Six #2
She looked around, her face flushed and pretty as she gestured for everyone to sit. But Acacia Junction wasn’t ready to stop applauding their newest hero just yet. It was a close-knit community that didn’t exactly embrace outsiders, but once a person breached that outer crust—they were in for good.
‘Okay, okay.’ Ruth eventually called everyone to order and the applause petered out as people took their seats. ‘Hand in your answer sheets to be marked.’
Brooke grinned at Rowena. ‘You’re red as a beetroot.’
‘I just’—she fiddled with her earring again—‘did what anyone else would have done.’
Swing. Swing. Swing.
‘Nah.’ Lachlan shook his head. ‘A lot of people wouldn’t have even known where to start. So they wouldn’t have, because they would have been terrified of making things worse. Which would have definitely made things worse. You jumped in and saved the day.’
‘Yeah, but I knew what to do.’
‘Doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a standing ovation.’
‘Yep, you also better be prepared to never have to cook a meal for the rest of your stay here,’ Brooke confirmed. ‘Now everyone knows your identity, the Tupperware dishes will start to arrive. It’s good you have a kitchenette in your hotel room and I sure hope you’re not on a diet.’
Rowena raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m a woman with thighs. I’m always on a diet.’
Lachlan vividly remembered Rowena’s appreciation of that cannoli and thought what a terrible shame it was that society put so much pressure on women to look a certain way.
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that he wouldn’t mind those thighs wrapped around him, but only a sleazy douche would say that to a woman.
And he was a fucking gentleman.
‘Send any excess our way,’ Nathan volunteered with a pat to his stomach. ‘I’ll find a home for them.’
‘Or,’ Brooke said, bugging her eyes at her husband, ‘she could bring them into work.’
‘Okay, sure.’ Nathan nodded. ‘And you can bring home the leftovers for me.’
‘I love that you think there’ll be leftovers once a bunch of nurses have descended.’ She patted her husband on the cheek. ‘Still so naive.’
Rowena laughed. ‘True. Plagues of locusts have been known to get out of our way.’
One of Ruth’s minions collected their score sheet and Lachlan sat back and watched as a bemused Rowena was swamped with locals, wanting to shake her hand and thank her for what she did for Silvano.
By the time the scores had been read and they’d collected a box of chocolates for third place, which Nathan promptly opened for everyone to share, he could tell she was getting overwhelmed by all the attention.
When there was a lull in her popularity, she yawned possibly one of the fakest yawns Lachlan had ever seen and announced her intention to leave.
‘Well … thanks for a great game but I’m going to hit the sack.’
Given it was barely eight-thirty, Lachlan suspected the move was more about escape than sleep.
There were general protests—including his—but she managed to skilfully extract herself nonetheless. ‘You think she really just wants to watch MAFS?’ Brooke asked him as they watched her walk through the bar area.
Rowena nodded at people and stopped for a quick word or a shake of a hand but kept moving determinedly towards the door over which hung an illuminated exit sign. On the other side, immediately to the left, were the stairs to the accommodation.
‘I doubt someone who’s been married twice would be into a reality TV show where two young idiots who’ve never met walk down the aisle for shits, giggles and television ratings.’ He certainly wasn’t. Although the subject of weddings had once again piqued his interest in her two marriages.
‘She looked a bit overwhelmed by the attention,’ Brooke mused.
Lachlan shrugged. ‘I suspect she’s come here to get away from attention, not attract it.’
Brooke cocked an eyebrow at him. ‘Is that some kind of ex-cop hunch?’
‘Something like that.’
If Lachlan thought that would persuade Brooke to spill some intel on the Acacia Junction newcomer, he was wrong.
‘Well, I guess if she wants you to know, you’ll know.’
He nodded. ‘I guess so.’
*
It was another half an hour before everyone called it a night. Lachlan stayed on a little longer, chatting with a couple of mates before making a move to leave. As always, he had an early start tomorrow.
Pushing through the door Rowena had taken earlier, he strode across the hallway to the loo, passing the stairs to his left.
As he exited the facilities, a flash of something on the ground caught his eye and his gaze zeroed in on the heavily patterned brown and orange swirls on the carpet that hadn’t changed in over three decades.
There, at the foot of the stairs, was Rowena’s earring. Bending, Lachlan picked it up, the silver leaf swinging from his fingers. The back was missing and he scanned the carpet briefly, trying to find it, before giving up.
Glancing up the stairs, he momentarily contemplated walking it up to her but dismissed it outright. That would be super creepy and she might actually be asleep.
Lachlan briefly flirted with the idea of handing it in to Wal. But if he went back through the bar he’d be there for another half an hour. So, he pocketed it, knowing he was coming into town tomorrow and he could call in to the hospital and give it to her then.
Which would give him another excuse to see her …
Exiting The Stockman, he stepped out onto the footpath that was sheltered by the overhang of the veranda before striding across the deserted main street. He hunched into his jacket, his warm breath fogging into the bracing night air.
Behind him, the low murmur emanating from the pub faded as the familiar silence of Acacia Junction at night closed in. So silent that the crunch of his boots on the bitumen, the opening and closing of his ute door and the rustle of fabric as he slid into his seat all seemed weirdly shrill.
And that’s when he saw her.
Standing at the fancy wrought-iron railing that ran the length of the veranda, her hands were curled around what he assumed was a mug of tea or coffee as she stared down at the street. At him.
Hard to be certain, sure. But he knew she was.
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, his pulse a water hammer in his ears as he waited for her to turn around and walk away. But she didn’t. Not then. Not after several long moments.
And Lachlan took that as another sign.
Tossing his hat on the seat beside him, he climbed out of the vehicle and shut the door, the click sounding like the cocking of a gun. Yet still she watched him.
Squaring his shoulders, he crossed back to the pub.