Six
Lachlan was still smiling as he entered The Stockman.
Reggie’s expression when he’d announced he was going to the pub for trivia had been priceless.
True, he was often too knackered after a gruelling day on the farm to socialise—something she regularly nagged him about—but it wasn’t unheard of for him to go into town either.
He just preferred the peace and quiet of Blairgowrie.
Reggie hadn’t said anything, but that raised eyebrow spoke volumes.
He’d known exactly what the old biddy was thinking and it had everything to do with Rowena Murray.
The fact he was wearing new jeans and his shiniest belt buckle, and had spent an inordinate amount of time with a scrubbing brush getting engine grease off his hands, had fuelled her speculation.
And it had been a long time since he’d been so preoccupied by a woman.
Maybe she’d be up for a little fooling around? Something short and temporary? He was forty years old and twice divorced—he could handle something short and sweet.
The fact she was the first person he saw when he walked into the pub felt like a sign and he smiled even bigger.
Sitting at a table with several other people he recognised from the hospital, Rowena was laughing at what someone was saying.
Her hair was loose around her shoulders and she was wearing a ribbed, long-sleeved black t-shirt with a v-neck and a row of buttons down the cleavage.
Brooke spotted him and waved him over. Lachlan took that as a further sign and made haste.
‘Hey,’ he said as he approached.
It was meant as a general greeting to the entire table but, as soon as he spoke, Rowena’s head jerked in his direction and hell if he didn’t feel a kick in his pulse when her eyes landed directly on him.
‘Oh …’ Her forehead wrinkled a little. ‘Hey.’
Lachlan grinned at her lacklustre response. Whether Little Miss Boundaries liked it or not, they’d shared something special when they’d saved Silvano’s life, and it bound them in a way that transcended words.
‘We meet again,’ Lachlan murmured.
‘Apparently.’
Aware every eye at the table—and quite a few from around the pub—were upon them, Lachlan kept things light. ‘How are you settling into the job?’
‘Good. Learning my way around the place.’
‘You wanna join us?’ Brooke asked. ‘We’re down a player.’
Lachlan could have kissed her. ‘Love to. Shall I get us all a round of drinks?’
There was a resounding chorus of hell yes and Lachlan took everyone’s orders before heading to the bar.
‘She’s a looker,’ Wal said as he sat the three-quarter full Guinness glass down to settle.
It was the only pub in town that served the Irish drop, and that was only because Wal had a soft spot for Brooke, who had promised him she could get enough locals to drink it—not just Nathan—to make it worth his while.
And she had.
Lachlan nodded, noncommittally. It didn’t pay to be transparent in a town that ran on gossip. ‘Uh huh.’
‘Reckon she’ll stay on after her contract’s up?’
It was a constant topic of conversation out here where health care workers were difficult to retain. They usually only signed up for one or two contracts—enough to demonstrate rural service in their CVs—before moving on.
‘I don’t think so.’ She’d seemed very adamant about returning to Sydney.
‘Shame. Don’t get many like her out here. Hell of a thing she did.’
By saving Silvano’s life, Rowena had cemented herself into the story of Acacia Junction. And whether she knew it or not, or wanted it or not, the town had accepted her as one of their own.
They’d certainly be reluctant to let her go.
Wal picked up the Guinness glass again and topped it up, the creamy froth forming a dome on top of the mahogany liquid. ‘Maybe she’ll have reason to stay by the end of her contract.’
He passed the beer over with a pointed look. Lachlan smiled as he tapped his card, wondering if Reggie had rung ahead to get Wal on side. ‘Maybe,’ he said, as he picked up the tray.
Arriving at the table, Lachlan distributed the drinks, passing Rowena’s first.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured.
Her fingers slid from her earlobe, where she’d been fiddling with her earring, a long silver leaf that hung low and brushed against the side of her neck. Taking her wine glass, she downed a hefty swallow.
‘Have you heard any updates on Silvano?’ Lachlan asked as he sat, placing his light beer in front of him. The only spare chair at the table was directly opposite Rowena, which he wasn’t sad about.
‘He went into the step-down unit today,’ she replied. ‘The doctors are happy with his progress and he doesn’t seem to be exhibiting any signs of deficit from his down time.’
‘See, what did I tell you? We breed them tough out here.’ Lachlan raised his glass. ‘To Silvano.’
She tapped her glass against his and, despite her stiltedness around him, she smiled, obviously also pleased at the news, which made Lachlan inordinately happy.
