb traced just beneath her cheekbone like it had every right to be there. And then…
He unapologetically kissed her.
Giving her the kind of kiss that wasn’t asking for forgiveness or permission, but it told her everything he hadn’t been able to say.
It was a kiss that didn’t hesitate as it found its way into her heart like he always had, without warning and without a doubt. Fierce, unshakable and impossible Finn.
And when she caught her breath, she knew.
It was him.
It had always been him.
Sliding her arms up his shoulders, she kissed him back like she’d been waiting a lifetime to kiss him.
Like her body had tuned into his frequency from the very first moment he’d given her that sideways glance across the Batcave, the day she’d arrived.
The one full of his bad attitude, while she was covered in dust, having walked the long way around the airport, with a buffalo breathing heavily behind her—who was still breathing heavily, now.
Only this time her hands fisted his shirt, as she softened into him like a surrender as she kissed him.
There was no question now.
No games.
No pretending this was casual anymore.
Because this was the kind of kiss you planned your whole future around, where you talked about generations of family. It changed everything, because nothing else mattered but them. Him and her. And the baby made three.
He finally pulled back, just enough to look at her. ‘So, I’ll take that as a yes?’
A smile curled slowly across her lips, which still tasted of him. ‘I should warn you… my parents aren’t normal.’
Finn gently pressed his forehead to hers and smiled. ‘Good. Neither am I.’