‘Alright, alright, alright, you rabble.’ The sound system crackled to life as Ruth’s voice cut across the noise like a surgical blade. ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’
*
There wasn’t a lot of time to chitchat after that, preoccupied as they all were with the game, but it was an enjoyable evening and it was good seeing Rowena progressively relax as she got into the swing of the evening and the fun of the competition.
Good to see her in a social situation with her colleagues as well.
It was clear that, after only a few days, they all liked her—respected her, too, deferring to her opinion when she felt strongly on an answer to a question. Or maybe it was just that she was new and they were all being on their best behaviour.
She was surprisingly competitive, and Lachlan went head to head with her sometimes as they disagreed on an answer.
‘Marie Antoinette married Louis in May 1770,’ she insisted after he’d said it was 1771. She was right.
‘There are twenty hexagons on a soccer ball,’ Lachlan intoned. ‘Not twelve. You’re thinking of the pentagons. There are twelve of them.’ He was right.
And back and forth they went until Lachlan was buzzing with a vibe made up purely of Rowena overriding him then strenuously and meticulously laying out her case for why she was right and he was wrong. She was passionate and sure of herself, and that was pretty damn sexy.
A few times, it felt as though they were the only two playing the game.
Also, the way she kept fiddling with her right earring was really bloody distracting. He wasn’t sure if it was a nervous gesture or if it helped her concentrate, but the leaf swung back and forth under her ministration, drawing his gaze with each movement.
Swing. Swing. Swing.
But mostly they laughed. Nathan was a real clown, deliberately throwing in the wackiest answers, and Lachlan enjoyed the banter of a team who clearly worked closely together in situations that must be quite difficult at times. The fact they chose to socialise outside of work said a lot.
Before he knew it, they’d reached the last round. He’d almost finished his second light beer and Rowena had barely touched her second wine. And their team was trailing the leader by two points.
‘We can take them,’ Brooke declared.
‘Absolutely.’ Rowena nodded enthusiastically.
‘This round is called local legends,’ Ruth announced.
Rowena blanched. ‘What?’ She glanced at him like somehow it was his fault. ‘That’s not fair. How am I or anyone else from out of town supposed to know any of these?’
‘Relax,’ Brooke assured her, glancing around the table. ‘We’ve got this.’
Rowena looked like she was about to object then sighed, clearly resigned to letting the locals take the wheel.
‘Question one,’ Ruth announced into the mic. ‘What year did the Acacia Junction drive-in close down?’
A barrage of whispered debate erupted around Rowena, who raised an eyebrow at him. ‘There’s a drive-in?’
Lachlan grinned. ‘There was. It’s derelict now since it closed in’—he lowered his voice and leaned in, looking at Brooke—‘two thousand and six.’
‘No.’ Mervyn, who was the groundsman at the hospital, shook his head vigorously. ‘It was two thousand and seven.’
‘It was oh-six,’ Lachlan insisted. ‘I remember because I was on leave for a few weeks and I went there the night my divorce came through and saw Casino Royale, and it closed three days later.’
There was more whispered debate, but Rowena seemed more interested in him as she eyed him speculatively, her fingers at her earring again.
Swing. Swing. Swing.
‘You’re divorced?’
He nodded, debating whether to elaborate or not. A lot of women found him being married twice a giant red flag, which, to be fair, he totally got. But it took two people to break a marriage—it hadn’t been all on him.
Either time.
‘Twice,’ he said because he was too old to play games. ‘Drive-in night was my first divorce.’
Yes, feeling this attraction to a woman who was going to leave town at the end of the year was the height of stupidity, but she’d never be able to say he hadn’t been upfront.
It didn’t appear to faze her, however. She just nodded and said, ‘Twice for me too.’
That brought Lachlan up short. He really, really wanted to ask her about it but the questions had moved on.
Everything from the final score at last year’s Junction versus Dubbo grand final footy match to what colour awning hung over the entrance to the old milk bar before it became Sadie’s Hair Salon.
‘Last question of the round and the night,’ Ruth said, her voice cutting through the conversations.
‘What’s the name of the good Samaritan who secured free baked goods for the term of her natural life after she dragged Silvano Morelli out of his crashed car and resuscitated him by the side of the road on the weekend? ’
Rowena turned scarlet as the entire pub got to their feet and burst into applause. ‘See,’ Lachlan teased, over the din. ‘You do know one.’